Life's Twist And Turns

By Roy Thomas

coul dn’t believe his run of bad luck. Here he was serving out a three-year prison sentence in the TrivandrumCheriya just central jail while his erstwhile partner Varghese, who had always followed him like a faithful and adoring puppy, was relaxing in a palatial house with a huge fortune tucked away in bank accounts.

Cheriya looked around at the place he was confined to; he hated it-the cell, the food and, worse still, the company of a foul-mouthed, demented cellmate who kept looking threateningly at him and muttering profanity under his breath.

On the wall was an old Malayalam Manorama calendar on which he religiously ticked off the days that he had spent in this musty prison. Huge flies kept him company during the day and almost equally large mosquitoes kept him company during the nights. A thin worn out, bug-infested apology of a mattress on the floor was all he had to sleep on.

A small, creaking, ceiling fan, which had certainly seen better days, caused a small churn in the air around it but otherwise hardly made a difference to the humidity of the cell. This, coupled with the heat, left him morose, tired and listless throughout the day.

The food they were served made him want to choke – moldy, crusty bread in the mornings along with diluted coffee; undercooked rice with sambar for lunch and dinner. Once a week, a small piece of meat or an egg was given to them. Cheriya knew he must have lost a couple of kilos of weight in the few months he had been here.

All that had happened over the last few months kept playing back in his mind in a loop, like a broken record gone haywire. It almost drove him insane just thinking of the incident that had eventually led him to where he was-serving out time with the dregs of society-instead of landing him the fortune that he still believed was rightfully his.

It had all happened about a year back.

Varghese and he were young graduates who had passed out of college together. Not finding suitable jobs in the remote town of Pathanamthitta, they decided to invest in a small second-hand jeep with a loan taken from a local bank. Actually, after all the bribes that had to be paid to get the loan sanctioned, they still had to borrow money from their parents to eventually buy the vehicle.

The jeep had belonged to a local driver who had been unsuccessfully plying it for over ten years and had eventually decided that enough was enough-especially since the money spent on the maintenance and fuel was increasing by the year.

The excitement of actually owning a vehicle, dilapidated as it was, and then honing their driving skills on it gradually died down and then the realization began to sink in that they were not making much money after honoring the workshop and diesel bills, and of course paying the loan installments. But then the enthusiasm and optimism of youth kept them going.

They usually drove the vehicle together-taking turns at the wheel. The roads in the region were exceptionally bad with murderous potholes and dangerous curves that were rough even for a jeep designed to take punishment.

Most of the time they plied between the towns in the district – picking up passengers as and when they appeared. On good days - which were very rare - the jeep ran full and they had the satisfaction of taking home some money. On the rare occasions that the vehicle was full, Varghese would even drive with half his body perched precariously outside the jeep. On other days, if they were lucky, they would be booked for long trips to the nearby cities of Trivandrum, Quilon, or sometimes, even Ernakulum.

It was on the return leg of such a trip that the events, which eventually led to his ending up in prison, unfolded.

They had been booked by a Non Residence Indian who was returning to his workplace in Muscat after a month’s holiday. They had been promised a good sum of money by this insolent electrician who had hired the jeep to show off to his relatives that he had finally ‘arrived’ and could afford a private vehicle instead of taking the ‘line’ bus along with the other ‘locals’.

However, once the jeep had reached near the Cochin International airport the electrician started bargaining with them saying that the jeep was much older than he thought it was and that the ride had been rough. It was only after Cheriya and Varghese had almost threatened to beat him up that he eventually decided that it might not be a wise move to end up in a fight that could land him in jail and endanger his boarding the flight.

It was quite late in the evening and although they were tired after the altercation with the passenger and the long ride, they decided that they could save some money by avoiding staying in the city and instead opted to drive through the night to reach home.

It had rained on the way back–the heavy downpour making it difficult to drive. The oncoming headlights of the approaching vehicles, most of them on high-beam, all driven at breakneck speeds, made driving even more difficult.

And then the overheated vehicle had broken down.

Both Cheriya and Varghese went through the ritual of opening the bonnet of the jeep and peering at the engine with a dim torch-but with their limited knowledge of the mechanics of the vehicle, there was not much they could do.

Dense rubber plantations lined either side with no signs of any habitation. The few vehicles that did pass by refused to even slow down to ask the waving men if they wanted help.

It was 9 p.m. and it was unlikely that they would have located any garage nearby where they could arrange for the repairs. So they walked for about half a kilometre when they noticed a rather big house on the roadside. The lights were still on.

They walked in and rang the bell. A women’s voice answered enquiring who it was. Through the open half-window, they explained their situation to the disembodied voice.

“How do I know that you are not thieves out to get me?” the voice replied.

“Kochamme- we assure you that we are not thieves-we are from respectable families in Pathanamthita. Unfortunately, our vehicle has broken down and we have no choice but to come to you for help,” Cheriya explained.

It took a lot of persuasion for Cheriya to get the lady to open the door but she eventually did.

“Please be rest assured that we are not thieves,” he once again reassured the lady-“we only need some food and a place to rest till morning. We will be gone before you wake up.”

The middle-aged but well-preserved lady appraised them with frank, open eyes and one could see was deciding on what she should do. Eventually, she seemed to make up her mind.

“Alright,” she replied, “I will give you some food and you can sleep in the outhouse. It has two beds and that should be enough for you both.”

They were given a good meal within a short time and Cheriya, who had struck up a conversation with her, learnt that she was a widow without any children. Her husband, who had been well off, died the previous year and she stayed alone in the house. The servants- a husband and wife team – lived in a small house about 5 minutes’ walk from her place.

“This arrangement suits me,” she remarked, “I have no problems and I am not afraid to be by myself.”

The lady abruptly discontinuing the conversation almost as if she realized that she was talking too much to strangers, “you can now go to your rooms and I hope I do not have any trouble with you for the rest of the evening,” she said, turning away as if dismissing them.

But even as she said this her eyes roamed around Cheriya’s lean and tanned body.

“Edda Cheriya, she seems to have eyes for you,” whispered Varghese as they walked to the outhouse, ‘but you better stay away-we don’t want any problems do we…?’

Cheriya was a bit of a ladies’ man and was attracted to this lady. He couldn’t sleep and felt very restless. Finally, when he heard his friend snoring gently, he decided to go and see whether he could meet up with the lady of the house. The light in her room indicated that she was still awake.

Cheriya walked over silently and quietly knocked at her window. She opened it after a few minutes and looked at him without any expression. ‘I was expecting you’, she said with a sudden smile as she opened the side door to her room.

Cheriya spent the night with her.

They hardly slept and Cheriya learnt that her name was Leela and as he listened to her story he realized that she was a very lonely woman. Cheriya was gentle and courteous with her and as he bade goodbye at the early hours of the morning he thought he saw tears in her eyes.

‘Give me your name and address’, she asked him and Cheriya realized with a start that he had not told her his name despite having spent the night with her. Being cautious by nature, and on the spur of the moment he gave her Varghese’s name and address and promised that he would stop by if ever he passed this way again.

Varghese was still snoring by the time Cheriya climbed into his bed again. At the crack of dawn both of them left the house and managed to find a mechanic who set the vehicle right after a few hours. They reached home in the evening, totally exhausted.

As time passed the memories of their trip gradually faded.

Money continued to be in short supply. But that did not prevent Cheriya from meeting up with Anjumol almost every evening. The pretty young girl had been his classmate right from lower school. Cheriya was madly in love with her and everyone assumed that someday the two would get married.

‘When are you going to make some money,’ she would keep asking him, ‘I am tired of waiting...

Varughese would sometimes accompany Cheriya when he went over to meet Anjumol at her house. Varughese was shy, and remained tongue-tied in Anjumol’s presence, much to Cheriya’s amusement.

“Edda Varughese when you are going to find a girl for yourself?” he would ask teasingly.

“I will get married only when I find a girl like Anjumol,” his besotted friend would reply in jest.

Almost nine months later after the trip to Cochin, an excited Varughese came over to Cheriya’s house.

“Edda do you remember the lady whose house we stayed in when our vehicle broke down,” he asked in a excited, high-pitched voice.

“Yes of course,” replied Cheriya a little nonplussed, “why do you ask?”

“Well her lawyer came home last evening,” came the reply.

Cheriya’s heart sank. He did some quick calculation and concluded in his mind that she had become pregnant.

“What for?” he asked anxiously.

Varughese smiled.

“Did you give her my name and address?” he asked.

“Yes,” replied Cheriya almost apologetically, “she asked me for our names and so I gave both our names and addresses,” he lied.

“Well...then that settles it,” continued Varughese with a broad smile, “You know Leela Kochamma seems to have taken a great liking to me- she died a month ago of cancer and she has left me her house and a bank balance of Rupees Forty-five lakhs …can’t really understand what she saw in me!!”

Cheriya was aghast.

“This must be a mistake,” he shouted anxiously holding Varughese by the hand, “it should have been in my name. It was all intended for me - not you!!” he insisted agitatedly.

Varughese laughed.

“You just confirmed that you had given her both our names. The lawyer clearly said that she had specified in her will that the entire fortune was for me. Listen- I am leaving the jeep for you and I am also giving you Rupees ten thousand to get it repaired so that you can carry on the business…..I will not be involved in future….”

A belligerent Cheriya was arrested later by the police for assaulting and grievously injuring Varughese. After a speedy trial, he was incarcerated in the Trivandrum Central jail for two years rigorous imprisonment.

It was while he was in jail that Cheriya learnt that Varughese had married Anjumol.

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By Roy Thomas