Arul woke at dawn, soft grey light pouring through the door into the darkened hut. Outside, songbirds trilled their intricate melodies, rising and falling like flutes, the steady tap-tap of a woodpecker keeping beat on a nearby mahogany tree. The familiar aroma of dosa encouraged Arul to jump out of bed, his stomach growling. He found a pile of the rice pancakes wrapped in cloth on the table and wolfed down four in quick succession, enjoying the nutty flavour.
I wish I had three meals of these a day instead of just one.
Wandering outside, he found his father leaning against a wall making arrows with his aruval. Unlike the large curved aruval that the kingdom’s soldiers wore, this one was small and straight. A woodsman’s tool. Arul slouched against the wall and watched his father work, his skilful hands fast and precise.
Beyond their hut the paddock was blanketed in a heavy mist, reminding Arul of winter snow. Somewhere in the quiet he heard Jaya howl. ‘It’s off,’ his father said without looking at him.
‘What?’
‘The scouting expedition. We’re not going anywhere.’’
‘Wha…. why?’ Arul stuttered.
‘Well…,’ his father sighed. ‘Viyan can’t come because of the tremors last night. As headman, he needs to organise repairs to houses and the temple. The other villagers and I need to help, and Viyan won’t allow a scouting party until repairs are complete. He’s also ordered me to supervise our defences against the lion attacks.’ He scratched his head. ‘So that’s that…’
There was a long silence. Arul didn’t reply, but he was thinking hard when he went to the water trough to wash up. His Appa called out, ‘Perhaps sometime soon, Viyan might reorder an expedition. I hope he does, for the village’s sake.’
‘What about the elders? What do they say?’ Arul said.
I think for the elders, Sailem is their whole world and they have no interest in anything else. They’re scared of the outside world, so they make excuses,’ Arul’s father said, sounding a little weary.
‘That’s sad,’ Arul said, returning from the trough. ‘I wonder if our ancestors were the same?’ His Appa didn’t answer and stared at the arrow in his hands, lost in thought.
Arul walked into the hut and performed his morning puja in front of the tiny shrine to the God Vishnu. Vishnu inhabited the forests, so it seemed like a good idea to keep him happy. Arul gazed at the dark wooden statue with a round smiling face and tall conical crown.
I wonder what you would tell the elders to do?
Vishnu’s four arms held celestial objects whose meanings Arul found hard to understand. Keeran had tried to explain them many times, but Arul couldn’t quite get it. He sat before the shrine and said a short prayer before lighting a sweet-smelling incense stick. The smoke curled up, bright as it drifted through a beam of sunlight.
Soon he was wandering about with a another warm dosa in his mouth. The fermented rice pancakes were payment from a village family in exchange for firewood. Other times it would be clothes, spices, or rice. ‘Don’t run off Arul!’ His Appa called out. ‘You have lessons with Guru Pari today, so remind Navira and Keeran to be there as well!’
Arul groaned. ‘Looks like I’m never going anywhere. Ever.’
He liked his Guru, but today Arul rather fancied going on the cancelled expedition. Head hung low, he went off to search for Navira. Silently, Jaya appeared alongside him and matched his stride. Arul rubbed the wolf’s coal-black head affectionately. It felt soft and cool. He sometimes thought that Jaya knew more about what was going on than anybody. As he walked, he couldn’t get the depressing images of hungry village children out of his mind. Almost every house had a malnourished child.
The elders don’t know what to do, so they’re doing nothing.
He kicked at a stone and thought hard. An idea began as a tiny glow in his mind, brightening with every step. Arul rapidly hatched a plan to discover the cause of the animal attacks. To mount an expedition even if the elders forbade it.
To save his village from starvation.
He made for the village square, certainty filling his mind, his heart racing. Weaving through Sailem’s haphazard collection of huts, Arul came out onto the village square, a mud field bordered by a small Vishnu temple. Nearby was the village well and the wooden pañcāyattu, the meeting hall. The village’s huts clustered around the square like ants to sugar, gradually thinning further out. It was a pleasant spot, made even grander by the backdrop of snowbound mountains that some called the Abode of the Gods. Arul often thought it must be true. Where else would the gods live?
He reached Navira’s house and found her braiding the hair of Kavini, her younger sister. The chubby toddler could barely sit still as Navira braided her long hair with expert fingers. Arul sat on the front steps and waited. Homes in the village were larger and better furnished than his own hut. He sometimes wished that he lived in a fine house. ‘Um…you know we’ve got lessons today, according to my Appa.’
Navira’s eyes narrowed. ‘Of course I know, dummy! Guru Pari told us last week, but you have a head like an empty coconut!’ That was Navira. Fiery, yet loyal. She struggled to finish braiding as Kavini fidgeted. ‘Keep still for goodness sake!’ Navira yelled. She tied a length of cotton to her sister’s hair and tickled her with a snort. Kavini giggled and leapt up, tumbling into the house. With a sharp exhale Navira rose, pulling Arul’s arm. ‘Let’s go then!’
Just then, Navira’s father, Nikandan, walked out of the front door, his oversized hands hanging like plates by his side. ‘Arul! Do you have a moment?’ He called out, rubbing his small nose. Nikandan walked closer. ‘I hear you’ve been asking around the village about your Amma. About where she might have gone all those years ago.’ Arul glanced at Navira, receiving a helpless gesture in return.
Nikandan breathed in deeply and put a hand on Arul’s shoulder. ‘I understand why you’re asking. But I think you might have to accept that she’s dead.’ Arul’s muscles bunched up under Nikandan’s fingers, his eyes looking away. ‘I think it’s upsetting people, Arul. You should stop asking around and learn to face reality.’ With that, Arul pulled away and walked back to Navira, now watching him with a drawn face.
‘Sorry my Appa said that stuff to you,’ Navira whispered. ‘You deserve to know about your Amma.’
Arul nodded, his lower-lip trembling. ‘I won’t accept reality, as your Appa puts it.’ He looked up to the sky. ‘I will find her, Navira. She’s not dead.’ He searched her face, seeing a flash of doubt that she quickly masked with a soft smile. ‘You believe me, right?’
Navira stopped to scratch Jaya under his chin. ‘I do believe you. I don’t know why, but I do.’ She was the only other person who could touch Jaya. Other people received a hair-raising growl that made them leap backwards. They would pretend that they were very busy and had to rush off on some errand. Some even ran.
The village square was a hive of activity and repairs were in full swing everywhere. Women and children prepared rope and carried wood, while the men busied themselves on the village temple. A group of boys paused to watch Navira, her pretty looks quite a topic of conversation amongst them in recent times.
A jagged crack ran down the temple’s white plaster, the walls leaning at odd angles. Ilamaran, the village priest, stood with his fingers twisted nervously as Viyan bellowed orders. New plaster was being prepared in large pots from sand, lime, and water. Meanwhile coils of hemp rope were cut for use in the houses to rebind their wooden beams.
Arul and Navira spotted Keeran carrying a length of wood across the busy square and raced over to him. ‘Did you forget our lessons today?’ Navira asked him. ‘Instead, here you are hauling wood like some elephant!’
Keeran gave them a look of a hunted animal. ‘I can’t go. I’ll be at this all day. Tomorrow as well, if my father has anything to do with it.’ His shoulders sagged. ‘Maybe even for the rest of my life, knowing my luck.’
Arul grinned. ‘Forget all this! Come with us!’
‘What about my father? He’ll really give it to me if I just disappear!’ Keeran whispered.
‘If Guru Pari asks anyone to attend his lessons, no one dares refuse him, not even your Appa,’ said Arul. ‘That’s what you’ll tell him when he asks. That Guru Pari said you had to come.’ Keeran scratched his head and nodded. With a growing smile, he accepted Arul’s proposal.
Arul grabbed Keeran’s arms. ‘Keep working for another hour, then carry your wood around the banyan tree. We’ll see you there.’
Keeran nodded energetically. He figured it had to be better than hauling wood like an elephant.
In the middle of the village square grew an ancient and enormous banyan tree sheltering all sorts of things. Places to sit. Places to worship. Spots for children to play. Hidden amongst the massive roots, tiny shrines stood, daubs of vermillion and yellow bright on the dark wood. Children ran between its roots which grew down from its branches like living pillars. Over time the huge banyan tree had spread its roots to create a maze of hidden nooks covering half the square. One could easily hide amongst its giant roots and not be found for hours.
Arul and Navira sauntered around the tree, trying not to attract attention to themselves. Once out of sight, they hid amongst the roots, some of them higher than a tall man. Soon Keeran appeared, holding a length of timber, trying not to look suspicious. His acting was appalling and he kept looking around, making him look even more suspect. Dropping his log, he hissed, ‘Oi! Where are you two?’
Arul and Navira let him fret awhile while stifling their giggles. Keeran face grew anxious when they didn’t appear. ‘I’m not going back to carrying wood all day,’ he muttered.
Arul lowered his voice and cupped his hands over his mouth. ‘Get back to work you lazy fellow!’ He shouted.
Keeran jumped and grabbed the log. He was about to rush back to work when Navira and Arul emerged from their hiding spot, laughing hysterically. Before Keeran had time to be angry they pulled him away from the tree and led him behind a row of huts.
‘C’mon! We’ll be late for the lesson!’ Said Arul.
They hurried around the back of a row of huts, unseen. ‘Don’t forget that tonight is the Devarattam dance. And wear your best clothes!’ Navira said.
‘Yeah, Arul! Don’t turn up in your old hunting clothes like last year,’ Keeran laughed.
‘What about the repairs? Shouldn’t they cancel the dance?’ Arul inquired.
‘It’s a religious dance, dummy!’ Keeran said. ‘We wouldn’t want to anger the Gods even more, would we? They’d send more earthquakes or something.’
They reached the rear of the pañcāyattu hall, pausing to check if the way was clear. Jaya was already waiting, his eyes tracking a dragonfly. Arul’s eyes widened.
How did he know we were coming here?
The hall was a startlingly ornate building considering Sailem was such a remote village. Arul often stared for hours at its carved Mahōkani panels, dark wood carvings flickering with shadow and light. Heroes fighting demons. Gods. Great wars. The story of Kumari Kandam.
The panel that fascinated Arul the most was of the creation story. It displayed a brilliant light descending to Earth, radiating star-like beams. In the middle of the light was carved a mysterious black circle. He could never figure out what that meant, and not even Guru Pari understood it. He always questioned everything he saw. He asked about why things were because he couldn’t help it. That was who he was. None of the other teens seemed to be curious about anything outside of the village. They accepted things as they were. Arul didn’t. He was different, but he didn’t quite understand how.
Wiping their feet with care, the trio climbed the stairs into the spacious hall. Their Guru was already seated inside next to a stack of parchment, eyes closed in meditation.
The teens shuffled in and knelt before him. They touched his feet and pressed their fingers to their foreheads, following ancient custom displaying respect for their teacher. Guru Pari’s eyes flickered open and he gave them a knowing look. His hand opened, motioning for them to sit.
The three friends avoided his eyes and arranged themselves in a semi-circle. Guru Pari seemed to know what they were up to, no matter how much they hid it. It was one of the great mysteries of life.
Can he read our minds? Arul wondered, not for the first time.
‘I know,’ Guru Pari said in his singsong voice. ‘The village is full of activity and distraction. But this comes first.’ His thin face held a kind of refinement about it as if he didn’t quite belong in a small mountain village. Arul glanced at Guru Pari’s chest, where he knew a curious gold amulet hung concealed. A disk holding a curious white stone. Guru Pari normally kept it covered with his robe, but once in the forest while teaching them about stellar navigation, Arul noticed it slip out. Although it was a pitch-black, moonless night, the amulet was glowing from within.
Arul had a sneaking suspicion that Guru Pari kept many secrets. He pushed the strange memory from his head and focused on the lesson. ‘The Seven Sages Constellation is one of the brightest,’ Guru Pari began. ‘Commonly worshipped in Kumari Kandam, from the tropical north to ice-bound mountains in the south.’
Outside, the repairs continued as the sun arced overhead, lonely streamers of high cloud to keep it company. Far above tiny Sailem, a spotted mountain eagle rode a current of rising air. Its brown and white feathers ruffled in the wind as it roamed in search of prey. Higher it circled into the blue vault.
Then an odd disturbance far away on the southern horizon caused its head to snap up. Above a distant volcanic cone, the air rippled as though a giant bubble was expanding. The eagle went into a rapid dive to gain speed and raced northward, terrified.
Outside the hall, Jaya sat in the shadows watching the repairs. Abruptly he sat up and stared south, growling, his keen senses straining to discover what was stirring. After a moment he whimpered and slunk under the pañcāyattu. Some things were better left alone.
Late that night in a forest grove ringed by towering deodar trees, bowl shaped lamps of clay were hung from branches and lit. The grassy clearing became a place of wondrous light. A sacred place. The annual Devarattam was about to begin. Villagers streamed in, excited voices and bright colours filling the grove.
Giant slabs of stone chiselled with a long-dead language stuck out from the earth at odd angles. Arul’s fingers brushed a lichen covered slab, his eyes filled with wonder.
Arul and Keeran stood to one side and observed the final preparations for Devarattam, the dance of the Gods. The Deva Thunthubi’s sacred drum rested against a tree, the drummer waiting to put on his wooden facemask. The mask that would transform him into a god. Keeran pointed to the hundreds of shells decorating the mask. ‘It’s scary how they look like sharp teeth. And the drummer hasn’t even put on his false beard yet!’
Arul chuckled and stared at the drummer as he put on his horsehair beard. He nodded to Arul and then reached for his mask. Arul hurriedly flicked his eyes down, embarrassed to be caught staring.
Chozan’s hulking form stood opposite the grove, his equally sturdy friends surrounding him like a honour guard. His mocking smile flashed across the sacred grove and found Arul. The bullies wandered across the clearing, surrounding Arul and Keeran. Chozan’s round face leant into Arul. ‘This Devarattam is only for us Sailem folk, so get lost.’
Arul gritted his teeth and ignored Chozan. He walked away, shouldering one of the boys. ‘It’s a pity that intelligence isn’t a qualification for the Devarattam.’
Chozan’s turned to his gang. ‘What does that mean?’
‘Oh, that was close,’ Keeran said, his voice quavering. Then his face brightened. “Look! It’s beginning!’
The Devarattam drummer assumed a divine status the moment he put on the mask, the villagers touching their heads to the ground as one. Keeran pulled Arul down. ‘Do you want to offend the Gods?’
Forehead on the cool earth, Arul groaned in his stiff embroidered vest. It seemed to him that comfort wasn’t a priority during festivals. Rising to his feet, he spotted a line of village girls make their way to the centre of the grove.
‘It’s Navira!’ Arul said. ‘And she looks…um…different.’
Keeran smirked. ‘So do you.’
Navira wore a white Putavai, a single length of embroidered cotton draped around her multiple times. A string of jasmine flowers hung from her hair, copper bangles shining around her arms. The drumbeat began. Rhythmic. Hypnotic. The girls stamped their feet, ankle bells jangling.
‘Are you just going to stand there?’ Keeran hissed as he placed two lengths of cloth in Arul’s hand-one yellow, one red. The boy’s line was already moving towards the Deva Thunthubi, the drummer who kept up a steady beat.
Keeran pulled Arul into line as they stamped and swayed while waving their cloths in unison. As the two lines drew closer, Arul couldn’t help but stare at Navira. She looked up at him and smiled as they passed without breaking the dance’s rhythm. Arul smiled back, then hurriedly dropped his head, uncertainty gripping him. Chozan’s mocking voice playing in his head.
You’re not one of us.
The lamps burned steadily as the dancers entered a trance-like state. Perhaps even a sense of the divine. Arul felt as though the world outside the grove faded away, and with it the feeling of being an outsider. Tonight he was one with the village, if only for a while. He only heard the sacred drum and ringing ankle bells. The Deva Thunthubi’s fake beard shivering, his head nodding with every drumbeat.
‘Do you really think we dance Devarattam because we’re descended from the Gods?’ Keeran asked in a breathless voice.
Arul flicked his cloths back and forth, his feet moving to the memorised pattern of the dance. ‘That would be something, wouldn’t it? To be divine.’ Again his blood surged, as though something was calling him from a distant shore.
The drumbeat rose to a crescendo, rising over the grove and its shining lights, up into the night sky arching over Sailem like a cloud of diamonds, white and brilliant.