The God of Small Things - Get a Free Blog

Imperial Entomologist, a Rhodes Scholar from Oxford) and
brought the family to its knees. For generations to come, forever
now, people would point at them at weddings and funerals. At
baptisms and birthday parties. They‟d nudge and whisper. It was
all finished-now.
Mammachi lost control.
They did what they had to do, the two old ladies. Mammachi
provided the passion. Baby Kochamma the Plan. Kochu Maria was
their midget lieutenant. They locked Ammu up (tricked her into
her bedroom) before they sent for Velutha. They knew that they
had to get him to leave Ayemenem before Chacko returned. They
could neither trust nor predict what Chacko‟s attitude would be.
It wasn‟t entirely their fault, though, that the whole thing
spun out of control like a deranged top. That it lashed out at those
that crossed its path. That by the time Chacko and Margaret
Kochamma returned from Cochin, it was too late.
The fisherman had already found Sophie Mol.
Picture him.
Out in his boat at dawn, at the mouth of the river he has
known all his life. It is still quick and swollen from the previous
night‟s rain.
Something bobs past in the water and the colors catch his
eye. Mauve. Redbrown. Beach sand. It moves with the current,
swiftly towards the sea. He sends out his bamboo pole to stop it
and draw it towards him. It‟s a wrinkled mermaid. A mer-child. A
mere merchild. With redbrown hair. With an Imperial
Entomologists‟ nose, and, a silver thimble clenched for luck in her
fist. epiillsherou of the water into his boat. He puts his thin cotton
towel under her, she lies at the bottom of his boat with his silver
haul of small fish. He rows home–Thaiy thaiy thakka thaiy tbaiy
thome– thinking how wrong it is for a fisherman to believe that
he knows his river well. No one knows the Meenachal. No one
knows what it may snatch or suddenly yield. Or when. That is what