The Mosquito

I am a Hindu and I do believe that it would be wise to believe in the existence of a supreme power that can be thanked for all the good things or blamed for all the bad things that happen to you. Though a student of science I would continue to cling on to that belief until proven otherwise. My Amma was a strong believer while Achan is an atheist (‘almost an atheist’ would be a right description). Well, there’s this mosquito who inhabits the crematorium at Polayathodu, Kollam, Kerala. While I don’t care about its religious inclinations I can definitely certify that this creature, a Ghoul on wings, would be the most selfish and cruel being that inhabits Mother Earth.

Having not slept for almost a week and tired from all the stress I hardly had any energy left in me to perform the last rites of my mother. I should admit though that these rituals following death did bring me a sense of completion. I did, however, secretly curse the priest who ordered me to circumambulate the pyre thrice with the body! It was not just because I needed to do some strength training, the platform that hosted the pyre was very unscientific. And to add to the misery, it was raining cats and dogs. The priest was a very strict person and kept giving me and Unni (my cousin) clear instructions or ‘tasks’ which we executed with near perfection. Braving the sinister puddles without waking up the demonic snakes to pay our obeisance to the legendary Harishchandra whose temple is near the graveyard will remain in my memory for ever.

The wicked mosquito did not trouble me on the day. It was definitely not out of compassion for me. I was never still, my hands were mostly free and there was a lot of heat. It waited for the fifth day when we returned to collect the ashes. It was early in the morning, dark. Unni and I were asked to hold a cloth and keep it spread out as the priest diligently prepared the ashes.

We weren’t supposed to move. ‘That’s it. Now’s the time,’ I could hear the ominous laugh. The ruthless creature jumped on to my left arm and pierced my skin with its proboscis. It plunged deep and started sucking my blood. I couldn’t shake it off as I would lose the grip on the cloth. Neither could I blow off the mosquito, thanks to my 3 ply face mask (I sincerely believe that the whole sinister universe had been conspiring for this very moment and COVID was part of the plan). The mosquito sat still and nothing could interrupt its feast. Minutes felt like eons. Did Indra choose to be a mosquito rather than a bee?

I can’t remember exactly when the rascal flew away. I had tried to rub my arm against the priest as he inched closer to me during the ritual. Either that or a full stomach persuaded the creature to return to hell. With a sore and red bump on the skin I moved to Thirumullavaram to immerse the ashes in the Arabian sea.

The pointed fiend still looms over, I am sure, waiting for its moment!

(image courtesy: https://mahabore.wordpress.com/2013/11/01/karna-the-curse-of-parasurama/)