Both men were exhausted by the time they reached the village and grateful to rest their aching feet. Like all Indian villages, this one was extremely hospitable. Corbin was overwhelmed by the welcome he received, no matter where he went. However poor they were, they happily shared their meager meals and space, especially here in the wilderness, where they were excited to have visitors — particularly a white-skinned one. Most of them had never seen a white man before and stared unabashedly without blinking. Slowly, the children plucked up their courage and came up to him and attempted touching and rubbing his skin to see if his color was painted on. Corbin was used to this reaction and was gentle with them, allowing them to familiarize themselves with him. After all, he was going to live there for a few days at least. This village was called Gopalgunj, and the headman let them sleep in his hut. As the sun set over the trees in the distance, the two men sat down to a delicious meal of fish curry and soft, fluffy rice. The meal was served in a plate made out of dried shaal leaves, commonly found in this area and of course they ate with their hands, smacking and licking and swallowing every tasty morsel, unmindful of the liquid dribbling down their chins and fingers. After eight hours with no food, they considered this the most delicious meal they had ever eaten.
Over the next few days, Corbin and Bantu followed various leads they had received. The villages were well connected and they gathered a group of eight men, all very familiar with the jungle. Two of the men boasted of actual encounters with tigers and proudly showed off their scars. Corbin admired their courage, not realizing it was his guns that inspired them to follow the tracks of this feline predator along with him — that, combined with the adrenalin of the chase. Finally, they had a map of sorts, which showed that the animal was moving in an area within a three-mile radius. Corbin selected an opening in the forest not far from the river as the best place to build the machaan and lure the tiger. He chose a banyan tree with low limbs so a machaan could be comfortably built. He did not want to be too far away in case he missed his shot. But at the same time, the tree limb needed to be far enough from the ground, out of reach of the tiger. The men were busy that day, cutting wood and making a platform by tying planks of wood together with thick rope. Finally, it was lined with grass and leaves for some degree of comfort. The villagers brought a goat as bait and tied it to the bottom of the tree. At dusk, the beaters would begin their job, using loud drums and screaming in unison, walking around the perimeter they had set to chase the cat in the direction of the bait.
More than one week had passed since the last kill. The tiger was sure to be hungry. Corbin hoped it had not wandered too far away. Two nights went by with them sitting on the machaan but there was no sign of the tiger. The next morning, they discovered pugmarks by the river, just a few hundred feet away from where the machaan was. The tiger was definitely nearby and it was just a matter of waiting patiently. At sundown, Corbin took his position in the machaan. Bantu was with him, quiet and watchful. A few minutes later, he heard the rustling of leaves. The goat, sensing danger, started bleating pitifully. Corbin picked up his .275 Rigsby rifle and cocked it, ready for any sudden movement.
The tiger stepped out into the open, his eyes locked on the bleating bait. Then in a flash it pounced on the goat, biting at the neck and slicing it almost completely. Corbin discharged his rifle at the same time and got a clean shot just blow the ferocious tiger’s muscular neck. The tiger reared up growling in pain and to Corbin’s consternation and utter surprise, began climbing the tree. Corbin was an experienced hunter but he had never been in this predicament before and was not mentally ready for this eventuality. It took him a few seconds to pick up his second rifle and cock it. This time he was taking no chances. At a distance of five feet, he fired the second shot. As the shell entered the tiger’s brain, the magnificent creature reeled back and with an earthshaking roar fell to the ground. Corbin was out of breath and wet with perspiration, the adrenalin pumping inside him, his body reeling from the after effects of such a close encounter. When he sensed all movement had stopped, he ventured to climb down. Bantu was transfixed, his loincloth wet, showing tell-tale signs of his fear. He climbed down after Corbin and stared for a few minutes at the vanquished cat. It was unbelievable that the animal which had caused so much anxiety and misery for the locals was actually dead. The sound of the dying tiger had alerted the rest of the team who joined them. They all just stood for a while silently, taking in the enormity of the event. It was too late to carry the tiger back and arrangements would have to be made the next day.
The following morning the tiger’s body was strapped to a huge tree trunk and it took fifteen men to carry the heavy carcass. Bantu wanted to take the prize back to Sonarpur so that Meera could see it. It was a long and arduous journey, as they were weighed down by sheer mass of the tiger. However, they had many hands and made steady progress. Corbin always felt a little depressed after a tiger kill. He had been a hunter for many years now but over time, was consumed by a feeling of empathy for animals and a sense of oneness with nature. He saw that all things around him were interconnected, that killing animals in large numbers, especially predators, actually tipped the ecological balance. Living in the wilderness of the Himalayas developed in him a real understanding of the delicate relationship between humans and their environment. His fellow countrymen enjoyed the shikar but Corbin did not feel any thrill when he shot an animal. In fact after a hunt, he felt remorse for having killed one of God’s creatures. Eventually, he stopped hunting for pleasure and only took his guns out when he was called to deal with a man-eating predator. He had mixed emotions as he watched the retinue make their way through the forest towards Sonarpur. This tiger was dead but it was just a matter of time before another man-eater emerged.
They reached Sonarpur at sundown and were spotted immediately by the children who ran up to them whooping and screaming in excitement. There was no tiger as good as a dead one. Meera was sitting on her haunches outside her hut and on hearing the ruckus she looked up but seemed to be in a trance. Slowly, she stood up. Her eyes were flashing with anger, hatred and remorse as she walked up to the dead tiger. Sinking to her knees, she pummeled the inert creature, screaming and crying uncontrollably. Everyone gathered around and watched this pitiful scene in silence. Finally, the despondent mother’s blows weakened and stopped.
Yes, the tiger was dead but then so was Kamala, and nothing could change that.
Part V
Rajam
CHAPTER 15 – RAJAM
VIZHUPURAM
Rajam finished all of her morning chores and had a rare moment to sit and do nothing. She really missed her sister-in-law, Sushila, who was still at her mother’s home convalescing after her miscarriage. This meant Nagamma focused all of her attention on Rajam, noticing and commenting on her every move, pre-empting her every thought and her every word. Thank heavens young Balu was around. His childish pranks made the day so much more bearable. Rajam waited for Nagamma to take a mid-morning snooze so she could get some respite from the constant harassment. Month after month she waited to miss her period, but it came like clockwork every twenty eight days like an unwanted guest, leaving her listless and anxious. Now she read disapproval even in Nagamma’s casual glances. If only she would conceive. Rajam sighed deeply but her fatigue was more mental than physical.
Her father, Swaminathan, had moved to the nearby town of Chidambaram and Rajam missed his visits terribly. His constant support had kept her going, especially in the first year after she had moved here. Seeing him again and visiting the home where she grew up made her very nostalgic. She couldn’t help thinking of the time before she moved into Partha’s home, the period in her life after marriage and before she started menstruating. She was happy to continue living with her parents awaiting the onset of puberty. Only then would the nuptials ceremony, the Shanthi Kalyanam, be performed and she be permitted to live with Partha and share his bed; only now it seemed so long ago.
Rajam moved into her in-laws’ home
almost two years after her marriage. Although she was only twelve years old at her wedding, she did not have to stay with her in-laws until she was menstruating. That meant there was no sexual contact between Rajam and Partha at all during this time. In fact, almost no physical contact was permitted between them. Partha visited Rajam every day after school and then after college for the next two agonizing years. The waiting period was sheer misery for him and it took every ounce of latent patience and fortitude to wait out this time. They sat together in the mutram in her father’s house, where Rajam focused intently on swinging back and forth on the oonjal, not paying any attention to Partha
All Rajam thought of was dressing up and playing with her dolls and toys. She was still a child and did not understand the significance of marriage — the difference between the world of a twelve year-old girl and that of a seventeen year-old boy. To her, Partha was this hefty boy who came to see her every day, which was so boring because she had to stop playing and come and sit with him. What’s more, she had to talk to him, a tedious affair, because she had absolutely nothing to say to him. He didn’t play hopscotch or house and he was always so shifty and edgy, always trying to touch her. Long periods of silence suspended languorously between them after her mother instructed her not to swing on the oonjal while Partha visited. She was supposed to show him utmost respect because he had a special place in her life as her husband. But to her, “husband” was just another word and had no real significance.
Slowly, Partha became a little bolder and periodically reached out to touch her hand but she would wriggle out of his grasp. She constantly threatened to complain to her mother, much to Partha’s consternation. Her skin was so fair and ever so sensitive that even the slightest pressure caused it to redden and he did not put it past her to run off to her mother and complain that Partha had hurt her. That could cause problems for him, even result in stopping visitation rights!! It was terribly frustrating! What was the point of being married if you could not touch your wife? Partha could not wait for the official ceremony, the Shanthi Kalyanam, to be performed but that could only take place after Rajam began menstruating. How did you make a girl get her periods? Partha was exasperated beyond measure. All he could think of was the elusive Shanthi Kalyanam. Until then, Mangalam made sure they were chaperoned at all times and never alone for more than two minutes at a time. It was a game of wits. Partha would wait until Mangalam left them alone and then make a quick grab for Rajam but by the time the squiggling was over, it was time for Mangalam to return. This meant Partha had to quickly sit upright and pretend nothing had happened. Then he got a great idea: asking for coffee!! That sent Mangalam away for at least five minutes and gave Partha a few precious minutes alone with Rajam to wiggle and wriggle
Of course, protocol needed to be followed, which meant Partha had to make small talk with his future mother-in-law but as he was seeing her every day, the two of them had little to talk about. After “How are you? I am fine. And you? Fine. How are things at home? All right,” an awkward silence fell between them.
Every morning on his way to school, Partha broke a coconut at the Ganesh temple, praying for Rajam to get her menses. Even as he did this, he immediately felt ashamed that he was so absorbed with carnal desire. But he told himself that, after all, he was a strapping young man and Rajam was legally his wife. Many times he was tempted to ask his friends if they thought of sex all the time but his courage failed him and he just assumed all young boys were the same and there was nothing wrong with him.
After his wedding, Nagamma sat him down, instructing him with the do’s and don’ts of a married man. There were a hundred and one rules for men and that multiplied tenfold when it came to rules for women. Social etiquette was very important, especially in a Brahmin household, because it reflected one’s culture and upbringing. It was no easy task to be a Brahmin, even though people envied their social advantage given their position at the pinnacle of the caste pyramid. It had been drilled into Partha’s head that in ancient times you did not become a Brahmin by merely being born into a Brahmin family. You had to earn that title by rigorously studying the Vedas for several years and then impart that knowledge to other students. You had to perform poojas, rituals and yagnas, chanting the ancient mantras and perform these rituals for those who were yet uninitiated. In every home learned Brahmins were called to officiate as priests, performing ceremonies for birth, marriage, atonement and death. Partha knew in theory that to be called a Brahmin you had to give away your wealth and live only on the offerings from other people. This was given to the Brahmin as dakshina, “fees,” for performing ceremonies. On days there was no food in the house, Brahmins would go door to door asking for alms and it was considered a privilege for housewives to fill their outstretched palms with food. More importantly, Brahmins ate only one meal a day and that too, in limited quantity; they were only permitted to eat the food that fitted in the palms of their hands. By all these measures, Partha was certainly not a Brahmin. He had not learned the scriptures, so he could not perform ceremonies for others, and he ate quantities of food that filled his large palms and those of every other person living on his street. His appetite was well known and Nagamma jokingly referred to him as Bheeman, the perennially hungry, mythical Pandava Prince. In his family, even though the concept of being a Brahmin had changed for several generations, the innumerable social rules of behavior were never given up. They were rigorously followed in the hope that at least this would make them worthy of their esteemed birth. Partha’s mind reeled with the different rules to be kept in mind and practiced.
When you go there don’t talk to Rajam first. Be patient. Converse with the elders first.
If any elders are present, you must bow down and do namaskaram to them as soon as you see them.
Be careful how you sit. Under no circumstances should you place one foot on top of the other knee. That is extremely disrespectful.
In case you are offered any food, accept it with both hands. Even by mistake, do not stick your left hand out.
And if you buy flowers for Rajam, do not smell them. Mangalam might offer the flowers to god in her pooja, so be aware.
You can talk to Rajam but there must be a distance of at least two feet between you and her. Do not attempt to touch her, and the list went on.
Partha of course was selective about following the rules. There were far too many and in any case, he thought he followed most of them.
When Rajam first noticed a smear of blood on her pavadai, she thought she had hurt herself but the bleeding continued, though it was sporadic. She knew everyone was waiting for this event eagerly but to fourteen year old Rajam, this meant she would have to leave her mother’s house forever, so she wanted to hide it from them as long as possible. It wasn’t until the third day that she decided to give her mother the news. Mangalam took her to the back of the house, the ‘kollai pakkam,’ and gave her a long muslin sari, which she cut into four pieces. Then she showed her how to roll the muslin cloth into a pad and place it so that it would soak up the menstrual blood. She then helped her attach it on both sides of a piece of string that she tied around Rajam’s waist. She had to wash the blood off this cloth every day and leave it to dry at the back of the house, where no male members of the house could see it. For Rajam, this was a repulsive act and she gagged violently every time she did it. However, Mangalam explained to her that in time she would get used to it and it would just become a routine task like any other.
Rajam was to sit in the back room and wait while Mangalam got busy making all the arrangements. She called for her sister, Parvathi, to come and help her. That evening all the ladies from the neighborhood had to be invited for a ceremony to celebrate Rajam’s entry into womanhood, and Parvathi rushed out of the house to do just that. This was the first and last time Rajam was allowed to mingle with others during her period.
Rajam was dressed for the first time in a sari, a garment she was now allowed to wear, which would be her clothing of choice henceforth. She
sat on a chair and all the women put nalangu on her feet and hands. Fresh turmeric was used for this purpose and lines were carefully drawn on the edge of her feet and across them in symmetric stripes. The women sang as they dressed her up, putting black mai in her eyes and strings of jasmine in her hair, anointing her with kumkumam and chandanam and praying for her long and happy married life. Everyone made lewd references to what was expected of her as a married woman but Rajam had no idea what they meant.
Mangalam was sad to send Rajam away and forced a smile on her face. The last of her daughters. She went through the day’s ceremonies with a heavy heart. From now on, Rajam had to leave her childhood behind and face the harsh realities of womanhood. That evening, when Swaminathan came home, she shared the news with him. He was not allowed to see Rajam because she had three days of theetu, where she would have to live separately until she bathed on the fourth day and then re-entered her home. Swaminathan left immediately on his bicycle to inform Partha’s family about the forthcoming Shanthi Kalyanam.
Mangalam spent the next day preparing for Rajam’s departure. Tearfully, she packed Rajam’s belongings, the saris, the jewelry and silver vessels that were part of her dowry. She was so busy she had no time to prepare Rajam for the events in the near future, about what it meant to be a wife. She had thought of doing this many times but always put it off each time, thinking she had time to get around to it. But that time had come and she had still not spoken to Rajam about anything.
When the Lotus Blooms Page 10
