Fiction: Kalyanaraman visits Mempatti to study folk songs. He is put up in a mysterious old mansion

“Well, may I go now?” asked Thangarasu.

“All right …”

“What will you do about dinner?”

“I’ve brought bread and biscuits. If you could just have some milk sent to me …”

“On a daily basis?”

“Let’s see. Let me settle down first.”

“I could bring ayya dinner,” said Velli. “But he is a Brahmin, so he won’t eat meat curry.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll manage,” Kalyanaraman assured her, handing her three rupees as promised.

Thangarasu was horrified. “Three rupees? Don’t spoil her like this!” he protested.

“Che, she has carried the suitcase such a long distance, Thangarasu. Please come tomorrow morning. I need to meet some people from the village who are familiar with music.”

“I will bring them, ayya. So I will see you tomorrow.”

“I will also leave now, ayya,” said Velli.

Kalyanaraman watched as the two of them walked away. Velli had a spring to her step, and the tinkling sound of her anklets lingered in the air awhile.

Kalyanaraman sank back onto the bench, feeling somewhat overwhelmed. “My God! I’ve left civilisation far behind and landed up here, virtually a prisoner, in a zamindar’s mansion. Now everything is unfamiliar … new faces, new environment. I’ve overcome quite a few obstacles to follow my passion for folk music … its lyrics, its musical structure. How many days...

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