Twenty-Five

Abstract

In Gauwally, Pakali who woke up to the dawn twitter of birds thought it was late and hastily got to his feet. He saw that the mat on which Gendethimma had slept was bare. Even as he assumed to himself that Gendethimma must have gone to the brook, he felt a sudden urge in himself. Out he strode, heading off toward the stream. He cursed the treacherous cold as he crossed the village limits. The white fog that enveloped the place reminded him of the white frothy fizz of toddy. Pakali’s nostrils flared at the thought of toddy with its delicious smell. He thought they could knock back loads of toddy in the toddy-bibbers’ den in Bogiad on their way back from Mysore. Gendethimma is not the type who jibbed at buying toddy for others, Pakali told himself. Gendethimma could drink a hell of a lot too. But what if something were to go wrong on the way with Maranki in tow? Pakali hoped nothing of the sort would happen. Gendethimma was not to be seen anywhere near the brook.