The Sex Maniacs Of Cheppad Village.

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 In1990, I met a guy called Patrick who was a friend of my older brother.A very lean man, he taught me something which I don’t often use thesedays. Palmistry. He is a good story teller also. His stories most ofthe time have bit of sex humor, which made it very interesting for meand my brothers and cousins to talk to this man. Anyway, yesterdaywhile sitting in the office waiting for a project plan I remembered astory told by him. As I am not at all good in writing prose (which youcan see in Sajuashan.Net.Ru) I decided I will give it a good shot atwriting a poem with that story as the subject.

 Hereis the poem. I kept the name of the place and characters as told byPatrick so it will be a bit difficult for you all to read those namesand places. Please excuse me for that.



The Sex Maniacs Of Cheppad Village.


From the life and world he know he ran,

Into the wild, wild world North and East,

Fighting war in the Indo-China border land,

Killing and fighting with his tooth and nail.

Motherland lost the war so did his right arm he lost,

And with pain and lost mind back to his village came,

With many unfulfilled fantasies of his past.


The village of Cheppad with ponds, streams,

And greenery filled and to flower them all,

Pretty, pretty country maidens wandered free.


The village and all the people in admiration looked,

At the man who for his motherland sacrificed his arm,

Some seen a hero, some with pity, but all viewed,

The man as a model for the uneventful village,

But none saw the maniac sitting deep inside.


Ittan spared no maiden to walk free anymore,

His left arm grew stronger and stronger as days passed,

And a one handed war hero with a gun none dared to question.

Dawn or dusk, day or night Ittan fulfilled his fantasies,

Some with fear of life, some for the power of money,

In the years passed the womanhood of Cheppad,

Fell pray to his brutal play.


Then on a midsummer morning to the village came,

Upon a bullock-cart the fairest of the fairest,

But big and strong both with hands and words,

In the mid thirties Gouri Akkan literally the terror of men,

She conquered the east of the village,

With money and her will to rule,

Leased land and made men work for free,

She used men to fulfill her fantasy,

And roamed around the country upon her white bullock-cart.

Men hide away from her eyesight,

And woman walked free in her side of the village.


Months passed and second harvest was done,

The southeastern monsoon thundered,

Upon this small village of sex terror,

The ponds filled and the streams swelled,

But not even the worst of Nature bothered,

The sex maniacs of the village of Cheppad.


On a fateful evening Ittan was on his way to hunt,

And Gouri Akkan on her way back from Temple,

Both faced each other around the narrow way,

By the side of the knee high flowing stream,

Both had to give way to the other, for them to pass,

Gouri thought what a one handed man could do.

Ittan knows this is only chance he will ever get,

Ittan grabbed and pulled her close to his chest,

And she struggled and shouted with all her might,

The balancing and counter balancing struggle,

And into the knee-high stream they both fell,

All the men ran away hearing the shouts of her,

All the women ran away hearing the shouts of him,

Still Ittan held on his grip around Gouri,

As he knows loosening the grip will end his life.

Then the eight corners of the village shivered,

In this shout from Ittan’s mouth,

“Is there a son of bitch out there who can unbuckle my pants?”


What all happened afterwards, no one knows,

But the shouts went on for some more time,

And darkness crept in with the evening rain,

And Cheppad heard only the thunders of Nature’s fury.


The whole village woke up next morning to see,

Gouri Akkan with her head bowed, leaving,

Upon her white bullock-cart to the south.

Far away from village the rest of his life,

Ittan stayed home seldom seen outside,

And the men and women of Cheppad lived,

The rest of their lives with peace of mind.



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