The following morning the family departed in a beautiful vilvandi, a covered bullock cart specially decorated for the auspicious journey. Mangalam finally spoke to Rajam, giving her hurried advice that would prove crucial for her survival over the next few months.
“Rajam…,” she began gingerly. “The next few days are going to be hard for you. You will have to get used to living in a new house. Remember all we have taught you and make us proud. From now on, your husband will be the most important person in your life. You must do whatever he says and always make him happy. Your mother-in-law will teach you all the rules of their household. Never raise your eyes when she speaks or sit in the presence of adults unless they specifically ask you to. You will have to awaken early to help with all the chores. Just listen to your mother-in-law. Don’t do anything to make her angry. Ultimately, your happiness is in her hands. She can make your life bliss or a misery. It all depends on how you and she get along. Always be diplomatic and choose your words carefully. Never be the cause of discord in your family. Things in your new home are going to be very different. You cannot eat before others have eaten as you did all these years. From now on, you have to wait until your husband has eaten and then you may sit down to eat. You are now going to live the life of a married woman. A new phase in your life is going to begin. There will be many things you will have to do that you may not like but you will have to be strong and do them anyway. But don’t worry; we are always here for you whenever you need us. Your father will come and see you as often as possible, just to make sure you are alright, so you will always have us.”
Rajam listened but none of it was sinking in; she was so choked up with emotion. She did not want to leave the safe haven that had been her home. She did not want to go and live with her husband. Most of all, she did not want to leave her father.
Swaminathan looked at Rajam and knew her mind was in turmoil. A father’s job was filled with tough choices. He had to make sure all his children were married into good families but parting was like tearing away at his flesh.
It was strange that in life pleasure and pain always go together, although they are diametrically opposite. Pleasure could never be known or appreciated unless one felt the wrenching torment of pain. He knew this moment was inevitable but when it came, he could not prevent the rush of emotions flooding his being. Swaminathan was sad to part with his youngest daughter, but his sadness would have been much greater had she not married at all. He put down the melancholy and pain to the end of an era — the end of Rajam’s childhood.
But there was happiness at the other end of the journey with Rajam beginning a new phase. Partha and his family were excited to welcome another addition to their family. Ever since Partha heard the news of her period, he could not sit still and the last two days were the longest of his life. He must have made a hundred trips to the front gate, squinting to catch the first glimpse of the vilvandi turning the corner. He was not sad at leaving behind Brahmacharya, his bachelorhood, but instead elated at the prospect of being a married man. Suddenly, he was the focus of all the attention in his house. His life was going to transform but this was change filled with promises of pleasure and happiness. Now he was a man, with new status and responsibilities.
The priest was waiting to perform the ceremony as Nagamma and Sushila did the aarathi, welcoming Rajam for the first time to their house. She caught a glimpse of Partha waving to her from the back, above the heads of all the other people; neighbors and relatives gathered here to welcome the new bride and attend the Shanthi Kalyanam. The rituals went by in a blur and the two were ushered into the bedroom for the first time as man and wife.
Mangalam told Rajam many things but omitted many others. Things that were extremely important. Like what happens between a man and woman on the night of their nuptials. Mangalam was too shy to broach the subject and assumed she would learn about it from her husband, just like millions of other girls who had gone through the same situation.
For Partha, the ceremony seemed to be taking forever. Finally, after an interminable wait, Partha was alone with Rajam in the bedroom. The bed was decorated with rose petals. A silver glass filled with crushed almonds in milk awaited the groom to give him the energy needed for his debut performance, and the aroma of incense sticks filled the room. Rajam sat on the bed not knowing what to expect. She remembered what her mother told her, that she had to do whatever her husband wantedand sat motionless, waiting for his next move. When he touched her, she tried to stay still and not wiggle and squirm. When he disrobed her, gently pulling off her sari and blouse, only her widened eyes betrayed her horror. And when the kneading and pinching of her nonexistent breasts began, she closed her eyes tight not knowing whether to laugh or cry. She felt completely befuddled when he spread her legs and tried to thrust what felt like a stick into her. She was sure she would never be able to urinate again. She could not imagine why anyone wanted to put a stick into your privates. After several unsuccessful attempts, Partha dropped off to sleep.
Rajam opened her eyes and sat up. Then slowly, she crept out of bed to look for the stick but she could not find it anywhere, not on the bed or under it. Maybe he was sleeping on it. She would look for it in the morning, when there was more light. She wrapped the sari around her several times, then lay down next to her supine husband and slept.
The next morning after Partha awoke, Rajam searched the bed once again for the elusive stick but it was nowhere to be found. She left the room and went to the back of the house to bathe. After her bath, she had the impossible task of draping the sari around her. She had no idea how to do this and wished she had paid more attention when her mother draped it for her. Finally, she wrapped it around herself several times and put the end around her shoulders. She could barely walk and had to take baby steps to move. Shuffling across the back porch, she reached the kitchen. Both Nagamma and Sushila were already in the midst of preparing the morning meal. There was a moment of silence when they saw her wrapped like a bandage and then Sushila burst into laughter. Even Nagamma could not stifle a smile.
“Go, Sushila, teach her how to tie a sari.” Nagamma’s older daughter-in-law put her arms around Rajam and led her into the bedroom.
“Vaa maa I’ll show you how it’s done. The only tricky part is in tying the pleats. And I’ll tell you another trick: if you wear your sari high, just above your ankles, then you can walk freely.” Sushila allowed her to practice wearing the sari several timesand then the two of them returned to the kitchen. Nagamma did not want to haul her into household chores immediately, with her being a new bride, so she handed her a morai and asked her to clean the rice. Rajam had done that several times before, and she was happy her first task was an easy one. Soon, she would be in for another mild shock.
Amma told her that she would have to eat after her husband finished, but she omitted telling her that she would have to eat off her husband’s yecchal banana leaf. From the time she was a young girl, yecchal and rules surrounding it were ingrained into her. Saliva or yecchal, was a source of contamination and you could not allow your spit to contaminate anyone else. It was sacrilege to drink out of another person’s glass; even vessels from the kitchen were never kept in the dining area, lest some contaminating spit fell into them. The banana leaves they ate on were immediately cleared and the area wiped thoroughly before anyone else ate. So she was horrified when Nagamma instructed her to sit and eat off of Partha’s yecchal banana leaf. She kept feeling her bile come up into her mouth and wanted to vomit. This was against everything she was taught. For several days after, she got up after meals eating close to nothing. Her mother in all probability did not warn her about this because they did not practice this custom. Swaminathan would not hear of it in his house, so Rajam had never seen it. Sushila ate heartily and Rajam wondered how she did that. It was the most revolting experience for her and all week she felt as if her stomach were aching. She was sure she was sick.
Partha spent the whole of the next day thinking about his unsucce
ssful ‘first night.’ He realized he would have to take the expert advice of friends and after a lot of thought, shamefacedly confided in his closest friend, Cheenu, who was the self-styled expert on the subject.
“Hmm, virgins are always a problem but nothing works better than a few drops of ghee.” That evening before entering the room, Partha stole into the kitchen and took a spoonful of ghee, generously applying it to himself. That night was even more of a disaster, with his slithering member slipping around everywhere other than the intended aperture. Rajam was even more puzzled. First a stick and now this slippery, slithery, snakelike object. Her husband must be a manthravadhi, a magician.
The next day Partha confronted his friend, telling him his advice was useless.
“Partha, there must be some mistake, because ghee is an excellent lubricant. Where did you put it? On your wife or on yourself?”
He didn’t need an answer. Partha’s face told him all that he needed to know.
“Fool, you have to put it on the girl, not on yourself.” Of course, Partha knew that!
The next day, a resolute Partha returned to the bedroom and much to Rajam’s horror, wasted no time in applying the ghee to her genitals. Rajam was appalled Partha touched the part of her body that she urinated from. Dirty fellow! What in heaven was he doing? When he climbed on top of her, he had his magic stick once again, but this time she could feel the sustained pressure on her genitals. Then the wrenching pain as she was deflowered. She opened her mouth to scream but Partha realizing this, covered her mouth with his hand.
“Please don’t scream; everyone will hear. Then it will be avamaanam, shame, for both of us. I’m so sorry, so sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you. I promise I won’t be so rough next time. Please don’t cry.”
Rajam was crying silently and as Partha rolled off her, she put both her hands in between her legs, rocking back and forth, weeping silently.
What was happening? Why did he want to hurt her? Is this what married people did? She did not understand anything. Partha put his arms around her, comforting her the best way he knew. The next morning was agony for Rajam, as the pain was incredible. She could not stand or sit and it burned when she urinated. She could not walk properly and kept both legs two feet apart to stop the chafing. Everyone was looking at her and smirking and she felt tears coming to her eyes. Sushila watched her for a while, shaking her head in sympathy. She too had gone through the same experience not so long ago and she remembered it clearly. Only she had no one to help her and had to process the whole experience on her own, but her heart went out to young Rajam. She knew she had to help her. She went to the kitchen and heated some coconut oil. Then she took Rajam to the back of the house, where she knew they would be alone.
“Here Rajam. I know how you feel. It hurts a lot, doesn’t it? Apply this coconut oil. It will soothe the area.”
“Akka, the pain is terrible. I can’t walk or sit or do anything,” said Rajam in between hiccupping and crying.
“Shh, don’t cry now. Don’t worry; the pain will go away. It will hurt initially but after a few months you will even enjoy it.”
Rajam was crying copiously. “Akka I don’t know what happened with you but my husband is a manthravadhi. One day he brings a stick to the bedroom and the next day a snake. Yesterday he had the stick again and he put it right inside me. The pain was so bad. But the funny thing is that I don’t know where he puts the stick once he is done. I looked everywhere but I couldn’t find it.”
Sushila threw her head back, laughing uncontrollably.”Silly girl. Partha is no magician. That stick you are referring to is not something that magically appears. It is attached to his body.”
“Attached to his body?” said Rajam, now more confused than ever.
“Siva Anna? Does he also have one attached to his body?”
“Yes. All men do.”
“Then how come I never noticed it before? Doesn’t it stick out of their veshtis? How do they hide it during the day?” This was getting more and more mysterious. Sushila knew there were plenty of questions on the tip of Rajam’s tongue and did not want to go there. The conversation was getting too lurid for Sushila’s comfort and she didn’t want to expound on more graphic details about the male anatomy.
“You will have to discover that for yourself,” she declared.
That day, all Rajam could think of was about this mysterious stick attached to men. All day she eyed the lower halves of all the men in the house, trying to see if she could see the silhouette of the stick.
In the evening, she went into the bedroom determined to investigate and get to the bottom of this mystery of the male stick.
Rajam giggled thinking about that time in her life. In hindsight it was funny, and she and Partha could laugh about it. Now her problems were different and much more complex. How life had changed.
She rubbed her belly gently and stared vacantly at her feet.
CHAPTER 16 – RAJAM
VIZHUPURAM
The following morning, the whistling from the idli paanai brought Rajam running into the kitchen. Idli was Partha’s favorite dish and Rajam enjoyed making it for him. She just loved watching him eat, even though making idli was a long drawn out and tedious process. Two nights ago she soaked the rice and white lentils overnight, and spent all of the next morning grinding it. Finally, after an hour’s work, the dough had the right soft and fine consistency. Rajam enjoyed the final task in the idli making process only because she knew that after this she could rest. She mixed the dough, salted it and left it in a large, covered, brass vessel out in the hot sun to ferment all day and overnight. By morning, the dough rose to the brim, ready for the preparation of idli.
She lifted the idli paanai off the fire and carefully pulled the cooked idlis off the thin muslin. Knowing how many idlis Partha himself could demolish, she knew she had to make some more. After filling some water into the pot, she poured a tablespoonful of fermented idli dough into the shallow mold over the thin muslin cloth. In about ten minutes, the idlis were steamed and ready to serve. Round, white, hot, rice and lentil cakes.
Making sure no one was watching, she dipped the idli into the green coconut chutney Nagamma had just ground, and popped it into her mouth. Idli tasted best when complemented with coconut chutney, sambar, molahapodi drenched in gingelly (sesame) oil.
Rajam took a while getting used to the daily routine. When she first came to live with her in-laws, the most difficult part was waking up at three in the morning to get the day’s chores going. The first job was drawing water from the well. Drinking water was stored in earthenware pots after filtering it through muslin. Surprisingly, the water remained cool even though the kitchen was unbearably hot. Then the pots needed for washing and bathing were filled. The fire in the bathing area was stoked at the same time, over which a huge brass cauldron of water was placed. By the time the men awoke, there was hot water for bathing. The women always bathed early, before the men woke up, as that was the only time they had privacy in the open bathing area. The climate was so warm, on most days they bathed in cold water. On winter mornings, they woke up a little earlier to bathe in hot water. They could not begin any cooking until they had bathed and performed the morning prayers. Only after they lit the lamp in the pooja altar were they permitted to enter the kitchen to begin the day’s cooking.
Following this, the women of the household washed the floor outside the main entrance. Luckily for Rajam, cow dung was spread over the floor weekly rather than every day. Once they washed the entrance, the women made designs or kolam on the floor out of rice flour. By the end of the day, the ants had eaten most of the kolam. By nine o’ clock in the morning, the majority of the day’s chores and the main meal for the day were over and the women could afford to relax and rest. This was the time they visited the temple, where offering prayers was just an excuse to meet and chat with their friends.
Later in the morning, when the sun was up, they washed the clothes. A granite washing-stone stood near the bathing area
. The women rubbed soap on the clothes and then repeatedly slapped them against the inclined surface of the stone. Once they completed the washing, the women took a much-needed nap before arising to make the afternoon coffee and tiffin.
That evening all the family members gathered around the pooja as Nagamma did the aarathi, burning camphor and ringing the brass bell to ward off evil and bring in good fortune. Everyone briefly passed their hands over the flaming camphor, accepting the grace of God and then bent down in obeisance to do namaskaram, chanting their evening prayers at the same time. Partha followed Rajam out the front door and sat down on the thinnai watching her light the beautiful Kamakshi brass lamps, which anointed the entrance. “Are you happy?” he asked her tentatively.
“Why do you ask? You want to know now — after so many years?” Rajam raised one eyebrow quizzically.
“No, I just wonder if all this housework is too much for you with Sushila away.”
“Every woman has to do it. The food will not appear like magic on the banana leaf.”
“I know that. Do you want to go home for a few days? I know it has been difficult for you.”
“Maybe we could spend Deepavali next month with my parents. Your mother will never send me home now.”
“I tell you what. Let’s go to the chandhai this Saturday after I bring Sushila home. It will be fun for the whole family. I’ll buy you a new sari if you want. And shiny glass bangles.”
Rajam always enjoyed going to the village fair. It was a time everyone in the village, irrespective of caste, congregated to buy and sell their wares. There were games, street theatre and lots of food. It was so much fun; the whole day would go by seemingly in a flash. Normally the fairwas held close to festival time and there was always one before the major festivals, Deepavali and Pongal. Rajam had been so busy she had forgotten it was almost Deepavali.
When the Lotus Blooms Page 11
