You can’t fool all the people all the time

With no option, he indeed explained his failed antic. It was out of respect of his wife, that he tried the trick. He had wanted her to believe that he had a had a serious breakdown, hence the delay coming home.

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THE township was agog with revellers who thronged it after a day’s hard work in the village. Being a small place, almost everyone knew the other and here, teachers were the only civil servants and their relationship with villagers was lukewarm.

Imbibers sat in twos or threes, on verandas of whitewashed building, most of which doubled as shops and bars.

Being surrounded by villages, opaque beer sold more than bottled one.

Imbibers shared the beer on a mouth to mouth antic, always followed by a wiping using the back of the hand.

The bars also closed a bit early as very few people had money. Most of the time they played a game of snooker and squabbled noisily among themselves, a like troops of baboons.

Once in a while, fights broke out, at times with nasty consequences.

But there was one characteristic about this township. There were no women patronising at night and yet beer drinking and women almost always went hand-in-hand.

It was after closing of the bars that men took to various homesteads for their secret lovers.

It was taboo for a village girl to mill around the common shops.

After a drinking binge at the local township, Kamoto drove his ramshackle Nissan PG 720 past five villages to the place where a woman he dated stayed on the fringes.

She had returned from an abusive marriage. It was an agreed fact that she was gifted with both beauty and a voice that was softly aglow.

But like any “return soldier”, village elders with cotton tuft hair, always insisted that she be allocated a stand on the periphery, so no one sees her darker side. That way, respect prevailed.

She had just been around for a few months but many men had tried their luck. They hovered around her homestead day and night, but without success.

They offered firewood, they offered fetching water for her, they offered to do a lot for her and eeish, she got busy.

Back in the village in the proverbial land of milk, honey and dust or Guruve, a man with the most beautiful wife and one who grows sweet mangos by the roadside have similar problems, every passer-by wants a bite.

In the village, many people are decent during the day; very, very, very decent but when night falls, everything mischievous seems to fall into place, too.

At night it is the time for the hunters and the hunted.

Being the only one with a car, Kamoto, was hot property with ladies and being a Dhumasta (headmaster), he had to shy away from villages next to his school.

He outbid everyone and won the heart of the village beauty. But men continued trying even after it was known that Kamoto had won.

These days, his wife noticed he was coming home late into the night and in some cases early morning, the time elephants normally bathed. It became routine.

Kamoto’s wife was a teacher but very conservative. She barely questioned him and yet it was eating her out.

The school was electrified and had piped water. The headmaster’s home was strategically positioned by the school yard to give him a vantage view of the school.

Days turned into weeks, weeks into moons and indeed, things got worse. The wife remained quiet. Silent.

This wintry night Kamoto was overcome by drink and love and by the time he woke up, it was way, way past midnight.

Off, he left for his home but conscience told him, he had overdone it. He even felt for his wife. And, so he drove home, conscience eating his heart out.

The moon was about to set. Kamoto looked at his wristwatch and it was almost 3am. He drove close to the house and hatched a plan. He parked by the water tap. Opened running water and mixed mud and water into a paste. He started smearing himself with mud paste all over the clothes, all over his body.

After satisfying himself that he was dirty enough, he parked by the window as usual and knocked for his wife to open the door for him.

Slowly, tentatively, she opened the door for him. Without wasting time, Kamoto started explaining that he had a long breakdown.

She burst into laughter. “So your breakdown was by the tap? I saw you arrive. I saw you play mock-house. I saw you smear yourself with mud. What a shame?” Her lips quivered with anger.

“What drama is this Mr Kamoto? A whole headmaster? A whole adult?”

Realising he had been caught, Kamoto, knelt down and apologised. The wife burst into melancholic laughter, woke up their teenage children and asked Kamoto to tell his children what he had done.

It was immediately discovered that he was wearing the pair of trousers, inside out, meaning he dressed up in a hurry.

With no option, he indeed explained his failed antic. It was out of respect of his wife, that he tried the trick. He had wanted her to believe that he had a had a serious breakdown, hence the delay coming home.

The wife swooped on a bucket full of water and poured on him. Drenched he pleaded for mercy, she could hear nothing of it. Another bucket followed.

Children huddled by the corner as their enraged mother, continued pouring water. It was a grand spectacle.

Teachers heard the noise from their homes and closed in. Almost every teacher at the school gathered to see.

The following day, the township was agog, with Kamoto’s story. She was so much ashamed that she committed suicide by hanging.