February 9, 2012
"Can you please put the lights of your backyard on?" Leny chechi asked in a hushed tone after hurriedly coming in yesterday around 8:30pm. We could see that Kunjumon, one of the younger men who lives among the families in the shacks that share our back compound wall, was outside the gate.
Surely another coconut must have fallen breaking one of their roofs, we thought! That troublesome coconut tree was to be axed in a couple of days. I was getting ready share the tree cutting plan, when Leny chechi revealed more about the circumstances that sought backyard enlightening.
Something heavier than coconut was involved.
In fact, there wasn't any falling, but some walking and jumping.
A human suspect!
"Aaro ningade backil koodi chadi!" (Somebody has jumped into your backyard)
All the lights outside the house immediately came on. Instead of rushing to the backyard, partly from the prudence of avoiding a direct confrontation and partly from the advantage of getting a better view, Achan and I rushed to the terrace.
The folks who live in the back were already outside their shacks. "Saare, njangade ee sheetinte mukalil koodi poyi,ningade angottu chadi, pinne aa mathilu chadi" (Sir, somebody went walking over our roof, jumped into your compound and then jumped over that wall) they said pointing to the wall of the uninhabited house of the Singapore-based neighbors. Watchman usually sleeps in that house but he doesn't report for duty till 10pm.
We strained our eyes.
All the trees and their silhouettes suddenly became spooky. The creepers and their supporting stumps assumed an enhanced creepiness. Bananas in the night breeze developed limbs.
Fear induced anthropomorphism galore! Suspicion endows life!
I regretted that we don't have a dog. I was disappointed at evolution for our species' loss of olfactory acumen. But in a flash, I reappointed evolution because I had a battery torch in my hand.
A sense of fear hung in the air, heavier the darkness. Unknown. Dangerous.
Representatives from all the neighboring houses had by now congregated on the street. Speculation was expressed about the upcoming marriage of neighbor's daughter becoming a temptation. Five years ago, a robber was chased away the night before another neighbor's daughter's wedding. A pair of ear rings had gone missing then.
Steadily, conversation eased the tensions. Mutual teases and taunts diluted the fear. Better sense began to prevail.
First of all it is impossible for a human, even an emaciated desperate thief or a spiritual guru, to walk on the roof sheets of those shacks without crashing through them. Secondly, the compound wall of our house is covered with sharp, rusted nails on the top. Nobody, except a specialist yogi, can jump over it without nominal blood letting. Thirdly, and most importantly, 8:30 pm is certainly not a good hour for a thief to begin activities in a well-populated housing colony. Robbers who operate at such an early hour usually get to use government cars in this country.
As logic set foot in the collective consciousness of the small community, the biped suspect was granted two more legs.
It must have been a cat. Perhaps a civet.
Stray dogs were dismissed. They aren't that daring.
Big rats were ruled out. They do business in metropolitan markets.
Since we live in a democracy, the civet won by majority.
Achan and Amma had to leave by the night train for my cousin's wedding at Guruvayoor. So I was left home alone to fend off any manifestation of the vanishing thief. I wasn't sure he knew about the winning popularity of the civet theory.
The lights outside the house stayed on for the night.
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