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what seemed like an eternity, but was really no more than five minutes, she slept leaning against him, her back against his chest. Seven years of oblivion lifted off her and flew into the shadows on weighty, quaking wings. Like a dull, steel peahen. And on Ammu‟s Road (to Age and Death) a small, sunny meadow appeared. Copper grass spangled with blue butterflies. Beyond it, an abyss. Slowly the terror seeped back into him. At what he had done. At what he knew he would do again. And again. She woke to the sound of his heart knocking against his chest. As though it was searching for a way out. For that movable rib. A secret sliding-folding panel. His arms were still around her, she could feel the muscles move while his hands played with a dry palm frond. Ammu smiled to herself in the dark, thinking how much she loved his arms–the shape and strength of them, how safe she felt resting in them when actually it was the most dangerous place she could be. He folded his fear into a perfect rose. He held it out in the palm of his hand. She took it from him and put it in her hair. She moved closer, wanting to be within him, to touch more of him. He gathered her into the cave of his body. A breeze lifted off the river and cooled their warm bodies. It was a little cold. A little wet. A little quiet. The Air. But what was there to say? An hour later Ammu disengaged herself gently… I have to go. He said nothing, didn‟t move. He watched her dress. Only one thing mattered now. They knew that it was all they could ask of each other. The only thing. Ever. They both knew that. Even later, on the thirteen nights that followed this one, instinctively they stuck to the Small Things. The Big Things ever lurked inside. They knew that there was nowhere for them to go.
They had nothing. No future. So they stuck to the small things. They laughed at ant-bites on each other‟s bottoms. At clumsy caterpillars sliding off the ends of leaves, at overturned beetles that couldn‟t right themselves. At the pair of small fish that always sought Velutha out in the river and bit him. At a particularly devout praying mantis. At the minute spider who lived in a crack in the wall of the back verandah of the History House and camouflaged himself by covering his body with bits of rubbish. A sliver of wasp wing. Part of a cobweb. Dust. Leaf rot The empty thorax of a dead bee. Chappa Thamburan, Velutha called him. Lord Rubbish. One night they contributed to his wardrobe–a flake of garlic skin–and were deeply offended when he rejected it along with the rest of his armor from which he emerged-disgruntled, naked, snot-colored. As though he deplored their taste in clothes. For a few days he remained in this suicidal state of disdainful undress. The rejected shell of garbage stayed standing, like an outmoded world-view. An antiquated philosophy. Then it crumbled. Gradually Chappa Thamburan acquired a new ensemble. Without admitting it to each other or themselves, they linked their fates, their futures (their Love, their Madness, their Hope, their Infinnate joy), to his. They checked on him every night (with growing panic as time went by) to see if he had survived the day. They fretted over his frailty. His smallness. The adequacy of his camouflage. His seemingly self-destructive pride. They grew to love his eclectic taste. His shambling dignity. They chose him because they knew that they had to put their faith in fragility. Stick to Smallness. Each time they parted, they extracted only one small promise from each other: Tomorrow? Tomorrow. They knew that things could change in a day. They were right about that. They were wrong about Chappu Thamburan, though. He outlived Velutha. He fathered future generations.
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Arundhati Roy God of Small Things
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locked. The front verandah bare. Un
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meant for. Free funerals. Of course
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made. Lying broken on the hot churc
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desk and approached Ammu with his b
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still, tea-colored puddles the way
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his life, Khubchand, who had the be
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usiness as the Inevitable Consequen
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sternmouthed nuns seated behind her
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look straight, though it wasn‟t.
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would ask to try on their slippers
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the westernmost verandah of the Kal
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found that the senior sisters monop
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peaked red cap. Baby Kochamma spent
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with a towel). She even locked her
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difficulty that their family had wi
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Still, to say that it all began whe
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RejOice, And again I say rej-Oice.
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money to raise a suitable dowry, no
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She didn‟t notice the single Siam
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welcomed. To Ammu, her twins seemed
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a high-wax shoulder polish. Sometim
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Ammu said that the billboard made t
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told that his moth had finally been
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effeminate pout-the kind that child
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and despise ourselves.” “Marry
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Earth Woman‟s eye. That Worse Thi
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Ammu said. Chacko said, “What‟s
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know what Malayalam was. They told
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Chacko lit a Charminar. He inhaled
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hair. Estha wondered how that could
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percent of Kerala‟s population we
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Kerala was reeling in the aftermath
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A bun. A banana. Another balled fis
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Memory was that woman on the train.
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Entomology who first noticed little
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Vellya Paapen‟s good intentions q
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emember Velutha when he left. But i
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though they had successfully conclu
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eyelids the light was bright and ho
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and Rahel thought it was a nice pho
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Anabs-urd Litt-le Bird Is popping o
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them with the boys‟ luggage, his
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white-tiled bathroom, with sea-secr
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“Will you be okay?” Ammu said,
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grandmother‟s cans, Estha Alone o
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eathing people and hairoil. And old
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In the lobby, the orangedrinks were
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Estha went behind the Refreshments
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and pointy shoes. “You mustn‟t
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the question. I cannot love them. I
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“No. Thank you.” Estha looked a
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hostess‟s heart trapped in a bear
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window. He could taste the hot, sal
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“Goodnight,” Estha said, too si
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Those last few tortured nights befo
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wondered idly if it had indeed been
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He stayed in constant touch with th
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no more than a swollen drain now. A
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labeled with edifying placards that
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Rahel tried to walk past unnoticed.
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“That is most unfortunate,” he
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efore the doctor saw him, and to co
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pressed together, smiles frozen on
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Chacko, who usually wore a mundu, w
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Heel and Toe Heel and Toe Long flat
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Ammu said, “Can you see her, Rahe
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eeze. Adoor Basi, the most popular,
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And Later became a horrible, menaci
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It would bea. “All right,” Ammu
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Ambassador Estha and Ambassador Rah
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“I‟m not,” Rahel said. “You
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Baby Kochamma suggested a car song.
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with spit, and taken half the paper
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and I was Little Nehru. Ammu had co
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white, it means it isn‟t ripe. Wh
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of the eternal fire became a red ro
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Nine steep steps led from the drive
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despised her anyway. Shopkeeper‟s
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on her behind. Kochu Maria‟s fan
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were let down. The gauze doors of t
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Even after her cornea transplant, M
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The man or her own child. Or just t
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“Where‟s Estha Mon?” Velutha
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And truth be told, it was no small
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“Oower Kochamma,” the Blue Army
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Kochamma, who didn‟t answer. “V
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Little Girls Playing. Sweet. One be
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spent a whole day saying. She and E
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Gloom swallowed the garden. Whole.
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performed in the front verandah and
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fire till fruit is soft. Sqweeze ou
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Love-in-Tokyo. She heard a nun‟s
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eceipt for the dues that Velutha pa
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What was Estha sitting on? On what
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Here they learned to Wait. To Watch
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The boat-on-legs approached the hut
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sudden silence from inside. Kuttapp
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“Has Chacko Saar‟s Mol come?”
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Hey Mr Monkey Man Why‟s your BUM
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He squeezed the water out of it (sa
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His skin was salty. Hers too. He le
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“I was happy,” Ammu said, and r
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mentioning his name, she sensed tha
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was taut and smooth. Under her hand
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The bedroom with blue curtains and
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his name on it) that lay open on th
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up-like a bubble. He wrestles it to
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soft and womanly, a man with breast
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mother. The air grew warmer. Less d
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Comrade Pillai. Ayemenem‟s egg-br
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side of her face, making her cheekb
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out on either side of his head like
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hooting, helpless laughter. Meanwhi
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friend he had ever had. Not just th
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Margaret Kochamma was physically at
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comfortable, committed friendship.
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had the keys. She called through th
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“It‟s his eye,” Kochu Maria s
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thoughts with unctuous oils. She bl
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makes fishermen pray. At the Kottay
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could not possibly be, unconnected.
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When Margaret Kochamma saw her litt
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still asleep. Chacko, on his way to
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cupboard stood next to the table. I
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they hung down on either side of he
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snacks. Comrade Pillai, grateful fo
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the house, or perhaps from the mome
Page 258 and 259: “Yes. He is good worker,” he sa
Page 260 and 261: completely. “That may be,” he s
Page 262 and 263: People‟s War joined the racks of
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Page 268 and 269: silver. It took him only a few minu
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Page 276 and 277: A nagging sound started up in his h
Page 278 and 279: But this time, for Ammu and her two
Page 280 and 281: The Kottayam Police. A cartoonplato
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Page 286 and 287: Still they brought out the handcuff
Page 288 and 289: “ssenetiloP,” he said. “ssene
Page 290 and 291: The sight of Baby Kochamma made the
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Page 296 and 297: erths green. The floor green. The c
Page 298 and 299: “And Real Teachers teaching.”
Page 300 and 301: irds go to die? Why don‟t dead on
Page 302 and 303: chair below the moldy, button-eyed
Page 304 and 305: She didn‟t see the knob of his he
Page 306 and 307: with an equal measure of pain. As t
Page 310: He died of natural causes. That fir
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