Tiger Hills (10 page)

“Look,” he continued affably, raising his trousers to expose red, scabby shins. “I am itching so much in these bloody rains.”

“You should let Dr. Jameson take a look at that, Hans,” Gundert said, bending down to examine his sores. “Or come to the mission and I will have someone mix you something from the dispensary. Here, why don't I examine you at the back of the store. Ladies … ”

Gundert bowed courteously and propelled Hans away from the women. “Oh, don't worry, Reverend,” Hans was saying cheerfully, as they disappeared into the innards of the store. “Dr. Jameson will be treating me, no problem. I have a case of the Pimm's ordered for him.”

The women paid for their goods and exited with a huff. Devanna grinned as their indignant voices floated down the street. Really, the things they had to put up with. The man was such an oaf. At least his prices were reasonable—that was the benefit, they supposed, of being licensed by the mission. Still, they could hardly wait for Spencer's to open a store here in Mercara …

He took a deep breath, inhaling the scents of lavender and polish that always seemed to hang about the store. He did love coming here. The pyramid piles of porcelain lamps, the Noah's arks carved from wood, the fishing tackles hung from the rafters, the stacks of leather-bound books with their gold lettering. Devanna wandered idly about the store, trailing his fingertips across the rocking chairs and stout writing bureaus, then stopped abruptly by the cabinet. Hans had a new jar of boiled sweets.

It had been the Reverend who had introduced Devanna to their sugary-tart pleasures, presenting him with a sweet each time he was especially pleased by his pupil's progress. Devanna's mouth watered now as he gazed longingly at the jar. Devi loved them, too. Once when the Reverend had seen Devanna tuck a sweet away in his pocket, he had asked Devanna why he did not eat it immediately. “Is it not to your liking? Would you prefer something else?” He had frowned slightly when Devanna explained he was saving it for Devi. “Here, I will get your friend another one. But this is for you, yes?”

Since then, Devanna had immediately popped them into his mouth, in order to please the Reverend. He saved the wrappers,
though, and when the Reverend's back was turned he would spit the sweets into his palm and carefully rewrap them for Devi. He pressed his nose hopefully against the glass front of the cabinet, examining the metallic-colored wrappers. Sherbet lemons. Pear drops. Rhubarb and custard. And there, at the very back of the box, shiny aniseed twists … maybe the Reverend would buy him one today?

The Reverend and Hans returned from the back of the shop and Hans guffawed. “Dev. Seen the sweets, have you?” he boomed. “Have you watered all over my nice clean glass?” Devanna hastily withdrew his head, wiping at the cabinet.

“Salivated, Hans, not watered,” the Reverend corrected him, smiling. “Leave Dev be, and here, give us a rupee's worth.”

Devanna's eyes widened. A whole rupee? Why, coupled with the sweets he had been saving all these past days at the mission, that was sixteen, no,
eighteen
sweets. He watched openmouthed as Hans opened the cabinet and poured a rainbow blur of sweets into a bag. “Go on, take it,” said Gundert, smiling as he pushed the bag toward him. “You have been a most diligent student.”

“Th … thank you, Reverend,” said Devanna, quite overwhelmed. “Reverend,” he continued in a rush, “may I go home today?”

Gundert nodded. “Yes, it has been quite some weeks since you were at your home. Besides I have a matter for discussion with Pallada Nayak. Leave this afternoon, and take him a letter from me.”

Devanna slipped off his shoes as soon as he was out of sight of the mission, tying the laces together and slinging them over his shoulder. Hugging the bag of sweets to himself, he raced barefoot down the trail. The look on Devi's face when he showed her the sweets. How she would beam! They would sit together on the verandah and work through the bag. He'd listen as she chattered away, her hands dancing in the air as she told him all that had happened these past weeks … Devanna hurried along, happily
dreaming, and was at the Nachimanda house by late afternoon.

“Devi!” he called out, his stomach rumbling at the thought of the hot rice that Tayi would heap on his plate, the fried mutton that she would insist he polish off. “Devi, Tayi!” he called again, patting the dogs that whined at him from their ropes, but the house was surprisingly silent.

“Devi!” he yelled, as he placed his shoes under the bench on the verandah. “For goodness sake, where … Oh,” he said, as Chengappa appeared on the verandah.

“Ayy, Devanna, it is you,” he said heavily. “Come in, but be quiet. The vaidya is here.”

The vaidya! Tayi talked often of the medicine man and his powerful magic tantras. He belonged to a tribe from somewhere beyond the hills. For centuries now he and his kinsmen had roamed freely about Coorg, bestowing their healing magic upon those who needed it most. The vaidya was not someone who would be summoned lightly, Devanna remembered with a pang of misgiving, so why was he here?

Hurriedly washing his feet, Devanna went inside. The family was gathered silently outside the central bedroom, the one where Thimmaya and Muthavva slept. Wriggling his way to the door, Devanna saw Devi. She stood at the foot of the bed, pale as a ghost. The vaidya, wire haired and bare chested, his body covered in markings of gray and white ash, was leaning over someone in the bed. He shifted position for an instant, and Devanna caught a glimpse of the patient. Muthavva, he realized with alarm, it was her the vaidya was here for.

Muthavva lay twitching under the blankets, muttering incomprehensibly. The family watched anxiously as the vaidya took her wrists in his hands to feel her pulse. He frowned slightly and shook his head. Thimmaya's face fell.

“It is not good,” said the vaidya, lifting Muthavva's eyelids to peer into her eyes. “Not good. The pisachi who has possessed her is strong and may not leave willingly. Still, I will try.” Pulling a length of white thread from the spools wound about his arm, he cut off a length with his teeth. Chanting mantras, he began to tie
knots in the thread, one knot for every verse of prayer. On and on he chanted, his voice drowning out Muthavva's mutterings, not a sound from the watching family, as slowly the thread began to fill with knots. Finally, when the last knot was done, the vaidya fastened his thread of prayers about Muthavva's arm. Muttering yet another prayer, he then smeared ash thickly over her forehead.

The crowd outside the door parted as he came out with Thimmaya. “Sacrifice a black fowl,” he told Thimmaya, “that might appease the spirit. But I have done all I can. No, no payment,” he snapped, as Thimmaya tried to thrust some rupees into his hands. “The power of the mantras is gone if it is sullied with money.”

He finally agreed, grudgingly, to a parcel of puffed rice. Devanna went up to Tayi as she was tying the bundle together. “Tayi, what happened?”

Tayi looked gray and worn. “Oh, Devanna, have you come? Does Devi know? Are you well, monae?”

“Yes, Tayi, but what happened to Muthavva akka?”

“The pisachi … ,” Tayi said tiredly. “They have possessed her for the past week and refuse to leave. The fever grew worse yesterday. Here, take this bundle to Thimmaya anna.”

Devanna carried the bundle over to where Thimmaya was sitting with the vaidya. “Should we … ,” he said hesitantly to Thimmaya, glancing nervously at the vaidya, “should we … maybe call for the doctor from Mercara?” The vaidya snapped his neck around and trained red-rimmed eyes upon Devanna.

“Doctor? Is there a doctor alive who can do what I can?” he rasped. “Can they make the spirits dance, these doctors, can they bind them helplessly into knots? Can they summon demigods from the heavens and demons from the netherworld to do their bidding? Do they teach them to do that in the lands across the seas? You mark my words,” he spat angrily, as he turned toward Thimmaya, “call a doctor if you want, but he can do nothing I cannot and not half the things I can.”

“Of course we will not. Do not worry, O learned one,” said Thimmaya hastily. “We are not calling anyone else. Please,” he placated, “do not take away the protection of your prayers.”

“We tried, monae,” he said wearily to Devanna after the vaidya had gone. “We sent word for Jameson doctor, but he refuses to come. It is too far, he says, the trail too slippery from the rains for his horses. So walk, why cannot that son of a whore walk?”

Devanna's face fell for an instant, but then he tugged urgently at Thimmaya's hand. “What about the Reverend? He knows much medicine. He will come, I am sure of it. He will know what to do.”

Thimmaya lifted his head proudly. “No,” he said. “I will not ask one of them again and be refused. We have done all we can. May Iguthappa Swami and our ancestors protect us now.

“Quiet,” he said, as Devanna opened his mouth again. “I will hear no more of this.”

The evening wore on and then the night, and the moans from the bedroom grew louder. A black hen was killed with a swift twist to its neck and the carcass thrown on the rubbish heap. Tayi burned red chilies and mustard seeds over burning coals, fanning the acrid smoke into the far corners of the house to exorcise the evil eye, but Muthavva continued to thrash and weep.

Devi, too, turned on Devanna when he tried to reason with her. “Reverend, Reverend, Reverend. Is that all you can say? Did you not hear the vaidya?” she shouted at him. “Do you want him to remove his protection? Just because your mother is dead and gone, do you want my Avvaiah to be gone too?” Tayi shushed her, clicking her tongue, cheh, was this any way to talk? Devi burst into tears. “Avvaiah,” she sobbed, “Avvaiah,” crying so hard that even Tayi started to weep. Devanna gave up.

“It is God's will,” he repeated to himself. “There is nothing more we can do, it is his will.”

The Reverend could help, Devanna
knew
he could.

The next morning, Muthavva was worse. The thread the vaidya had tied kept slipping down her sweaty arms. She had stopped moaning now and was almost in a stupor, her eyes glazed as she muttered softly to herself. Devanna could bear no more. He went
to Tayi in the kitchen. Hastily wiping her eyes with the edge of her sari, she tried to smile. “What do you want, monae? Are you hungry?”

“Tayi, please, at least you listen to me. Send someone to the Reverend, he will know what to do. Please, Tayi, I know he will come.”

Tayi was silent and then, rising to her feet, she went to find Thimmaya. “Send someone to the mission. Be quiet,” she said, stalling his remonstrations. “This is no time for pride. If the head is saved today, the turban might yet be tied tomorrow. Call for the Reverend. As for the vaidya, whatever misfortune may befall this house from his curses, Iguthappa Swami, let it fall upon my head. But send for the Reverend. Do it for my sake.”

The Reverend left as soon as he received the summons, and arrived soaked in the drizzle that had started again that afternoon. He fired questions at Thimmaya as he removed his shoes on the verandah. How long? What were the symptoms? Why hadn't they called Dr. Jameson? His lips tightened as he heard how Jameson had refused to come. “You should have called me earlier,” he said, glancing briefly at Devanna, who flushed and bent his head.

“This is no work of spirits,” he said, cutting short Thimmaya's explanations as he examined Muthavva. “We have to act quickly. Bring me some sugar water.”

Tayi hastily dissolved a lump of jaggery and brought the treacly syrup to Gundert. He poured a vial of powder into it and, cradling Muthavva's head, tipped the contents slowly down her throat. He held her mouth closed as she gagged, and when she had downed the entire contents, he spoke with Thimmaya. “I have given her a strong medicine,” he said, “and it should stay the fever for some time at least. She will likely have a ringing sensation in her head and complain of giddiness, but then she will sleep.” He sighed as he held out another vial of the powder. “Give this to her tomorrow morning. I do not know as yet if she will be cured; the fever is in an advanced stage.”

Thimmaya sent Chengappa, armed with his matchlock, and a servant with bamboo torches to escort the Reverend back to Mercara.
In the Nachimanda house, they settled down to wait.

Devi leaned against Thimmaya, gripping his kupya tightly with her fingers. Devanna watched as Thimmaya stroked her hair, assuring her over and over that all would be well. She raised her tear-streaked face to her father's. She whispered something and he hugged her tightly and shook his head. “No, kunyi, don't talk like that. All will be well … ”

Devanna rubbed his hands furiously across his face, trying not to cry. If only there was something he could do. Then he remembered the sweets in his pocket from the previous afternoon. Nobody noticed as Devanna slipped quietly out to the verandah. Rain was slashing down again, a malodorous damp hovering over the dogs that clustered about him, tails wagging eagerly as they sniffed at his pocket. Clasping his hands together Devanna bent his head. “Our Lord in Heaven,” he prayed. “Let Muthavva akka be well. Be merciful upon Devi, do not … do not … please let her mother live. Do this one thing for me, and I … I promise I will never eat a single sweet again. Promise. Not as long as I live.” Devanna opened the mouth of the bag and his precious hoard of sweets scattered about the verandah, rainbow colored, glinting in the dim light as the dogs fell upon them.

Inside the house, Muthavva thrashed and moaned, her ears were filled with sound;
make it stop,
she begged Thimmaya. She shivered and shook, the sweat from her body soaking the sheets until, without warning, she fell into a deep, peaceful sleep. “It must be working,” Tayi whispered to her son when she came in to check on the patient. “Iguthappa be praised, the medicine is working.”

Muthavva awoke as the roosters were calling out the dawn. She turned to Thimmaya, her forehead cool to his touch. “I am scared,” she said, perfectly lucid.