It was unlike any other day. It was normal for him to sleep late and wake up late, but today was ‘perunnal raav’. The month of tranquil peace had ended, it was ‘perunnal raav’, and tomorrow was to be ‘cheriya perunnal’. The children were praying for the moon to be spotted. For the past few years, the moon would be clouded and could not be spotted, but it was different today. The Almighty had seen Fazu praying so dearly that He had decided to bring forth the day of the festival, cheriya perunnal.

Fazu had always wondered why cheriya perunnal was called cheriya perunnal. It was by no means small; it was a day meant for large and larger celebrations. He had asked his mother once:

“Imma, why do we call it cheriya perunnal?”

His mother had replied confidently:

“Because there is a ‘veliya perunnal’.”

His mother said it with such firmness that he could not ask further. He refused to believe that this was the reason. Veliya perunnal was always small, there wasn't much celebration, and the eidi received wasn't very high. There must be a better reason. Perhaps God made a mistake. He quickly erased that thought with a slight mumble,

“Astagfirullah.”

The Almighty did not make any mistakes.

He was pondering over this, eyes closed, desperately trying to sleep. It was early, it was just a few minutes past nine, but he knew if he didn't close his eyes now, he would still be awake at dawn.

Desperately praying for sleep to clutch him hard, his eyes started to droop down until suddenly, a knock on the door. A shrill voice called out to him,

“Fazuu get ready fast, ‘tharavattil povanam’.”

The clutches of slumber were pried apart, and he rushed out of bed wide awake. His heart was beating fast, he dressed up fast, and rushed out of his room. He was overjoyed, filled to the brim with happiness. He waited for his family to dress up and come down. He waited patiently, not causing a scene, looking at the time now and then. He continued to wait patiently until he was unable to contain his excitement.

“Can you all come faster?”

He shouts, annoyance very evident.

“Just wait there, let me go to the bathroom first.”

His brother replied sharply, followed by a soft laugh.

Fazu got so angry that tears formed in his eyes. He couldn't reply to his brother, for he was scary — Kuttan, a tall, buff, and scary person. Fazu hated him. He would never say it out loud, but he always badmouthed Kuttan in his mind.

“Pottan kuttan, Mandan kuttan.”

He decided not to let it get to him because there were far greater problems. His sister, Sana, had yet to be ready. He rushed up to his sister's room, knocking continuously till he was met with an answer.

Sana was kind to all, but she was shaitan in human form for Fazu.

She answered with visible anger present,

“What do you want?”

“Umma asked me to tell you to get ready fast.”

“I'll be down there in 5 minutes.”

Kuttan usually sat in the bathroom for around 20 minutes to 30 minutes if it was after eating from outside (masala shawarma doesn't work well with him), and 5 minutes if it was without his phone. Fazu rushed to his brother's room to find out whether he had taken his phone. No, he had not taken it with him. Fazu sighed in relief. He sat down and continued to wait, thinking about all the fun he was going to have.

The day of the big festival had yet to arrive; nevertheless, the excitement had spread into the 14-year-old’s heart.

Finally, they were all ready — except Uppa, who wanted to spend time in his hometown. The car backed out of the driveway and sped along the streets of Kozhikode, the car heavy with excitement.

Fazu was a timid boy. He was excited with all his heart, yet he denied it with all his heart. He was a big person, he was “mature”.

The car stopped at the packed tharavad, an old brick house filled with dust and stories at every nook and corner. The house had been around since Muhammad Kutti, according to Valippa:

“This house was attacked by the ‘sayippar’ once, but they were no match for our Muhammadutty. ‘Anakkil itte koduthillee’.”

Valippa had this pride attached to him — a pride earned after winning against the British. But all he had ever won against were the mosquitoes.

Fazu stepped out of the car, following his sister timidly. He was a sheep entering a den of lions. The Takbir was calming; the jitters disappeared:

“Allahu akbar, Allahu akbar, La ilaha illallah, Wallahu akbar, Allahu akbar wa lillahil hamd.”

It rang beautifully in his ears.

It was a fully packed house — the fat old men discussing the “political and economic state of the world”, the women in the kitchen preparing for the big day, cousins drawing henna on each other and playing till they fell asleep, kids crying everywhere — it was truly the night before the big festival.

Fazu met with the elders with a dry smile before going on to the main event. He was going to meet his dear cousins. They were going to eat together, play together, and sleep together till they had their fill.

His heart skipped fast; he was too excited for his good. He skipped past the stairs onto the room with the most sound — a safe space in this den full of lions.

“Look who's here, finally decided to come, huh?”

Amar asked with a huge grin on his face. He was his best bud, someone who could make Fazu smile dearly.

He was met with smiles and cheers as he entered the room. It appeared he was a bit late for the games, as they had already started on fun.

Luckily for him, Amar had already been out.

“Tough luck or bad skill?”

Fazu asked teasingly.

“You tell me, do you think I've got bad skills? We've played a great amount, haven't we?”

“You're the worst in board games.”

Fazu replied confidently with a smirk.

“I've got a set of UNO cards, you wanna play against me?”

Amar said with such confidence that one would think he had just won the previous game.

“You're on, let's go.”

They went to another room — Amar’s private domain, filled with memories of their childhood.

Fazu dealt the cards, and they began their game.

“You're staying here for the night, right?”

“I think so.”

“You have to stay. Just cry for it if you guys are not staying, your mother is weak with tears.”

Fazu had just two more cards left in his hands, while Amar had a bit too much of it.

“You do know that the winner is the one who finishes his cards, not the one who collects the most?”

Fazu teased him playfully.

“Just wait and see, I'm going to win for sure.”

“UNO, Game.”

Fazu erupted in laughter at the sight of Amar's sore face.

“What a loser man.”

Fazu continued to tease him, unable to stop his laughter.

Amar got a bit annoyed and angry, and Fazu replied with anger of his own. They continued to argue until they were met with silence. They sat there silently, playing with their hair until Fazu decided to leave the room. The anger had subsided between them a long time ago, but they couldn't find a way to make up.

Time passed, and the vehicles took leave, and soon light wasn't visible at the lightest. Fazu had stayed at the tharavadu, not needing the help of his tears. The big clock rang aloud 5 times, its hands resting precisely at 12. Fazu was reminded of a promise they had made: when in dispute, if they said the word ‘Hamkke’, then all should be alright.

He was beaten to it by Amar, though. As Fazu lay awake, reminiscing about the promise, suddenly there was a knock on the door. Amar looked solemn before breaking out a wide smile.

“Enthan ithre iling chirikkan illath hamkke”.

.    .    .