By order of the government, a new land survey was about to take place in the village. The official who was to come for this purpose was named Klassiper. The Erumathramadam was being cleaned and prepared as his place of stay.

Kodanthara Moothassan, one of the community leaders, rushed over upon hearing the news. The temple administration was under the authority of the community leaders known as the ‘Sthanikars’. The most important place in the village was the temple itself. Moothassan asked the temple administrator, “What is it, Kanakku Pillai, for whom is the Erumathramadam being prepared?”

“For Klassiper.”

“In that case, what is his caste?” Moothassan inquired.

“Most likely a Sudra.”

“If so, what will the Namboothiri elders and the others do if they come face to face with him?” Moothassan’s question was not one to be dismissed lightly. Until now, the Erumathramadam had only ever been given for the stay of Brahmin priests, the Thantris. This was something unheard of in practice. But the order from the Tahsildar’s office stated that accommodation must be provided for Klassiper. Kanakku Pillai, who managed the temple affairs, had already received word that the incoming official was a Sudra and that he was someone required by Ponnu Thampuran.

“In that case, the madam must be cleaned thoroughly,” Moothassan was compelled to say.

Mani, Kunjudevi, and Kunnukki polished the floor with cow dung. They too knew that Klassiper was close to Ponnu Thampuran. Kunjudevi, when she was a little girl, had seen Ponnu Thampuran at Ambalappuzha. That grandeur—

It was indeed a sight to behold. Along with him was the Thampuratti Amma. Draped in a silk saree, adorned with gold ornaments, the image of her walking by remains vivid in memory even now. Thampuratti Amma’s complexion was like burnished gold—there was no telling where the gold ended and her skin began. Even today, Kunjudevi remembers it. Kunjukki was a singular woman; she would oppose anything, anywhere. No matter who said what, she had to speak against it.

“We are women, they are women too. Just as life grows in our wombs, it grows in theirs as well,” Kunjukki retorted. “Once the lamp is put out, what difference does color make? All women are the same. After death, when buried, they rot; if burned, they turn to ash.”

“Speak a little softer, Pottachi. You’re talking about the lady of the Ponnuthampuran house. Be careful, you might lose your head,” it was Kunjilakshi who said this.

But Kunjukki paid no heed to any of that. The other women, unable to bear those words of royal sacrilege, turned away. They feared what might happen if someone else overheard and reported it to those close to the Thampuran when the Classiper came.

Just then, Kuruppachan arrived there. The Erumadramadam had to be kept very clean. Someone important to Ponnuthampuran was coming to stay. The Asan instructed the women to mix ash with cow dung and polish the floor. The women whispered among themselves that the morning temple