Gunning

At the inn of Muzhappilangad Janamma – famous for its minced buff deep fried with ginger and peppercorn masala – Ousepachan, Sreedharan, Kumaran Master, Palaniappan and I were seated together, and that’s when Ousepachan said, ‘Brother, life is a myth. Chastity or love have no value whatsoever. The only truth is lust, a five-minute-long truth. It’s possible to weave a beautiful lie around this kernel of truth for a couple of hours … That’s all.’

Palaniappan had opened a new plant for his business, so the Remy Martin Louis XIII Rare Cask was on his tab. He let out a soft belch and said, ‘Fact.’

Sreedharan asked, ‘Can you generalise like that, Ousepacha? Aren’t there any lasting truths at all in life?’

Kumaran Master said, ‘It’s all a sham. Folks, I’ve experimented with everything, right from Viagra. Nothing lasts. Only your blood pressure shoots up, that’s it.’

When I say buff fry, I mean it has to be buffalo. The usual bull calves that come for slaughter are too tender; they turn gooey when fried. To absorb the ginger-peppercorn masala, the meat has to be dry, like chukka fry; it has to yield its flavour slowly as you chew.

Janamma saw my plate and asked, ‘Shall I bring some more of the sizzling stuff, Nair?’

‘Yes,’ I told her.

‘Dei, that’s enough. It’s only money and spicy food that burn all their way down to hell,’ said Sreedharan.

This place, Muzhappilangad, is located on the border of the Kunjippuzha Reserve Forest, further west off the famous beach at Dharmadam near Thalassery. ‘Circus’ Janamma runs this beachside resort with her husband, ‘Rifle’ Kunhaman. It is not a luxurious resort, just a mid-scale one. Not too many people come this far, but this is the place one must visit for the supreme taste of beef.

The beach was a stone’s throw away. Since it was far from the more popular Dharmadam beach, it did not attract very large crowds. Yet the sea was as scenic as it was at Dharmadam. Eroded by the waves, the rocks – red as raw flesh – stood in the sea in strange shapes, like modern sculptures.

‘Get lost, you senseless Thiyya! I’m not talking to you. I’m talking to this original Goundan here who is educated, sensible and pious. Goundan is a gentleman,’ said Ousepachan.

Palaniappan feelingly said, ‘Yes. Very true!’

Janamma, who stood a little away, gestured to ask me what I wanted. I signalled for water.

Ousepachan, who turned towards her, said, ‘For instance, this Janamma here. I’ve known her for the last eighteen years. When I came here as an engineer she was running a small mess. From there to this resort – all because of this beef fry. Folks, beef grows delectable as you keep chewing on it – like a good raga, or else, like … well, forget it.’

He continued,‘Some munch and swallow this beef as if it’s chicken. Beef is meant for virile men, particularly the true Mar Thoma Christians. What I’m trying to say is …’

‘Ousepacha, why did you mention Janamma as an example?’

‘Me?’
‘Yes.’
‘I said it?’ ‘Yes.’

‘Maybe,’ belched Ousepachan. ‘What I’m trying to say is that beef is what Saint Thomas, when he landed at Kodungallur with his cross, had …’

‘You talk about Janamma, Ousepacha. Let Thomas go to hell with his cross!’

‘Janamma!’ Ousepachan raised his forefinger with a look of enlightenment and smiled beatifically. ‘Our Janamma here used to work at the circus. That’s why she’s called “Circus” Janamma, did you know?’

‘The circus? I thought it was something else.’
‘What did you think?’ Palaniappan asked eagerly.
‘Shut up, you Goundar! Ousepacha, you go on,’ I said.
‘What did you think?’ Palaniappan repeated in a low voice.
‘Gounda, will you keep quiet or not? Ousepacha, you continue,’ said Kumaran Master.

‘Janamma’s hometown is a village near Thalassery called Kunnummal Kavu. A powerful St Anthony has his abode there – anyway, forget that bit. This Janamma has an elder sister, Parvathi. They both got into the circus quite young. To be honest, they didn’t go – they were taken. I don’t know if you know it, but back in those days, all recruits to circuses anywhere in India used to be from Thalassery. Agents of the circus owners used to visit the villages around Thalassery and buy children between three and five. It was a period of extreme poverty. Parents too would willingly sell off their children.’

‘How sad!’ said Palaniappan.

‘Children that weren’t sold would mostly starve, contract scabies and die of cholera,’ said Ousepachan. ‘The circus used to feed them well. But the nature of training in circuses back then was a nightmarish affair – their bodies were trained to flex like elastic strings. Janamma used to perform on the trapeze. Gripping a rod with her teeth, she would lift up her entire body and balance Parvathi on her feet while propped upside down.

‘Theirs was called the New Grand Circus. Its owner was a Goan by the name of Pereira. He fancied himself an Anglo-Indian, but his was, in fact, a debased South American-Portuguese blood – even that was from prostitution. Anyway, leave that aside,’ said Ousepachan. ‘Pereira only used the girl children in his circus to satisfy his lust. The moment they grew up a little, anybody in the circus could buy them off him. By then, a new stock of girls would have arrived.

‘Velayudhan from Thamarassery was the one who purchased Janamma and her sister. In the ring, he was known as Bullet Velayudhan, whereas his circus buddies called him Beef Velayudhan. He was a marksman at the New Grand Circus, entertaining the crowd with his shooting stunts.

‘Back then, guns were extremely rare objects, which could be seen only in a circus. Gun stunts were highly prized, and so Velayudhan was a star in his own right. His usual act was to have a woman stand about 200 feet away and place an apple on her head, so that he could shoot at it with his Winchester Model 77 semi-automatic rifle. He would take a long while to take aim at the apple, during which time the music would be suspended; the only sounds audible were the audience gulping and breathing hard.’

All of us had by then become sober and listened sharply to the story. Palaniappan’s eyes had dilated, as if from smoking pot.

‘He used to shoot twelve times a day like that. Four times per show. His act was one of the major showstoppers of the New Grand Circus. He was paid very well there. It was his wife Champa who used to stand in front of him with the apple on her head at every show. One day, while he was practising with Champa, a bullet plunged into her forehead, killing her instantly. The circus was a world unto itself; the general public had no access to its inner workings. Pereira immediately burnt her remains in the local crematorium, and the matter was closed.

‘Velayudhan, however, was a broken man. He was idle for days together. He said he wanted to quit his job and go back to his hometown. He promised to gradually return the advance he had taken, but Pereira was in no mood to trust him. Velayudhan was a massive bodybuilder whose daily meal included four kilos of beef, which he himself cooked. Besides his gun stunts, he also flexed his muscles for show – he could wiggle individual muscles in his body. Even though it made a few women in the audience giggle and simper, the muscle flexing was only a sideshow that served as filler while the set-up for other major acts was underway. His food expenses alone cost the circus as much as the animals’ feed.

‘So, Pereira made up his mind: He would offer Parvathi, who was under his control, to Velayudhan as a gift. When she heard the news, Parvathi shuddered and screamed and swooned. Pereira dragged her away, bound her hands together with a tape, stripped her naked, tied her to a post and lashed her with a horsewhip. Two days of whipping and starvation. When he finally said, “If you don’t agree, let your sister go in your place,” Parvathi gave in. The hush-hush wedding between Parvathi and Velayudhan took place inside the circus in front of a Pillaiyar idol there.

‘From then on it was Parvathi who stood in front of Velayudhan balancing an apple on her head. He shot at her twelve times a day, and each bullet accurately blasted the apple. It became a custom for Parvathi to tremble and cry out aloud every time she had to face the bullet, with Janamma and a couple of other women placating her and cajoling her to stand before the gun. Velayudhan too would suddenly lose heart, throw away his rifle and try to walk away, but Pereira always appeared on the scene to threaten and coerce him to shoot.

‘All this, however, was a well-rehearsed charade; in truth, Parvathi had no fear at all. She would stand in front of the mirror prettying herself up or keep munching on something until she entered the ring with the apple. These were the two chief pleasures of circus life: being gawked at by many and getting to eat a variety of foods. The daily routine of rigorous practice naturally caused intense hunger, so everything tasted delicious. She was accustomed from a young age to dressing in a bikini and facing a crowd – that had wiped out any feeling of embarrassment. Instead, being seen and applauded and cheered loudly were a source of joy for her. The temptation to do whatever it takes to get the crowd roaring even louder was strong.

‘Everyone was surprised at how Parvathi felt no fear. In fact, Pereira himself asked her about it a few times. “His aim won’t fail,” she said emphatically. “But didn’t Champa die because he missed?” he asked. “That’s her fate … She didn’t stand properly,” Parvathi replied. “All right, if you believe so,” said Pereira, stopping at that.

“You’re a crazy woman,” said Selena, the trapeze artist.
“His aim never goes awry. I know it,” said Parvathi.
“S’pose it does?” enquired Kaliammai, the cook.

“I’ll die, of course. Dying at the hands of your husband means a straight ticket to heaven, no?” said Parvathi. Kaliammai and the other women listening sat speechless, hands at their mouths.

‘All the other women were surprised too. How does such strong faith arise? They didn’t have any such faith in their husbands, after all! Finally, Pereira declared, “Velayudhan is the real man here. Whoever makes a wife surrender so fully to him is the ultimate macho man.” All the others agreed, “It’s Velayudhan’s special talent indeed!” Kumaran Nair, the clown, said. “This, in spite of three of his wives dying at his hands when he missed aim!”’

‘Still, it’s an extraordinary skill,’ said Palani. ‘To shoot twelve times!’

‘Yes. If the mind wavers even for a minute? After all, we might have a thousand grievances against our wives!’ said Kumaran Master.

‘That’s where the trick lies,’ explained Ousepachan. ‘Nobody, including Pereira, knew about it. And that was the basis of Velayudhan’s livelihood. It was what established him as a macho man.’

‘What?’
‘He never loaded his gun with a bullet. Only a blank cartridge.’
‘Meaning?’

‘It was he who readied the apple for the show. He’d insert into it a cartridge the size of a little finger, which was connected to a tiny signaller that Parvathi held. She’d keep it in the pocket of her tutu and rest her finger on it. The very moment she saw Velayudhan fire his gun and withdraw, she’d press the button and the apple would be blasted to bits. Since the lead would have fallen away, it was impossible to detect.’

‘Oh, damn,’ said Palaniappan.

‘This was called the Armenian gun trick. It came into practice as early as the nineteenth century in Armenian circuses. But only a handful in India knew about it. It was passed on from performers to their apprentices on a one-to-one basis. Velayudhan learnt it from a Bombay-based Anglo-Indian by the name of Edward John.

‘He had revealed his secret to Parvathi right on their wedding night. That’s why she lived with him fearing nothing. But she kept this from everyone, including Janamma.

‘Yet, the trick was not all that easy to pull off. She had to watch her husband’s hands intently. The same second he squeezed the trigger, she had to press the button; it had to happen simultaneously. A moment’s lag would give away their game, and the scandal would stink up the town.

‘They both practised their moves rigorously for a couple of weeks in the wilderness away from the circus tents. In fact, it was during this training that they both became intimate. Parvathi understood that Velayudhan was a sort of simpleton. His first love was food, everything else came later.

‘He was an abandoned child, and he grew up starving on the streets. He initially worked in a hotel but joined the circus after he had built up his body. His mentor was homosexual. When Velayudhan had served the man like a wife for eight years, the man passed on his tricks to him.

‘Parvathi began to pity him, which then turned into affection. She took over the cooking of beef for him, and he taught her various recipes. Their thoughts and feelings soon started to gel perfectly. At a certain point, they both became deeply involved in the relationship.

‘They spent hours together talking, and they listened to songs on the radio. The girls in the circus teased them, calling them an ideal couple. “Yes, so what?” Parvathi would retort. Janamma used to ask her half-jokingly, “Find me also a dunce like this, Akka.”

‘Their timing never failed; the movement of his finger perfectly synced with hers so that the cartridge in the gun and the apple exploded exactly at the same moment. The next second the awestruck sound of “Ahs!” would rise together from the thousands around. They both relished that ecstatic cry. And whenever they were in the tent, they believed it surrounded them.

‘Parvathi’s life became much easier. Velayudhan earned well, so she was quite well fed. She could afford to go out to the cinema and buy herself clothes. She bought a radio, a watch and some jewellery; she bought her sister some clothes and jewels too. She also managed to stash away plenty of money.

‘Usually, women would have to retire at thirty from the circus; thirty-five, if they were exceptionally healthy. Later, life would be hell – aching joints, painful muscles, dependence on drugs. Most of them would end up in prostitution. The ones who made a lot of money and moved far away to start their life afresh alone escaped the rut.

‘If all had gone according to plan, Parvathi would have returned to Thalassery with Velayudhan and Janamma in four years. But that’s when Bhaskaran cut into their lives. He was a sharpshooter too; he wore a cowboy costume and performed gun stunts. He sent hats flying. He knocked down bottles and floating eggshells. On the very first day he arrived, he sniffed out Velayudhan’s secret.’

Excerpted with permission from “One Million Footsteps” by Jeyamohan, translated from the Tamil by Iswarya V., published by Juggernaut Books, 2026.