# A tale of recurring evil, in an ocean of good
VULTURES
It happened in a blur.
‘Not again’ lamented my wife.
‘Even Corona has taught them nothing’, said I, in shared disgust.
We had just been stopped by the red traffic light at the junction where the road through Kuttanad meets Kerala’s coastal highway at Alappuzha town. As we waited patiently for green, what had happened moments ago in a blur brought back memories of an absolutely similar event, at the same junction, many months ago.
That day, dusk was fast approaching. A middle-aged Policeman was standing in the centre of the crowded junction, daring honking drivers to drive through him. He appeared confident of the security his fearsome moustache gave him.
The 50 kilometres from Mavelikkara to Alappuzha had been difficult. Local evening traffic in the numerous small towns on the way, that jostled for space and supremacy with the normal highway traffic, had been testing. The abundance of potholes all along, had compounded the misery.
I was at the wheel, watching the Policeman carefully let traffic from Changanassery join the highway at right angle. I had taken care to halt to the right side of my lane, minimising the room for two wheelers to insert themselves into, forming the usual Malayali melee.
A private bus had crept forward surreptitiously from my left side. Timely operation of controls had saved my mirror. A luxury bus returning from some school excursion was on the other side of the road. Tired students were fast asleep, leaning against the seats ahead. The driver kept honking with no apparent aim. Must have been sheer habit. Two kids from an Innova ahead of him made faces at him to convey the annoyance of their elders. A medieval minibus packed with Sabarimala pilgrims was stuck behind the luxury bus. Mercifully, its driver was not honking. But the pilgrims were singing bhajans without mercy.
The sound of an approaching siren could be heard from somewhere behind me.
‘It would be a miracle if the ambulance could penetrate this mess’, my wife had remarked, turning around and trying to spot the ambulance through the rear glass.
I started my car, to tuck in as much as possible. As the siren got louder, every vehicle tried desperately to make way for the ambulance. The pilgrims stopped singing and looked on with concern. Students from the bus awoke and peered forward, tense. A lady jumped out of the Innova to marshal the luxury bus a few feet ahead and to the left. The Innova driver admonished the kids to get their heads back into car, while he squeezed his car ahead to help the luxury bus. From inside, the kids watched the ambulance speeding through space that was miraculously opening up as it made sporadic progress. The policeman jumped in front of an Etios car that could have come in the way of the ambulance and simultaneously waved the approaching ambulance feverishly on.
As the ambulance sped past us, wife and I could see a young man and his mother, soaked in grief, peering anxiously ahead, their eyes vacant. Wonder what state their stricken dear was in. Bottles and instruments that kept the patient alive quivered violently with the reckless progress of the ambulance.
Just as the ambulance flashed by, there arose a sudden burst of heavy metal drums. An expensive SUV passed by in a flash, virtually stuck to the rear of the ambulance. Its driver had tears, from laughing. About five other men, soaked in alcohol, were laughing inside too. Their eyes too, vacant. A packet of banana chips was in the air, being passed around.
The pilgrims, the students, the children, the policeman, the lady, her husband, and everyone else looking on had passed the verdict in silent unanimity.
Bloody vultures.
Vultures are all over, Corona or no Corona.
