On the hilltops of Munnar, There lived a man-eater,
Striking fear in every man
Who lived near.
Many a time, a brave soul would arrive.
And, to everyone’s dismay,
Only a shell was left to display.
The villagers would perform a puja
Every time a brave was felled.
They would wrap the corpses in saris
And purify them with fire.
The ash that remained fed the crops,
Bringing sustenance to the broken men.
Each harvest, the men hung their heads
While the women gathered in shame.
“Koman is too scared to go.”
“Shyam is learning to gather from me.”
“Azhakan and I are leaving town.”
“Why are the men here so spineless?”
All three walked away,
While being pierced by the women’s laughter.
But halfway through, Shyam turned around.
And looked at Rukmini, his wife.
“Do you really want me to face the maneater?”
Shyam asked his beloved.
“My father promised me a hunter,
And I will settle for no less.”
Packing his spear and a night’s ration,
He walked with Koman and Azhakan.
On the way, the two pleaded.
“Don’t go. You will be done for.”
“What man am I,
If I can’t please my wife?
What man am I,
If I have no feats to show?
What man am I,
If I am too scared to hunt?”
“What man am I?”
From behind, a menacingly sweet song
Tickled the men’s ears.
Azhakan and Koman immediately ran,
Into the dark, and away from Shyam.
Two slender arms fell around Shyam’s neck.
“Why don’t we find out together?” she said.
A tantalizingly warm breath fell on
The right side of Shyam’s neck.
He had reached the point of no return.
“I know you can finish me now.”
Shyam sighed as he gently
Removed himself from the embrace.
“I knew I was dead
the moment I picked my spear.
Aah, you already have it.
Fair game, I guess.”
The maneater laughed heartily.
Shyam turned around to see Beauty.
Dark skinned. Eyes glinting with life.
Playing with his spear as if it were her’s.
Shyam reached for his hip.
She thrusted the spear by his throat.
He took out his rations.
She put down his spear.
She sat opposite, puzzled.
“Why would you want to die?”
Shyam ate a mouthful,
And offered to feed her.
“Who told you I want to die?
I want to live, but I am denied.
My wife, Rukmini, wants a martyr.
She willed it, and I’ll provide.”
The maneater ate from Shyam’s hand.
She relished the flavors heartily.
She squealed at the spices
And lay back on the mud.
“Is that the man you want to be?
A man for all except for he.
A gentle man: image ideal.
One for all, and none for me.”
“What about you, maneater?” Shyam replied.
“What right do you have
To judge a man
When you are not in his world,
Let alone his skin?”
The maneater sat up.
Under the moonlight, he saw her eyes.
Born of this earth, a brown so staunch.
A fire roared which he was not ready for.
She edged closer until their knees touched.
She looked at Shyam and smiled suggestively.
“I have the right because tonight,
You are mine.”
“You are in my world.
You are in my hands.
You are in my mind.
And I am in your skin.”
Shyam flinched as her arms
Fell on his thighs.
“You may be a man, but I am the Wild.
I have broken men like twigs under my feet.
Your fate shall be no different.” she prophesied.
Shyam offered another handful to her.
The maneater stared at it and then at him.
A sweet chuckle rang in Shyam’s ears.
She let go of his thighs and gave him a kiss.
Shyam stood as still as the night air around him.
She looked at him doe-eyed and smiled.
“You ate the first mouthful for me.
Now, have one for yourself.”
Shyam’s vision went blurry with tears.
He ate the now salt-stained rice.
It tightened his chest. A hug within.
A paradise unseen came alive.
He ate another morsel.
And then again.
He felt elated at each bite he took.
Suddenly, a hand fell on Shyam’s.
“Give me some too, martyr.” she said timidly.
“Why don’t you take it on your own?”
Shyam asks the woman.
She seemed confused, lost even.
“Of course, I can kill you
and use your hand as a ladle,
but I want you to do it.
Don’t you?”
The fog was settling heavily.
So, they started to build a fire.
Not for the warmth, for they had the other.
But to see their beloved,
A spark for the fire.
The woman lay on his lap.
Looking up at him with warmth.
“What man am I?” she sang with mirth.
Embarrassed, Shyam hid his face.
She took his hand and
Placed it on her hair.
Shyam patted her, looking at the sky.
“We are all puppets, bound by strings.
I now have yours like you have mine.
You wondered what being a man meant.
Does a cage matter once it’s abandoned?”
Shyam’s views descended from the heavens
And came to her.
He held her face, as she held his.
He gave his strings to the Maneater,
Surrendering himself to the Wilderness.
“You free me, and I feed you.”
The Maneater smiled slyly.
She devoured him through the night.
Shyam the man was killed.
No more tears left to cry.
The following day, a sari was missing.
The fire burned, but the body was missing.
The village stayed the same,
Rukmini was praised.
Everything was as it should be.
One Response
Brilliant! Just Brilliant! Sentimental!
In a world that eats men mentally, flogging them with fanatic expectations, this is a curtain-opener.
The monster has more love than a well-behaved righteous human.