The Village Parties

On my way back home after the long road-trip, I stopped for breakfast at a tea-stall near the bus stand in a village called A. I took a seat at the long table and bench outside. The jolly tea-stall owner served a plate of hot puttu, kadala curry, pazham pori, vada and a glass of strong tea. Next to me sat a surly guy with bloodshot eyes and, despite being freshly bathed and shaven, made the morning air stale with the stink of old liquor in his breath and sweat. The surly guy read a newspaper aloud and his crony of forty years or so added his two-bits from within the shop.

‘The latest census is out…’ the surly guy noted and continued to mumble the details of which I caught the following, ‘The state’s average population density…1000 people per square kilometer…average death rate…seven per thousand…people 65 years and above…6%...’

The tea-stall owner laughed out loud and the surly guy smirked. That scene was interrupted by a boy on a cycle who stopped there, hurriedly pasted a notice to the electric post outside the shop and raced away to repeat his action ahead. A group of young men crowded around the notice.

The surly guy asked that crowd, ‘Where is it today?’

One of the young men replied, ‘At Rajan’s place, Mashe.’

‘Which Rajan…?’

‘The carpenter…’

‘His house is near the third milestone, right?’

‘Yes, that’s the one, Mashe.’

‘I walked past that place this morning. I didn’t see a white flag there.’

‘It’s being put up only now. Rajan got up late, it seems.’

‘Ah! He must have been at Lakshmi’s party last night…I am still recovering from that myself…’

‘What a bash! Excellent food and foreign liquor…’ the tea-stall owner agreed.

‘I hope Rajan too does it in style.’

I asked that genial crowd, ‘I saw a white flag on the way here…near the bridge…is that the place?’

The surly guy turned to me, ‘You from outside, right?’

‘Yes, driving through…’ I admitted.

‘The party near the bridge was on the night before yesterday.’

‘So, they forgot to take it down…?’ I asked.

‘No, the white flag stays for 14 days.’

‘Ah…’

‘Why don’t you stay for today’s party?’ One of the young men said to me.

‘Oh, thanks…but I have to leave soon…got to get home by evening...’ I said. Bemused, I asked, ‘Do you have a party every day?’

‘Nearly every day…’

‘And is it open for everyone?’

‘Of course…but not everyone comes. Usually, only those who can party well....try to stay…it starts at seven….’ The friendly young men left after extending that invitation.

I asked the surly guy, ‘Why…the white flag…for 14 days?’

‘Just a custom…’

The jovial tea-stall owner added to that, ‘The villages around raise a black flag. Here, we raise a white one.’

‘But…that’s for deaths, right?’

‘Yes. They mourn and party on the 14^th day after.’

They seemed reluctant to offer information without questions from my side. Though I was really curious by then, I felt awkward prying into their affairs and decided to probe in an indirect fashion, ‘This is a small village, right?’

‘Just 15 square kilometers,’ the surly guy replied.

I remembered the statistics. ‘So, a population of 15000 or so, right?’

‘Yes.’ From the way they looked at me, like patient teachers with a pesky student, they seemed to have guessed my line of enquiry.

‘And…if you assume 7 deaths per thousand…that gives only 100 deaths or so per year?’ I presented the finding, rather pleased with my calculation.

‘That’s in other places…we have thrice that many deaths…’

‘But, it looks like a nice healthy village.’ I noted.

‘Oh yes, it is that.’

‘Then…?’ I challenged the two men.

‘Do you remember the figure for the population over 65?’

‘About 5-7%...?’

‘Here, it is less than 1%.’

Thoroughly puzzled, I asked, ‘Is it some genetic problem?’

‘Why should it be that?’

‘Otherwise…?’ I tried to figure out other explanations. ‘So, today…is it this Rajan’s close relative?’

‘Rajan’s mother…’

‘Did she die 14 days back?’ I asked.

‘No, she will die 14 days from today.’

‘What?’ My incredulous cry seemed to amuse them.

‘Today is the first day of celebration…helps the family to accept the situation…before the death.’ The surly guy explained patiently. ‘What is the point in mourning after?’

‘But how do you know she will die 14 days from now?’

‘Oh…Rajan will kill her, of course…’ the surly guy stated as a matter of fact.

The merry tea-stall owner added, ‘Hope he hangs her or dumps her in a well…just for a change…the last two were by suffocation…’

I did not stay for the party.

Notes:

1.     Any resemblance to real events and places could be a coincidence.

2.     Puttu, kadala, pazham pori and vada – steamed ground rice, chickpeas, banana fritters and common fritter-type snack made of pulses.

3.     Mashe is a respectful, colloquial way of referring to a person as ‘Master’.