Approximately twenty-four years ago, I arrived at the house where I currently reside, and subsequently, in the village where I now dwell. At that time, I was studying in the fifth standard. Prior to this relocation, our family resided in my father’s home . From there, we procured new land, constructed a new house, and relocated to my mother’s village. It was during my initial days in this new home, while acquainting myself with the surroundings, that I first encountered Appuettan – the madman in my village.
Being very slim, with white hair and beard, and wearing a rugged mundu and shirt, he could often be seen walking – or rather, wandering – along the road in front of our house, or through the junction. It was my mother who told me about him. Appuettan hadn’t always wandered calmly. Long ago, during my mother’s childhood, he was a nightmare. He was chained and kept within his house. In the same state, Appuettan remained, shouting loudly as if he would shatter all four directions.
Appuettan was born in an old tharavadu at some distance from the road that winds back from our home. He was a relative of the big Karikkineth family who lived right behind our house, and led a very normal life until he reached a certain age. He was an attendant at a government hospital and even had a wife, and children. However, things took a turn when Appuettan’s father was stabbed and murdered by the head of the Karikkineth family. This incident occurred in front of a large crowd. Because the head of the family was involved in various criminal activities and proudly displayed two guns on the wall of his house, in addition to being wealthy and powerful, the case did not progress. Even though everybody had seen how he had picked up his knife and stabbed Appuettan’s father right in the chest in broad daylight, nobody was willing to provide a statement to the police, or testify in court. It goes without saying that the reason for their reluctance was fear-driven wisdom. Consequently, the case went nowhere. This was what made Appuettan lose his mind. Because he was becoming violent, as was the custom at that time, he was chained. His wife took their children and left him. Many treatments were attempted, and eventually, his madness was almost cured. The incident that led to his madness was almost forgotten. However, his wife refused to accept Appuettan back, although she did not hesitate to collect his pension as his wife every month.
Once, when I went to my uncle’s land to cut bananas, I came across Appuettan’s house. His dwelling, which appeared abandoned, stood adjacent to my uncle’s plot. The old, grand traditional house, with its various sections disappearing over time, was now reduced to only the central main part, resembling a small house. I couldn’t help but imagine Appuettan lying there, chained, shouting and screaming incessantly. Without lingering there for long, alone, I swiftly moved away from the house, which was almost entirely covered with dry leaves and seemed fit only for a certified madman to inhabit.
When I had to study about such a madman in chains in the Malayalam textbook at school, it was Appuettan that I thought about. About the Appuettan of older times.
It was the same Appuettan who now roamed freely here and there. Since I knew all these stories, I also attempted to observe him with suspicion. If I happened to encounter him along my way, I tried to pass him carefully. Wasn’t the awareness of the traces of madness in someone’s mind frightening?
Whenever this Appuettan met my father, he would ask for money. My father would give him a few coins. He told me that Appuettan asked for money from many people. Sometimes he went to the cooperative store and bought rice flakes and sugar for two rupees in a paper, and ate it. The storekeeper did not measure strictly according to the given money, and weighed differently only for Appuettan. He only spent those two rupees. He kept the rest of his money on someone’s compound wall. Then, forgetting where he had put it, he would ask for money again. Sometimes he even placed coins on our compound wall. Now we have grown accustomed to it. Even at the sight of them, we speculate that they might have been left by Appuettan. Nobody cared to touch that money. Mostly, Appuettan refrained from doing so as well. He didn’t grasp the value of money. What further evidence did one need to know that someone was mad?
Even though everyone regarded Appuettan as eccentric, those in the village who knew him well agreed that he was generally harmless – though they still kept a cautious distance from him. As for those who weren’t familiar with him, their opinions hardly mattered.
After completing my twelfth grade and gaining admission to a college, I relocated to Ernakulam. It marked my first experience of living far away from my village. I stayed away for approximately four years and subsequently, my visits became less frequent, occurring only once in a while.
During one of my vacations to the village, an incident unfolded. After disembarking from the train, I reached the junction by bus, laden with heavy bags as I trudged along the path leading to my home. The old stone and mud road had been tarred by then. Alone, as I walked in broad daylight, Appuettan came towards me. I spotted him from afar. Yet, I felt no urgency to alter my course or take a detour. It had been quite a while since I had seen Appuettan. His clothing and appearance had not changed at all. I was about to reach him. Usually, I smiled at those I was familiar with, but with Appuettan, I didn’t do that often. But when I reached near him, Appuettan smiled warmly at me and spoke in a generous tone, remarking on how long it had been since we last met. He asked me where I was studying, how many days of holidays I had, and much more. Though surprised at first, I answered each question. Appuettan smiled again, heartily. And then, as if nothing had happened, he walked away. I remained standing. Standing there for a moment or two, I looked at both sides to see if anyone had witnessed this affectionate meeting. There was no one there. Only if somebody had seen it with their own eyes would they believe it. Otherwise, they would not believe me if I told them that such an incident had really happened. Even those who were always seen outside their houses were not around at that moment, even though it was broad daylight. I moved ahead again. Despite such a significant miracle happening, I didn’t dare tell anyone. The reason was nothing else but the difficulty of explaining and making people believe. And also, there was no market value for a story that would make Appuettan look as if he was not insane. If it had been the other way, people would have at least some interest. Thus, in this vast world, the incident remained unknown to anyone other than Appuettan and me.
After graduation, I spent considerable time away from home, residing in various places – sometimes in Bengaluru, sometimes in Mumbai. Amidst all this, I became a rare visitor to the village. According to the custom of my village folks, someone who resided far away for work and visited occasionally was treated with respect. Thanks to this, I could come and go without any trouble. Moreover, while away, like others, I reminisced about my home in the village with nostalgia. During my infrequent visits, I noticed some changes. New buildings had sprung up, and new weddings had taken place. And on one occasion, I learned of Appuettan’s passing.
As soon as I returned home to live permanently, I lost the respect and status of a guest, and the villagers began to show their true colours. The disguised niceties in their queries were replaced by vile and ruthless words. Their smiles could no longer mask the frenzied violence that shone through their eyes. Their sadistic joy of getting a new prey was as contagious as a virus, and very soon it started a pandemic. This made my life unbearable.
A few years ago, an incident occurred in our village. Prasannechi, the postmaster whom everyone in the village knew well, was diagnosed with cancer. Unfortunately, by the time the diagnosis was made, she had reached the final stage of the illness. The doctor advised that further treatment was unnecessary, and suggested that we should not disclose her condition to her. Instead, it was recommended that she be allowed to live out her remaining time peacefully. Upon hearing this, her family agreed. They resolved not to discuss the illness with anyone, and under no circumstances should Prasannechi be made aware of her incurable disease. Despite experiencing health issues and requiring hospital visits, Prasannechi did not dwell on it much. She had not yet reached an age where death seemed imminent. She still had two young children to care for. However, by the time she reached home, the news of her having cancer, and impending death spread quickly. Because she was the postmaster, even those unfamiliar with her knew her. Those who came to know brimmed with overjoyed excitement and spread the news further. Visitors began flocking to her house. Initially, family members managed those who came alone or in small groups. However, Prasannechi started to sense that something was amiss in their behaviour, their overacting and their sympathetic gazes. The following day, when people continued to visit, she started to cry and ask what was happening to her. Seeing her cry reduced her to a spectacle and the crowd’s excitement peaked. Those who came once returned again, bringing more and more people. In the village, going to Prasannechi’s house became like going to a carnival. A carnival where you didn’t even need to pay for tickets. When the family members pleaded with everyone not to visit their home again, the glee in the people’s eyes only grew. Each and every one tried day and night to inform those who didn’t know. The collective narcissism of the village folk was in full swing. Smiling and laughing, they went up to the gate. As soon as they were inside, they pretended to be sad, standing there as though someone had died. Usually, the dead are spared of this pretence. Unfortunately, Prasannechi was not dead yet. This torture did her mind and body no good. On the contrary, it affected her more than the cancer itself. I am telling you this just to inform you – or simply as an example for understanding the tendencies and characters of the people in my village. Unlike Prasannechi, I survived this.
At the peak of all this, I was once walking along the road to my house. I saw one of the village folk who was also my neighbour, walking towards me. I smiled at him out of polite courtesy. . He glanced at my face once, and without returning the smile, moved aside and walked past. I could see his feet slowly shift from the straight line he was walking in, moving to the side. What did I do to all of these people to be hated this much? In any case, I don’t remember doing anything to this particular man. No, not just that – I am sure I always showed him respect. Again, I stood for a moment or two. It was this same place where I had met Appuettan that day. Just like then, even today, there were no human beings around as witnesses. I walked forward.
As time goes by, I recall more vividly the encounter with Appuettan and the pleasant conversation we shared that day. Maybe it’s true that in a mad world, only the mad are sane. Anyway, Appuettan, the only madman in our village, was truly different from the others.