Has Azhikutty, the 94-year-old sister of VS Achuthanandan, realised that her beloved Annan—who never missed an Onam without bringing her a new set of clothes—is no more?

Time has taken away her memories, and illness has left her bedridden in her humble home in Venthalathara near Paravur. When family members gently broke the news of VS's death, there was no sign of recognition, no hint of emotion. Even when the television flashed the news headlines, her eyes stayed blank. It seemed as though her heart, too, had forgotten how to mourn.

Azhikutty still lives in the ancestral home where she and her siblings, VS Achuthanandan, Gangadharan, and Purushothaman, were born. Despite his demanding political career, VS would never miss Thiruvonam day. Every year, he would make it a point to return to Velikkakathu Veettil, their family home, to share the Onam feast with his sister. Along with the meal, he always brought her a new set of clothes, her cherished Onakkodi. Even last year, though he was too unwell to visit in person, the Onakkodi still reached her, right on time.

After their parents passed away, Azhikutty became completely dependent on her brothers. Until illness confined her to bed, she longed to hear news of her Annan (VS) every single day. Living with her son-in-law, Parameswaran, at their home in Venthalathara, she would ask him daily to place a call to Thiruvananthapuram. It was VS's son, Arun Kumar, who would patiently update her on her brother’s health and well-being. But when VS was hospitalised, she was not told.

Her husband, Bhaskaran, was a worker in a coir factory. Her only daughter, Susheela, passed away in 2013 following a brief illness. Parameswaran now runs a provision store near the house. He also takes care of Azhikutty, feeding her and attending to all her needs.

Even as the winds of age and illness swept through her, the thoughts of her Annan always glowed in the quiet corners of her fading mind. "Annan went through so much. The police and the army came looking for him so many times. When he was underground in Erattupetta, I told the party workers I wanted to see him. They took me there. After joining politics, he rarely came home, but I would keep some rice in a vessel and leave it under a bell-metal pan every night, just in case he showed up. Whenever he came, he'd be with five or six comrades and they'd all share the meal. When I started working in the fields, I too became a union member. In his childhood, Annan believed in God. He used to visit temples in Kalarcode, Aravukadu and elsewhere," she would often reminisce.

She also loved to recall a line from a poem written by a local poet, Kesavan, who hailed from their village. It spoke of her elder brother Gangadharan's struggle to raise his younger siblings. "How should I take care of Azhikutty, my beloved daughter, at this age?"

Bidding farewell to mother at age four
VS Achuthanandan carried a wound in his heart that never healed— the fleeting image of his mother, Karthyayani (also known as Akkamma), glimpsed one last time through a small window when he was just four and a half years old.

It was a rainy season. The little boy, holding tight the hand of his elder brother, stood across a wooden bridge, in front of a thatched hut on a tiny islet surrounded by water. His mother had contracted smallpox, a deadly disease in those days. As was the grim custom, those afflicted were taken to isolated shelters, far from their homes.

The child called out to his mother. From behind the window, she appeared and waved to him. She promised him that she would come back once she recovered.

But Karthyayani could not keep that promise. Her body was soon buried in a far-off place.