The Rosary

It was 7pm in our little village of Ranwar. The streetlights had just turned on and it took about five to seven minutes for them to brighten up. As a kid, my mother said that I had to be home as soon as the streetlights came on, but this did not apply during the summer holidays. During summer, the streetlight signified the end of one game and the beginning of another. It was also time for praying the rosary.

Gilroy jumped up from our game of marbles, picked up a stone the size of his palm and ran over to the lamppost that lit up the village square. This week it was his turn to ring out the call to evening rosary. He held the stone in the palm of his right hand and banged the lamppost with a quick beat, mimicking the sound of a ringing bell.

Aunty Edna was always the first to arrive for evening rosary.

“Listen here! You lot better stop your marbles and go wash your hands before rosary.”

She was always scolding us for something. She didn’t really care about our dirty hands, but it bothered her when we stuck our muddy fists into the bowl of boiled chickpeas that was passed around after the rosary.

“Bloody Pigs! They put their filthy hands in the channa bowl and yesterday Jenny ate from it thinking it was a chaat masala. ”

Gilroy was still banging at the lamppost, forgetting completely his true purpose. It looked like he was trying to hack down the lamppost with a piece of stone. The streetlight, which had finally reached its full potential after a whole five minutes, went out with the next bang sending all of us into darkness. Aunty Edna was pissed.

“Have you got any sense, you bloody idiot! You’ve broken the bloody lamppost with your banging.”

“But, Aunnie, I was ringing the bell for rosary,” Gilroy defended.

“That’s not a bell. That’s a lamppost and just five rings are enough. You’ve been banging that damned thing for nearly half an hour and now you’ve killed the light.”

“But, Aunnie, nobody’s come yet, which is why I was still banging.”

He did have a point. He’d been banging the lamppost for more than 5 minutes and still only four old ladies had gathered around the cross. For these old ladies, rosary was the biggest social event of the day. One of them, Aunty Millie, sat in her balcony from 5pm until 7pm waiting for the rosary to begin. By 7pm she had already finished reciting 5 rosaries. She said the rosary in her balcony as a way to pass the time as she waited for the 7pm rosary. In total she was saying about 300 Hail Mary’s a day. Over time, the Hail Mary had fused into Aunty Millie’s speech and accompanied every bit of her conversation;

“Hi Millie how are you?”

“Hail Mary full of…ya ya fine…blessed are you amongst women.”

“Have you eaten?”

“Holy Mary, no no, not yet, mother of God pray for our sinners. I made some Beef stew. You want?”

We were still plunged in darkness and waited in silence for more people to arrive, but so far only one more old lady joined the rosary party. It was Aunty Dolly, dressed in a green night gown with a walking stick in one hand and a rosary in the other.

“Good evening Dolly,” Aunty Edna called out.

“Hah? What happened?”

“I said Good evening.” Edna said.

“Oh, it’s very hot,” said Aunty Dolly. She was obviously hard of hearing and we loved that about her.

“Can someone bang the lamppost and call everyone,” said Aunty Dolly.

“No, no. Don’t touch that bloody lamppost,” Edna shouted, and still shouting she tried to explain to Dolly that the idiot Gilroy had already banged the lamppost out of commission.

“Whose turn is it today for snacks?” Jenny asked. Jenny came for the snacks.

“It's Margaret’s turn today,” Aunty Edna said.

“Margaret, what you made?” Jenny asked.

“I made boiled grams,” said Margaret.

“Oh, lovely. Lovely.”

Nobody made anything besides boiled chickpeas, but everyday somebody would ask what the big snack surprise was going to be. We once had a snack surprise when one of the gulf-returned families brought chips and Pepsi.

“Aunty Edna, should we start the rosary?” I asked. I just wanted to get it over with and get back to our games. With no lamppost light, it was a the perfect setting for a game of Chor- Police. Only Edna had the power when it came to beginning the rosary. Nobody else dared to take the lead in her presence.

“OK, let’s just light some candles," she said. "Where’s that Gilroy?”

Gilroy was sulking in a corner, annoyed for being called an idiot for the fortieth time that week.

“Gilroy, go bring the candles from my altar table and a matchbox," said Aunty Edna. "The matchbox should be in the kitchen beside the stove."

Gilroy ran off into Aunty Edna’s house. Her doors were always open like most of the houses in Ranwar. I used to love running into Aunty Edna’s house for a glass of water. She was a hard woman, but she never made a fuss about us drinking her water, which she stored in a clay pot.

Gilroy was back with the altar candles and a box of matches. He lit the candles and placed them on the stone base of the cross. Aunty Edna seemed happy enough with the dim glow around the cross.

“In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. I believe in God the Father…”

The rosary, my mother once told me, was the most powerful prayer in the whole world. Any young boy who prays the rosary would have his prayers answered by Mother Mary. But, the prayers of a young boy, I found out, were beyond the scope of Our Lady and all the Angels and Saints in heaven. That summer, I wanted the power of invisibility. Gilroy, who was standing beside me, had his eyes closed and his hands joined in front of his face, covering his nose and mouth. He too looked like he was praying for special powers.

A rosary is made up of a simple prayer that is repeated ten times. A ‘Hail Mary’ followed by a ‘Holy Mary’. Each set of ten repetitions of a ‘Hail Mary-Holy Mary’ is called a decade and a rosary has 5 decades, which means a ‘Hail Mary-Holy Mary’ is repeated 50 times. Obviously, anyone who asks for something 50 times is bound to receive it or at the very least draw considerable attention.

Aunty Edna took the first decade and led us through the Hail Mary as if she was still angry about the lamppost and was now complaining to Mother Mary. We responded with a super fast ‘Holy Mary’, which gave Edna not more than four seconds to catch her breath and go again with the Hail Mary. A Holy Mary recited with speed sounds something like,

“Hoy Mare, Ma-God, pray for o-sinners now n the hour-of-ah-dat amen.”

The real version is “Holy Mary, Mother of God, Pray for our sinners now and at the hour of our death, amen.”

Edna caught on to our game and shouted at us from the back,

“Will you stop barking like dogs and say the prayers like proper human beings.” This made one of the girls giggle hysterically, which, for little boys was really the true purpose of our lives.

The second decade of the rosary was to be recited by Aunty Dolly.

Aunty Edna would have to shout out for a few seconds to grab Dolly’s attention and then she’d begin. Aunty Dolly’s decade of the rosary was more like a century as she paused, forgot, misheard and generally performed her own Jazz version of the Hail Mary.

“Hail…Mary…full of ..hmm… grace… the Lord…..hmmm.. is with you… now … and at the hour of our death, Amen.” It really felt like the hour of our death. Sometimes she’d go so slow that we’d cut her off at ‘hour of our death…’ and lap her so that we both finished at ‘Amen’ together. There was an uncomfortable pause before Edna would shout,

“Dolly! Dolly, it’s your turn.”

“But, I just finished,” she’d say.

“I know. So, did we.”

More giggling from the girls as poor Aunty Dolly lost count of her Hail Mary’s. Edna took advantage of the confusion and announced the next decade to be led by Jenny. Unfortunately, to Jenny's bad luck, Rocky Fernandes had just waltzed in and seized the reins. Rocky was a bachelor with two passions in life; drinking and praying. He'd just returned from conquering his first passion at Raja Bar and he was about to give the performance of his life with the third decade of the rosary.

"Hail Mary..." chanted Rocky, and it was clear he was going for an Elvis Presley impersonation.

"I said, a-Hail Mary..." He looked at us for a second or two and then prompted, "you have to respond with Holy Mary."

"Rocky, you have to complete the whole prayer," said Aunty Edna.

"What?"

"Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord...nevermind, Rocky why don't you just go home, huh? You're bloody drunk."

In my years of seeing drunk people waltz through the village, the one lesson I learned was you never tell a drunk person that they're drunk. It's like telling an idiot to his face that he's an idiot.

"Are you calling me a drunkard? Edna, are you calling me a drunkard? God as my witness..." Rocky slapped his breast for effect. "I am not drunk."

"Alright, you're not drunk," said Edna. "But, let Jenny say the Hail Mary with you, please. Jenny, please begin."

Poor Aunty Jenny had to share the stage with Bandra's Elvis Presley as Rocky tried to outshine her on every word.

First, Jenny would go;

"Hail Mary full of grace..."

Then Rocky would go;

"Hail Mary full of grace the lord..."

And Jenny would try and fill in the blanks; "... is with you."

It was pure, undiluted gold. As soon as the decade came to an end, Rocky walked up to the cross and gave it a big hug and a kiss.

"I love you Jesus," he called out. Then he looked at Aunty Jenny. "I love you Jenny," he said, slapping his chest.

Now it was the old ladies who giggled.

Aunty Edna must've wanted to draw blood by this point, but she remained silent and waited for Rocky to waltz off again.

I turned to look at Gilroy who still had his hands covering half his face. I wondered what he could be praying for, when I saw his jaws move.

“Gilroy, are you eating?” I asked.

He put his hand inside the top pocket of his shirt and took out a beef mince pan-roll and showed it to me like it was a gun.

“Where’d you get a pan-roll?”

“Aunty Edna’s kitchen,” he whispered.

Gilroy was an idiot most times in the week, but he did have a few redeeming qualities, one of them being his sheer ballsy-ness.

“How many do you have?” I asked.

“Five.”

“I want one,” I said.

“Three marbles,” he said.

“For one pan-roll?”

“They’re really good pan-rolls,” he said.

He didn’t have to say that. Aunty Edna was the best cook in Ranwar. I knew they were good.

I counted three marbles from my top pocket and handed them over. Gilroy took the marbles and slid them into his top pocket along with the pan-rolls. When it was time for the next and last decade of the rosary, Gilroy handed me the pan-roll. I joined my palms together over it, held it up to my mouth and took a bite. It was divine. But, then, Aunty Edna spoke.

“Children, please lead the last decade”.

I nearly swallowed the pan-roll. Gilroy was still busy chomping on his.

“Come on. We haven’t got all day. Gilroy, begin!” said Aunty Edna.

Gilroy began, “Hail Mary… chomp chomp… full of grace… chomp chomp…”

“My Jesus! Are you eating something, Gilroy?” Edna asked. Her blood was boiling.

“Is he eating the snacks?” asked Jenny.

The girls giggled some more and we finished eating our pan-rolls.

Somehow, we managed to make it through the fifth decade and Aunty Edna began the ‘Memorare’, which is a sort of booster prayer to Mother Mary, in case she wasn’t listening to you the first fifty times. And lastly, we ended with the ‘Litany’, which as a kid, I found to be one of the most baffling prayers I’d ever heard. It begins deceptively simple:

Mother of Mercy. Pray for us.

Mother of Divine Grace. Pray for us.

Mother most amiable and admirable etc…

But then, all of a sudden, it turns into a series of Indiana Jones’ sounding films:

Mystical Rose. Pray for us.

Tower of Ivory. Pray for us.

Ark of the Covenant. Pray for us.

I remember thinking this is some powerful stuff we’re saying. I mean, anyone who prays to the Ark of the Covenant was destined for superhero powers.

The final hymn began and all of us sang with lifted spirits. The snacks were brought out. Aunty Jenny opened up her handkerchief and filled it up. Gilroy attacked one of the chickpea bowls, filling up his top pocket, which was now a mix of pan-rolls, marbles and boiled chickpeas. Gilroy didn’t hoard chickpeas to eat, but to throw it at us during our game of chor police, which began soon after. We played chor police in the dark that evening. Gilroy offered to be the Police and counted till ten with his eyes closed. I ran and hid in Aunty Edna’s garden because I knew nobody would dare inspect the place, except of course, Edna herself. A light came on in her kitchen and Edna screamed,

“Who’s there in the garden? Get out. Get out from here at once. Bloody robbers.”

I jumped out of the bushes and ran home in the dark.

“What happened Edna?” Jenny called from her upstairs balcony.

“A bloody thief. He must’ve snuck in during the rosary and the swine has stolen my pan-rolls.”

“My Jesus.”

“Lock your doors. Everybody lock your doors,” Aunty Edna was shouting.

On my way home, I stopped off at Gilroy’s and saw him sitting down to dinner with his mother. The poor giggling girls were still crouched somewhere in their hiding places, while the police was home eating his dinner. Aunty Millie was back in her balcony saying another rosary.

“Goodnight Aunnie,” I called.

“Holy Mary mother of… goodnight baba… pray for our sinners now and at the hour of our death, amen.”

'The Rosary' Sketch by Keith Coutinho