Christmas Sparks Day 15 Christmas Carol

The days leading up to Christmas. The season when the altar team conducts carol rounds to raise money. To collect enough money for the tour, we had to tirelessly walk from house to house for three to four days, sacrificing sleep. That year, I was the leader of one such team.

It was Christmas Eve. We had about an hour left before the midnight mass, and our goal was to visit as many houses as possible and sing carols.

On our route that night was Chacko Chettan’s house. To reach that old, worn-out house, we had to walk through a muddy field. The house was shared by siblings who worked as daily wage laborers. There were four or five small kids in that house. Visiting that house wouldn’t yield much money. Moreover, with the same amount of time, we could visit four or five other more “profitable” houses. Simply put, we decided to “conveniently” skip Chacko Chettan’s house.

What we thought was a trivial decision turned out to be serious. Antony Chettan, one of the sons from Chacko Chettan’s house, came to the church searching for us. Some of my dear “well-wisher” friends, who had reached the church earlier, had already told him that I was the one behind the decision to skip their house.

That wasn’t all. If Antony Chettan had gotten hold of me at that moment, he might have torn me in two. It took the priest and some other people to calm him down and send him back. By the time we returned to the church after our merry carol singing, the storm had subsided. But the fearsome atmosphere Antony Chettan had created at the churchyard still lingered.

When I heard what had happened, I was gripped with fear. I expected an attack at any moment. But later, it seemed Antony Chettan had also decided to let it go. Thankfully, there was no further uproar after that.

Now, think about the children in that house. Hearing the sound of Christmas carols in the distance, how excited they must have been! They would have waited eagerly, preparing their little house, eyes brimming with hope. As the carol songs got closer, they must have jumped with joy.
“Isn’t the next house ours, Amma?”
But then, just like that, the songs and voices drifted away.
“Amma, why didn’t they come to our house?”
What could the parents have said to console them? How did the mother, father, or anyone in that house answer that innocent question?

To this day, I consider that careless, heartless decision one of the biggest mistakes I ever made.
Sorry.

Anto Laser Puthur