“Paati, tell me a story, please!”, Vaidy beseeched his grandmother as she joined him in the pyol facing the street after partaking their midday meal. His grandmother sighed from fatigure, she had been up since 5 in the morning but Vaidy knew no patience, “Please! You said you will tell me a scary story!”
Vaidyanathan (a) Vaidy Gurumurthy was visiting his grandmother in the village for his summer holidays. His grandmother was a formidable lady. Perennially donned in crisp madisar saris she held court in her vast ancestral house in the middle of Big Street. The street, its adjoining Little Street, and a few smaller pathways and bylanes contained the two hundred-odd howels that made up the bulk of the village. Beyond these streets lay a few isolated tenements, the government primary school, the weaving workshop, and the Perumal Temple. Verdant fields stretched in every direction around the village until one encountered the muddy Kapti river lazily meandering around the village in a wide arc. A short distance beyond the river was the small cluster of huts of the others. Vaidy’s grandmother forbade him from visiting their homes or playing with their children.
Despite being a city-bred boy, Vaidy loved the village. To him, its sights, sounds, and smells teemed with mysterious possibilities. Unlike his parents who seemed perenially occupied with work or chores, the villagers were more relaxed and mostly had time for a precocious nine-year old’s questions and antics. Over a few summers Vaidy had even managed to make a merry group of friends who, despite initial apprehensions about a city boy, had wholeheartedly accepted Vaidy into their games and mischief. Since his grandmother wouldn’t allow him to leave the house until the sun was past its peak the lazy afternoons were always spent at home in their cement pyol facing the street. Its red-oxide coating kept the pyol cool and pleasant no matter the sun’s fury. And on this cool, cement oasis, his grandmother would entertain Vaidy with her stories.
“Shall I tell you the story of the man who brought a Kaleidascope to the village when I was little?”, his grandmother asked him, pulling Vaidy into her lap. Her madisar sari created a comfortable hammock for him in between her legs. “Hair”, he commanded, at which his grandmother began gently caressing his hair. “Tomorrow I will wash your hair kanna. Do you spend all your time rolling in mud?”
“No paati. You have already told me the Kaleidascope story… you said you will tell me a scary story today.”
“Won’t you get scared by it? Already you are afraid to pee alone at night…”, his grandmother chided him.
“That’s because your bathroom is at the far end of the backyard!”, Vaidy countered.
“Seri, seri. I will tell you a real story today, something that happened in this village when my mother was your age.”
“Yay.”
“When my mother was your age, a new teacher was deployed at the local government school. He was not a man from these parts; he hardly spoke the language, dressed in ill-fitting, heavy tunics, and was an oddity wherever he went. He stood over six feet tall but was shrunken and emaciated and despite not being beyond thirty, was almost completely bald, which made his head dazzle under the midday Sun. He also appeared to be unmarried despite his advanged age. But the most defining feature of the man was his nose. Oh, what a nose it was! Long like a cobra, it curved like a cutlass to its pin-like tip and then retreated like a wave towards the upper lip. People joked that the nose traveled one day before the rest of him!“
“Like Garuda!”, Vaidy interjected. The eagle-god was the vahana of Ranganatha, their family deity and was one of Vaidy’s favorite gods.
“Yes, it was sharp like Garuda, but where Garuda’s nose signifies auspiciousness and strength, the school teacher’s nose suggested wickedness and malice. The kids quickly started calling him “Kazhugu” behind his back”.
“What is Kazhugu?”
“Vulture. The bird eats dead bodies and is unholy.”
“But isn’t Jatayu also a vulture? Didn’t he help Rama?”
“Yes, but Jatayu and his brother were exceptions. Now stop interrupting me or I will lose the flow of the story!”
His grandmother continued, “Despite the nose’s sinister appearance, the school master turned out to be an utter lightweight. He was easily startled and had a fragile constitution that was prone to shivering when agitated. The kids were quick to take advantage of him. Pandemonium would ensue in every class as kids would jump from bench to bench throwing paper balls at one another, while the hapless teacher tried to quell the class, until his shivering would make him collapse in a sweat.”
“I feel bad for him. Why were the kids so mean?”
“Kids can be the cruelest sometimes kanna”
“I am not cruel. When Lata caught a caterpillar during P.T. period and Senthil suggested we dismember it part by part, I fought with them to have it released”, Vaidy demurred.
“Chamathu. You are my golden boy”, his grandmother rubbed his face with her palms and cracked her knuckles, the magical charm for warding off evil eyes. Whenever her knuckles cracked noisily, Vaidy beamed a little with pride; everyone knew that the louder the crack the more the attention one had begotten.
“Continue story please!”, he exclaimed.
“The helpless school teacher tried appealing to the villagers to rein in their wards but the villagers also couldn’t respect a man who couldn’t even control a few small boys. He even wrote to his superiors in the city begging for a transfer, but his letters got sucked into a bureaucratic maze.“
“Exhausted of all other options, one day he broke down to a postman who could understand his language a little and suggested he consult a Tantric sage who had recently taken up residence in the forest beyond the colony of the others. It is known that Tantric sages can only be seen at midnight, so on the midnight of a moonless night, the teacher went to meet the sage, carrying along a live chicken for propitiation. “
“Paati, what is Tantric?”
“It means the sage practised in the dark arts and could communicate with spirits and ghosts.”
At that time a dog yelped sharply nearby making Vaidy cling to his grandmother’s leg in terror.
His grandmother chuckled, “Shall I stop?”
“No, no. Continue. I am not scared.”, Vaidy replied, trying to salvage some pride.
“The teacher poured his heart’s miseries to the sage but unbeknownst to him his sadness had calcified into pure hatred towards the children. Falling to the sage’s feet, he demanded the power to avenge his ill treatment. The sage, pleased with the offering of the chicken, boomed, “Thathasthu. So be it.” Immediately the teacher was transformed into a terrifying bird with a human face, the teacher’s own face. Finally the maleficent nose had a body to match. The teacher had been transformed into a demon! The demon shrieked in pain and took flight into the night sky!”
“Did someone kill the demon?”
“Wait, you are getting ahead of the story! After that night, truant children in the village started disappearing mysteriously. Boys seen playing in the street corner at one moment were gone the next. A boy fast asleep on a mat next to his mother was gone when she woke up in the morning. A boy drawing water from a well was gone even before the pail hit the water. The only trace left behind were a few dark feathers. Through the postman, the villagers surmised that the teacher had come back to haunt the village and began to call him Kazhugappan. They didn’t allow their children out of sight and permitted no mischiefs. Children continued to be taken but at a slower clip until it eventually stopped.”
“Was Kazhugappan killed?”
“No one knew what happened to him. But to this day, children that refuse to eat their meals or sleep on time are warned to not incur his wrath. He is always looking for naughty children, including city boys!”, his grandmother concluded in a gravely tone.
Vaidy stared blankly at the street. He was taking in the sights, but his mind was elsewhere. The village had turned out to be more fantastical than he had ever imagined! Kazhugappan! What an adversary for Vaidy, who always fancied himself to be the hero of every story. At the stroke of three, his grandmother let Vaidy go out to play with his friends to whom he related the Kazhugappan story in complete detail. The group solemnly agreed to actively search for unseemly feathers and other such signs of the demon. But apart from copious quantities of cow and goat dung in various levels of decomposition, their investigations didn’t reveal much else. The story and their mission was forgotten after a few days.
“Maami, how can you expect me to make a living if I sell you the entire bunch for three annas?”, the vegetable lady wailed. Every morning she would bring a basket of fresh vegetables from which Vaidy’s grandmother would select the freshest wares for the day’s cooking. Busy with his coloring book, Vaidy paid little notice to the negotiation.
“Maami, did you hear about the new supervisor at the weaving workshop? He has moved into the room behind the workshop. I hear he has come from Karur, but no family nothing. Pah, you should see his nose! It’s so sharp, you can till a field with it.”
Vaidy froze. A sharp nose, a lone man. It can only mean one thing — Kazhugappan had returned!
As soon as the vigilante was allowed to leave home at 3 pm, Vaidy ran to collect his group of friends. The weaving workshop was at the edge of the village and had a one-room outhouse behind it. Such an isolated enclosure seemed like the perfect haunt of a demon. Convinced that no demon can emerge in the bright day and armed with packets of vibuthi which is universally known to ward off any unearthly foe, the group slowly crept up to room through the fields behind it. The room had a single window through which they peeked in. It was empty, the occupant probably still at the workshop. Sparsely furnished, they could only see a few utensils and a chulha in one corner and a rolled up mattress in the other. A shut suitcase lay below the window, Vaidy wonder whether it will have any clues about its owner. Valli, Vaidy’s closest friend, pointed out the lack of any framed photographs of Gods or Goddesses in the room. Vaidy nodded grimly. Just as they were wrapping up their reconnaissance, what was it that Vaidy noticed by the locked door?
“Look! A black feather by the door!”
The kids backed away slowly from the window. They had all the proof they needed, a demon walked in their midst.
It was only when the group were plotting their next course of action that they realized the futility of all the mythological tales they knew. Each one of them knew at least a dozen demons from mythology in every grosteque shape and form, and yet none of the tales prescribed a foolproof way of taking down a demon. The kids neither had Rama’s bow to shoot down Tataka or Krisha’s strength to wrip apart Bakasura. The kids debated at length the pros and cons of various attack strategies; Valli suggested flinging dung balls at the demon, Murthy was all for digging up a trench and trapping him in it, Venkat argued for the slingshot which seemed like their closest alternative to Rama’s divine bow, while Vaidy felt it best to jump on top of the man to crush him while preventing him from taking flight. In a truly democratic fashion, they group argued and debated, breaking for tea and snacks frequently. Eventually a glorious plan was conceived.
The man had been seen going for a walk around the village every evening after work. When he walks by the large banyan tree, Vaidy will jump on top of him stunning the demon to the ground. Instantly Valli and Venkat will emerge from the other side and fling stones and mudballs at the fallen demon, taking care as Vaidy repeatedly pointed out to not hit him. In case the demon was not subdued by this vicious assault and tries to run away, Venkat would have dug a trench a few yards ahead along the path and covered it with fallen branches, twigs, and leaves. The demon will fall into the trench and the kids will seal him shut! Vaidy beamed with pride.
The next evening, the kids took up positions. Murthy had dug up the trench and was now tasked with lookout. Vaidy clung to the lowest branch of the banyan tree, directly above the path. The branch was more slippery than he expected. Tensions were high. Venkat had almost given up in fear and had to be slapped into sense by Vaidy. Like a general corraling his troops before an epic battle, Vaidy had spoken eloquently about this fight between good and evil. Mutiny had been abated, but skittishness remained.
Murthy whistled twice. The demon was arriving.
Vaidy gripped to the branch tightly, he knew he only had one shot. From the corner of his eye he saw Venkat shivering in fear and mused, “Only some people are born warriors!”
The demon was now in sight and was steadily walking towards the tree. Vaidy readied himself for the plunge… from the other side, he heard a whimper that turned into a muffled cry that was immediately followed by a full-throated shriek. Vaidy swung in fear towards the sound. A deathly Venkat had emerged from the other side, his eyes brimming with tears and panic. “Aaaaaaaargh”, he screamed at the walking figure and let loose a big stone from his slingshot!Venkat, normally a decent shot on a good day, had become completely disoriented in fear and had aimed the slingshot too high. The meaty pebble flew through the air and struck gold in Vaidy’s cowering rump.
“Ammaaaaa!”, Vaidy screamed and fell from the tree, landing a few spots in front of the supervisor who jumped in surprise. Vaidy, hurt but not defeated, swiveled towards the demon and cried, “Kazhugappan!”. The war cry energized the startled army as Venkat, Valli, and Murthy descended on Vaidy and the supervisor throwing mud balls, stones, and branches from all directions. Their spotty aims meant Vaidy got hurt as much if not more than the supervisor. The man raised his arm to protect himself from the constant onslaught and approached Vaidy to help the kid up. Vaidy, terror-struck by the demon’s proximity scrambled to his feet and ran. He felt something soft grasping his ankle for a moment, and in the next he plunged into the deep trench dug by Venkat. Vaidy fell with a puff. The army deprived of their general lost all nerve for the fight and scattered helter-skelter into the fields. The supervisor, shaken but not hurt, approached the trench to rescue Vaidy. The boy was badly scratched and bleeding from his knees. Initially grateful to be out of the trench, when Vaidy saw the identity of his rescuer, he prompty fainted.
“I don’t know what happened Paati-amma. I think someone was trying to attack me. Your grandson was very brave and tried to warn me”, the supervisor whispered. “As I was taking him to the medic’s house, he kept saying, “Kazhugappan” over and over. Do you know what that is?”
Vaidy’s grandmother adjusted the cool compress over his forehead and pulled up the blanket over his sleeping self. She turned towards the supervisor and shrugged, “Who knows what these kids talk about these days? They are always picking up bad influences.”
