Kuttan

Kuttan the wildcat _ Tales from Gods own country

I did not eat for the last four days. It is not that they did not give me any, I could not eat. Having lived in forest for so many years, hunger is nothing new. 

I was born in the Range officer's official quarters years back. We were four. My siblings, all females, were in great demand and were taken to good houses when we started playing hide and seek. I being a male had no takers. My larger size and grayish black color was another factor that deterred many. So the decision to to throw me out was spontaneous . It was the Ranger's daughter who delayed it. She loved me, we used to play for hours together. To her I was Kuttan ( a pet name for all small boys). When She left for the boarding school my good days came to an end.

In a large Black bag, the jeep took me into the reserve forest. I could not find my way back home. For many days I wandered through the forest without food or shelter. I had almost lost hope when the attack of a dog like creature changed my life. I ran for my life and climbed a tree to escape.

There was a bird's nest on the tree. The eggs in the nest was my first meal in the wild. Food is not difficult in forest if one is watchful. But survival depended on one's skill and luck.

Life was OK till the fifty acres of forest land was cleared for the car park near the pilgrimage centre. I ventured out to rubber plantations near by when food became scarce.

The curious case of the missing appams

‘Oh! the ghost with the lamp’. Prakash looked up hearing the boy sitting near him whisper. They were in the study hall. It was not yet seven, but for the old wall clock it was already seven.

His eyes followed the boy’s gaze, in the direction of the narrow road which leads to the boarding school sleeping quarters. The light was moving towards them oscillating just above the road. Slowly a large white robe too became visible. Now Prakash was sure that it cannot be any one else other than Father Abraham, the Principal. He was carrying a hurricane lamp. In those days when electric torches were so common it was odd that he still used the old fashioned hurricane lamp. Prakash looked around; almost all the boys had their eyes on their books as if they were just a few minutes away from the final examinations.

Knap Saar

This is in remembrance of Knaap Saar, my boarding master in primary school. He's made an appearance before, look up Killings 

There may not be much in a name but at times we come across names we never forget in our lives.

Sundays were the most boring for the boys. They were not allowed to play on sunday evenings. They spent the sunday evenings on the verandas of the school. It was on such a Sunday evening that they made the greatest contribution to their boarding school lore.

They were trying on the many masks they made from card board covers of note books. Few ran around wearing the masks. An elderly man, taking a short cut to his house though the school compound, reached the veranda of the school unaware of their presence. The boys appeared in front of him as if from no where. It was not intentional but he was shocked to the core.