Bells For Justice
Nimi Kurian
29 October 2007, 06:54Mina lay awake. The night was cold and the blankets didn’t help to keep her warm. On the other bed, her sister was fast asleep. Mina, shivered as she got out of bed and drew open the curtain. It must be close to midnight. The bright yellow moonlight flooded the room. She looked out onto the garden. Everything lay quiet, bathed in ethereal light. And in the stillness of the night, she suddenly heard the church bells chime. The melodious chimes echoed through the valley, resounding through the conifers, breaking the silence of the dark.
Mina shuddered. It did sound ghostly. ‘Who could be ringing the bell at this hour?’ she thought. ‘Surely, it’s not Nanjappan, the sexton!’
As unexpectedly as it had the started, the chiming stopped. All was quiet again. Very cold now, Mina snuggled back under her blankets. The chiming had frightened her. She pulled the blankets over her head and was soon fast asleep.
For many days after that, she thought about the bells that had chimed at night. She asked her brother. He said he had heard it too. She dared not ask her sister for she knew what her sister would say: ‘You and your childish nonsense!’ Her mother of course would say that it was her imagination.
She asked her father. He nonchalantly told her that it was a common occurrence, ringing almost every night.
“But, why is that? Don’t you think it is strange? How can Nanjappan stay awake so late? Isn’t he scared? And in winter its so cold…” Mina was full of questions.
“Oh! That’s a long story. Someday you will find out,” replied her father. “Why don’t you ask Nanjappan yourself?”
Next Sunday, Mina and her brother set off for church, before the rest of the family. They loved to be there well before the service started. It was not to meditate or pray but simply to romp around the beautifully laid out graves, in between the old weeping willows. Some graves had intricately carved angels standing guard, others elaborately carved crosses and some were just plain with moss and mildew growing on it. It was cold and damp under the trees. Some mornings, a thin mist hung over the graveyard, adding mystery to the scene. Mina and her brother loved to read the epitaphs. There was so much history there.
They often wondered what had made these people leave their country and travel so far. What had they gained? Had they been happy? Sometimes they spotted the grave of a child, sometimes an old woman – how many years did she live in India? They knew from their father’s stories that many of the English had not returned to England after Independence. For them India was home — more than England would ever be.
Too soon, people began to trickle in and it was time for them to get into church. Standing at the entrance was Nanjappan.
“Let’s ask him how he rings the bell at midnight,” whispered Mina’s brother to her.
So they asked him. His face remained expressionless. He stared at them for awhile and then motioned them to follow him.
Confused, they did as he instructed. He led them to the side entrance. And there stood an old, rickety, wooden staircase. It led to the belfry. The railings looked shaky and weak.
“Do you think I would venture to climb these stairs at midnight? Even during the day it is a great feat. And the nights are so cold, I would not dream of getting out of my house. Have you visited this place at night? It’s very frightening. The weeping willows moving in the cold night breeze seem to be calling you to doom.” He shuddered as he finished his speech.
“Come with me. I will show you something else,” said Nanjappan.
He led them down a small path between gravestones. People rarely walked this path and the grass had grown. The morning’s damp made it slippery. He stopped abruptly and pointed to a grave. It had a large structure built over it and was now old and weather beaten. You could hardly read the epitaph.
“Read this,” he said.
Mina crouched and tried to clear the stone. She read aloud: Here lies the mortal remains of Capt. Mark of the Queen’s Own Regiment who was killed by an unknown assailant in his home. Faithful was his service to Our Lord and his Queen…
“The land for this church was donated by him. His killer was never found. He cries out for justice,” said Nanjappan.
