Kasturi, Kasturi
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Updated on August 6th, 2009 – Please see the “Epilog” at the very end.
This was my 1st work of fiction. I was probably 8 years old. Even though I wrote many later, this particular story is seared in my memory. I’ve been meaning to publish this for quiet some time. I’ve translated it, since the original was in Tamil – and added a little finesse & refinement to it. The story’s framework and flow of events are more or less intact.
Father came home in his scooter, whistling “Saare Jahan Se Achcha” tunelessly as usual. Mother was watering the roses & sprinkling crushed egg shells near their roots. “Are the children back from school?” he asked Mother. “Its only 4:30 PM, you’re back early” she said.
Chari from next door appeared in his trade-mark V-neck banian. “Sir, have you heard the news? The bus drivers are on a strike. There are no buses – none at all – connecting the suburbs with the town”. Mother looked alarmed. “How will the children come back home now?” Father said lightly “Have you forgotten, Alamelu? Mani goes to school in a bicycle. Surely Kasturi will ride “doubles” with him. Don’t worry”.
Somewhat comforted, Mother went in to make coffee for Father. It was 5 PM. The aroma of the 1st decoction was filling the kitchen. Mani came home, limping & sporting an injury in his knees as usual. Kasturi did not come with him. “Mani, where’s Kasturi?” asked Father. “Isn’t the runt home already?” asked Mani, picking his nose. “No, she isn’t. There’s a bus strike. We were hoping she would hitch a ride with you” said Mother, emerging from the kitchen.
“A lot of girls from her school are walking back home. I’m sure you’ll find Kasturi with them” said Mani, helping himself to a slice of plum cake. “I’ve told you a million times to wash your hands first. And – why, you’ve scraped your knee again! What have you done this time?” shouted Father. Mani continued chewing, but maintained a tactical silence.
“Walking? Its 7 Km from here to the school!” said Mother & looked helplessly at Father. “Her legs will be swollen when she gets home”. Father patted Mother’s shoulder. “Ask her to take a day off tomorrow, then” he said, to appease her.
“I’ll make her something she likes. She’ll be very hungry when she gets home” said Mother, to no one in particular. She busied herself in the kitchen. Father moved his easy-chair to the verandah, to keep an eye on passers-by & resumed reading the paper.
Around 5:30 PM, Father spied groups of school girls inching their way back home. Their shoes were dusty & they all looked tired. Slowly the girls trickled in, in small groups, talking desultorily. Father opened the gate expecting Kasturi. But, Kasturi did not come with them. “Subha, did Kasturi walk home with you?” he asked one of the girls. “No uncle. In fact, I did not see her at all this evening” said Subha.
Mother came out, wiping her hands in a dish towel. “Did Kasturi come with the other girls?” she asked. Father hesitated. “No, not yet Alamelu” he said. “What day is it today? Perhaps there’s a special class & she’s attending it” said Mother. Father brightened a little. “Yes, that must be it. That must be it. And do you remember? She wanted to join the basketball team. She’s such a tall girl! Maybe she has basketball practice” he said.
“She’s an idiot” muttered Mani. “I bet she’s in a field somewhere, playing hop-scotch with her friends” he said. Father resumed his vigil near the gate. He remained there at 6 PM, when Mother turned the lights on. “Its getting dark, please come in” she said. “Where could that blasted girl be?” appealed Father to the gate.
That was when Father’s friend Bhatt came in, in his ancient motor bike. “Shankaran, why so glum?” he asked. “Kasturi is not back yet” Father said hesitantly. Bhatt considered the situation. “Right. Have you checked with all her class-mates? Her friends?” “No, Ganesh. I don’t know what to think” said Father. “Then, let’s make a list of her friends & visit their houses”. He dragged Father out of the house.
“Mother, why don’t we call the school?” asked Mani. “That’s an excellent idea” said Mother. She wanted to do something to keep herself busy. Mother dialed the school’s number. She had neatly written down all the important numbers in a phone book, next to the phone. She caught her breath as the phone started ringing. But no one picked up the phone.
“Let’s try again” she said to Mani. He nodded his head solemnly. At the 4th attempt, the peon picked up the phone. “Madam, there’s no one in the school. Only me & the Watchman” he said. “What about the children?” asked Mother, fighting to keep her voice even. “The students, the teachers – they all left long time back, Madam” said the peon. “When exactly?” asked Mother. “Long time back, Madam. I told you already. Shall I cut the call now, Madam?” said the peon irritably & hung up the phone.
The door bell rang. Mani & Mother raced to the front door. But it was not Kasturi. It was their next-door neighbors, the Charis, with some mangoes in a basket. “My brother-in-law from Salem brought these mangoes, Alamelu. We brought some for your kids. Why – whatever’s the matter?”. For Mother had started sobbing. “Kasturi is not back from school yet” she managed to say. “Where is Shankaran?” asked Chari. “I’m right here” said Father, coming in with Bhatt. It was 7 PM.
“What did her class-mates say?” asked Mother. Father crashed to the sofa. Ever efficient, Bhatt took over. “Why don’t you two have a glass of water?” he offered. “Where is my daughter?” asked Mother, shrilly. Bhatt wiped his face with his hand-kerchief. “She was with some of them initially, when they started walking from the school. They were in a large group. Somewhere along the way, they lost track of her. Kasturi did not arrive with them” he finished reluctantly.
No one spoke for a while. “Perhaps we should go to the school?” offered Mrs Chari. “The peon is a lazy bum, he could be lying without checking all the class-rooms & play-grounds” she added. “Yes, yes, we should check the school” said Mother fervently. So, it was arranged. Mother rode with Chari in his scooter to the school. The school wore a deserted look. “Maybe we should call her name loudly?” asked Chari, averting his eyes from Mother. “KASTURI! KASTURI!” they yelled, as they moved from room to room, floor to floor.
But there was no one in the school. Near the playground, they found a man, stacking Cosco balls in a bin. “How can I help you?” he asked them. “I’m the basketball coach” he clarified. “We are looking for our girl – Kasturi. From VI B” said Mother hesitantly. “Kasturi? I know no girl by that name” said the coach. “You see, Sir. The situation is like this. The child hasn’t returned home yet” said Chari. “My God. Shouldn’t you have checked the school earlier?” asked the coach. “The athletes -” began Mother. “They all left 45 minutes back, Madam. And I assure you, Kasturi did not leave with them” said the coach, not unsympathetically.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me” he said, starting his bike. “Where is the child?” asked Chari, bewildered.
It was 8 PM when they came home. The temple bells were chiming in. Father was still lying in the sofa when they came in. “Any news of Kasturi?” he asked. Mother sighed. “Shankaran, why don’t we call on her Class Teacher & the Headmistress? I’m sure they’ll know about special classes” said Bhatt. “For lack of anything better to do” said Father, getting into the pillion of Bhatt’s bike.
Mrs Bhatt came in with her son Madhav, looking worried. “Alamelu, my husband relayed the news to me. Is there any update?” she asked. Mother started sobbing. “Please don’t worry. God is great” said Mrs Bhatt, hugging Mother. “Shall I make us all some tea?” she volunteered. Madhav & Mani started a desultory game of Carroms. “Yes, we should pray to Lord Balaji in Tirupati” said Chari. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten to pay your respects to the Gods. And the Lord works in mysterious ways” he added.
It was 8:30 PM when Father & Bhatt came back. “We spoke to the Headmistress. She was angry that we were bothering her at an untimely hour. But she says that special classes are held only for the 10th grade” said Bhatt. “And anyway, no special classes were held today” added Father, flinging himself onto the easy-chair.
Mani & Madhav stood near the gate & scanned the road. “You know, sometimes if you want to see someone & you meditate their name for a few minutes – Bingo, they’ll arrive” said Madhav confidently. “Really?” asked Mani. “Oh yes, it has worked for me many, many times” said Madhav. Kasturi, Kasturi, Kasturi. They meditated. But Kasturi did not come.
It was almost 9 PM. “Isn’t it dinner-time? Why don’t we all eat?” asked Mrs Chari. But, no one felt like eating. “Mani, Madhav – why don’t you have some food with my daughters?” asked the tactful Mrs Chari & led the children to her kitchen. There was still no sign of Kasturi.
“Perhaps we should retrace the path the child would have taken. The most likely path” said Mrs Bhatt. “Shankaran, Alamelu – both of you are tired. Why don’t I look for the child?” asked Bhatt. Mother’s face was pale. “No, I’ll come with you” she said resolutely. “I’m also coming with you” said Father. He looked suddenly older.
And so they went. Calling her name, “KASTURI! KASTURI! KASTURI!” once every few minutes. Stopping along the way. Peering at intersections. But, Kasturi did not come.
It was 10 PM when they came back home, exhausted. “What happened?” asked Chari. But, he knew the answer already. “Perhaps we should inform the police tomorrow?” he asked. His voice was hoarse. “I’m leaving the entrance lights on” said Mother. “Please, all of you, have something to eat & go to bed. I’m waiting for Kasturi” she said.
But Kasturi did not come.
Please remember that this story was written when there were no cell phones. The story takes place in a small town, like Mysore or Thanjavur. There are not many people on the streets, traffic is non-existent and the streets wear a deserted look after 7 PM. Unless you are in the market area, which passed as the “down-town”. Even there, most activity ceased after 9 PM.
Many of us took the city bus to travel from the suburbs to the school. Bus strikes were not uncommon. We would trudge along, taking the long commute back home on foot, school bags, water bottle and lunch box in tow.
“So, what happened to Kasturi?” asked my mom after reading the story, back when I wrote it. “I don’t know” I said. “You don’t know? What do you mean? You must have had at least the germ of an idea when you wrote it” – she said. “Nope, sorry mom” I said.
Mom looked at the story again. Presently she said “I feel bad for Kasturi”. I shrugged. My job ended with creating the story.
Epilog - If you want to know more about the ending, read the comments section. If you’re still not satisfied, click here.
Maybe you should really write a sequel to the story you wrote when you were 8 ! (I really want to know what happened to kasturi
)
Jass – Thanks for your comment.
A sequel to the story – I would, if I knew what happened to her. Your guess is as good as mine
As it stands, its a dark tale – revealing more would change it too much, I think.
I loved this story. Did you write it when you were just 8?? Whoaaaa!!! Lovely bit of writing!
Tell us what happened to Kasturi please!!
Is this a true story?
Revs – Thanks for your comment & kind words.
No, its not a true story. Though I guess it could happen.
What happened to Kasturi? I really don’t know. Sometimes, a stage where plays are enacted are divided into 2 sections. Let’s say 1 section is brightly lit & the other shrouded in darkness. What happens in this section is a mystery, unknowable. We can only observe the lighted section of the stage.
I’ve only narrated the lighted section of the stage.
Priya whoaa superb cool post…
i loved reading err rereading it many times….
Beautiful narration,i could vividly see the characters before my eyes..
But what happened to kasturi???Plz write the conclusion part of it priya…
\\There are not many people on the streets, traffic is non-existent and the streets wear a deserted look after 7 PM. Unless you are in the market area, which passed as the “down-town”. Even there, most activity ceased after 9 PM.
Many of us took the city bus to travel from the suburbs to the school
\\\Even today my village is of the same kind….
And priya do write more stories like this…
Annapoorani – Thanks for your comment & kind words.
>> But what happened to kasturi??? Plz write the conclusion part of it
Oh, I don’t know. A story is completed in the hearts, souls & minds of readers. As a writer, I’m rendered powerless, the moment I finish a tale.
Wonderful story Priya. It produced the same kind of knots in the pits of my stomach, as the original one in Tamil you narrated to me several years ago.
i beseech you to write the chettiar story next.
Sukumar – Thanks for your comment & kind words.
The Chettiar story – I’m impressed that you remember it after all these years. I’ll certainly write it. It probably won’t be the next, but it will be 1 of the next few posts.
At 8?! Unbelievably good. Neat attention to details.
I liked the way it ended. A little more length would have enhanced the impact i think.
One more request for the Chettiar story.
Aravindan – Thanks for your comment & kind words.
Yes, I used an abandoned Tamil typewriter to write, er, type this when I was a kid. I didn’t know typing, so it was more of a 4 finger typing
It was a little less than 1 page at that time, now with some refining its almost 2 pages – I thought anything longer would be too much for a blog post.
The Chettiar story – Sure thing. I have some misgivings about that, but I’ll certainly write it down & post it.
// its a dark tale – revealing more would change it too much, I think.
I am going to make you an offer you can’t refuse! You tell us what happened to kasturi now and you walk away as is, nobody touches you. Or you don’t tell us what happened to kasturi and the newspapers will write a story similar to this, except that it would be priya raju going out for work and not coming back. What do you think ?
*straight face*
P.S: If sukumar is reading this then this is just a joke, if priya is reading this then I am damn serious.
Jass – Reveal the ending & nobody gets hurt?
There’s no ending, really. Its whatever you want it to be
I guess I better work from home for the next few days 
Priya – a good one even in translation. 8 years old.. – thank god (figuratively!) they didn’t throw you out of the school for not being normal!
Hariraj – Thanks for your comment & kind words.
l was very mediocre, actually pathetic, in quiet a few areas – most sports, sewing & most crafts (except painting & a few others). So, the school just accepted my weirdness.
I’m surprised at the degree of darkness in most of my tales. I don’t know where it springs from. Wonder how my parents & school put up with that
Nice one Priya!!! viLayum payir muLaiyile theriyum!!!
தமிழ் மூலத்தை வெளியிட்டால் என்னைப் போன்றோர்களுக்கு படிக்க வசதியாய் இருக்கும்
Pretty good story. And you must be pretty good in a sinister kind of way
to end the story like that at 8!!!
And the flow is pretty good too. Reminds me of the time my mom who never leaves home normally, jumping on a horse cart to go rescue us from ‘pillai pidikkiravan’ when there was a scare one day. We tease her even now for saving us.
Ila – Thanks for your comment & kind words.
Making up stories was something I & my brother did, as kids. We used to entertain (I hope!) neighborhood kids with stories, whenever we couldn’t go out & play.
Nagu – Thanks for your comment & kind words.
Yes, sinister isn’t it? Wait till you read my other stories – Some of them are darker
That’s some incident from you & your mom’s life. Sounds interesting, you should write about it.
தமிழில் இப்போது நான் எழுதுவதில்லை, நாகு. மன்னியுங்கள். இந்தப் பதிவுகளைப் படிக்கும் பலர், தமிழ் தெரியாதவர்கள். சிலர் வெளி நாட்டவர். மொழி ஒரு இணைக்கும் கருவி, இல்லையா?
Interesting story Priya.I tried translating the story into Tamil and it reminded me of the great Sujatha…
On the lighter side u can add a sequel to Kasthuri-Return of Kasturi(Say Kasthuri has an IAS officer or IPS officer and Mani has her opponent
and mother’s emotional struggle between the righteous unknown daughter and corrupt unknown son,,darn i guess i am being influenced by the mega serials…)
Karthik – Thanks for your comment. Sujatha?! You’re too kind, but this is sacrilege. The great man will turn in his grave.
A sequel, huh? Interesting idea. Only, I don’t know what happened to her
Beautiful piece of fiction Priya! loved the dark mood & the mystic ending given to the tale…
pl do post more of such works!
Good Earth – Thanks for your comment & kind words.
I’m glad you liked the ending. Yes, I do plan to post some more fiction from now onwards.
Hi Priya,
Great stuff! The suspense you built right through is fantastic! I don’t think any other ending to this would have been as good!
Look forward to more of this stuff.
Raghu
Raghu – Thanks for your comment & kind words.
I’m particularly glad you liked the ending. Thanks for your kind words of encouragement, I’ll post some more fiction in the upcoming weeks.
Priya,
Wow! Great story. I particularly liked the ‘no-ending’ ending. Ever since I read this story, I have been trying to come up with a suitable ending for it, but nothing seems to fit. That’s the beauty of ‘Kasturi Kasturi’. Waiting for the ‘Chettiar’ story…
-Hema
Hema – Thanks for your comment & kind words.
Glad you liked the ending. We can speculate on what happened to Kasturi, but since the story is all about a dark, grim sense of foreboding that builds slowly, I agree – no other ending is possible.
The Chettiar Story – Sure thing. Thanks for your encouragement.
Priya,
Truly awesome piece of reading! And keeping in mind that you wrote it when 8 years old…..brilliant!!Wonder what gems u d come up with if you wrote stories now!!
For trust me!! at age 8, All my imagination could come up with was grisly plots in which I murdered the class bully and became the school hero and variants of it!! it was all action!!I even blogged about it in ch1 once (to much hooting and sniggering….yes!:-|)
Waiting for the Chettiar piece!!
And you know…….this sort of reminded me of my own childhood when I sometimes purposely missed the evening bus back home and played in school in full faith that parents d come and pick me up…..they d come at say 5:00 all tensed up and gimme a rather tough time when we got back home!!
Goofy – Thanks for your comment & kind words.
You’re reading the refined, translated version. Of course, the plot, story, framework, outcome & atmosphere are the same.
A story’s a story, grisly or dark or funny
So, you also wrote when you were a kid. I think you’re being unduly modest & too kind in praising me.
Chettiar’s Story – Its a little dated, I wrote it when I was 21 (& that’s ages ago). But yes, I’ll certainly post it in the blog.
Now I hope you understand what your parents went thru
The story end creates an effect many fold than the balachander’s (atleast he will have only ambiguous climax .. ).. I thought you have part-II of this story, and started guessing that
Btw, this story is a great attempt in your childhood.. It was interesting till the last word.. (Just wondering Is the tamil version also the same, or if the translation have rendered it well )
Priya,
It is an excellent story..If only you had put a twist in the climax, it has all characteristics of O.Henry story.
Senthil – Thanks for your comment & kind words.
Balachandar? You’re too kind. I cannot even be spoken in the same breath as that superbly talented film-maker.
I’m glad you liked it. The Tamil version – I’ll ask my parents or brother to read the English version & compare the 2.
But, there’s no 2nd part to this story. What happened to Kasturi is left to the reader.
Vamsi – Thanks for your comment & kind words.
Its blasphemous to compare my writing with talented writers like O.Henry.
I wanted to build a sense of something amiss, a touch of panic slowly over the story. In the end, I wanted the readers to feel terrible for Kasturi. Any twist would have undone the effect. A relief from tension to the readers wasn’t on the cards
very good narration…
Archana – Thanks for your comment & kind words.
Lovely story. Considering that you wrote it when you were 8… Brilliant!!
I remeber being sent home by the class teacher for not being able to write without spelling mistakes even simple words like Apple, Ball etc. when I was 8.
// Even though I wrote many later
Do publish all of them
err.. i made a spelling mistake in my previous comment too. It’s remember, not remeber
Old Habits!
Balaji – Thanks for your comment & kind words.
>> I remeber being sent home by the class teacher for not being able to write without spelling mistakes
In these days of automated spell-checks, typos don’t matter much
Plus. I was a weird child & a weirder adult. The kind of things that I couldn’t do – and still cannot do – are shocking. My brain is capable of doing very many utterly useless things. But falters with tasks – the important, everyday stuff that matters – that most people can do with ease.
Nice story and narration.
What intrigued me most was to understand, what made you decide the story leave open-ended? Because the normal tendency is to close either good or bad? What was your inspiration/motivation?
It is little late in the day to remeber what mindset you had at that time though!!
Kumaran – Thanks for your comment.
I don’t know what prompted me to write. But the ending. Why is the story open ended? Well, in my mind its not totally open-ended. If we abstract the possible outcomes & look for the more probable. Its a dark tale, it has a certain atmosphere.
Of course, a O.Henry twist as Vamsi says is always permissible.
Recalled what happened in my house. Kasturi was sleeping under the bed in a room. Came home early, was playing hide&seek. By mistake went to sleep.
Kumaran – There you go, a possible ending
It took 35 years to complete the story.. ha ha !!
Kumaran – 1st of all, I’m only 42.9, not 43. Please don’t spread vicious rumors about a lady’s age
Jokes apart. Dude – I turn 25 this November. Jesus, can’t you see that as clear as day
Ok, seriously – I’m 39.
At the age of 8?? Unbelievable. I sense a mature style of writing and thinking for that age. As much as the ending seems depressing, the open endedness was surprising. I could go with Kumaran’s ending!!
Hoping to see the tamil version if possible, which I am sure will be much better since I believe things get lost in translation.
Ganesh – Thanks for your comment & kind words.
The Tamil version was around 1 page, I’ve refined it & expanded it. Yes, the flavor does change with translation. I’ll try to post the Tamil version 1 of these days – Nagu has also asked for it.
>> I could go with Kumaran’s ending
Sure, but that would not fit the atmosphere of the story, would it
/**
>> I could go with Kumaran’s ending
Sure, but that would not fit the atmosphere of the story, would it
**/
Do I smell a bit of sadism here?? ha ha …
Kumaran – Peace on earth
I’ve updated the post. Please see the Epilog at the very end.
>> Recalled what happened in my house. Kasturi was sleeping under the bed in a room. Came home early, was playing hide&seek. By mistake went to sleep.
This actually happened to me once, when I was a kid, I tried to fool everyone around my hiding under my table. I went to sleep and woke up after around 5 hours. And by that time everyone were busy looking for me all around.
Sudar – Thanks for your comment.
Now you know what your family went thru
Priya , very nice story.
Since you wrote this at a very early age, at that time,deep in your heart may be you were afraid of getting lost, and wrote this wonderful story. Is it possible ?
Sharmi – Thanks for your comment.
Was I afraid of getting lost? Perhaps. In retrospect, the story has a touch of the sinister. Perhaps I was just an evil kid
This story can be seen from all perspectives-evil, fear.
Priya I hope you have started writing a fiction.If not please start.It will be worth reading.Indian writers are big time hitting the international market.
If you already have a book please let me know , I will buy it.
Sharmi – You’re very kind. I did put together some ideas for a book, then fortunately enough (for the readers
), my start-up business picked up some steam. So, I had to shelve it. Of course, that’s an excuse. If I want to torture international readers by publishing internationally, I’m sure I can find the time 
Thanks for your words of encouragement.
While reading this story, I’ve had a feel of reading an RK Narayan’s classic short story from Malgudi Days; especially for its typical South Indian characters whom we come across in our day-to-day life.. It is truly a beautiful piece of short story.. The end of this story reminded me of one of this kind by the title, ‘The Lady or the Tiger’ by Frank Stockton, which I believe I learnt in an English lesson of Class vi
The last few lines of this story which I just pulled from a website goes like:
Then it was that his quick and anxious glance asked the question: “Which?” It was as plain to her as if he shouted it from where he stood. There was not an instant to be lost. The question was asked in a flash; it must be answered in another.
Her right arm lay on the cushioned parapet before her. She raised her hand, and made a slight, quick movement toward the right. No one but her lover saw her. Every eye but his was fixed on the man in the arena.
He turned, and with a firm and rapid step he walked across the empty space. Every heart stopped beating, every breath was held, every eye was fixed immovably upon that man. Without the slightest hesitation, he went to the door on the right, and opened it.
Now, the point of the story is this: Did the tiger come out of that door, or did the lady ?
The more we reflect upon this question, the harder it is to answer.
The end of the story was left to the readers to decide…
HATS OFF to your imagination and writing skill.. I’m looking forward to read more such interesting stories having the South Indian touch from your end…
It is not a story, but a picture Priya. We all miss her.
Vijay – Thanks for your comment & kind words.
But, you’re too kind – My attempts can never be mentioned in the same breath as R.K.Narayan’s wonderful works.
South Indian flavor – Thanks, I set it in a slightly modern Agraharam in Small Town South India – I grew up in one.
Interesting that you mention “The Lady or the Tiger”. What came out of the door, the tiger or the lady? Usually, people put themselves in the place of the woman, to answer this question. Similarly, people have put themselves in the place of the narrator to choose an ending that reflects their preferences the most.
Thanks for your kind words of encouragement. I’ll certainly write more stories.
Emmarcee – Thanks for your comment & kind words. Glad you liked the story.