In the Bible, the New Testament has many references to demonic possession. There are several instances, for example, of Christ casting out demons from people—some episodes, like that of the Gadarene swine, are especially dramatic. There are even lessons to be learnt from the whole idea of evil and its constant attempts to prey on humankind. James 4:7, for instance, states with authority: “Submit yourselves therefore to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you.”
But the Bible has no tips to offer on what one might do if, despite submitting to God, one ends up possessed, and that too by a Double D (the offspring of a demon and a devil, born of a careless and brief dalliance), as the narrator of Shinie Antony’s The Haunting of Kunjamma P calls itself. Double D, abandoned by both parents shortly after birth and subsequently abandoned by the friars who briefly fostered it, is perhaps looking for a good home—and settles on the eponymous Kunjamma P.
Kunjamma is the very picture of devoutness. As Double D describes her: “…flitting from the front door of the church to the back door, bouncing up the altar, muttering ferociously the prayers she had learnt in childhood… enthusiastically performing the rites and the rituals.” The entire community, including the priests of the local church, acknowledges Kunjamma’s authority when it comes to anything to do with religion, the church, God, and the gospel. She is a pillar of the community, at the forefront of every religious gathering and the epitome of Christian belief.
It is not all that surprising, therefore, when one day, out of the blue, Kunjamma decides to take her religiosity a step further by writing down the Gospel of Kunjamma P. The local priests, the Vikari Achchan and his second-in-command, Father John, think Kunjamma has gone off her rocker; what they don’t realise is that the woman is possessed. Driven by Double D, Kunjamma starts filling registers with garbled Aramaic, surfacing now and then to remind the priests to let the Pope know that another gospel is on the way.
While Kunjamma, driven by Double D, is writing her magnum opus, her household goes about its own business. Her husband, Paulose, frustrated by his wife’s disinterest in anything approaching passion, plunges into an affair of sorts with their grass-widow neighbour, Omana. Kunjamma and Paulose’s only offspring, Mariakutty, who is constantly being sent off to one religious retreat or another, finds true love at the latest such retreat. This is Mina, soon paraded in front of all and sundry as Mariakutty’s very dear new friend, so dear that everybody approves of their sleepovers. Then there is Paulose’s old mother, who suffers from dementia and is confined to her bed. Looking after her is Shoshamma, who has secrets of her own.
With The Haunting of Kunjamma P, Antony brings together a well-written story of religion and society, of the self and the other. The backdrop of a Syrian Christian community is vivid and real, as are its dynamics: the gossip that makes its way through the community and the norms that must be upheld, come what may. There are the rock stars of the church and community on the one hand, and the black sheep on the other.
And yet, one need not be Syrian Christian (or even Christian) to relate to Kunjamma and the parish she is part of. This over-the-top religiosity and strict adherence to the word can be seen in just about every faith. The hypocrisy that Antony depicts so subtly here is also evident across faiths. Kunjamma’s piousness is of the rigidly insular kind, which equates religion with such strict orthodoxy that it leaves no room for kindness or humanity. It is an all-too-familiar sentiment, irrespective of which god one believes in.
It is a weighty topic, but one that Antony approaches with a delightfully light touch. The situations the characters find themselves in are hilarious, the irreverence is spot-on, and the metaphors and similes are sheer genius: “Overnight she turned into a symbol of hasty burials. The quick two-minute no-frills low-cost ones. Called Maggi samskaram for short.” The author’s sense of humour makes light of what would otherwise have been a grim story, yet—perhaps paradoxically?—that wit manages to drive home the message even more forcefully.
It is not, however, all farce. Embedded in this tale of the godly versus the ungodly are profound, often uncomfortable truths about how we think, how we live, and how we worship. There is the gullibility, the eagerness to set up deities for ourselves, the corruption rampant in organised religion, and the all-too-prevalent absence of the tolerance, love, and openness that so many religions preach but that are missing from the lives of their adherents. Beyond the world of religion, too, the story reflects the way society behaves: the facades we labour so hard to maintain, the unsavoury truths we try to hide, and the way love can eventually win. Brilliantly irreverent, yet thought-provoking, The Haunting of Kunjamma P is an achievement Antony should be proud of.