Short story by Sujatha Balasubramanian in The Times of India, Dec 18, 1960

“It is all very well for them to talk,” mused Manickam. When he stole the silver vessels rom the Sowcar’s house and the jari sarees from the Iyer’s place nobody said anything; for the very good reason that no one knew about them.

But when he foolishly tried to appropriate a cycle parked at the entrance of a crowded hotel in broad daylight, they caught him. He was called a thief and a scoundrel, given a couple of blows and marched off to the police station. They gave him six months.

That was quite understandable to Manickam. After all, the policeman had a job to do just as he, Manickam, had one himself. But the minute he mentioned this subject, why did people look at him as if he were a leper? “God is sacred;” they began ponderously, “only the lowest of creatures would dream of robbing the very Gods.” When he remarked on the ease with which the job could be accomplished even his friends shook their heads and said he was a blasphemer.

“It is all very well for them to talk,” thought Manickam once again. “They go about with bloated bellies and jingling pockets. What about me? Should I starve to death? After all, what harm will I be doing? The jewels belong to no particular individual.”

He made up his mind. He would help himself.

—

“The night has a thousand eyes,” thought Manickam, as he swiftly crossed the clearing in front of the temple. He could feel eyes staring at his back; the knowing winks of countless stars in a moonless sky. To open the door of the temple was the easiest of jobs for a man of his experience. The heavy door swung open quite noiselessly. “This is child’s play,” thought Manickam as he slipped into the temple.

The very lack of obstacles gave him a twinge of uncertainty. It was dark inside. The atmosphere was oppressive with the unmistakable odour of old lamps, camphor and dead flowers. Manickam felt as if he was being smothered by a greasy old blanket. Cautiously, he proceeded to feel his way inside.

A moment later, he stumbled and almost fell over a huge mound of stone. Muttering curses he regained his balance and struck a match. A huge bull lay there supremely indifferent to the fate of a mere human being. Only its bulging eyes seemed to be following Manickam around. Hastily Manickam skirted the immense block of stone and strode forward.

He held the light up to the face of the idol and gazed at it. The black, shining face of stone stared back at him. Automatically, Manickam’s hands touched his cheeks penitently. He struck another match and caught the glitter of diamonds, He raised his hand to get hold of the jewels but inexplicably dropped it at once. The match spluttered out.

The air was stifling and Manickam began to sweat. The stone walls seemed to be closing in on him slowly. The first coils of fear began to wind themselves round his heart. It was dark, with a terrifying, positive blackness which appeared almost solid.

“Look,” Manickam addressed the image aloud, in a pleading voice, “I am not hurting you in any way, am I? After all, I have to live too. This money will keep my stomach full for such a long time. Are you going to miss them?”

—

His voice was unrecognizably hoarse and tremulous. He waited a few seconds as if for a reply. It was unbearably quiet, with a deathly stillness. “Why wasn’t there even a single sound?”

His heart thudded painfully in his chest. He turned this way and that as if seeking to escape. “Damn you,” he cried aloud, “why don’t you speak?” His groping fingers grabbed at the cold surface of the stone. Brutally he wrenched a handful of jewels and fled headlong out of the temple.

Manickam ran blindly into the forest. The night was full of innumerable unknown terrors. But he blundered along as if a whole army of people were behind him. Shadows loomed at him from all sides, and he swerved from right and left trying to avoid them. His might was racing through a labyrinth of fear.

What was that sound behind him? Could it be the patter of pursuing feet? What foolishness, it was only the painful hammering of his own heart. Manickam ran on. How could anyone know about the theft yet? And who was there to pursue him? He was quite sure that nobody had seen him. Those eyes – those watchful smiling eyes – they had seen everything. Ha! It was just a stone image. Was he, Manickam, afraid of that? Why not let us a bit and slow down? Why run so fast when no one was following?

—

Manickam tired to reduce his pace, but his legs seemed to move faster on their own. Oh God! What was that slimy thing crawling up his leg? Could it be a snake? Instrument of divine retribution? Manickam could feel the thing coiling around his leg.

There was a sharp sting of pain and then oblivion. He crashed down among the bushed like a felled log and lay still, clutching the handful of jewels in his fingers.

At dawn, the hunters came across his body. They turned it over and looked at the sightless eyes. Gently they freed his leg which was entwined by a creeper.