Sunday, March 1, 2020

Campanology


Gone 7pm by the time all the paperwork was put aside. Coming up toward Nilla the temple bell opposite was ringing in the usual way that time of evening; pretty much the same as maghrib at the quarter hour. Dusk. The moon high again earlier in the evening. The two or three day moon had been first noticed up above the Paki mosque at one of the naan suppers at Reaz. Later that particular evening of the sighting Sameer the Kashmiri had Whatsapped an unsatisfactory photograph of the same he was viewing from our usual place at G. Serai. Some weeks before Sam had had his attention directed to a moon sailing above us. On that occasion it was suggested to the young man that we were failing in our weeks of talk at the table never once mentioning the moon there. The engineer seemed to have been nettled by the remark, or at least it had set him thinking. Moons presented a negligible spectacle on the equator. Here the bell of Rajamariammam delivered much the stronger impression. The nearest Hindu temple in Geylang Serai was too far from the market to be audible. After checking the veg. counter at Nilla and finding the cupboard bare the decision was made for the smaller iteration around the corner on Jl. Trus. Up the slight slope by the fortune-tellers either side. The old green parrot lady had evidently shut up shop for the night, or gone for her supper. That morning she had started early, well before the youngsters. Having paced up a few metres toward the corner it soon became apparent the evening had been transformed somehow. It was something like a ship changing course when there had been no command issued. Subtle in the first impression; soon the sense was strong enough first to cause a slowing of pace, and then a complete stop midstream. The chiming was not the same as before; the street was not being carried as just a minute ago by the ringing bell reaching up toward the crescent above. Having come to a halt the temple across the road again drew attention, its steepled yellow tower standing tall. On the way over a few minutes before a man had been fishing with a long pole at the banner strung between the pillars at the entrance to the grounds. The long plastic sheet advertising an event had become tangled in the wind, chap attempting to right it with his rod. To that point there had been no breath of wind. Watching the man prod at the banner the alert was received. Twenty feet off the ground the wind had some kind of strength. The banner had been twisted upon itself and upwind closer to Trus corner the peeling of the bell had been significantly muted; indeed rather twisted a little itself too. Caught in the wind, it was quite a different tune one was hearing now, a music as much for the heavens as for worshippers below. A shredded pealing like that would have little drawing power for souls lost in darkness in the surrounding streets. During lulls in business at Maccas in City Square here the staff used a little hand bell that rang out in the echoing void. A White turning in front of the counter there could not help feeling the weight of expectation in his passes.

 

                                                                                                                       Johor Bahru, Malaysia



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