A Face to Avenge
Dr George Karimalil
Mahadevan checked the gilt-edged
tray once again. Hot milk, specially prepared tea powder, sugar, spoons and a neatly folded napkin – everything was in order. As he lifted the tray, his wife Madhuri, who was busy cooking beside, cautioned him once again: “Don’t drop it on the way.” There was a touch of sarcasm. But he did not mind.
devan, as others fondly called him, had no difficulty in taking the tray out. But the problem began the moment he stepped into the
presence of his
master John Miller. For eight long years he had been working under him. Still the very shadow of his master was sufficient to trigger off a bout of jitters in him.
His mistress Susan was another formidable presence Devan had to cope with. She was genteel and tried to be very kind to all those who worked for her family. She never raised her voice in an attempt to reprimand him, not even once. Still his slender body buckled in her presence. His hands trembled, throat
went dry and words failed to come out. The predicament was so severe that little beads of perspiration used to line up on his large forehead, often moving down over the eyelids.
John Miller was a senior British police officer, entrusted with law and order in the early thirties. He always went by the
rules, often ruthlessly. “Rules are meant for everyone’s good. No one should be exempted,” he said, caressing his well-oiled thick moustache. Many called him “Moonchwala gora sahib”, of course not within his hearing. He was a terror to all those who dared to defy. Perhaps that was the reason for Devan’s predicament.
Devan still dreaded to recall the day when he had stumbled over and spilled hot tea on his master. The master lost his cool and was about to fire him. Poor Devan stood trembling all over. Seeing his discomfiture, the master cooled down and ordered him to leave. And the poor man literally scampered for his life.
Similar was the occasion when he was cleaning up the main hall. Seeing a new
portrait that his master had brought, he lifted it up to see. It was then he heard his master’s approaching footsteps. In a hurry when he tried to keep the portrait back, he hit it against the wall. Luckily the art piece escaped with a minor fissure at the bottom. In the ensuing confusion, he did not notice his master standing right behind him. When he looked up, he just let out a cry and collapsed...
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NB.This is only a part of my unpublished story. If the story is acceptable, I can gladly mail you the full story of aroud 1500 words.