The House of Blue Mangoes by David Davidar Page B

knows, the Andavars trace their origins to the chief of the Vedic Gods, Indra. These divine origins made the Andavars rulers; indeed, as every Andavar knows, some centuries back, Andavar kings ruled mighty kingdoms that now lie buried under the burning red sands of the teri wastes. Not a day passes when further ruins do not come to light, justifying this belief. When, through dastardly tricks and stratagems, the ancestors of our great race were defeated by the foreigners from the north, the Telugu Nayaks, they were forced into exile. Divested of their lands and privileges, branded as lower castes by the insecure invaders, the Andavars had to learn how to practise a variety of trades for which their refinement had not prepared them. Meanwhile, their enemies were busy fabricating records to show that they were high and the Andavars low, while simultaneously destroying the actual historical records that proved the Andavars were rightfully Dravidian kshatriyas, emperors of the first rank. Woe betides us. But the enemies of the Andavars should beware because we will come again to rule the Tamil lands . . .
    Vakeel Perumal rambled on in this manner for a further two sheets, his arguments growing increasingly disjointed and shrill.
    Neatly finishing, ‘Your correspondent from Chevathar Village, Meenakshikoil P.O., Kilanad District’, he signed the letter with a flourish: Peter Jesu Perumal. Perhaps they would publish this letter, Vakeel Perumal thought, given that it was signed with a Christian name.

15
    Father Ashworth had found sleep elusive as he fretted over the thalaivar’s reaction to Vakeel Perumal’s conversion. Somehow he knew Solomon wouldn’t receive the news gladly. He had decided to delay telling him and now, as he waited by the church door for the Easter service to begin, his nervousness grew. The strains of the opening hymn came to him, sung tunelessly but lustily, and he began the walk that he hated through the narrow, ill-lit wall to the pulpit.
    ‘ Up from the grave He arose
    With a mighty triumph over his foes .
    He arose a visitor from the dark domain
    And He lives forever with
    His saints to reign .
    He arose! Hallelujah! Christ arose !’
    As the last ‘arose’ died away, Father Ashworth stepped out of the wall and read the Collect of the day. The service settled into the familiar pattern, with the appropriate modifications that Easter called for, and he began to relax.
    A fleeting memory passed through his mind of an especially ungracious pastor who would deliberately choose obscure hymns that nobody knew and secretly enjoy (of this the young Ashworth was convinced) the discomfiture of his flock. He was beginning to smile when he caught the eye of Solomon, who was glowering at him from the first line of mats, and immediately composed himself. The reason for Solomon’s annoyance was clear: Peter Jesu Perumal, until recently known as Vakeel Perumal, sat two places behind him, with his wife and daughters. They sat stiffly, holding their new Bibles and dressed in their best saris and skirts. Vakeel Perumal was, as usual, resplendent in white trousers and shirt.
    The service rolled on, against the deep rumble of the sea in the background. Abruptly a breeze arose, setting the fronds of the palm trees rustling and giving the congregation some small respite from the gathering heat. An incongruous thought popped into Father Ashworth’s head as the sweat began to dry on his cassock: three hundred million years ago, Asia and Africa had been ice-bound at the Pole, while Europe and North America had sweltered at the equator. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if the world rearranged itself again in the not-so-distant future? It would set the seal on Chevathar’s perfection if it could be chilly at Easter. The thought passed, and he wondered what he would say to Solomon at the end of the service.
    As the Nicene Creed finished, the Reverend Ashworth, carefully avoiding the eye of Solomon, made the day’s announcements.