No. 6 – The Rosary

By Nandhini G. Natarajan

 

I was four years old

when a visiting missionary

crossed my grandfather’s path

and he found religion.

Till then, he flouted his atheism,

to shame his wife, a devout Catholic.

 

Grandfather became

a humorless convert,

an instant authority on Christianity.

He acquired a three-foot rosary,

suspiciously like the one

the visiting priest

had worn around his waist.

It became a weapon

in grandfather’s hands.

 

Every evening, family members

were forced to their knees to

pray the rosary.

The children mumbled and stared

at the marble-sized beads.

I was always restless

Made faces, and others would laugh.

Grandfather would turn and glare

with fire in his eyes.

After the rosary,

namesake saints were solicited,

children blessed,

by the six-inch cross.

The miscreants

were knocked on the head

by the same cross.

 

One evening,

I leaned against my father’s knees,

a big knock on the head

was heading my way.

When I was blessed,

I pursed my lips

and blew the blessing

back into grandfather’s face.

He stared solemnly at me

and told my father.

She is possessed by the devil.

 

My father never forgave

his father-in-law.