The village was in the grip of a near devastating drought and famine. Three consecutive monsoons had failed. Food was scarce, not to mention drinking water. It was dry everywhere around and people walked miles to get drinking water. The cattle stock too had dwindled drastically, and those alive had only bones and skin on them.
Life for the village was hard and people were eagerly waiting for the next monsoon. It had been predicted that this monsoon would bring good rains to the village. This was the only consolation for the village. Many had already fled the village but the rest were very optimistic that the rains would soon come and bring an end to their nightmares.
It was monsoon time. The village tahsildar, the panchayat and the local zamindar held a meeting to decide on the rehabilitation works that would commence, once the rains start. Everything was decided and planned in detail.
The plans were in place, but there were no signs of rain. Days passed and hopes started dying. It was almost the middle of the monsoon season and there were no signs of rains yet. The village elders again met and the panchayat expressed its wish that this should also be consulted with the village priest too.
The village priest maintained that he had all the while been advocating a yagna, to please the Rain Gods. The idea was accepted and the priest suggested an auspicious date and time.
The day came and the yagna started. The priest chanted prayers as he poured ghee into the holy fire. The sky was overcast with dark clouds.
“It’s going to rain”, one of them said.
Everyone looked at the fire, then at the skies, as if there was a link between the two, beyond their eyes. It was night and the yagna went on, but there was still no sign of rain. The yagna went on for another two days after which the priest declared the holy event as being over.
The days that followed were dull with very little sunshine, as if it would rain any moment. People seemed happy with the developments after the yagna. The weather had considerably changed after it. “It will rain soon; it must rain”, the zamindar assured the people.
“The Gods are pleased, look at the clouds; it would probably rain tomorrow”, the priest assured everyone.
Days passed, but there was no rain and the monsoon season was nearing its end. The dull weather with overcast clouds that once boosted the morale, was no longer a sign of hope. People gradually accepted the feared truth that the yagna had failed. Many more were deciding to leave the village.
The tahsildar summoned the panchayat and the zamindar for an important and urgent meeting. He declared his intentions, “Things cannot be carried on or postponed any further. We have waited with hope for four years, I don’t have to tell you the hardships, our people face. We don’t have any solution with us and it won’t be right on our part to renew and kindle hopes among our people. I have called you here to let you know that I intend to call the district collector tomorrow. I shall ask him to recommend to the government, to declare our village as severely famine affected, and arrange for evacuation. I hope you will all agree with me”.
There was silence. No one spoke for a moment. The zamindar recovered from his thoughts and raised his head; “How is it possible, how can we leave this village, where our ancestors lived. Do you think that the people who chose to stay behind in this village were incapable of migrating. No, they chose to stay because this soil compels them. They can’t part with this soil”. Tears ran down the zamindar’s cheeks as he spoke and he managed to collect a drop of it on his forefinger. He saw the drop for sometime and said, “Go if you want, and take them, if they want too, but I’ll never leave this village; only death can take me from this village”.
The panchayat elders now began to voice their opinion strongly in favor of the zamindar. No one was prepared o leave the village. The tahsildar’s decision failed to get any support. A panchayat member proposed to take the opportunity to discuss any other alternative. Everyone was lost in serious thinking when the tahsildar’s assistant came in and said, “Sir the village priest has come, he wants to meet you all”.
It took everyone by surprise, “The priest must definitely have something important to tell us, may be a second yagna, whatever it is, let’s only hope it works out”, a panchayat elder commented.
The priest stepped in, and was offered a chair. He seemed very confident, and didn’t show any sign of being beaten by the yagna failure. “I am sorry if I have interrupted or disturbed your meeting”, he said. The zamindar cut him saying that it was impossible for the priest to disturb them and that he knew fully well that the priest had come with a solution.
The priest smiled and said that he had wondered over the yagna’s failure; “Never in my lifetime have I seen or heard of a yagna failing to deliver. I thought over it and realized. Our village is a cursed one. Someone in our village, sometime ago had committed a sin, which makes us pay for it today. Our village will never see a rainfall if nothing is done to seek forgiveness”.
The zamindar and the panchayat elders immediately agreed that this could have been the cause for their present situation. They assured the priest that they too shared his opinion and requested him to think of a solution in that direction.
The priest replied that he had already thought of a solution, and said; “The sin committed had very much angered the Gods and there is only one way to seek forgiveness. I am sure that the Gods would only relent to this”.
Hopes lit up once again. Here was a solution to solve the problems or at least a chance to solve.
Everyone was curious; “What should we do; how should we seek forgiveness?”.
The priest bent forward, signaled everyone to come closer and said, “Its human sacrifice”.
Everyone seemed to be taken aback, a human sacrifice at the turn of the twentieth century!”. Everyone seemed to think, but none opposed it either. None spoke for sometime, when a panchayat elder looked at the priest and said, “We need rains”.
The priest thought for a while, then held the sacred thread running across his body, and said; “I promise this is the only solution and it will surely work”.
There was silence once again. The zamindar and the tahsildar looked at each other. “Proceed; look for an ideal person and sacrifice”, the tahsildar directed the zamindar. The meeting ended
Two days later, the priest suggested the date and time of the sacrifice. It was to be held on the first new moon night of the next month at twelve. Although every other detail was worked out, the person to be sacrificed, the person to be sacrificed was not yet finalized. “How about Muthvel’s grandfather. He is very old anyway”, one panchayat member asked.
“No no”, the zamindar replied, “He was once the most trusted friend of my grandfather”.
“In that case, why not the mad lady Ponnama”, another elder asked.
“Mad may be she, but she’s the one who sweeps the third and the fourth streets, on her own”, another panchyat elder replied.
“Ponnama never refuses to bring water to the temple”, the priest too supported.
Various names were suggested, but each one was either important for the village or was dear to some elders.
No name was agreed upon and the zamindar was dissappointed.
It was evening. The zamindar was out for a walk. Lost in some deep thought, he was walking over the dry fields, when two women with pitchers on their heads, wished and passed him. The zamindar was walking behind them.
“But I think you had two pitchers”, one told the other.
“Yes but one of them is broken and I have to mange with just one pitcher”, the other replied.
“You should have been more careful”
“It’s not me. It’s because of that rascal Kaliappan”. The zamindar stood still
“It all happened like this. Listen, about four or five months back”, the woman continued describing the event even as they were walking.
The zamindar stood still, rooted to the spot for a while, then murmured to himself, “Kaliappan”
The next day the zamindar suggested the name of Kaliappan and it was readily accepted by everyone.
“How come we didn’t think of this earlier?”; one asked.
“That petty thief is the right person”, another elder said.
Fellow came to our village, three years back, and what a nuisance he was”, a third elder commented.; “But he has already left our village and gone south, how are we going to get him back?”
“Leave that to me”, the zamindar said.
In just three days, Kaliappan was traced and brought to the village.
The sacrifice day was nearing and the weather continued to dodge people as before.
It was sacrifice day and Kaliappan was tied to a flag post and wood piled around him on all sides up to his neck. By midnight, the entire village had gathered to see the sacrifice. The priest said his prayers as he poured ghee over the woods. He then threw some flowers and smeared sandalwood paste over Kaliappan’s forehead and neck.
Kaliappan screamed, “Save me, save me, someone please save me”. The priest struck a match and lit the woods. Suddenly a lightning flashed followed by a thunder and someone in the gathering shouted; “A raindrop has fallen over me”
Meanwhile the flames were raising higher and higher. More drops fell and people began shouting joyfully; “It’s going to rain, it’s going to rain”. It’s already raining. These buffaloes can’t feel”, an old man murmured.
The air was getting filled with the smell of sand, a fragrance felt after nearly four years. Very soon a massive thunder struck and shook the people. Rain poured, lashed mercilessly on the wrinkled faces and naked belies. A small boy collected a few drops in his palm and licked. The flame had been put off completely by now and Kaliappan managed to step out.
Lightning flashed in succession as the priest shouted; “Here comes our Lord” and prostrated before Kaliappan. “Hail our savior, hail our Lord”, people shouted in emotional frenzy as more and more people prostrated before him. The zamindar, along with his wife prostrated before Kaliappan, “O reverend one, please bless me and my family, just as you’ve blessed our village”. People kept touching his feet and there was a massive crowd around him.
Kaliappan looked back at the post and the partially burnt woods for sometime, and then looked up at the sky. Rain lashed all over his face, and thunder struck again and again. He kept looking at the sky, when a lightning flashed, he smiled. That particular lightening reminded him of his own way of winking.
