I

Angela was killed in front of her children. Her husband was the killer. He thrust the knife deep into her fair-skinned, well-rounded belly again and again. She writhed like a snake, her hair stood on end. Her blood hissed and splattered everywhere. Her sweat streamed. Her eyes bulged. The light in them dimmed. She grew still and silent. She fell into eternal sleep.

Once he was sure that she was dead, the killer turned towards the children. They clung to each other in fear. He threw a scathing look at the younger child. She was not his. He looked tenderly at the older child. She was his own. Sighing, he strode purposefully out of the room. Outside, the day lay veiled with the rain’s translucent wedding raiment. Angela’s blood stained it. The chilling scent of blood filled the room. Like brooding storm clouds, fear filled the room with darkness and cold. When they finally knew that their mother would not get up and the first shock wore off, the children began to wail and weep.

They were now orphans of a murdered woman. The pain made them writhe too. They clung to her bloodied body. The blood stained their little bodies. It stuck terrifyingly to their little feet.

The older one, eight-year-old Ann, called Narendran. He was sitting in the lawyer’s office, steeped in cold sweat, hearing the prospect of a sentence in debt litigation and desperately discussing the possibility of an appeal. Ann’s pleading, desperate cry sounded as though it were echoing in a tunnel closed at both ends.

‘Uncle, my Achan has killed Amma!’

He could not believe his ears; he felt dizzy.

‘What is it, Narendran?’The lawyer asked.

Narendran’s voice quivered as he told him that a former employee of his had just died. The lawyer expressed his condolences. As Narendran went out, his feet seemed to stick to the ground as though he was walking on blood. Outside, Jayamohan, the copywriter in his advertising agency that had gone bust, and some other employees were waiting. He leaned on Jayamohan’s shoulder.

‘Angela’s dead…’

Jayamohan started, and then froze. A sigh soon escaped him. He paused a few moments and let the others know too. They received the news, silently, and then they too sighed.

II

That day had begun dark and murky, like an assassin dressed in black lying in wait for his prey.

At twelve-thirty, Angela applied for a half-day leave, climbed on her two-wheeler, and drove to the girls’ school to fetch them. She had taken the principal’s permission to take them out. The girls were in their Friday uniform, white-on-white. They ran to her from the other end of the corridor, their eyes shining. Pulling her hand away from her older sister Ann whose left cheek bore a bluish-black mole that gleamed like a raindrop, the little one with her mushroom-mop came up ahead, her bag jiggling on her shoulder. She had a star-shaped mark next to her nose. They hugged their mother and clung to her sides, like two white wings. Angela pulled her lovely white wings together and smiled broadly.

Angela and her children left the school gates laughing merrily. A cold wind was blowing. Ann climbed on the two-wheeler behind Angela, hugging her; the younger, Irene, stood in front holding on to the windshield. It was her birthday; they had sung the Happy Birthday song at the school assembly that day. Her sister teased her for having sung along and wished herself. She was enjoying the mild breeze and admitted her mistake with endearing awkwardness: ‘I just forgot, Mama!’

Angela laughed and kissed her lightly on the forehead.

She told them how, long ago, when she was in school, she had kept chatting with a friend and not noticed when the curtains on stage had gone up on school day celebrations. It made them laugh. In the dark sky a beautiful streak of lightning waved a magic wand. They went into Biriyani House, walking by the bus stand and through the waiting crowd, strewing pearls of their laughter all around them.

As Angela stepped into the brightly lit, air-conditioned dining hall after the girls, the eyes of the male diners were glued on her. Her thirty-year-old body was magical. She had bright piercing brown eyes, a well-shaped nose, and lips that parted temptingly when she smiled. Inevitably, men were captivated.

It was just then that Narendran called. His voice sounded listless.

‘Are the mum and kids rocking?’

‘Yes, we’re at Biriyani House. Want to come?’ Her smile made her eyes close.

‘Not now…I’ll come in time to cut the cake. Where’s the birthday girl?’

Angela gave the phone to Irene.

‘Okay, Uncle, thank you, Yes, Chechi’s right here,’ she cooed.

Angela looked at her and Ann, her eyes filled with pride and joy. ‘What did Uncle say?’ She asked Irene as she took the phone from her.

‘He said, tell Amma to buy you a fairy queen. Will you buy me one, Amma?’

Angela gently touched the mole shining on the right side of her nose and said, ‘Yes.’

Then she looked at Ann. ‘What do you want, dear?’

‘Strawberry milkshake!’

‘Ooh, Chechi and her strawberry milkshake!’

‘Ooh, our baby and her fairy queen!’

They were having a good time. Irene had given Joseph only one sweet because they had fought, complained Ann.

‘Is that so?’ Angela rolled her eyes.

‘Won’t do it again,’ Irene said, head bowed.

‘That wasn’t right, but I am going to forgive you,’ said Angela.

‘I am going to give everyone Milkybars for my next happy birthday…’

‘Jesus! If you’re going to give everyone Milkybars, what will be left of my salary?’

‘Uncle has promised me…’

‘Okay, you can get Milkybars from him.’

‘For my next birthday, Amma, I want a satin dress with red frills…’

‘Okay…’

‘…and a red ribbon.’

‘And what will you tie it on?’ Ann teased her again.

Irene’s little face crumpled. ‘Mummy, don’t cut my hair short again!’

Angela laughed. ‘Wait, just a few more years and then we’ll grow it long.’

‘When?’

‘Umm…ah! When you are in Standard Three!’

‘Promise?’

‘Promise!’

‘Mummy, don’t change your mind!’

As they waited for the bill, Irene shrank back on her shoulder like a puppy. Angela held her close. She buried her face in Angela’s chest.

Just then, a middle-aged man came up to them.

‘Do you know me?’

His eyes glinted amber in the dark, like a tomcat’s. ‘You are Alexander’s wife, aren’t you?’

‘I am the wife of many such people.’

The man was speechless for a few moments.

‘I heard that you separated.’ He licked his lips.

‘Who are these kids?’

Angela took time to respond.

‘My children.’

He looked at Irene’s rosy face and smiled.

‘It’s been four or five years since you separated…?’

‘Uh…’

‘Then this kid?’

‘Other men can have babies too.’

She smiled again. Her parted lips made him uneasy. It was the only sign she got of her impending death. During this exchange Angela stole a glance at Ann with the bluish raindrop-shaped mole on it. A few hours later, just before she was butchered, it was this mole that appeared in her mind.

The waiter brought the bill.

‘I’ll pay.’ The man tried to grab the bill.

Angela stopped him with a smile. ‘No, I do earn a salary.’

Angela and her girls then set off for home. He watched her moving away gracefully; he must have stood there looking. As they drove home, the lightning was sharpening its blade behind the clouds. On the way they collected the cake packed in a cardboard box. The cake had ‘Happy Birthday Irene’ inscribed on it with pink icing. She made both girls climb behind her and held the box between her feet, driving carefully.

Their home was on the upper floor of a house in Vyttila. Placing the cake on the table, she took the girls’ bags into their study room.

***

Narendran called again. ‘Angela, I’ll be late. Some problems…’

‘Serious ones?’

‘A bit. The judgement is tomorrow.’

Her face fell. ‘Don’t worry…it’ll be all right.’

‘Okay, never mind all that. Is the cake ready?’

‘The cake’s ready. The knife’s ready, too. All we now need is someone who’ll eat the first piece.’

They both laughed.

‘Will be there as long as I’m not dead! What if I can’t come next time?’ He said that because he was almost sure that he would lose his court case. It was an omen— portending Angela’s death. She died before he reached. It was the knife on the table which she had set next to the cake that killed her. The cake lay on the table until she was buried the next day. When he went to lock the house, he saw something like black beads gleaming on ‘Happy Birthday Irene’. When he touched it, it stuck firmly to his fingers. It was her blood. Irene was his blood. Angela’s blood stuck like black moles on his skin beneath which his blood coursed.

Seated next to the children who lay sleeping in Jayamohan’s house, he wished he could wipe off the lovely black mole on Irene’s face.

III

‘Chechi, will Mummy come back?’ Irene asked, pressing close to Ann in the back seat of the car on their way to the cemetery. Jayamohan, who was driving, turned his head to look at them. His heart pounded.

‘Uh-uh, no.’ Ann’s voice was low.

‘Not even on my happy birthday?’

‘Uh-uh.’

‘So we’ll never cut the cake?’

Ann’s swollen eyes shed tears as she held her sister close. Narendran’s heart throbbed in pain.

He recalled their very first night together. He had wanted it ever since Angela had joined his company. They met when she turned up for a walk-in interview for the receptionist’s post at his advertising agency. She was twenty-five then, but her face bore the firmness of a forty-five-year-old. Her shimmering beauty was intoxicating.

‘Let’s see, three months. Then, we’ll make it permanent.’

He tried to look as restrained as he could. Her glance went straight into his heart like a harpoon.

‘I need this job. I’ll pay any price for it…’

His breath stopped. ‘What price?’

She sat up straight. ‘A romance of four years; an elopement after. I am a woman who was pimped by her husband when we fell on hard times. Don’t pretend.’

He swallowed hard. ‘I am married.’ His voice faltered.

‘Me too.’

A genuine smile dawned on her lips. She was staying with a distant relative. He gave her the job and helped her find a rented accommodation. He paid for four-year-old Ann’s school admission. He remembered the day he had had sex with her for the first time. He had lied to his wife Sunita that he was going on a business trip, packed a small overnight suitcase, and had gone to Angela’s house. She was wearing a pink nightie, feeding Ann dinner. Her silky shiny hair was loosely piled on top of her head, some loose strands falling down on her shoulder. She bathed the child, took her to the bedroom and read her the story of The Beauty and the Beast in a low voice. The little one giggled in between, she laughed too. Their laughter stuck on his heart that beat like a drum. She then served him chapatti and dal. He hated dal but it tasted delicious when she served it. She had set up her small house very prettily. Everything about her was so pretty. She cleaned up the kitchen, had a bath, and came back in a blue sleeveless nightgown. She gently laid her sleeping daughter on the floor. His hands shook when he touched her.

‘This is a first for me…’ he hiccupped.

‘Not for me.’ She raised herself like a serpent’s hood.

Suddenly, he felt small. ‘There are many men in this town who’re richer than me, successful men, higher-ups.’

‘Money alone won’t do for me…’

He held her close.

‘This body is a huge liability. Very hard to lug without a job! And hard to find a job with it! I have had enough of men staring at me. So, wherever I go, I look for the top man there…’

‘Why do you move jobs so often?

‘Because Alex always finds me.’

‘Can’t you divorce him?’

‘You can only divorce someone if you have married him in the first place,’ she laughed.

‘I am a fellow with a lot of liabilities! Mid-level liability!’ He confessed, again, feeling small.

‘But no one else has this mole…I want it.’

She stretched out her hand and touched the mole on the side of his nose. For the first time his body thrilled at a woman’s touch.

When they were together he would compare her with Sunita whose hair was always damp and smelly. Her lack of enthusiasm in bed; how she grew stiff when he touched her.

He was the happiest man in town until Sunita found out about them. After that, it was a continuous stream of quarrels, tears and accusations. His boys turned against him. Relatives began to give him unsolicited advice. In the end he discussed the situation with Angela.

‘Shall I get a divorce?’

‘What for?’

‘I need only you.’

She looked at him steadily for a while.

‘An utterly helpless and ignorant wife, boys of ten and twelve. For me you are right. Both my body and my mind want you…you have shown me what a woman is…that too, after I’d lived thirteen whole years with one.’

‘It’s not Sunita’s fault,’ she said. ‘Were we not told that good women do not make men happy?’

‘What about you, then?’

She laughed. Her lips bloomed. She held out her arms, embraced him, and drew him close to her breast. ‘How wonderful would the world be if all men loved their women the way you love me,’ she said.

That night when they made love, she kissed the mole on the side of his nose. ‘I want this,’ she said, ‘I am going to take it.’

He soon learned that she was pregnant. He was stunned. Later, he sighed. She noticed that and smiled. And later, sighed.

‘My Ann needs a sibling. She needs a brother or a sister whom she can love, in case I am not around! And, of course, I need that mole! But we have to now part…’

‘Why?’

‘Because I can’t hurt another woman. And how can this owner of an advertising agency who has so many liabilities take care of four children?’

He looked sad.

‘Be a father to my children. You can visit them on their birthdays, cut their birthday cakes. When you meet, kiss them as a father would.’

On the day they parted, they went to the church at Edappally and lit a hundred candles. A hundred white candles, like condensed milk. They melted and flowed like the rain. She prayed on her knees for a long time. For the first and last time, he saw her weep. His eyes, too, welled up with tears.

When they parted, she thrust a dagger in his heart. He would carry it all his life. On their last meeting, she pressed his mole to her stomach. Irene would carry the mole for the rest of her life. When the knife penetrated deep, Angela tasted blood. It made her remember her children.

IV

The sky looked drained and bloodless. When the priest recited the prayers the children sobbed, Mummy, Mummy, their voices hoarse from crying all night and all day. The helplessness in their voices bore a hole in his heart.

Angela lay in a coffin adorned with brass beads. Not just blood, but sadness and worry also seem to have drained out of her face; she looked like an angel. She looked utterly fulfilled, as if she was sleeping after a night of tender lovemaking. He had last met her on Ann’s birthday. That day too, he had wanted to touch her. But she had already started working as a receptionist in a prominent jewellery shop in town. She was now a rich and gracious woman; while he was a small businessman drowning in debt. When he was about to go, she took his hand and with moist eyes smiled at him. Her face truly looked like an angel’s.

Only one in a thousand men can find a companion like her, he once told her. She laughed it off. ‘That’s an illusion,’ she said, ‘which persists only because I’m not your wife.’

‘There’s not a single day I don’t yearn for you.’

‘If I were your wife, you’d have probably got tired of me by now like you have of Sunita.’

‘Which man will ever get tired of a woman like you?’

‘For women, love and lust are one and the same. For men they may be separate.’

‘Indeed! Women are selfish. They have nothing beyond the comforts of life—no love, no lust.’

‘I speak only for myself.’

‘Sunita was never passionate.’

‘The poor woman…maybe she was scared…no woman can bear being accused of being lustful!’

‘You, too?’

She sat up and smiled. ‘Yes, me too. I ran away with him because my love for him was uncontrollable. But to him it was nothing but fuck-craze. He killed my love. And my lust died along with it.’

Her smiled dimmed.

‘Each day was full of quarrels…but I hung on. But the day…the day he threw me in front of his friend…’

She was still smiling, but the corners of her eyes were damp with tears.

He caressed her, feeling sad. She held his palm.

‘Then, at that age, I didn’t know better…Now I know…nothing is real—man, woman, love, lust. Life isn’t any of this.’

‘Then?’

She raised her piercing brown eyes to him.

‘I don’t know what it is. I only know what it isn’t.’

She paused and sighed. ‘Now, only my children matter to me. The only real lasting love in the world is between a mother and her children.’

He sighed, too.

‘Why, another child? What for?’

‘I have no other way to show my love for you.’

‘Love! Isn’t that why you left me for another man, a rich one?’

He gently pushed her away, in envy. She looked at him and said, ‘I need money to raise the girls. Once I have enough, I’ll become a nun! That’s all women like me can aspire to.’

He remembered her face; his heart writhed in agony. He would never see her face again. He would never hear her voice again.

***

They lowered her into the grave. As the coffin disappeared under the ground, they shovelled soil over it. The children fainted. Narendran lifted Irene and laid her on his shoulder. Jayamohan’s wife held Ann close. The children’s helpless sobs echoed in the cemetery. Their mother’s blood still wet, it seemed, stuck to their feet.

As Irene lay on Narendran’s shoulder she saw Alexander’s form in her stupor. She went through the horror of her mother’s murder all over again. That sight would haunt her for many days. That day, when they had reached home laughing and happy, the rain was falling slowly, like candles melting and flowing. That was when Alexander had appeared. The door was open. Irene had got out of her uniform and was running about in her bloomers and a green birthday cap. He surprised her; she called out for her mother, and noticing that she was half-naked, ran inside. Angela had tucked the end of the sandal-coloured chiffon beads-and-brocade sari at her waist and was setting the cake on the table. She took a knife with a ribbon tied on it, wiped it with a napkin and placed it next to the cake. That’s when she saw him.

Angela let out a deep breath. They stood still for a few moments, looking at each other. He was a burly man, without a trace of compassion on his face. There was a scar on his left cheek from a recent knife fight.

‘Alex!’

She held the satin-bow-clad knife between her lips and tried to smile.

‘It’s been so long,’ she said, ‘Where were you? So, you haven’t forgotten me?’

She took out the cake from the cardboard box as she spoke.

The thick veins on Alexander’s face tightened as blood rushed to his head. He wiped off the sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his dirty blue shirt, and glowered at her. His eyes fell on her smooth white belly visible through her sari.

Irene and Ann came into the room. Seeing him there, Ann grabbed Irene and hugged her close. Ann remembered her father. He was the vague fear she felt in every vein. Irene’s eyes moved from her sister’s face to her mother’s and her lips began to tremble into a cry of terror.

Angela kept talking, ‘What did you have for lunch? Why are you looking so tired? What are you doing now? Still in the vehicle loan recovery business?’

He drew close to her without any reply. Her pretty house. Her lovely children. Her beautiful body. The radiance in their house. The faint fragrance that wafted around. Her smile. His blood boiled. He lunged forward and grabbed the knife; he threw a derisive look at the ribbon tied on it. Angela was beginning to say something, the smile still on her face. The knife went smoothly into her belly. The children’s eyes grew wide in horror as they screamed.

‘You bitch, you cheated me, and now you’re having a good time whoring,’ he muttered as he gnashed his teeth. He pulled the knife out and stabbed her again. Angela struggled.

***

‘Mummy, I want a gilt pencil…the Miss in the English class said…for tomorrow, need a gilt pencil…’ Irene mumbled on Narendran’s shoulder.

‘Chechi, don’t go, stay with me, let’s go eat ice cream…’

‘My dear.’ He patted her, his eyes filling with tears.

‘Mummy, don’t go today… Don’t go to the office… don’t go to the party…sit beside me. I want to sleep on your chest…it is so soft…’

He felt his heart being torn in two. Someone was lowering a knife into it, like a cake being cut. The blood seeped slowly.

Blood.

Blood that sticks when dry and turns into a mark.

***

As he stabbed her over and over again, Angela smiled. It did not hurt. Because he had killed her a long, long time ago.

It was when his friend dared to put his hand on the loose end of her green nylex sari. That day she had begged him to leave her alone and screamed for Alex. His friend licked his lips and pounced on her. That was the day Angela had died. As he played with her lifeless body like a cat slowly killing a mouse, she saw Ann’s perplexed little eyes peering through the door. That was the day Angela had died.

V

Life cheated Angela again. It pimped her to death. When the knife pierced her body, she saw her girls from the corner of her left eye. Four terror-struck eyes. Angela’s heart shuddered. She flew ahead to save them but fell, her wings severed. The knife went in and came out again. Two wounds. Two large moles. She did not cry. Her body could not make her cry. Life could not do it. Nor could Alex.

When Ann shut her eyes, she saw her mother’s eyes. She saw her thrash about. The knife hurt her. She writhed and struggled. But she did not cry. Mummy never cried. She would wave a magic wand and turn tears into laughter. She knew no fear either. She would just take it out with a stroke of her hand and put it in the fire.

One day, Angela had a fight with the owner of the jewellery shop. Ann was witness. That day she had made chapattis and chicken curry. She fed Vaava two chapattis with chicken curry telling her the story of Cinderella. Vaava was in her petticoat, listening to the story with her mouth open. She sometimes forgot to chew; sometimes she didn’t open her mouth. Ann had already heard this story, but she also listened to it. A man walked in then. He was drunk. He rolled his big body that looked like a barrel of tar into their house. Angela’s face darkened.

‘It’s not yet ten-thirty, boss,’ she said in a low voice.

‘Oh…can’t wait, girl.’

‘The children are awake.’

‘They’ll fall asleep.’

When he tried to pull her close, Ann got up and came over. Angela felt the heat rise in her blood.

‘They’ll see us!’ She sounded worried.

‘No problem, let them learn that way, edi!’

The man grinned. Ann would never forget her mother’s face as she slapped him hard with her soiled hand.

‘Get out of here!’

‘Angela!’ He covered his cheek and stared.

‘Get out now! I have a sharp knife in my kitchen! I’ll stab you dead!’

The employer stared emptily at the employee for a few moments and then went off. Mamma turned around and looked at Ann and Vaava, who was hiding behind her, clearly terrified. She slowly winked at them and laughed.

‘Are you scared? That was…just a joke, my dears!’

Angela helped them wash and put on their nightgowns. She then took them to the bathroom. She adjusted the speed of the fan and lay between them, gently patting them to sleep.

‘Why did he come so close to you, Mummy?’

Angela tried to smile.

‘To kill you?’

‘No, no. No one’s going to kill Mummy.’

She lay Vaava on her back and turned to Ann, pressing her to her chest. ‘Sleep, my dear girl, sleep, dearest…’

When the two children fell asleep, an uneasy silence pervaded the house. Angela called Narendran. He remembered that night well. Sunita was not yet asleep. When he noticed her number, he quietly went to the bathroom with the phone.

‘Uh?’ He asked in a whisper.

‘Something bad happened. The boss turned up drunk and crazy. I gave him a tight slap.’

‘That’s great!’ He let out a low laugh. ‘I think it’s about time you left this job. I know you tire very soon of men!’

Angela laughed weakly. ‘But he won’t leave me.’

‘Say that you don’t want to leave him?’

‘Don’t be so jealous!’ She laughed. ‘I know it is a sin to sell my body. But I don’t sell my body, I sell empathy. I have only pity for him. He has never been loved; he’s been offered only a charade of love. And that too, for his money, only for his money. He knows that well. He knows that he’ll receive love only for his money.’ She laughed again.

‘…and so you felt sorry for him and offered some love?’

She smiled. ‘It’s not that. I understand him. That’s why I am able to forgive him. Won’t I forgive my Ann or my Vaava?’

‘Then you should forgive Alexander too?’

‘Alexander’s problem is that he doesn’t understand me,’ she sighed. ‘He knows that he doesn’t deserve me. But won’t admit it. That’s why he pushed me into whoring. To cut me down and control me. I didn’t see it then.’

‘In that case, you needn’t have made a fool of me!’

She laughed now.

‘I didn’t love you for money. It was the love that you gave me, that you give me. And, of course, I wanted that beauty spot of yours!’

‘Angela, I can’t live without you…’ he rasped.

Angela burst out into peals of laughter. She choked and started to cough. And then, casually, she mentioned the jewellery shop owner. A devil. Have you seen his teeth? His evil smirk at the sight of pain? Come and look at my body. Full of bluish scars, bitten all over. You can’t count them all. One of the bites on my breast got infected. For a whole week, agonizing pain. But then, pity is what you feel when you think: these are men who were not born of a good womb. Oh, forget it! It’s all just a joke! She laughed; her voice faltered; and she laughed again. That night, Narendran cried softly as he lay beside Sunita, who was dead to the world.

****

Alexander was evil. It was not Angela whom he killed; it was he, Narendran, who had died. Alexander was also a fool. To kill Angela, he should not have attacked her. He should have killed the children.

Ann, too, thought the same. Appa should have killed us too. What will we do without Mummy? Where will we live now? Who’ll make dosai and chutney? Who’ll make toast for Vaava? Who’ll help us with homework? Who’ll take Vaava to the bathroom at night so that she doesn’t pee in bed? Who’ll apply ointment when we graze our knees? Who’ll turn tears into laughter?

‘What will we do now, Narendran sir?’ Jayamohan asked gently. ‘Where will we send these children?’

Where will we go, Ann thought desperately. Her heart, only as big as a ball of rice, beat harder with fear and worry. Who’s going to feed them now? Who’ll pay for the school van fare? Who’s going to sign their progress reports? The realization that Mummy would never return shattered her.

When he reached home in the morning for a bath and a change of clothes, Narendran told Sunita, ‘Angela’s dead.’

Her face grew ugly, like a devil’s. ‘Yes, I’ve heard the news. That’s what happens to whores!’

‘Don’t blame the dead. And the children…poor little things.’

‘Shut up!’ She flew into a rage. ‘She ruined my family. The slut, the witch! She threw me and my children on the street! She got what she deserved! That’s the power of a chaste wife’s tears! You see it right before you, but don’t learn anything! Now you too are going to learn. You’ll weep in jail. See how she died! Her innards strewn all over the place! Yes, that was what was bound to happen. But, no. I haven’t had enough justice! Her children will now beg on the streets. They will wail like dogs for a meal…!’

Narendran saw in Ann’s tearful eyes the wail for a meal. Angela’s children. Two warts on the earth. One afternoon, Alexander’s sister and her husband came for them. She had covered her head with the pallu of her cheap cotton sari. Her face was harsh like a butcher’s indifferent face.

‘We’re here to take our brother’s child.’ She came to the point after exchanging pleasantries. Narendran shuddered.

‘He told me before he left. Keep her there. Who’s left here? At least she shouldn’t end up whoring.’

‘But what about the younger child?’ Narendran asked.

‘Let its father take it!’ She peered at his and Irene’s beauty spots. He hugged Irene close, feeling faint.

Looking at Ann, she said, ‘This girl can stay with us on the estate. There’s space in the line house. My two children will keep her company…there’s a school nearby, she can go there. Alexootty will be back soon after his case. He’ll take care of her afterwards. He wants to send her to the convent, to atone for her mother’s sins.’

The knife went deep into Narendran’s heart. ‘You mean, separate them?’

‘They aren’t of the same father, are they?’

‘Don’t you have a heart?’ Jayamohan burst out, ‘Their mother’s dead. Isn’t it cruel to tear them apart now?’

‘So? We can’t be bothered about the child she made out of her whoring. Just give us our girl!’

They tugged at Ann. The little girl, tired and remembering the smell of blood, screamed and struggled, fell and rolled on the ground. Irene raised her drooping head, slipped down from his shoulder, fell on her sister and wailed. The white lace on their frocks stained red from the soil.

‘I won’t go, I won’t!’ screamed Ann. ‘I won’t leave Vaava!’

‘Chechi, don’t leave me!’

Someone had waved the wand of tears over Angela’s children. They cried endlessly. Alexander had ripped them apart, as if they were slices of cake.

‘Don’t let me go…Uncle, please don’t let them take me…!’

Ann stretched out her arms to him and cried.

‘Please take me too…please take me with Chechi…’

Irene clung to her.

‘I want my vaava, I want Mummy…!’

‘Vaava will die without you, Chechi…don’t go!’

The woman put her palm over Ann’s mouth, who was still calling to Vaava, and bundled her into the car. Narendran and his blood were left behind. Irene became feverish. He sat by her bedside waiting for the fever to subside.

‘What do we do now, Narendran sir?’ Jayamohan’s voice was jagged with guilt.

‘I don’t have the means to raise them both…or else I would…’

Narendran hugged Irene. She opened her weary eyes that could hardly stay open.

‘What will I do after the court’s judgement?’

‘Let’s put her in a poor home. Listen to me for now. That’s our only option. I have spoken to the priest. They are ready to take her.’

He shut his eyes, unable to look at Irene’s face. He felt helpless. After he had fed her gruel and medicine, he went up to Jayamohan.

‘I can’t send her to an orphanage, Jayamohan.’

‘What else to do, sir?’

That whole night, Narendran held her close as she slept. She laughed and wept in her sleep. Mummy, my tummy’s full, she wept. Protested that Chechi was teasing her. Ayyo, don’t take away my chechi, she screamed. My mummy was killed, she complained weakly. He thought of Angela. He felt guilty. They should have met earlier. Should have fallen in love. Should have married and had children together. She wouldn’t have died. Neither he nor Alexander would have had to go to jail. Early in the morning, he roused Irene from sleep, consoled her with kisses. He then told her in a gentle voice, ‘Uncle wants to tell you something, you shouldn’t be sad.’

Irene opened her mouth to cry.

‘Don’t cry! You are Angela’s daughter! Mummy doesn’t like tears.’

She wiped her eyes and swallowed. He told her, finally. ‘My dear mol, you must live in the poor home for a few days. Uncle will come soon. And then we will go get Chechi and go to Biriyani House and the park and the beach and cinema and have fun like before…’

Irene stared at him. She did not cry. Or laugh. She did not believe him.

‘When will you come back, Uncle?’ Her voice had no life in it.

‘When should I come?’ His voice was equally lifeless.

‘On my happy birthday,’ Irene murmured.

‘On your happy birthday,’ he too murmured.

****

Read further on Kindle.