The sweet taste of scorpion stings

Our house had a battalion of scorpions that lived snugly in the crevices of the broken roof tiles without paying rent.
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Our house had a battalion of scorpions that lived snugly in the crevices of the broken roof tiles without paying any rent. Instead they paid periodic visits during summer months dropping at will and stinging me and my siblings making us writhe with pain.

When one of us chose to sneak into the room attached to the kitchen where sweets prepared for a forthcoming occasion were stored for snatching a piece of mysore pak or laddu, a lurking scorpion would sting us as an on-the-spot fine.

My grandma, who smelt always of cardamom, cloves and saffron, would be the first-to-arrive ambulance. If I was not the howling victim, I was sent either to the stamp vendor’s house round the corner who dispensed with a portion for scorpion stings or to the licensed medical practitioner to press for a house call. The doctor would inject a local anaesthesia and leave after tasting a mysore pak or laddu with a coffee chaser.

The victim having been relieved of the pain, my grandma would make an immediate vow to Lord Ganesha audibly so it reached His ears — 108 kozhukattais will be offered to Him the next Friday. This would make all of us, including the victim, immensely happy as the kozhukattais made by my grandma were the best available in town. “Next time you indulge in such mischief, Ganesha would send a bigger scorpion,” my grandpa would issue  a grim warning.

I have no statistics of the number of scorpion visits and the corresponding tally of kozhukattais offered (to us) in a year, but such happenings had become a ritual. If there was a long gap when the scorpions thought better of paying a visit, our craving for kozhukattai even made us send a silent prayer to Ganesha to despatch one.

Once, Venky, my younger brother, suddenly squealed that he had been stung by a scorpion. Granny spotted the scorpion. But when she brought the commandos to destroy the attacker, it seemed to have escaped. My grandpa looked hard at Venky and grimly commanded me to fetch the doctor. Surprisingly, Venky stood up and moaned weakly that it was not necessary as he was beginning to feel better.

Next Friday the kozhukattais were faithfully made to appease Lord Ganesha and his scorpion brigade. This time, after the mandatory offering of those steaming pieces to Him, my grandpa undertook the task of distribution to the eager children. The first piece we bit into tasted divinely. But Venky on his part gave a piercing cry of pain and blinked holding his jaw. The pieces served to him were made of porcelain.

“Serves you right,” my grandpa hissed, tweaking his ears. You cheated your grandma with a wax scorpion. And so as punishment should eat porcelain kozhukattais .” He also bade him to do 108 thoppukkaranams in atonement.

Later when we were playing in the backyard with Venky sulking under the spreading banyan tree, my grandma came stealthily hiding a small vessel. “Hey Venky, eat this quick, before your grandpa returns.” He gobbled them hurriedly and wiped his watery eyes, looking up at my angelic grandma. She tousled his hair and left.

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