A long time ago, in Azhagappapuram, at family functions like wedding, house warming, it was customary to play loud classical music, film songs and famous film dialogues. There were service providers for this purpose, popularly known as Speaker Set Companies. At times there had been competitions between different Speaker Set Companies as to whose amplifier blared out the loudest sound through cone speakers. A day before the function started, the Speaker Set Company employees would come to the function venue with their musical sets and lighting devices as well as equipment. To begin with, they would place a couple of cone speakers at vantage points to cover maximum reach, and make necessary lighting arrangements. Classical music and Tamil songs would be played ceaselessly till the end of the function. They would start off with a nadaswaram symbolizing the auspicious nature of the event. Subsequently, devotional songs and then film songs would be played. Dialogues from films like Gnana Soundari, Manohara, Pagapirivinai, Kalyanaparisu, Veerapandiya Kattabomman, and, of course, Sivaji Ganesan starred famous mythological movies would also be played, especially at night after feast. I used to be immensely fascinated by film dialogues, notably the ones delivered by the roaring Sivaji Ganesan.

         During this era, on a summer night, lying on the rider's seat of a bullock cart parked on the West Car Street, I was listening intently to the emotional outburst of Sivaji in Kattabomman reflecting the patriotic fervor of the character portrayed. The sound was coming through the air from a few streets east of West Car Street. But the dialogues were loud and clear. I had already memorized the lines penned by the famous Sakti Krishnmurthy, but was presently concentrating on the voice inflection and subtleties of the Himalaya-like artiste.
           Around 11 p.m. the street wore a deserted look. Obviously, the village had gone to sleep, including the Speaker Set men. Owing to weariness, I too slept -- on the cart itself, which had been parked opposite Pathirakali Amman temple located on a plot on the parallel lane west of West Car Street. The temple frontal was visible through a slender cross lane. My parents might have thought I had gone for a movie or something with friends as it was summer vacation for schools.
           A little past midnight, I guess, some one woke me up softly tapping on my shoulder. I opened my eyes and met with those of a ripe old woman's. She was clad in a spotless pure white saree. She was tall and looked quite healthy for a woman of her age. She had cleft lip and her front teeth were jutting out. Her somewhat untidy silver hair had been parted in the middle. In sum, she wore a gory look. She told me that it might rain soon; hence she would take me home safely. She gently ordered me to get down from the cart and follow her. I duly obeyed her instructions. She walked southwards slowly, steps measured. I followed her as though tied to the loose end of her saree. After we walked a few yards and reached the intersection adjoining the west end of the Middle School, the old woman was confronted by more than a dozen dogs barking furiously. I was a little surprised at the dogs targeting only the woman. The old lady pulled a long stick from a bundle of firewood kept on the pial of a house on our right and started spanking the dogs, which instantly calmed down and ran away from the scene. She kept wielding the cane mainly to keep dogs and such things at bay. I simply wondered within what was going on.
          She then shepherded me on to the west through Star Lane (nameless then). My mind started working overtime trying to figure out what was it all -- who was she and where were we going, instead of going home? Meanwhile, it started drizzling slightly making the air little bit cooler. As we walked towards Mela Thottam, I heard a sick person in a nearby house cough violently upsetting the night tranquil. Thus far, the mysterious woman had behaved like a typical grandma, though she scared me with her witch-like appearance.
           Located at the West End of the village was an abandoned tiny thatch-roofed hut. There was a small haystack in a corner of the plot. Rats and bandicoots were running around freely. Leaving me in front of the hut, the old woman went in and came out with an old earthen bowl and a knife, its blade flashing in moon light.
            She then directed me to sit on a rickety stool in front of the shack with my head slightly bowed. All these seemed to be some strange ritual. Holding the sharp knife in hand she raised it such a way as to slit my throat. At this very moment I heard a booming male voice ordering the old woman, "Stop it; don't do that to him; leave him alone now and run away, or else…" On hearing these unmistaken words, the old lady dropped the knife from her hand, and started running westwards at great speed. The speed at which she ran simply astonished me. "How could a ripe old woman run like an express train?" I was asking myself utterly bewildered. It then dawn on me that she was a ghost baying for my blood. Her plan was simple: to cut my throat, let blood flow into the bowl, and drink it to her heart's content. And this plan was thwarted by the stranger. Who was he?
           I then quickly turned to the other side looking for the man who so thunderously commanded the old woman to leave me alone. I saw a tall figure walking briskly towards east on Star Lane. I ran behind him to meet and thank him for saving my life. But I could not keep pace with him. After reaching West Car Street, he turned right. I saw his back from a distance of about hundred yards. I started running fast in pursuit of him. After searching here and there in semi darkness, I saw the same man in front of the main church. As he climbed the front steps quickly, the main door of the church burst open. I ran behind him to have a glimpse of him, at least. When I set foot at the main entrance of the church, the savior of my life turned slightly towards my direction. And I saw him. He looked like Anthoniyar. On reaching the pulpit, he instantly vanished into oblivion like Lord Siva moving in to the sanctum sanctorum and disappearing in Thiruvilayadal. I was positive it was none other than Anthoniyar. I saw him! I was exited and high spirited. I ran up and down inside the church several times, blurting out "Anthoniyare… Anthoniyare." I went in front of Anthoniyar's bust inside the church, knelt down, said a prayer, thanked Him for saving my life and ran home. I raised a rumpus waking up my parents and siblings as well as neighbors. I started shrieking "I saw Anthoniyar…I saw Anthoniyar…He saved my life." The time was 2 a.m. My parents and others were extremely surprised at my hysterical behavior. They could not figure out what was happening.
           To clear things up, I narrated then and there what had happened in the past one hour or so. All listened to me with wonder and rapt attention. My parents and other elders were convinced that it was a blood thirsty ghost, disguised as an old woman, almost took my life. But no one could grasp the possible reason why it picked on me. Did it do it randomly, or was I the real target? I don't have an answer even today. And it was indeed our patron saint, Anthoniyar, who saved my life on that action-packed night. I was regarded so blessed as to have had a glimpse of Anthoniyar, besides being saved by him from certain death.