When the Lotus Blooms

by Kanchana Krishnan Ayyar

  As the family finally reached the parking lot, Kandu’s mind overflowed with images of sick, blood stained mouths. Two large, black American Buicks awaited to take them to their destination. Jameen Amma’s son, who had lived in Calcutta for many years and was a leading businessman dealing in auto parts, had sent two of his cars with chauffeurs to meet the family at the station. It was incredibly silent in the car and they sank into the plush seats gratefully, their ears still reeling from the cacophony at the station. The sleek cars edged their way through the seething mass of humanity onto the floating pontoon bridge to cross the Hooghly River.

  The sunrise on the river Hooghly was so spectacular that morning that Dharmu almost felt reaffirmed in the existence of God. The river at low tide was a shimmering blend of colors reflecting the golden resonance of dawn, its waters serene and calm, mirroring the same sentiments in all those that beheld her. This was perhaps the best time to admire the natural scenic beauty, before the day broke and people thronged to its banks. A few boats with solitary boatmen ferried passengers across to the other bank. All along the road leading to the Strand sat rows of handcarts with their owners still asleep inside.

  Calcutta had all kinds of transportation, the tram and the rickshaw being the most significant. The rickshaw, a man-drawn handcart, was the main mode of transportation for the social elite, especially over short distances. Rickshaw pullers dragged the two wheelers, running all over the city, impervious to harsh weather conditions. Kandu watched an emaciated rickshaw-wallah struggling to move his cargo, which in this case were two extremely large ladies. Most of the rickshaw pullers in the city were refugees from the neighboring state of Bihar, who converged to the city to escape harsh famine. They rented rickshaws for exorbitant rates and then plied their vehicle tirelessly for sixteen to twenty hours a day, just to make enough money for one meal a day for themselves and their poverty-stricken families. Their plight was terrible but young Kandu knew nothing of this and he really wanted to ride in one, never having done so earlier. He had asked his mother several times at the station if they could go home in a rickshaw, but she had been deaf to his chattering until now that they were safely ensconced in the car. “Mummy can we ride in a rickshaw?” he reiterated for what seemed like the hundredth time.

  “Why not? Let’s reach Banu Mami’s home and then after breakfast maybe we could visit the city and take a ride in a rickshaw.”

  Satisfied, Kandu spent the rest of the ride counting rickshaws and reached a hundred and eleven, as the car pulled into a large home in the neighborhood of Bada Bazaar. Jameen Amma’s son, Ramji and his wife, Banu, were very hospitable and Dharmu stayed with them whenever they visited Calcutta.

  The façade was narrow but as one entered, the house opened up. A huge courtyard opened to the sky, surrounded by many rooms. The ground floor had the kitchen and servants’ area, as well as the living and dining rooms and the upper three floors held the bedrooms. The house had originally belonged to a family of muslin dealers from Murshidabad, who had fallen on hardtimes. The family had been in dire straits and sold the property to Ramji for a song, including the beautiful teak and mahogany furniture as part of the deal.

  Every member of the family had a suite of rooms, which included a large bedroom equipped with a heavy mahogany four-poster bed, large almirahs to store clothing and an attached dressing room. Some even had a study as part of the suite. There was no dearth of rooms in the house and three were assigned to the Ayyar family. Kandu of course got his own room and clambered onto the bed, bouncing up and down till Meera hauled him away to wash and get dressed for breakfast.

  Like most homes here, the house had two large kitchens, one for vegetarian cooking and the other for cooking meat. The family was largely vegetarian, though the children on occasion enjoyed a good fish or chicken curry which was made only if they had visitors. Banu had brought a South Indian cook back from the plantation in Dindigul, as she could not live without eating her native fare.

  Dharmu was thrilled when she came to the breakfast table after her bath. There on the table was the most sumptuous spread she had ever seen. Not porridge and oats but instead, a real south Indian breakfast. Banu knew that Dharmu was starved for her home food and had gone the extra mile to make this meal memorable. Adorning the table were piping hot idlis, fried vadais, sambar and chutney, and if that wasn’t enough, hot adais, or lentil pancakes, a delicacy that Dharmu had not eaten for ages. She embraced Banu in utter delight.

  “Oh Banu Akka, just seeing this food is a treat. I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “So don’t. Just eat,” replied Banu, a woman of few words.

  And eat they did. No one spoke at all during the meal, a sign of how tasty the food was. After eating, Dharmu made up her mind this time she would definitely bring a cook back with her to Rangpur. The idlis were too delicious to sample only once a year. Half way through the meal, Kandu got up, intent on exploring, running up one staircase and sliding down another banister, with Meera chasing him, trying to sneak a piece of idli into his mouth when he wasn’t otherwise occupied. The house was too exciting for him, with so many rooms, nooks and crannies to explore.

  After breakfast, Mahadevan left in one of the cars for the office. Their train to Dindigul wasn’t due to depart till nightfall, so they had the whole day to explore Calcutta. Ramji had a collection of cars, a passion of his, since he got into the auto industry. His garage sported a Vauxhall, two Buicks, a Bentley and a recently added Rolls Royce. The family piled into a Buick, much to Kandu’s disappointment. He would have preferred riding in the new Rolls, but that didn’t happen.

  The children grew increasingly excited as they saw the sights of Calcutta. First it was Belvedere House, the Viceroys’ old residence in Alipore. The Viceroys lived here until 1912, when the capital of the British Empire was moved to Delhi. After that, this stately home was converted into the National Library. As they drove through the imperial arch surrounded by the famed Botanical Gardens, they got a sense of the pageantry and pomp that was the hallmark of British rule here in Calcutta, when the city was the capital of the British Empire. After spending some time in the fabulously landscaped gardens, they drove to Chowringhee, stopping at the Grand Hotel for tea and scones. The highlight of the morning was walking up and down the fashionable Park Street, with its fancy stores and restaurants. This was the best place to get western style clothing for the children and Dharmu shopped non-stop. Her need for order left little room for fashion, so it was six dresses each in the same style for the girls, six white shirts and four black shorts for Kandu, almost making their daily wear into a uniform. After a delicious lunch at Gangurams, of Loochi and Alur Dom, a Bengali delicacy, they headed for the beautiful Victoria Memorial. From a distance, the majestic view of the white marble building with a black bronze angel of victory crowning the central dome was just breathtaking. Meera stayed outside with Kandu, watching over him as he ran up and down the white marble stairs, while the rest of the family visited the museum inside.

  For Kandu, the best part of the day was a rickshaw ride. All of them bundled into two rickshaws and then they rode along the race course, Kandu urging his driver to go faster and outrace the other rickshaw. He could not accept losing to women, especially when they were your sisters. The exhilarating ride lifted everyone’s spirits. Everyone, except the rickshaw pullers, who looked ready to drop with the exertion, but no one really noticed them. No one but Rukku looked sad after the ride. She noticed the sweat pouring down the men’s faces when they reached the Victoria Memorial and couldn’t help thinking how these men were used like horses or other beasts of burden for a few moments of pleasure. She told no one and no one wanted to hear what she had to say anyway. Her only consolation was that they paid both men generously and that must mean something. If nothing else, it would at least mean a better meal for them and their families at the end of the day.

  It was getting late and everyone was tired but they couldn’t leave without eating jhal muri. The main ingredie
nt, muri, was puffed rice, which the muriwallah kept hot by placing a container of hot coals on it. He had a stand with a number of tin containers containing various ingredients, like onions, tomatoes, coconut pieces, as well as a host of spices. He began vigorously mixing the ingredients in a tin with a spoon and the wonderful part was that each person could ask for a combination of different ingredients. The taste of the pungent mustard oil and the eye-watering chilly that made the muri jhal or spicy, combined to create a culinary experience that went beyond words. Finally, with aching feet and swollen bellies, the family set off home.

  Dharmu spent the next few hours with Banu, wallowing in nostalgia before departing for the journey south. There was so much to talk about and so little time, but their meetings were always like that. Banu promised to visit Dharmu in Rangpur, which made Dharmu excited; visitors were what she looked forward to. Soon, they were in the car on their way to the train station.

  Dharmu sighed and stared into the distant horizon, thinking about her lonely life in Rangpur. How slowly time passed when you were alone and how it flew when you didn’t want it to. Dharmu took a deep breath, pulling herself together. This was no time to be gloomy, now the fun was just beginning. In two days she would be home again and she was determined not to spoil the present by dwelling on the past. After all the present moment was a gift from God, which was why it was called ‘present.’ She willed herself to be happy and experience everything to its fullest extent.

  CHAPTER 24 – KANDU

  TRAIN TO DINDIGUL

  The rocking motion of the train lulled Kandu to sleep. They had a long journey ahead of them towards the south, changing two trains before they reached Dindigul but thankfully most of the time would be spent sleeping. Everyone was so tired from the hectic day spent in Calcutta that they slept soundly.

  The first rays of sunlight poured in through the window, awakening Kandu. He peered out of the window and could see farmland pass by. The trees were still silhouettes in the sky, but farmers were already toiling in the fields trying to get as much as possible done before the sun’s fierce rays made it impossible to work. Rukku joined him and the two of them pressed their faces against the window watching their breath fog up the glass and then writing their names on it. They passed by a village and suddenly there on the tracks were a row of men squatting with their backs turned to the train, performing their morning ablutions. Both Kandu and Rukku saw this incredible sight almost at the same time and turned towards each other simultaneously. Their incredulous, widened eyes were drenched in mirth and they covered their mouths in a futile attempt to stifle giggles. As the row of men continued unendingly, shamelessly exposing their rear ends for the entire world to view, or in this case for the occupants of the train to witness, it was too much for them to handle. They burst out laughing uncontrollably, trying their best to do this quietly as possible so as not to awaken their sleeping mother.

  Kandu looked at Rukku and whispered ‘kundi’, a Tamil word meaning ‘rear end’ which he knew was forbidden, and Rukku ruptured into giggles. Encouraged, he began repeating the prohibited word with childish glee, treading on forbidden territory. Profanity was not tolerated at home by his father, a rule upheld by his mother but as one was absent and the other asleep, the emboldened Kandu was not be contained. He repeated the word to a tune and rhythm repeatedly.

  “Kundi kundi kundi kundi kundi…”

  Rukku was doubled over with mirth, tears streaming down her cheeks. Like all children, bathroom humor thrilled her but additionally, here was a live scene in front of her meriting the use of the word.

  Almost immediately, they encountered a long line of women who had their rear ends exposed, but their faces covered as the train went by. Bare butts and no faces! What were they thinking? Their rear ends could be seen but in shame they covered their faces so no one would recognize them, not that there was much chance of their friends being on the train. But this made the children laugh even more, their eyes gleaming in excitement.

  “Hey Rukku, say DI KUN fast, many times.”

  Rukku tried it out.

  “Di kun Di kun dikundidikundidikundi kundi kundi kundi kundi kundi kundi…” It was too funny! Now both of them were saying it in unison, the bare bums forgotten in the excitement of repeating a forbidden word.

  Dharmu was stirring and Rukku stopped her recitation but Kandu was too excited and he went on, his voice progressively louder.

  “Dikundi kundi kundi kundi kundi …”

  His poetry was harshly interrupted as Dharmu realized what her son was saying and landed a hard smack on his back.

  “Owwww…,” yelped Kandu. “You hit me. How mean. I’m going to tell Daddy when I see him.”

  “Not before I tell him what bad words you are repeating. Do you think he will be happy when he hears that?”

  “Slap Rukku also. She also said kundi.”

  So to be fair Dharmu slapped Rukku as well and the two simultaneously bawled, waking Vani up. Luckily Meera entered just then and took charge of the kids, dragging them to the washbasin to wash their faces. “What did you do?”

  “We both said something. I can’t tell you what, or I will get beaten again.” Meera didn’t press him for an answer and in a while, she herded the two now silent offenders back into the compartment.

  The rest of the train journey was relatively uneventful, just spent doing the usual train things: playing cards, telling jokes, eating and sleeping. This was the time Dharmu spent talking about her childhood, getting the children into ‘country mode,’ where they would not have the conveniences they were used to in their own home. The toilet was something that bothered all of them because it was located at the back of the house. In order to reach it, they had to walk a short distance, which was fine during the day but scary at night. The children would be herded together to use the bathroom at dusk to avoid going at night, unless it was absolutely urgent. There would be other inconveniences too, but the love they got from their family more than made up for any discomfort. They rarely complained and just seamlessly slid into village mode once they were there.

  The next morning they arrived at Mayavaram station and the children had their heads half out the window, competing to see who would be the first to spot their Thatha. Vani, being the tallest, saw his red turban way before the others could spot him. Visvanathan came to meet his daughter in two vilvandis. The family piled into one and the other was filled with their luggage, carefully guarded by Meera and the orderly. Everyone was talking at the same time and it was hard to follow the conversation. Their home was on the jameen in a village called Porambur, not far from the town of Dindigul. As the house came into view from a distance, Dharmu’s heart swelled with nostalgia. It was such sweet reunion meeting her mother after all this time that Dharmu felt rejuvenated. She was animated, talking non-stop all through breakfast and well into the afternoon.

  Kandu got tired of all the chattering. His Tamil was not up to par because he mainly spoke English and he couldn’t understand half of what was going on. Bored, he went outside to play. The ground was dry and he crouched over writing words with a long dried up stick. Suddenly, he felt as though he was being watched. On the opposite side of the yard under the trees was a young boy, maybe six or eight years old, dark skinned with his hair neatly oiled and combed, staring unblinkingly at Kandu. Across his forehead were the traditional three lines of vibuthi, with a round chandanam pottu in the center. Kandu looked at him and the two stared at each other for a few minutes.

  “Oy! Who are you?” Kandu called out, attempting to initiate a conversation.

  “I am Sendhil. Who are you?”

  “I am Kandu. This is my Grandfather’s house. Where is your house?”

  “It’s down by the river,” he responded

  “So…why are you here?”

  “I came to see my father,” the young boy replied in a soft tone.

  “Who is that?”

  “Visvanathan Iyer.” Kandu wrinkled his brow. As far as he knew he had on
ly one uncle, his mother’s brother Venkat Mama, and this boy certainly wasn’t him.

  “Visvanathan Iyer is not your father. He is my Grandfather and I don’t know you,” he declared emphatically

  “Yes he is. He is my father,” the boy persisted.

  “No he isn’t.” Kandu was getting agitated but the boy would not relent. He kept insisting this was his father’s house and that he wanted to see him. Kandu walked up to him and landed a square punch on his chin. Pretty soon the two were in the dirt, pulling each other’s hair and landing random punches. Hearing the commotion, Dharmu and her mother, Gayatri, ran out and quickly attempted to separate the boys.

  “What is this Kandu? Can’t you behave civilly? It hasn’t even been a few hours and you are already in a fight.” Dharmu was visibly annoyed with Kandu.

  “I hate him. He says Thatha is his father and he is lying. I hate him.” Kandu shrieked, his angry eyes flashing.

  Gayatri stopped in her tracks and stared at the boy. Her eyes hardened and she held him by his collar. Almost screaming she demanded, “Who are you?”

  “I am Sendhil. My mother is Pankajam. Visvanathan Iyer is my father.” Gayatri’s breath was coming in shallow gasps. Dharmu couldn’t understand it. Amma was always very composed and never given to anger but here she was shaking a small boy whom she barely knew.

  “Get out.” Gayatri screamed. “Don’t you dare step on this property again, do you hear? Get out now!” The poor shivering boy retreated, his eyes filled with tears and he turned and ran into the distance. Gayatri covered her face with her thalapu and ran into the house. Dharmu was really perplexed. She didn’t understand what was happening. Who was this boy and why was he saying that her father was his? Why was Amma so agitated? She ran in after her mother determined to get to the bottom of this.

  Gayatri was on her bed, her body heaving, as she cried her heart out onto her pillow.