Santhome

A relay story by PDP, Tony, and Nitin

A relay story by Aesop, Tony Sebastian, and Nitin Sundar

“Why can’t you stop drinking?”

Rayappan had no answer.

Was there even an answer to that question? Did Annamma even expect one? Or was she just venting her spleen?

“chah”

Confirmed now. Just an aunt in despair. No response expected.

“I’m so happy that my sister isn’t alive to see her little boy ruin his life.”

Finally, something they could both agree on. But Rayappan kept quiet, blinking slowly and opening his eyes wide, acting a little more hungover than he actually felt.

Drink gave him escape from his life in the evening. And the hangover gave him escape from his aunt, the morning after.

He just had to endure the sermon, not an impossible task for one who worked as a gardener at the Santhome Cathedral.

“Thank God my Ravi isn’t like you.”

‘No, he isn’t,’ thought Rayappan. He stops after two drinks and then eats to disguise his breath before hurrying home. “Spoken English Class” is what he calls it. His mother is still alive.

He looked out of his window, up at the cross on the peak of the steeple, against a cloudless May sky, so blue that it looked like something his son might have painted.

They weren’t here. Summer holidays meant that his wife and son went to Tharangambadi. Her family, and she had many Annamas on her side. Rayappan was happy to stay back.

He could descend as deep as he wished, Annamma’s sermons notwithstanding.

But there was more than just the usual hand-wringing today.

“Do you know Irudhayaraj sir? He’s here every Sunday at seven in the morning… How would you know? Have you even seen what seven in the morning looks like?”

“Chiththi, please…” said Rayappan, gingerly massaging his temples.

“Irudhayaraj Sir needs someone to cut the branches of a tree in his house. I’ve told him that you would do it. With Ravi and Thangaraj.”

“I will do it only if there’s a danger to the tree. Or to people…”

“You will do it because Irudhayaraj sir wants you to do it, you understand?”

“Chiththii…listen…”

“No. You listen. Everything you have is because I told Father Arokiaraj to take you in. Your son’s school, your house, your food… all of this is free. I pushed for you to get this job so you might save ... but you aren’t saving anything. Because you are a lazy wastrel. And a drunkard. Just like… ”

“Chiththi. Please. Let me be. I need to get ready…”, said Rayappan.

She gave him one final contemptuous sneer, her lips curled in disgust, before she turned on her heel and walked out of the gardener’s hut.

***

Rayappan didn’t really have to undress after Annamma left. He just stood up and the lungi fell away. He took in a deep breath and slowly walked to the sink, leaning on it for a second before looking up at himself in the large cracked mirror. Lithe, wiry, and muscular, with a web of proud veins on his forearms. And a thick scar on his flank that disappeared into a comically incongruous striped Mickey Mouse undergarment.

He ran his thick callused fingers through his mop of curly black hair. And thought of throwing up for just a second.

His mind went back to the last ‘tree job’ he had undertaken - the neem tree at the corner of the church compound.

Father Arokiaraj had told him to lop off some of the branches that threatened to push against electric wires overhead.

“Get it done now. Right now,” he had said after the Tamil Nadu Electricity Board engineer had completed his inspection.

Rayappan had started by praying to the tree.

Father wasn’t too happy with a display of tree worship on the church premises. And so Rayappan had to scratch out a cross on the bark of the tree. Did the cross make it more divine? Or just more palatable?

“Hurry up,” barked Father, keen to get the job done as quickly as possible.

Ravi was too fat to haul himself up the tree. That meant that Rayappan had to climb and chop, while Ravi stayed below, identifying branches to be cut and branches that were safe to stand on.

Ravi wasn’t a great spotter either. He hadn’t noticed the rot in the branch that he had advised Rayappan to climb onto.

He had been lucky to grab at another branch just as he felt the branch below creak and crack.

Irudhayaraj’s tree would be even taller. And Ravi had grown fatter since the neem tree job.

Rayappan would have to climb again.

He picked up the large coil of hosepipe and carried it easily over his shoulder all the way to the tap at the corner of the premises, right by the neem tree. And he couldn’t help reaching out and caressing the bark, pressing his palm over the cross that he had etched out a year ago.

“Sorry,” he muttered, almost to himself.

Once the hose was connected, Rayappan began his round. The water would sometimes be sprayed with heightened pressure and sometimes be dissipated and softened by his left hand. Each plant was different.

He noticed a new bud on a hibiscus shrub. And without his knowledge, his face broke into a smile.

The smile quickly vanished when he heard Father Arokiaraj calling out to him.

***

“Father, koopteengala?” Rayappan stood at the threshold having untied the fold in his lungi, with joined palms and a head drooped like a sunflower towards Father Arokiaraj.

“Yes, come in, come in” Father Arokiyaraj was seated at his working desk.

He put down the bible on the desk, carefully pulling down the red ribbon to mark the page. He needn’t have. The broken spine of the well-thumbed Bible always closed misaligned, acting as a natural bookmark. He placed his glasses - the frame secured to one of the legs by twine - on top. He was in plainclothes, relieved to not be wearing his cassock. Even so, beads of perspiration were sliding down his bald head.

Father Arokiyaraj closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose into his eyes.

“Rayappan… two bottles of altar wine are missing from the cellar. Did you take them?”

“Father? What?”

Rayappan looked around confused. Verger Minsaram Mathai stumbled into the room.

His nickname, surprisingly, had nothing to do with his hair that stands up straight as if he’s received an electric shock. Mathai Varghese landed up mysteriously ten years ago from Kerala. On his first day in Madras, he felt the urge to opine to the auto driver that Tamil fellows talked too much. “Unga samsaram nallale” is what he had ended up saying.

Though he was slapped silly, Mathai learnt that day that “samsaram” in Tamil didn’t mean “speech” but “wife”. Samsaram adhu Minsaram Mathai, was how he was known by the staff, behind his back, ever since.

He glared at Rayappan, as if his very presence were offensive.

“Of course it was him, Father. He is the Antichrist… the one who turns wine into water. Just look at that baniyan he is wearing.”

The verger had always confused confidence with competence.

Rayappan looked down at the black t-shirt he was wearing that said ACDC. All of his clothes came preloved, probably by a Swiss cheesemaker – well-aged and full of holes.

Father Arokiyaraj looked at Mathai. “Go to the office room and bring the pedestal fan and plug it in here. And remember, the fastest speed is 1, not 3.”

Mathai left, muttering under his breath.

“Father… I…” Rayappan started.

Father Arokiyaraj put up his hand to stop him.

“You come to me at 4:30PM when Mathai goes to the market. Go now.”

Rayappan walked back slowly to his hut. He didn’t even look at the hibiscus.

“You haven’t gone to Irudhayaraj’s house yet?” Ravi asked between chews of a full banana stuffed in his mouth. The peel had been discarded to the floor.

“Huh? Oh… yeah…”

Rayappan opened his aluminium trunk and took out his aruval and a long rope.

“Ennada are you going to hack someone or hang yourself?”, asked Ravi, with a guffaw.

“Vaa polam. Let’s go.”

“I am not coming. Small work is there here. Oru 30 minutes la, I’ll send Thangaraj.”

Rayappan started walking.

“Dei… if Amma asks, say I was with you”

Rayappan didn’t break stride till he reached for the rusty latch on top of the gate at Irudhayaraj’s house.

“Sir is taking a bath. That’s the tree.” Amala, Irudhayaraj’s wife, pointed to the Gulmohar in the corner.

Rayappan climbed up the Mayflower tree that set the bright blue sky afire. Though some branches were treacherous, he felt much safer within its embrace. From near the top he looked out at the view to the east – past the beautiful white spire. He saw the St Thomas pole on the beach – he believed that the pole was why the cathedral itself didn’t wash away when the tsunami came in to stuff its mouth like Ravi. Rayappan remembered a time when there used to be a volleyball court and a tennikoit court on the beach. Now it was just a filthy beach with ugly buildings around it.

Rayappan’s reverie was broken by a sudden movement near his feet. Phew, it was only a friendly squirrel. Rayappan remembered his scar and held on to the branch above his head a little tighter. And he suddenly thought of Father Arokiaraj, who had a scar that mirrored his.

“God has given me a spare kidney to give to someone in need,” he had simply said when Annamma’s cousin passed the stage where dialysis alone could save him. Rayappan had never heard him mention it to anyone else since.

Rayappan looked out at the cloudless sky and took a deep breath. Salt in the air mixed with the earthy smell of Gulmohar should feel like home. But it felt like his own home. Broken. How could Father Arokiyaraj have asked him what he did? Just because he once slept in the stone cellar in the basement from Portuguese times that remained cool? Or did he think he was that kind of a drunk? He wasn’t. Was he? Rayappan can’t quite remember how last night ended.

The hangover and the sunlight made him squint. A ravana headache took hold of him. As he closed his eyes, he remembered Father Arokiyaraj’s half-heard sermon from last Sunday: “And then Jesus, who came on earth to save sinners, said to Zacchaeus, ‘Come down from that tree. I want to stay in your home tonight’. Come down immediately.”

“DEI KEELE VAADA! COME DOWN RAYAPPA!”

He shook his head and looked down. Irudhayaraj sir was standing below. He climbed down hastily.

“I saw it, sir. That branch on top towards the east. You are right to have it cut down, otherwise the fungus will take the whole tree with it.”

“Enna punnakku olararey?! No, cut down the branch that’s close to the rooftop. Squirrels keep jumping on to the terrace. My granddaughter is coming. I don’t want her to get scared. Also, tie a swing on a suitable branch here.”

“But sir, that branch…”

“Dei, do what you are told only. Over aa pesadhe.”

Rayappan wanted to say something. Just then, the rusty latch opened once more and Thangaraj walked in.

***

“Adei Rayappa! Saptiya? How are you? Did you inspect the tree?”

Thangaraj was the sort of person who normally reflexively bowed in deference and spoke in low tones in the presence of Aiyyas like Irudhayaraj. Something was different today – he didn’t even notice Irudhayaraj.

Thangaraj had his toolbag slung over his shoulder. The contents of the bag made a fragile, clinking sound as he walked, quite distinct from the metallic click-clack the tools normally made. Rayappan didn’t need to look inside the bag to confirm that it was carrying more than just the usual tools. Rayappan’s headache gave way to a simmering rage as he realised what Ravi’s ‘thirty minutes of work’ with Thangaraj had meant.

“Is this your assistant?” Irudhayaraj asked while gesturing at Thangaraj. “Seri... Finish the job quick-aa. I don’t want those squirrels on my terrace. Thamizh Naatla enga paathalum anil thollai… They are taking over the whole state!”

Irudhayaraj marched off into his house and banged the front door shut behind him.

“Drinking stolen church wine in the middle of the day, and that too when there is work to do? And why have you brought the bottles here?” The muscles on his jaw bulged and rolled as he gritted his teeth together. Anger couldn’t find volume, with Irudhayaraj just one closed door away. It needed to be clamped down between his jaws.

“Oh,” Thangaraj chuckled. “Andha Minsaram Mathai oru moppa-naai (sniffer dog). That’s why I decided to move the ‘evidence’ out of the church complex. Indha… I’ve brought some for you.”

“Oru punnakkum vendam. You guys did this, and the Father is suspecting me! Give me the tools and get lost; I can handle this job by myself.”

“Cochukkadhe ba… Don’t be angry. Here, your tools-u… Please dispose of the bottles safely. Hehe.”

Rayappan was glad to see the back of Thangaraj as he unlatched the gate and left.

***

The best thing to calm an agitated mind was booze, but even Rayappan had rules. The first of them was that he never drank during the day. And he was not about to break that rule today, just before climbing twenty feet up the Gulmohar tree.

But that was not the only reason why Rayappan wouldn’t take a swig. Annamma may have made him a resident of the church, but she couldn’t quite convert him into a man of God. And so, he would have had no qualms about partaking in the spoils from the sacred altar. However, this wine was tarnished by something far worse – it was tainted with Minsaram Mathai’s taunt, with a hint of Father Arokiaraj’s suspicion, and more than anything else, his own self-doubt.

What sort of a man could have been so addled that he held no recollection of whether he stole some church wine the previous night?

The Antichrist, that’s who. Yourself.

The second best thing to calm an agitated mind was hard, physical, solitary labour. Rayappan got back to work. He secured the aruvaal he would need for his work around his waist with his custom-built belt. In no time, he was perched on the trunk of the tree at its highest point, looking wistfully at the beautiful branch spilling over onto the roof and offending Irudhayaraj’s sensibilities.

Once again, Rayappan was distracted by the magnificent St. Thomas pole on the shore. The pole that saved the church from the tsunami.

But what about the hundreds of huts that were swept away? The boats that were destroyed? What about those hundreds of innocents who lost their lives and livelihoods in a flash, with not even a warning that they were in danger?

What sort of god oversaw this design?

Rayappan felt a tightness in his chest as he slowly rocked the offending branch to and fro – his own wordless eviction notice to the resident squirrels, birds and other assorted creatures whose perch was about to be destroyed.

By the Antichrist.

He carved a small cross on the trunk where the branch originated and then began to hack away.

Twenty minutes and several hard chops later, the branch came loose and fell to the ground with a thud.

On his way back down, Rayappan stopped at the fungus-ridden eastward branch he had identified earlier. He thought about it for a second and then lopped it off with a few simple swings.

To hell with Irudhayaraj – this tree deserved better.

Back on the ground, Rayappan surveyed his handiwork. Unlike the rotten branch he just felled, the one he had cut first was in excellent shape, with several sturdy, verdant stems going out. Rayappan cut out the stems carefully. He then took out his saw and trimmed the felled branch from the sides, transforming it into a one-metre-long log.

It took another hour of work before Rayappan smiled for the first time that day. The log was now secured firmly with two ropes and suspended from another branch of the tree. He felt a sense of satisfaction as he tested out the swing. The famous Madras sea breeze had finally started blowing, and Rayappan felt it against his sweat as he rocked back and forth. He was exhausted beyond words and, simultaneously, energised.

He hopped off as a child would - not at the swings’ mean position, at the lowest point of its arc, but when it had swung to its extreme apogee, jumping as it peaked, and landing lightly on his toes.

Ha. Those were the days.

Rayappan replaced his tools inside the bag, alongside the half-filled bottle of altar wine. He tied up the green Gulmohar stems he had chopped out earlier with a line of rope, tucked them under his arm and started walking towards the church.

****

“Rayappa! Vaa, I was waiting for you. Correct-a, you came at 4.30.”

Rayappan stooped to place his burdens at the threshold. The bag made that telltale clink again, and Father Arokiaraj noticed it. But his attention was drawn towards the stack of Gulmohar stems.

“Oh, is this from Irudhayaraj’s garden? Why are you walking around with these?”

“Father… Andha wine… I…”

“Vidu pa… This is not the first time. I am sad that it still happens.”

“But… Father, I did not steal it.”

Father Arokiyaraj smiled. “And I never suspected you, Rayappa.”

“Then… why did you ask me whether I stole it, Father? I felt terrible.”

“Dei Rayappa.... I was humouring Mathai. He is a little old-fashioned. He did an inventory check, and insisted that I interrogate everyone separately until someone confesses. Police-kaaran budhhi...”

The members of the choir were trickling in for practice. Arokiaraj smiled and nodded as they walked past. Rayappan stared at the step that he was standing on.

Arokiaraj moved a step closer to Rayappan, his voice softer and gentler than before.

“I knew it was definitely not you. After all these years, you think I don’t know you?”

Rayappan’s eyes remained on the step below, but he wasn’t glaring any more.

Father Arokiyaraj sighed and looked up, squinting into the distance.

“Every drop of that wine is meant to turn into a celebration of God’s sacrifice. It is a blessing to be nourished by it. Claiming those blessings for one’s self, by depriving others… Is wrong.”

The organ started playing, and they could hear voices rising in harmony.

“I think I know who did it, and I will put an end to it.”

Rayappan looked up, into Arokiyaraj’s eyes. His own pricked and melted into streaks that ran down his bony cheeks.

“Father… Mathai said I am the antichrist. Annamma also curses me all the time… Enakkey… sometimes doubt avudhu...”

They were singing “Ennai Marava Yesu Natha“. The tune and harmony and the distance of it - distorted by walls, doors and windows - somehow made the tears flow harder…and saltier.

“When you questioned me about the wine, I was not even sure whether I had stolen it. That is how lost I am ....”

Arokiaraj looked at the young man’s bowed head and smiled.

“Rayappa… you know who stole the wine. You were accused of it. And yet you haven’t ratted them out...”

He placed his hand on the gardener’s chest.

“Your heart is full of love– for your work, for every living thing... I stand at the pulpit and I say ‘God is this... God is that…’ But really, God is where love is. And as long as you have this... this heart... how can you be lost?”

The tears didn’t stop. Rayappan’s body bent forward, shaking with every sob, as he held on to the priest’s forearms for support.

“Dei… Come on… What is this? Let it be… Come now, you haven’t yet told me – why are you carrying these tree stems around the place?”

Rayappan straightened his back and wiped his tears.

“Father, I have some more work to finish in our garden today. Let me do it before it gets dark.”

****

In the east-facing corner of the churchyard, right by the hibiscus shrubs that had just come to life, away from any threat of interfering power lines or roofs of houses that could be disturbed by squirrels, Rayappan dug a small pit and carefully planted two Gulmohar stems. It will take a while and plenty of watering and tending, but one day, many years from now, the squirrels and songbirds of Santhome may take refuge in these new homes under the watchful shadow of the Saint Thomas pole.

Rayappan stepped back and looked at the saplings with pride and happiness. His day’s work was done. He pulled out the half-finished altar wine bottle from the toolbag and chuckled at it. He walked across to the tap at the corner of the church complex and diluted the wine with water until the bottle was full.

He then made his way to the small composting pit he had set up at the south end of the compound and emptied the diluted wine slowly and evenly into the fermenting mixture in the pit, even as he said a silent prayer for all the lives that would be nourished by the blood of God.