Simple but Complex –
Episode 3
Maruthamalai and Walayar – Part 2
(Published in
Thaniniram newspaper on July 7, 2026)
"How about a cup
of tea?" I asked him.
He agreed.
While we were having
tea, I asked him about his name and family. His name was Velu. For more than
thirty years, he had worked on a contract basis in various government guest
houses in Tamil Nadu. Unfortunately, he never secured a permanent appointment.
His contract came to an end when he turned sixty.
He has two children.
His son discontinued his studies after Plus Two and now does casual jobs. His
daughter is of marriageable age. However, because the family cannot afford the
expenses associated with marriage, including the dowry , and for several other
reasons, her marriage has not yet taken place.
"That is why I
cannot stay at home," Velu said. "If I remain there, I end up arguing
with my wife. Sometimes, if I lose control, it only leads to a fight”
"Sir, even when
I'm alone, I feel tense. As a father, I constantly feel that I have failed in
my responsibilities. So I spend most of my time at the Circuit House. I help
the people who come here and keep myself occupied. I go home only occasionally,
usually late at night, and leave again early the next morning. When I'm busy
here, these thoughts don't trouble me."
Velu smiled gently.
I couldn't find the
right words to comfort him. Finally, I offered a simple piece of philosophy.
"Everything will
be all right, Velu. Time has its own way of healing. There is no point in
worrying endlessly."
As I said those words,
I realised how little weight they carried coming from someone like me, who
worries constantly over both small and big things.
Wanting to cheer him
up at least a little, I handed him ₹500. Although he politely refused, I
slipped the money into his pocket and said, "Please keep it, Velu."
After wishing him
well, I boarded a Tamil Nadu State Transport Corporation bus bound for
Palakkad. It was a comfortable new bus with only a few stops along the way.
Although I had travelled to Palakkad many times by train, this was my first
journey by road.
I had often heard
about the Walayar check post but had never passed through it. Although its
importance has diminished since the introduction of GST, memories of the
countless stories I had heard over the years came flooding back—the corruption
that allegedly flourished there, the bribes reportedly paid for appointments,
and many other tales.
Then another set of
painful memories surfaced.
One of them was the
heartbreaking case of the Walayar sisters.
At Attapallam, near
Walayar, two minor Dalit sisters were found dead under deeply disturbing
circumstances in their modest home. On January 13, 2017, the elder sister, aged
thirteen, was found hanging inside the house. The post-mortem examination
indicated that she had been subjected to brutal sexual assault. Fifty-two days
later, on March 4, 2017, her younger sister, aged nine, who had witnessed her
elder sister's death, was also found hanging in the same house. She too had
reportedly been sexually abused.
The suspects were
arrested. However, on October 25, 2019, the POCSO Court in Palakkad acquitted
all the accused, citing a lack of sufficient scientific evidence.
The verdict triggered
widespread protests. Serious allegations were raised that both the police and
the prosecution had committed grave lapses during the investigation.
On January 6, 2021,
the Kerala High Court set aside the trial court's judgment and ordered a
retrial. It also directed that the case could be reinvestigated if necessary to
ensure a fair prosecution. The investigation was later handed over to the CBI.
After its inquiry, the CBI too concluded that the children's deaths were
suicides.
The CBI also named the
parents as accused, alleging that they had knowingly allowed the accused to
visit their home despite being aware of the abuse and had failed to protect
their daughters. The parents challenged the investigation before the High Court,
arguing that it was biased. In April 2025, the High Court granted them interim
protection by staying coercive action, including their arrest.
The case continues to
drag on.
As I thought about it,
I could not escape the feeling that justice had still not been done to those
children. A deep sense of resentment towards our legal system filled my mind. I
even found myself questioning God—or perhaps the universe itself—for allowing
the lives of two helpless children, lives that should have been simple and full
of hope, to be shattered like a crystal vase.
Suddenly, the bus came
to a halt.
A few passengers
prepared to get down.
The conductor called
out, "Attapallam... Attapallam... Anyone getting down, please get
down."
Instinctively, I
looked towards the door, almost expecting to see two little girls—one thirteen
and the other nine—getting off there.
They never did.
(End)
