Amballore House Read Online Free PDF Page B

untold challenges of raising a family of ten children. He sometimes tried to make amends to the bad life he led. Even though he crashed his life’s plane and orphaned his family, even though he unfailingly failed in meeting his responsibilities to his wife and children, even though he could give them no shade in the sun and no umbrella in the rain, he nevertheless tried to be a man of principle at times—though he failed. Old habits were hard to die—by nature, he was not a man of principle.
    Ann was a saintly woman naïve enough to unquestioningly and blindly put her trust in the goodness of human nature, an embodiment of human kindness, an emblem of infinite fortitude and a token of unassuming humility. She was simple enough to put unshakeable faith in the shipwreck of a man called Thoma, in spite of landing in devastation and destitution and street life ever since she cast her lot with him. She trusted people around her like a baby would trust his or her mother.
    These two human beings being pitched in the same bondage is the stuff from which unusual tales are made. There may neither be books written on them nor Malayalam movies made on their lives. However, the combination of love, faith, and attempts to be principled that was the centerpiece of their existence was in itself a testament to the meaning they gave to their lives and was sufficient to build an enduring memorial in the hearts of those who knew them, and who loved them.
    Thoma spat bitterly in a long stream. The assembly of hens was dispersed in a wild outburst of cacophony by this unexpected projectile into their midst. Their loud chanting of buck-buck-buck-buck continued well after the weapon of mass destruction landed like a missile of a drone strike. They were annoyed that their buffet meal consisting of leftovers of rice and fish curry was disrupted. Ann did not own a trash bin. Chicken, crows, dogs, cats, and an occasional duck or two pretty much cleaned up the backyard for her.
    “Thoma spat,” Subashini announced from her castle.
    Her cage was her castle; she was the undisputed queen of her castle.
    “Thoma spat,” she broadcast again, just in case someone did not hear her earlier.
    Her solemn announcement had a laid-back quality and yet conveyed the gravity of an imminent World War III or the reenactment of the ancient India-China war.
    The brood of hens unhappily dispersed by spit was soon replacedby a flock of crows who feasted on the buffet. Some of them squinted at Thoma suspiciously with cocked heads, anticipating the next round of the drone attack and readying for flight to safer grounds.
    Ann did her cooking by burning wood in a clay oven. In those days of old, firewood burned in the oven was the main mode of fuel. She kept the wood fire in high flames by crouching on the floor and blowing ad infinitum into it. She could blow air like an inexhaustible fan to enliven the dying embers. Her face became darker and darker as time went on, as she kept blowing into the smoldering fire. Her face looked like the darkened cinders left behind after the wood’s final embrace of a dying fire.
    She had to exercise extreme care handling her crumbly clay pots. This slowed down the process of dish washing. Clay wares had to be handled with tender, loving care.
    Saintly as Mother Mary and resembling a female hunchback of Notre Dame, Ann kept the fire of life alive for those around her, just as she kept her oven fire alive. She had an undying smile she deployed to face any adversity. She was gifted with an easy smile, however grim the context could be. She neither knew how to get angry nor did she have the facial mechanism to display anger. At some moments that called for real displays of anger common to any human being, Ann managed, very feebly at that, to come out of her placid forbearance. She then shouted out words that easily got jumbled because of the excitement, making herself a laughingstock to the audience. If only to avoid the sorry scene, Ann