Big Brother And A Little Black Goat

Perumal Murugan re-enters the world of letters with a novel that depicts an outlier's struggle to ­live and love in a society where privacy is history

- Perumal Murugan

The main problem with getting Poonachi’s ear pierced was the set of questions it would provoke. ‘Where was she born? What was her mother’s name? Who raised her mother? How much was she bought for?’ The couple who owned Poonachi would have to res­pond to such questions. If they rep­lied that they had received the newborn as a gift, that a man who looked like Bakasuran, the gluttonous demon, had given her away, the authorities might register a case of false testimony.

Accusations would be flung at the couple like arrows. ‘If he was in possession of a kid whose ears were not pierced, he might be an enemy of the regime,’ the authorities would declare. If they were to ask, ‘How did you come into contact with him? What else have you received from him?’ the couple would have no answer. The regime had the power to turn its own people, at any moment, into adversaries, enemies and traitors.

After taking everything into account, they decided to wait for ten or fifteen days. In that time, the pregnant goat in their yard would have delivered her litter. Her first pregnancy had yielded just one kid; the next few uniformly yielded two kids each. They could easily club Poonachi with two newborns and claim a litter of three. Her puny shape would support that claim. Her black colour was a problem, however. Most of the goats in the state were white. A few were brown, but black ones were rare. Once upon a time, so the lore went, the state teemed with black goats. Since they could not be recognised in the dark when engaged in any criminal activity, the regime had, it was rumoured, deliberately wiped them out. Even so, black goats could still be spotted here and there. Their colour provoked instant hostility. When they saw Poonachi, the officials would go on the alert immediately.