The otherwise calm Sarangapani Street was full of voices. Every mouth had a story. The men folk were ready with their judgments even before the matter reached court. "life imprisonment" said one; "death sentence" said another. Their women were full of gossips, each one trying to juice up the story in her own way. Children were chasing the Jeep and along with them ran Subramaniam. He ran and ran till he was panting and could no longer keep pace. Standing there still, he stared at the dimly fainting sight of the Jeep still trying to catch a glimpse of his master.
Subramaniam was days old when Ramanujam picked him from the street and since then he was his trusted companion. He would follow him to the lakeside, the woods, the library, for that matter anywhere Ramanujam went. Ramanujam was unlike anybody in the village. He never sat under the big banyan tree to discuss the worldly matters nor was he interested in the boat race which the other men folk were so fond of. He was more to himself and had no friends except Subramaniam. He would spend his days in his huge ancestral house coming out only to go by the lakeside or take a walk to the library. Chandramma, his maid was the sole visitor to his house. She would come there every day at the wake of dawn and would find him already in front of his canvas.
