Apparently, they spotted him first somewhere around Thotumugam. A little way away from all the malls and clothing stores and skyscrapers, a little tea shop sat on the edge of the road. Abdul Kadar manned the store, his face darkened by the lack of sunshade.

He fiddled with the old radio, tuning into the nightly news and sitting back, his legs on one of the plastic tables.

A man arrived selling bedsheets. He decided to order some tea and biscuits and sat on the other edge of the thatched hutment that was Abdul Kadar's tea shop.

Crickets chirped. White Innovas sped by. Abdul Kadar sat, waiting for the day to end.

A black Benz stopped in front of the shop and a strange man wriggled out. He was short, looking almost childlike as he slowly shuffled towards the counter. He was wearing a bright, sky blue dress shirt, the first three buttons undone. A snakeskin belt held tight, black pants over a skinny frame.

Kadariqqa sat up, smelling money. He sent his boy out to the back to get the tea started and cleared things up as much as he could. He flashed his winning smile.

"Hi," the man said.

"Good evening, sir." Kadariqqa said.

"I need directions," the man said. "And a coffee. Black. No sugar."

Kadar told his boy.

"Where would sir like directions to?"

"New Saviour's Church."

"Straight up this road sir, you'll reach the Petrol Pump junction. You want to go left from there. About a kilometre or so, there's a little road to the left. Cars don't pass through there. That's where you want to go. It'll take you straight there. Don't think you'll find anyone, though. This time of day."

"Thank you. Thank you, my good man. What's your name?"

"Abdul Kadar, sir," Kadariqqa said.

"Very good. Your name means servant but you shall be a master. These halls shall be lit up with bright, luminescent things hanging from the ceiling. Cold air will be blown, refreshing your customers. Big, glass doors will open out into this delightful establishment, painted red. You will be prosperous beyond your wildest imagination."

The man stretched his hand out. Abdul Kadar shook it, dumbfounded.

Three years later, he died in a luxury hospital, his sons very rich and very upset.

The Benz was not seen by anyone else that day, but the tracks were clearly there up the dirt road to the church. There were no tracks going back. The bishop's car rode over the tracks before anyone could see.

All throughout the next day, reports of a strange creature floating along the Periyar river passed from the mouths of fishermen to fishmongers to fish-eaters.

This monstrous aquatic thing was said to be the size of a bus, the shape of a shark and possessing the smell of fresh blood.

Conspiracy theories abounded.

Someone put up a poster of the upcoming cross-river swimming competition for children ages eight to sixteen.

Life went on.

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