He looked into her eyes with compassion, placed the gold in her hand, and went inside.

# Chapter Seven

Dasacharya, unable to bear his hunger, lay tossing on his mat, muttering "Narayana, Narayana," as his stomach grumbled and twisted in pain. His son, unable to sleep, woke his mother.

"Amma, bad smell, bad smell," he said. Dasacharya, tormented by hunger, felt nothing. But his wife replied, "Yes, there is." She nudged her husband insistently, "It’s you, the bad smell."

"The summer heat—the corpse is rotting, the stench is spreading through the whole agrahara," she said. Half-asleep, Lakshmidevamma heard someone outside cry, "Naranappa’s ghost, ghost!" and shrieked in terror. She shuddered, wondering if the spirit of the corpse was indeed wandering, spreading its pollution.

* * *

In her hut, Gudiyamma could not sleep for the stench. She sat up in the darkness, unable to see anything. She stepped outside. The washerwomen had set fire to the hut, and now, in the ashes, the embers glimmered in the wind. In the distant thicket, she saw a swarm of fireflies flickering. She walked softly towards them, unwrapped her rag, and stood naked in the cool night air, waving her cloth playfully. She caught the twinkling fireflies in the rag, then ran back to her hut and released them inside. The fireflies darted about, casting a faint, shimmering light in the gloom. With her silver bangle, she searched the floor, while she moaned...

Samskara

Appa and Amma, taking up the silver ladle, muttered, “Ish! What is this girl doing at this hour?” “A rat has died, what a misfortune—ish!” Muttering thus, Belli searched about, and in the corner, in the dim glow of fireflies, she saw the rat lying cold. “Ayayyappa!” she cried, recoiling, then lifted it by the tail, threw it outside, and returned. “What curse has befallen these rats, that they run and die like this—these wretched she-rats!” she cursed, tore off a piece of cloth, lay down on the floor, and soon fell asleep.

* * *

Dasacharya, Venkataramanacharya, Srinivasacharya, Gundacharya, Hanumanthacharya, Lakshmanacharya, Garudacharya, and Durgabhatta, their eyes red from sleeplessness and the burning hunger gnawing at their bellies, rose at dawn, washed their faces, and came to the chavadi, cursing Narayanappa, the inauspicious one who had brought such calamity upon the agrahara. Inside their homes, the children, warned of misfortune, played in the courtyard and backyard. The women were fearful: what if the ghost of Narayanappa, wandering the streets, trampled the children? The children, not allowed inside, were scolded and pushed in, and the doors were bolted. Never before, even in broad daylight, had the doors of the houses been shut like this. There was no rangavalli drawn at the threshold, no sacred water sprinkled in the courtyard; though it was morning, the agrahara did not seem to awaken. It felt desolate. In every dark room of every house, it was as if a corpse lay hidden.

On the chavadi, the Brahmins sat with their heads in their hands, unable to do anything.

Only Venkataramanacharya’s mischievous children, defying their mother’s orders, stood in the backyard, clapping and dancing as they counted the rats leaping from the granary to the yard. In the granary, as Appayya measured out the rice, their counting kept pace with his tally.

Samskara 53

Profit, profit Two or two... Three or three... Four or four... Five or five... Six or six... Another and another... The mother who had come to fetch what she had brought, was greeted by the children clapping their hands and dancing, “Look, Amma, look! Eight or eight, nine or nine, ten or ten, ten!” they shouted, “Look, Amma, look! Ten mice!” The mother, angered by this, said: “The rice you ate has gone to your heads, hasn’t it? Is it your fate to count mice? Go inside—or I’ll call Basunde to come and thrash you. The whole storehouse is full of these wretched things. In every paddy field, their burrows are everywhere.” Muttering thus, she shooed the children inside and herded them together. Inside, a mouse suddenly appeared, and, as in their games, the children chased it round and round, and when it finally collapsed from exhaustion, the boys burst into delighted laughter.

* * *

Softly, the Brahmins descended from their verandas, pinching their noses, and walked towards Praneshacharya’s house. Durga Bhatta stopped everyone and said, “Isn’t it enough that the half-crazed old woman screamed, Acharya?” The Brahmins, murmuring, “Let’s see, let’s see,” came quietly and stood before Narayanappa’s house. Seeing the wide open main door, they were seized with fear. His corpse, lying there like a ghost, was certain. If he did not receive samskara...

He was certain to haunt the agrahara as a brahmarakshasa. With eyes brimming with tears, Dasacharya complained to the Brahmins:

“Out of greed for gold, we have sinned, haven’t we? Didn’t I warn you? That is a Brahmin’s corpse—unless the proper rites are performed, it will become a restless spirit. Who listens to the words of the poor? In this summer heat, will it not rot and decay? How many days can we fast and starve ourselves to death, keeping a corpse among us...?”

Durga Bhatta, angered by hunger, retorted:

“What kind of Madhvas are you? What kind of achara is this? In such a situation, could you not come up with a solution?”

The gentle Garuda said,

“I have no objection, appa. If Praneshacharya agrees, that’s enough. Let us not press the question of gold now. First, let us carry the corpse to the cremation ground... If our Brahminhood is protected by Praneshacharya, that is enough for us...”

All of them together went to Praneshacharya, standing in the courtyard, forlorn. The Acharya had just lifted his wife, taken her to the backyard to relieve herself, washed her face, given her medicine, and now came out. Seeing the assembled Brahmins, he explained the decision he had made during the night. Garuda, in a plaintive voice, said,

“Our Brahminhood is in your hands, appa. Whether