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Comrade Pillai. Ayemenem‟s egg-breaker and professional
omeletteer.
Oddly enough, it was he who had introduced the twins to
kathakali. Against Baby Kochamma‟s better judgment, it was he
who took them, along with Lenin, for all-night performances at the
temple, and sat up with them till dawn, explaining the language
and gesture of kathakali. Aged six, they had sat with him through
this very story. It was he who had introduced them to Raudra
Bhima–crazed, bloodthirsty Bhima in search of death and
vengeance. He is searching fir the beast that lives in him, Comrade
Pillai had told them–frightened, wide-eyed children–when the
ordinarily good-natured Bhima began to bay and snarl.
Which beast in particular Comrade Pillai didn‟t say.
Searching for the Man who lives in him was perhaps what he really
meant, because certainly no beast has essayed the boundless,
infinitely inventive art of human hatred. No beast can match its
range and power.
The rose bowl dulled and sent down a warm gray drizzle. As
Estha and Rahel stepped through the temple gateway, Comrade K.
N. M. Pillai stepped in, slick from his oil bath. He had sandalwood
paste on his forehead. Raindrops stood out on his oiled skin like
studs. In his cupped palms he carried a small heap of fresh jasmine.
“Oho!” he said in his piping voice. “You are here! So still
you are interested in your Indian culture? Goodgood. Very good.”
The twins, not rude, not polite, said nothing. They walked
home together. He and She. We and Us.
Chapter 13.
The Pessimist and the Optimist
Chacko had moved out of his room and would sleep in
Pappachi‟s study so that Sophie Mol and Margaret Kochamma
could have his room. It was a small room, with a window that
overlooked the dwindling, somewhat neglected rubber plantation
that Reverend E. John Ipe had bought from a neighbor. One door