The ties that bind

The Chellapas were the best family you would find around the town, by far. They were well-known about the place, and they had a reputation as clean as a fresh tissue. A Chellapa was always a bright, upstanding citizen, the kind that had a lot of money and paid taxes on all of it. They were handsome, they were intelligent, and most of the time they were the talk of the town. When you were a Chellapa, people respected you.

It was to the Chellapa’s house that Ani was going now. It was the sort of day that pretended to be warm when it was really not, with the sun shining bright rather than hot and the cold wind making her shiver. She was glad of having opted for a unconspicuous salwar kameez rather her much thinner nurse’s uniform this morning. Normally, on such a trip, the nurse’s uniform was indispensable- however, she knew Mrs. Chellapa would not take kindly to that. And it simply would not do to bring the Chellapas’ wrath upon herself.

Ani wished she did not have to be the one that gave the news to Mrs chellapa. She did not want to be the one who gave the news to the Chellapas at all, but Mrs Chellapa, the unsaid matriarch of the family, was the worst of all.

It was all made even worse by the fact that she knew Ewan. They had gone to school together since the first grade. It would be too much to say that he was anything in the way of a friend, but still, she had known him. She had watched him for years, and always felt rather sorry for him.

There had existed a large social gap between them at school, for she was friendly and intelligent, and he sullen, dim, and rather unattractive. He had no friends- he was the kind of child who should have been mocked mercilessly, shoved in lockers, whose stupidity would become a running joke amidst his smarter counterparts. And yet none of these dreadful things happened to him, because he was a Chellapa. No one ever dared to cross a Chellapa. Instead, they did not speak to him at all, neither amicably nor jeeringly, for even children understood that to be a chellapa was to demand a respect that could smoothen sour contempt into neutrality.

But prestige could not protect him from the battle that raged in his own mind- he had a fit at 14; at 15 he saw and heard things no one else could; he became sour and aggressive at times, vacantly ecstatic at others. He hallucinated more and more, and his fear grew into paranioia.

Secretly, Ani suspected the very family that had protected him at school had been his undoing. Being in the Chellapa family meant excellence, true excellence. It was a burden that could shake the toughest child, leave alone the gentle boy already struggling to catch up. Pressure could make diamonds, but it could make things break, as well. Especially minds.

The knock of her fingers against the door felt like a death toll. As the door opened, she gave the maid a sad, timid little smile. They knew each other quite well-Ani had been here nearly every month the past year.

“Ma’am’s upstairs.”, Ananthi told her quietly and withdrew, perhaps sensing Ani was in no mood to talk further.

 Ani did not stop to admire the decorations on the wall as she went up, ignoring the elegant, artistic hangings and engravings and sculptures that adorned the place. She had seen it all before anyway, and what use was it all when much darker things were embossed on the owner’s heart?

Mrs. Chellapa was in the kitchen, cooking. That was the trend among rich women now- to get the maid to prepare all the ingredients, and cook themselves. Ani could not imagine why- if she could afford a maid, she would certainly not be cooking herself.

Mrs. Chellapa turned, her white sari whipping behind her. Aged wrinkles climbed into a slow smile of recognition.

“Oh hello, Ani. Do sit down. Didn’t see you there.”

Her focus was still on the food. Ani looked around for a door to slam somewhere. Perhaps that would alert the woman to the seriousness of the situation.

There were no doors. Ani cleared her throat instead. It wasn’t nearly as therapeutic.

“I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

Mrs. Chellapa stilled. At this stage, they both knew exactly what bad news meant.

“Well?”, the older woman muttered. So she was going to make Ani say it.

“Ewan’s deteriorating. He sees and hears things all the time now, and not even medication can fully stop it. “

“Hmm.”, said Mrs. Chellapa non-commitally.

“He’s in his own world, Ma’am. We are going to need to move him permanently to the asylum. He may be a danger to himself and others.”, Ani said carefully, professionally. Every word felt like a new betrayal.

Mrs. Chellapa went pale- or at least, her lotion-whitened face turned a little lighter than it usually was.

“Move him permanently?”, she sounded a bit breathlessly. Ani vaguely wondered if she might have a panic attack.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“That-that just wont do, will it? A chellapa in an asylum. Its bound to get out.”, Ani opened her mouth to say something, but Mrs. Chellapa was in her own world.

“No, no, it simply wouldn’t do.”, she murmured, and Ani fidgeted uncomfortably.

The older woman shuffled toward the enormous tapestry that covered the entire right side of the wall. It was a magnificent, beautiful thing, glittering with gems and colors so rich and vibrant they practically lifted themselves off the cloth. Hundreds of names were written in neat, curving ebony, buried amidst the rubies and emeralds and sapphires. Each was connected to the other in a mad, enormous network that covered the entire right wall like some overgrown creeper. This was the chellapa family tree, a splendid tapestry that many would give a fortune to be a part of.

On the far left was Ewan’s name, arching out onto the bare expanse of the wall like a brave, lonely leaf.

It was to his name that Mrs. Chellapa went now. She stood in front of it for quite a long time, knife in hand, as if a great dilemma went on inside of her. And then, with a single swift motion, she sliced it off.

Ani felt sick as the small piece tumbled to the floor. To be cut off from a family tree was not simply to fall from its graces- it was to have no family at all. From this moment, Ewan Chellappa was merely Ewan, alone in the world when he needed someone the most.

Mrs. Chellapa did not bother to pick up the offending piece. Instead, she turned to Ani and offered a small, polite smile. Ani wondered how long that name would lie there in the dirt before someone threw it away.

Perhaps Mrs. Chellapa picked up on Ani’s animosity, or perhaps the hatred that was burning with Ani somehow showed on her face. Whatever it was, it made the older woman shake her head disapprovingly.

“Oh, don’t look like that. Children are important, yes, but I’ve got lots of those. We’ve only got one reputation between us.”, she spoke unconcernedly, as if they were merely discussing the weather. “Coffee?”

Ani shook her head, unwilling to spend any more time in Mrs. Chellapa’s company. “No, thank you.”

“You really must.”, Mrs. Chellapa said firmly, placing a steaming tumbler in front of Ani, and joining her upon the table with a coffee of her own.

Ani did not protest, simply sipping the coffee. It tasted warm and fresh and delicious, but Ani’s bitterness seeped into it, too. She put it down and pulled out a jar full of a white powder. Unscrewing the top, she made to pour it into her cup.

Nobody likes seeing the coffee they made added to, and Mrs.chellapa was no different. She frowned at Ani in irritation. “What is that?”

“This?”, Ani looked up at her. “It’s a medicinal powder, really helps with colds. You want some?”

If it had been anyone else, Ani would not have offered, but this was Mrs. Chellapa, after all. The old woman smiled and added a pinch of the powder to her coffee.

“Thank you, Ani.”, she said solicitously, in a tone that suggested she was doing Ani quite a favor.

“Keep it. Once a day, it’ll stop any colds.”, Ani said shortly. She did not use it much, anyway. Finishing her coffee, she stood, tired of playing the part of another of Mrs. Chelappa’s admirers and sick with the worry Mrs. Chellapa did not seem to feel.

“Bye. Thanks for the coffee.”, she said tonelessly. Not waiting for the reply, her feet carried her out onto the road with speed born of frantic repulsion.  It was only once the house was out of sight that she relaxed, settling into a rhythmic walk.

***

The chellapas were not seen around the asylum after that, not that they had been seen much before, anyway. Deprived of what little company had once kept him clinging to the last reserves of sanity, Ewan seemed to fade away. His already thin frame grew positively gaunt; his hair grayed, even though he was only thirty; and he slipped ever further into terrifying hallucinations and unnamed fears.

A month later, Ewan died. The doctors had all sorts of fancy reasons for it, because biology demanded an answer. But everyone who knew what Mrs. Chellapa had done also knew exactly what the real reason was.

The Chellapas did not attend the cremation ceremony. Not that Ani had expected them to-for them to attend would require the kind of emotion and care Ani firmly believed they did not possess.

She saw Mrs. Chellapa, though, looking on from a distance. Ani supposed the woman was delighted- after all, the last evidence of the Chellapa blood’s imperfection was now nothing but ash. She did not look very happy, however- she looked worried, and for whatever reason, angry.

They did not meet again for nearly a month after that, largely due to Ani’s care to avoid her. When Ani next saw her, in some function where she was due to speak, she was astonished.

The famed Mrs chellapa had changed. She had lost weight and become quite bony; her grey hair had whitened; and she spoke in a queer, tremulous, jerky fashion. During the speech, her words sloped and slurred, and she swayed drunkenly along with them.

The next time Ani met her, though, was much more eventful. It was in the market, during the busy hours of the morning. Even as Ani paid, Mrs. Chellapa arrived and practically pounced upon her, thin fingers curling like birds’ claws over the front of her dress. In a loud, querulous voice, she announced to the rest of the market Ani’s part in a nefarious plan to make her ill. Ani was, apparently, the prime helper in one of Ewan’s cruel plots to drive his mother mad- a plot which, from what Ani could gather from of the woman’s unfinished sentences and nonsensical rambling, consisted of Ani somehow helping Ewan to transfer his illness to his mother.

“You…you are shameless!”, the words were hissed in an agony of trepidation and helpless rage. “I cannot believe that you would sink so low! And now-now that I am ill and the plan has killed my son, you pretend that you are quite innocent! You-“

She would have gone on, but her children found her and shushed her, pulling her off Ani and murmuring embarrassed apologies. Ani found the whole thing a profoundly entertaining spectactle, and was really quite sorry when her family ushered Mrs. Chellapa away.

Ten days later, the chellapas brought her to the hospital for treatment. The doctors set to work almost instantly, each one eager to secure the honor of having saved the fiendishly rich woman.  Medicines and advice abounded; doctors promised that this, or that, or this for certain, would cure her; and yet she only deteriorated steadily. As her health worsened, her occasional bouts of sanity became shorter and rarer, and her visits to the hospital increasingly frequent.

As the weeks passed, no once could quite guess what ailed Mrs. Chellapa. Diagnoses and theories were dealt out freely, and everyone had a different opinion . But upon one thing the consensus was unanimous- Mrs. Chellapa was certainly quite insane, and needed to be admitted to the asylum as a permanent resident.

The task of telling her family, once again, fell to Ani. Perhaps the hospital thought her tactful; perhaps, as was more likely, no one else wanted to be the one to tell them. She felt a curious sense of déjà vu as she made her way toward the enormous bungalow, and she thought about Ewan.

Ewan did not leave her thoughts even as she knocked upon the door, practically possessed them when she made the solitary trek up the staircase to where Mrs. Chellapa’s daughter Anita, a woman remarkably similar to her mother in both manner and looks, was cooking.

It really was quite remarkable, as she spoke to Anita, that she said Mrs. Chellapa instead of Ewan, or delusions and mood swings instead of hallucinations and paranoia. Anita did not seem overtly affected by the news, besides the momentary pause after Ani told her and the jerky way she talked after.

It was not good news, she said, and Ani nodded sympathetically.

It would be the talk of the town, she worried. Ani said she was quite right.

Mother always said reputation was the most important thing of all, she remembered, and Ani wisely said that mothers were generally right about these things.

Mrs. Chellapa had raised her daughter well. Anita stalked over to the small piece of cloth in the enormous Chellapa family tree that held her mother’s name, inlaid with a tiny diamond to illustrate its value. One could not imagine the battle that must have plagued her- what was more important: her mother or her mother’s advice?- but in the end she cut the name off with a snarl of determination.

They talked about this and that for a while longer- particularly about what could possibly have brought about the terrible tragedy. Many of the doctors back at the asylum believed it was a genetic predisposition; Mrs. Chellapa thought it was Ewan’s nasty plot, and Anita held that it was the shock of Ewan’s sudden death.

No one ever suspected the medicinal powder Mrs. Chellapa  mixed in with her coffee once a day for the rest of her short life.