A Black Cat and the Dark Human Mind

Today, I met Kuppan Uncle after eleven long years since I moved from my small, tranquil town to live in this big, bustling city.

I saw him lying on the foot-path close to the busiest road in the city, fully drunk. He looked older than he actually was. I was happy to see him despite his state, because he was associated with my childhood memories.

As a child, I had always wondered at his staggering gait and bad odor. My Pappa and my neighborhood despised him, and his family disowned him for his drunken behaviors.

He was startled when I walked toward him and called out, “Kuppan Uncle.”

His wide, red eyes gazed at me inquiringly, Who are you?

“Amlu. Carpenter Muthu’s daughter.” I responded to his inquiring gaze.

To my surprise, he immediately recognized me.

“Aww! Amlu. I remember you as a tiny kid in mini-skirt, and always topless. Look now, how you have grown up like a palm tree?” he giggled, and I smiled.

“You and your father left the town many years back. Ya! Ya! I remember you, too well.” He repeated his dialogue three times, nodding his head. It seemed, he was assuring to himself.

I was astonished at his memory. I never thought, he would even remember me, considering his state and the long span of time. I was indeed wrong. He remembered way more than I thought. His memory unveiled the mystery of Chimney, after eleven long years.

******

My memories of her are still fresh in mind.

Mamma named her ‘Chimney’ the moment she was born because her color matched with the dark, black stains of smoke on the walls of the old-fashioned chimney at my house. The big Brownie delivered Chimney and her three siblings in the attic. Though I had never seen Chimney’s father yet I could guess, Chimney must have inherited her color from him. Her three siblings resembled their mother — three cute little brownies. After a week, Mamma gave away the siblings to neighbors but kept Chimney at home. Brownie shuttled between houses to caress her kittens.

Chimney had her mother’s milk for four whole weeks, then gradually we started weaning her, earlier with only lukewarm cow’s milk then the solid diet including red meat, boiled fish and the dried fish, which became her favorite.

Mamma worked as a maid in the household of the landlord in our small town, Padallam. She would leave an hour past sunrise and would not return until sunset. Pappa would pretend to be busy in his carpentry work. I would cry all day long for Mamma. She would never take me with her, for she feared, I would desire the lives of rich.

One evening, she placed two-month-old Chimney on my lap saying, “Chimney will be always with you. When you miss me, love her more, and keep her always near.”

From that moment, Chimney became the dearest to me, and I never let her go away from me even for a moment because I always missed my Mamma.

I wonder if Mamma knew it already that she had to go to God at so young an age of twenty-seven. I heard people say in her funeral, “Poor soul, it’s not an age to die.” “Unfortunate fate.” “What an unlucky child to lose her Mamma at just four years of age.”

Chimney was six-month-old then, yet she looked older with well-built body, bushy hair, and bulky tail. Chimney was my Mamma’s souvenir to me as I was to my Pappa. Pappa became very kind and forgiving after Mamma’s loss, yet he could not replace her love.

Chimney always recognized my mood. When I was sad in the memory of Mamma, she licked my cheeks, sat on my lap and gently rubbed my hand with her paw, assuring her love. When I was happy and playful, she would go into hiding, playing hide and seek. She would always win. Hearing me cry when I don’t find her, she would come running yet not exposing the secret place of her hiding.

Pappa had always warned me not to take Chimney into the town but to play around in the vicinity of my house because people complained to him that Chimney often crossed their path, spoiling their planned work and business. As a four-year-old child, I never understood what that meant but now I do as a fifteen-year-old teen. The senseless black cat myth.

Monday was the busiest day of farmer’s market in my town, the gathering of farmers who sold their crops at the cheapest price; cows, goats and country hens were brought for sale. Every small town had such a market on any fixed day of a week. It was the day of bargains for buyers and the day of gain for the sellers. The whole population of my town was assembled there, also adding to the crowd were the people from the neighboring towns.

I and Chimney went along with my neighbor who sold dried-fish in the market. Chimney was as excited as I was. It ran here and there in its wild excitement. At one point, I could not keep up the pace, and Chimney was lost into the crowd. I screamed calling out for her, running, inquiring and begging everyone on my way to help find Chimney, my Mamma’s shadow. None seemed to pay any attention. Everyone was keen in their own business of bargain and gain. I was too small to understand the harsh reality that there was no value for someone’s loss and emotions in and out of the market.

After an hour of exhaustion, distress, and tears, I found Chimney in the hands of a man wearing a saffron-color-robe, with a long, unkempt black beard, and a lock of hair on the top of his bald head. My knees buckled and I fell to the bare, hot ground, not by exhaustion but because my tiny body could not support the weight of my happiness. Chimney scratched the man’s hand to release herself, and leapt into my open arms. She licked my face and hands, expressing her joy.

I decided, I would never take Chimney to the market any more because I didn’t want to lose my Mamma once again.

Returning home, we played hide and seek. My turn came to find Chimney. As always, I failed. I screamed out, “Chimney, come back. You won again. Chimney, where are you? I am waiting.”

I panicked as Chimney would not keep me waiting for long in tears. I ran door to door in my neighborhood hoping to find her.

Saying, “Thank God! It is lost. That ugly black cat was a sign of bad luck.” Some shut the door at my face.

Some advised, “It brought misfortune to your home. It took away your Mamma from you. If you love your Pappa, don’t even look for her.”

They had no better words to say to a crying child. I did not understand what they meant by it, yet I stopped searching for Chimney. I loved Pappa and I did not want to lose him too. But I hoped, Chimney would be on her way back soon.

Through teary eyes, I watched the sun hiding from sight, behind the horizon, painting the sky in the tangerine hues.

I felt I lost my Mamma again.

******

The thought that Mamma was with God was comforting but not knowing the fate of Chimney was always haunting. And today, Kuppan Uncle solved the mystery of my missing Chimney.

“I remember that evening when you lost your black cat. Ya ya! I remember it too well” he again repeated it three times, nodding his head. It seemed, he was very proud of his memory.

“I told you, I knew where she is but you didn’t even listen to me.” Kuppan Uncle blurted out.

I felt chills running down my spine. The memory flashed in my mind.

Kuppan Uncle was sitting under a banyan tree in our neighborhood, his usual spot. After futile attempts at searching for Chimney, with tears streaming down, I was walking back to my house. He screamed out my name and said something. I had always feared him. Pappa had strictly warned me to stay away from him, saying, “Kuppan Uncle is a demon who eats small children like you.”

The warning was so deeply rooted in my mind that it set on alarm of fear. I didn’t dare to go near him. While he was calling me, I ran quickly inside my house and shut the door for my safety.

“I saw chimney in the hands of that Priest who does grand Pooja at landlord’s home. The black cats are the spirits of demons so are sacrificed after Pooja at homes of landlords to get rid of bad omens from their huge mansions, and to bring more and more prosperity, adding to their riches.”

The vision of that saffron-robed man with Chimney in his arms flashed for a second. Tears streamed down my cheeks.

Kuppan Uncle always blurted things when he was under the influence of alcohol, hence no one in town listened to him, let alone trusted his stories.

I trusted him…

Now I wonder .

Which one of the two is evil — 

A black cat,

Or the dark human mind that is invisible

to the naked eye?

Declaration:

I own all rights to this story, 'A Black Cat and the Dark Human Mind'. This was previously published at Genius in a Bottle publication at Medium.

Chirag

https://wordnwisdompottery.medium.com/