Yakshagni - An odyssey of unbroken devotion

Maurya

The Present Era: Beginning of the second millennium

Two events unfolded on the moonless night of the summer of 2003 in two different locations in the country. Not that they were significant enough to change the world order but it was important enough to rouse the ninety-year-old Mahendran Namboodri from his family house in Central Kerala to travel to an obscure village in Tamil Nadu on the edge of the southern tip of the country. The village was not as well-known as its neighbour Kanyakumari but Mangapuram was a fishing hamlet on the eastern coast, a few miles north of Kanyakumari. Other than its fishing community, there was nothing else that interested one in Mangapuram. The long stretch of the usually deserted beach came to life occasionally on certain nights when a consignment was expected to arrive. The isolation and remoteness of the beach provided ideal footing for clandestine deals.

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Rajan Kumar lying on the coarse sands of the beach stretched his arms over his head, heedless of the crabs that crawled near his feet. He had been lounging on the beach every night during the last week and cooling his heels the rest of the day in the village, but the consignment had not yet arrived. This evening though, he was relieved to see the cryptic message that indicated that the ship would be here soon. So, he dawdled on the beach enjoying moments of solitude. The waves rushed forward in a gigantic leap, hemmed in the sands while the sulking stars flickered unhappily over the absent moon. He took out a pack of cigarettes and lit one, spying a vague movement near the narrow country road that led to the beach. Turning around, he directed his gaze at the deserted road and noted that the driver of his matador had towed it noiselessly into a corner. The vague movement he had detected earlier was the arrival of an old man. Disconcerted to find the man approaching him, Rajan ignored the limping man and crashed back on the sand closing his eyes. He tensed as the sound of laboured breathing came closer.

"Do you have a spare cigarette?" he asked Rajan, looming over him.

Rajan flickered open his eyes and regarded the man with mild surprise considering the age and persona of the man.

"Appearances are deceptive. Do not judge the book by its cover," the old man rasped, slumping down on the sand and breathing heavily.

Handing the man, a cigarette and lighter, Rajan observed the top white knot on the side of the old man's head. He was attired in a white shirt and mundu with a black belt holding the piece of cloth at the waist. He looked like a priest or a scholar. Rajan was not sure and turned his face away to stare at the stretching darkness above the sea. In a calculating guess, he concluded that the man was not from this village. Rajan had met most of them and had made dubious payments to earn their silence about the consignment; hence he did not expect intervention from them.

"It is a black moon night," the old man murmured viewing the sky thoughtfully.

"Black Moon? I thought it was a new moon night."

"When there is a second new moon in the same month, it is called Black Moon."

Rajan wondered if the man was a little loony but withheld from making any response. He hoped the boat would arrive soon so he didn't have to listen to the quirky man. He stood up hastily and dusted the sand from his pants. Ignoring the man, he strode towards the foaming ocean that was shrouded in darkness. Puffing and enjoying the cool waters soaking his feet, he waited for the signal. Ten minutes later, he saw the beam flashing twice in succession. Turning around, he waved his hand to the matador driver who acknowledged his gesture. Rajan glanced at the doddering old man briefly before dismissing him as of no consequence.

The boat became visible as it slowly lurched to a halt and Rajan's friend leapt down from the deck and anchored it. Rajan waited patiently stubbing the cigarette with the tip of his shoes.