The Case of the Missing Mustache

In the serene village of Karithodi, nestled along the winding backwaters and shaded by swaying coconut trees, life moved at a gentle pace. The villagers in Karithodi knew one another well, and news -whether good, bad, or absurd - traveled quickly. Karithodi was a lush place with canals cutting through its landscape, lined with houseboats and traditional wooden houses painted in bright blues and greens. Fishermen could be seen rowing their narrow canoes at dawn, and the scent of blooming water lilies filled the air.

But this morning, an unusual scandal was brewing. Mr. Raghavan, the village barber, opened his tiny shop at the usual time. It was a charming setup on the edge of the canal, with a faded red-and-white barber pole, an old mirror, and a couple of well-worn chairs. Mr. Raghavan, a man of about sixty-five, sported a mustache that was the pride of Karithodi. Thick, dark, and meticulously groomed, the townsfolk often joked that if you were to find Raghavan’s shop closed, just look for his mustache - it was famous on its own.

Today, however, as his first customer shuffled in, something was noticeably missing.

“Good morning, Raghavan,” greeted Mr. Govindan, a retired schoolteacher and one of Raghavan’s most particular clients. “Where’s that glorious mustache of yours?”

Raghavan’s eyes dropped, a forlorn look crossing his face. “Govindan-chetta,” he whispered in disbelief, “it’s gone.”

“What?” Govindan gasped, squinting at him. True to his word, the legendary mustache was nowhere to be seen. Raghavan’s face looked bare and unfamiliar, like a painting with its signature smudged away.

The door creaked open, and two more villagers, Shankaran the toddy-tapper and Raju the young milkman, walked in. They, too, stopped dead in their tracks, mouths agape at Raghavan’s bare upper lip.

“Ente Guruvayoorappa!” Shankaran gasped, clutching his heart. “Raghavan, what happened?”

Raghavan took a deep breath, clearly distraught. “Someone has stolen it,” he declared, his voice low but dramatic. “While I was sleeping, someone crept in and stole my mustache!”

Raju, always quick to find humor in a situation, stifled a laugh. “Chetta, who in their right mind would want to steal a mustache?”

“A jealous rival, no doubt!” Govindan chimed in, starting to piece together his own theories. “Perhaps that new salon across the backwaters—they offer all kinds of strange services like hair spas and beard therapy.”

Or could it be something more sinister? Shankaran, ever prone to flights of fancy, suggested that it might have been the work of a mischievous ghost haunting Karithodi. “I’ve heard that spirits take what people love most!” he warned ominously.

Now fully invested in the mystery, the barbershop quickly filled with excited villagers. Theories flew back and forth, some blaming rival barbers from the neighboring village, while others blamed mystical forces from the nearby temple. People crowded into the shop and spilled out onto the street, buzzing with excitement.

By midday, Raghavan decided to launch a full-scale investigation. He questioned every villager, from the toddy sellers along the canal to the boatmen ferrying tourists. He even offered a reward for information on his prized mustache.

Just as he was about to give up, Raghavan recalled something unusual. The previous day, he had accepted a complimentary mustache wax from Vijayan, the village’s eccentric mobile phone shop owner. Vijayan had boasted that it was a foreign brand, though it had come in a worn-out plastic jar.

Raghavan stormed into Vijayan’s shop, his jaw set in a firm line.

“Vijayan!” he barked. “That wax you gave me... was it expired?”

Vijayan, who had been nervously avoiding Raghavan all day, stammered, "Um, well, chetta, it was, uh, slightly expired.”

“Expired?! What do you mean slightly expired?” Raghavan’s voice echoed through the narrow street. “You mean to say I lost my mustache to expired wax?”

Vijayan looked down, embarrassed. “I… I didn’t think it would matter, chetta! Who knew it would make your mustache... dissolve?”

The case of the missing mustache was solved. It wasn’t a thief or a spirit but simply a case of cheap wax with disastrous effects. The entire village burst into laughter as the tale spread from house to house, from one end of the canal to the other.

Although embarrassed, Raghavan took it all in stride. He had a month’s supply of coconut oil from well-wishers who were adamant it would help his mustache grow back faster. And over the next few weeks, his famous ‘Lion’s Mane’ did indeed make a comeback, stronger than ever, giving the villagers of Karithodi yet another story to laugh about over cups of sweet, steaming tea.