The God of Small Things - Get a Free Blog

Hours later, the moon rose and made the gloomy python
surrender what it had swallowed. The garden reappeared.
Regurgitated whole. With Rahel sitting in it.
The direction of the breeze changed and brought her the
sound of drums. A gift. The promise of a story. Once upon a time,
they said, there lived a…
Rahel lifted her head and listened.
On clear nights the sound of the chenda traveled up to a
kilometer from the Ayemenem temple, announcing a kathakali
performance.
Rahel went. Drawn by the memory of steep roofs and white
walls. Of brass lamps lit and dark, oiled wood. She went in the
hope of meeting an old elephant who wasn‟t electrocuted on the
Kottayam-Cochin highway. She stopped by the kitchen for a
coconut.
On her way out, she noticed that one of the gauze doors of
the factory had come off its hinges and was propped against the
doorway. She moved it aside and stepped in. The air was heavy
with moisture, wet enough for fish to swim in.
The floor under her shoes was slick with monsoon scum. A
small, anxious bat flitted between the roof beams.
The low cement pickle vats silhouetted in the gloom made
the factory floor look like an indoor cemetery for the cylindrical
dead.
The earthly remains of Paradise Pickles & Preserves.
Where long ago, on the day that Sophie Mol came,
Ambassador E. Pelvis stirred a pot of scarlet jam and thought Two
Thoughts. Where a red, tender-mango-shaped secret was pickled,
sealed and put away.
It‟s true. Things can change in a day.
Chapter 10.
The River in the Boat
While the Welcome Home, Our Sophie Mol Play was being