Fiction: A devil with literary aspirations takes up residence within the super devout Kunjamma

Kunjamma walked briskly down the cemetery to sing oppees loudly and tunelessly at the graves; she chose one headstone each morning, so that no one felt left out when she broke into the Office for the Dead. “Kahla nadam kelkumbol mritharil jeevan udikinnu” was her blithe reassurance to them despite never having died herself. Then, as she could never stop herself from doing this, she peeped into the small dry well in the corner of the cemetery where bones from emptied graves were dumped.

Family tomb plots were sold here, to take in as many corpses the family could provide. But for those who could not prebook a final resting place, a rota system applied. These were to be vacated when enough deaths had occurred and it was that grave’s turn for a refill. Thence they were transported into a pit where their bones mingled with others’ bones. Here Kunjamma sang in fast-forward as she doubted their ability to appreciate a tune in such a scattered state.

After the frenzied sweeping, the unleashing of a sudden soprano on the dead and furtive peep into the well, Kunjamma wanted to share her grand vision of the night before with someone who’d understand – Vikari Achchan! She briskly walked...

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