“Amma? Yenna aachu? Tell me please, what happened? What is the matter?”
“Nothing, nothing. I’m fine, just a little overwhelmed. Must be the heat.” But Gayatri could not control her emotions. The tears just kept streaming out. Years of pent up emotions were finally finding some release.
“Amma, please don’t get so upset. That boy is lying; don’t worry about him.”
“No Dharmu, that boy is telling the truth.” Gayatri turned her head and buried it in the pillow, crying even more heartrendingly.
“What do you mean?” For a while Gayatri couldn’t speak but when the tears lessened she reiterated the same in a broken, rasping voice.
“He is telling the truth. Your father is his father too. Your father has another wife.”
It was as if she had been hit by a sledgehammer. Dharmu was so shocked she couldn’t speak. She could not believe what she was hearing. Her father marrying twice! When had all this happened and why had no one told her about it?
“Appa… got married again?” She asked tentatively.
“Not married, he keeps a Devadasi in town. He has a ‘chinna veedu,’ another house and another family.”
“What!” Dharmu had heard of rich landowners keeping women from Devadasi families but not for a moment did she dream that her father would have the courage to do the same.
“Yes. He has another woman in his life,” said Gayatri, breaking into a fresh bout of tears. Dharmu let her cry for a while. When her body stopped heaving she asked quietly, “Amma, when did all this happen?”
“I suspected something even before your marriage but I wasn’t sure. Then I spoke to the overseer, who told me all about it. Many Mirazdars and Jameendars keep chinna veedus; it’s very common, but I hoped that your father was different. He met this woman, Pankajam, in Thanjavur. She is a Devadasi and the women from her family are married to Kamakshiamman. Your father brought her back and set her up in a house in town.”
“Why? Why did he do it?”
“Why? Because he can. Because he is a man and men do whatever they want.”
“Didn’t you confront him?”
“Confront him and do what? Was he going to leave her for me? What do I have? I have no education. I can’t talk about anything, other than home, family and food. What do I have to hold him? Devadasis can dance and sing and are very knowledgeable about world affairs. They are masters of the Kama Sutra and know how to keep a man. I had no chance from the beginning.” Momentarily, Dharmu was thankful for her marriage. Mahadevan was not interested in sexual contact with her or any other woman; at least she was grateful for that. Her heart was in turmoil. This news was too shocking and she had no idea how to react but she had to console her mother.
“No Amma, don’t belittle yourself. You are the backbone of this family and the mistress of this house. Don’t you ever forget that. No one can take that away from you. Legally, she has no rights over Appa. Take comfort in that.”
“I did confront your father one day and told him I should never have to meet them anywhere. He promised, saying that he respected me and my position and I would never suffer in any way. Materially I may not suffer, but doesn’t he see my torment when he rides away to spend the night with her? How many nights I have spent crying into my pillow, always hoping against hope that this week would be different and he would come home and tell me that he had broken off the relationship. I have prayed in so many temples, hoping God would instill some sense into him and deliver him back to me. But my prayers have never been answered. God alone knows what sins I must have committed in my previous births to deserve this.” Gayatri stared into the distance. There were no more tears. She had dried out her reservoir of tears and now felt completely numb.
“Can I talk to him about it?” Dharmu asked.
“No Dharmu, don’t even bother. It has been so many years now and I have come to terms with it. I am normally quite composed. I don’t know what happened today. Just seeing that boy, a testimony to his unfaithfulness, triggered something in my brain. It won’t happen again.”
“Amma, how many children does he have from the other woman?”
“I think he has one daughter and two sons. This boy who came is the youngest. I am not sure. I never wanted to know but news like this somehow filters back to me.”
Dharmu put her arms around her mother and the two of them sat silently on the bed for a while, just rocking back and forth in a comforting motion. Dharmu was consoling her mother but she couldn’t help thinking how in a matter of a few minutes her opinion of her father had changed dramatically. She did not know how she was going to face him. She was so angry she wanted to spit on his face. All his display of affection suddenly meant nothing. He was a cheat, an adulterer. All these years he had another family and she had had no inkling. She could not imagine how difficult it must have been for her mother to keep this dark secret hidden for so many years. How could her father have the gall to return home each night and face his pure wife?
Dharmu was suddenly face to face with a reality that was true for many unfortunate women. Indian women had no chance to choose their own journey. They moved from the care of their father to the control of their husband and their destiny was inextricably linked to these important men in their lives. They were like mice in a maze, scurrying through narrow corridors within boundaries both physical and mental, set by the men in their lives, their journey often becoming a futile attempt to find an exit to happiness.
Tied to the home, the children, the kitchen, they had no escape from this prison that had no physical or overt signs of restraint. No chains, except those of maternal bondage, no bars, except invisible social dogmas, only a noose in the form of a thaali tied around their neck at the time of marriage.
Dharmu wiped the tears off her mother’s face, her heart filled with renewed admiration. This small yet misleadingly reticent woman had developed an inner fortitude to face all those challenges in situations beyond change. For Dharmu, her mother was a symbol of womanhood, steeped in spirituality which supported her in an apparently crumbling world. She hugged her mother once again in an attempt to get a piece of that strength and energy, not knowing what the future held in store for her.
Dharmu sighed loudly. At this moment she could not tell what she despised more — men or womanhood.
Part IX
Rajam
CHAPTER 25 – REVATHI
VIZHUPURAM
Rajam went out to the front of the house to pluck some flowers to string together and decorate her hair. Looking up she saw her neighbor whom she wanted to meet for a while, walking swiftly towards her. Her face was covered and she was almost running, and from the expression on her face her urgency was apparent. She was probably going to the temple but it was strange she was by herself. Normally, women did not venture out of their home without either a female or male escort. Besides being socially correct, walking with company was also safer when you were out. One never knew what could happen. Rajam searched in her mind for the woman’s name but she could not remember it. Sita, no it was Shanthi, or was it Revathi? That’s right, it was Revathi. Nagamma was friends with Revathi’s mother-in-law, and she had met them both several times at the temple but Revathi never talked much. She always answered in brief monosyllables and kept to herself, never volunteering any extra information. Then again, Rajam never met her alone. Revathi was always in the company of her mother-in-law and that could seriously hamper one’s communication abilities. This time, however, Revathi was alone and Rajam decided to talk to her. “Hey Revathi? Namaskaram. Do you remember me? I am Rajam. I have met you and Muthu Mami many times at the temple.”
Revathi looked up and she seemed to be upset. “Hello Rajam. How are you? I remember you well.”
“Where are you off to?”
“I’m just going to the temple. Actually, I am in a hurry. I’ll talk to you later. I must get back soon.”
It was quite clear to Rajam that Revathi did not want to talk. Then Rajam noticed something strang
e. Revathi had put the loose end of her sari, her thalapu, over her head, covering part of her face. She was holding the tip of the sari in the corner of her mouth, almost as if she were hiding something. As Revathi turned her face away from Rajam, her thalapu slipped momentarily from her face, revealing a swollen purplish red bruise over her eye. Rajam was going to exclaim out loud but she swallowed her words, knowing intuitively it would be better if she stayed quiet. No married woman in the south of India covered her head and if Revathi was doing this, then she did not want anyone to see her face. What happened? How had she hurt herself? It seemed as if Revathi was accident prone. Last month she had a bandage around her hand. Muthu Mami said it was an accident in the kitchen but now looking back, it seemed to be a pattern and appeared very suspicious. Rajam was sure something odd was up with Revathi and her family and she went inside to see if Sushila knew more about them.
Sushila had just finished giving Balu a bath. She was holding his face with her left hand and using the comb with her right to part his hair and comb it down. Rajam came close to her, talking in a hushed whisper so no one overheard. “Sushila, I just saw something strange. You remember Revathi? Muthu Mami’s daughter-in-law? Well she was rushing down the street all by herself. I tried to talk to her but she did not want to talk.”
“Yes, she is a quiet type. She doesn’t talk very much. What about her?”
“The odd thing is that her thalapu fell and her eye was purple, as if she had hurt herself very badly. She tried to cover it up but I noticed it.”
“Her husband must have hit her.”
“What? Hit her?” Rajam was astounded. “How can her husband hit her? What a cowardly thing to do.”
“Come on, Rajam, it is quite common. Many men hit their wives. You and I are very lucky to be married to men who don’t hit us. I have seen it a lot of this in my village.”
“But why? Why do they do this?”
“Frustration I suppose. They get angry with someone else and take it out on their poor wives, most often when they are drunk.”
“But can’t we do something about it? How can we allow poor Revathi to be a victim of such abuse?”
“How do we know for certain that any abuse has taken place? We hardly know them. For all you know, she might have bumped her head against a door. We can hardly go up to their house and accuse them without any proof.”
“I am sure it is abuse; otherwise she would not have covered her head like that. It was obvious she wanted to hide it from outsiders. If she had hit herself, there would be nothing to be ashamed about, nothing to hide. I am sure her husband is hitting her. Poor thing. She must be scared. Let’s go and talk to her at least.”
“Rajam, how can we interfere in their lives? After all, it is their private matter. It is none of our business. They are certain to be rude if we approach them and try to intervene.”
“What if we at least try and talk to her and find out what happened? I don’t see any harm in that.”
“No, Rajam, we hardly know her and we can’t interfere in domestic quarrels.”
“What about the police? I can talk to Appa about it. I am sure he will help.”
“Don’t be silly Rajam. Unless Revathi herself reports it, they will not interfere and I am certain she will not have the courage to make an official report. Besides, the police are so busy catching revolutionaries, they won’t bother with all this.”
“Sushila, if her husband is beating her, then can’t we do something? She’s a woman just like us and I’m sure she has no one to help her. We have to try and talk to her.”
“Rajam what is this sudden interest in Revathi? You have never met her. In my opinion you can try all you want but I am sure that if he is beating her, he won’t let you talk to her.”
“Then I’ll have to go and meet her when her husband is not there, that’s all.”
Just then, Siva and Partha walked in. “And just who are you going to meet, Rajam? I hope for your sake it isn’t some man.”
“Yenna, you have to come with me to Revathi’s house. Right now.”
“Why? Who is Revathi anyway?” Partha was puzzled.
“That young girl from the Raman house down the street. I just saw her with a bruised eye. I think her husband is beating her but I want to talk to her to be sure. “
“Are you mad? We can’t just barge into people’s homes and ask them about their private lives.”
“If you can’t, I will. Come now. Come with me. Let’s see if she is alone. Maybe she will talk to me.” Rajam rushed out of the house purposefully, followed by a befuddled Partha.
Revathi rushed home, grateful that other than Rajam no one had seen her. She reached her house and ran into the mutram. Leaning against the pillar, she slid down onto her haunches, holding her head in her hands, hot tears streaming down her face. She was crying silently, not wanting to awaken her mother-in-law, who was asleep, nursing a migraine. The salty tears made her wounded eye smart, making her cry even more. Vaithee had been there for her right through this ordeal and now he was going to take her away from it all. Just when she thought everyone had forsaken her, here was a real chance for salvation. All this time she was sure she would die and there would not be one person willing to shed a tear in her memory, but Vaithee rekindled hope within her. Hope, which had abandoned her for a long time, all through these tortuous months of pain and mental torment. Just when she thought she was too tired and there was no more strength left in her to fight, God had given her a reason to battle, a reason to live, something to look forward to. Vaithee was going to take her away. Finally, she would be safe, free from pain, free from Raman.
Revathi had been married to Raman for over two years now. In the beginning, everything was fine and Raman was considerate to her. He worked as the accounts clerk for a Mirazdar, a landowner near Vizhupuram. He was the only son and his widowed mother, Muthulakshmi, lived with them. Muthu Mami, as she was called, lost her husband early in life and struggled to educate her only son. He was a very good son, a little hot headed at times but never given to rage or temper tantrums. She was overjoyed when she found a good alliance for him. Revathi was a quiet, obedient girl, always ready to work and never crossed anyone. She was a little too timid at times, never speaking unless spoken to, doing what she had to and happy to be left alone. Muthu was hopeful she would have a grandchild soon and kept asking Revathi about it, much to the latter’s embarrassment. However, many changes that took place over the past year completely altered Raman’s character. Changes, which would irreversibly transform the fortunes of their household.
A few months ago, Revathi was dozing in the mutram, waiting for her husband to return. She had lit the evening lamps hours ago and was exhausted with the wait. She was hungry but could not eat until her husband had eaten. It was late, past midnight, when she heard him enter the house. The Mirazdar had invited him to the plantation and Revathi assumed it was to discuss business, but when Raman stumbled into the mutram, unsteady and reeking of alcohol, she knew this had not been a business meeting.
“Yennadi Revathi. Vaa, kittai vaadi,” Raman said crudely, pulling her close. She could smell the alcohol on his breath. Repulsed, she struggled to get out of his grasp, when to her shock, he slapped her across her face. She looked at him in disbelief, begging him to let her go, struggling as she tried to free herself but he held her in an iron grip. That night he raped her.
Muthu heard everything. It was a small house and there wasn’t much privacy but she did not have the courage to confront her son. She kept quiet, hoping this was an isolated incident that would not recur. The next morning, she noticed that Revathi’s face was swollen and she walked with a limp but Muthu said nothing. Quietly, she heated a wet towel in the kitchen and handed it to Revathi so she could use it to ease the pain. Revathi understood her compassion and helplessness in this situation. The Mirazdar gave Raman his first taste of imported Scotch whiskey and unfortunately, Raman enjoyed it thoroughly. Over the next few months, Raman was out two or three nigh
ts a week. Sometimes, he was brought home in the Mirazdar’s vilvandi, dragged in by the driver and thrown on the bed, where he would lie inert, not moving till the next morning. But if he was awake on his return and not completely wasted, Revathi was always at the receiving end of his ire, lust and frustration. The next morning, Raman would always be all contrite, apologizing for his wayward behavior, making Revathi feel he needed another chance to repair his errant ways.
Soon after, Raman got involved in gambling with the Mirazdar’s rich friends. Unfortunately he was not in their league, having neither the money nor the ability to gamble. Slowly, he moved to selling things from the house to pay his arrears. First, it was furniture — the coat stand, the mahogany desk — and then he sold the cows. On days he could not go to the Mirazdar’s house, he bought local toddy, a crude alcohol made from fermented coconut water, which smelt disgusting. Things got progressively worse and the raping and beating continued relentlessly.
Muthu was unable to see her daughter-in-law suffer and decided it was time to confront her son. She knew her whole life had been one of sacrifice, devoted to the wellbeing of her child and was sure he would listen to her. When she summoned up her courage to question Raman the following day, he slapped her in his drunken stupor. She reeled backward, lost her balance and fell, hitting her head on the edge of the ammi kallu. She lost consciousness and when she awoke, she looked helplessly into Revathi’s eyes and the two of them exchanged a silent embrace of mute empathy.
Raman was beyond control. Alcohol had completely taken over his life and there was no point trying to reason with him. Revathi decided she would talk to her parents. Initially, when she broached the subject at home, her mother told her now that she was married she was an outsider and they couldn’t interfere in her life. She belonged to her husband and she had to live with him at all costs.
“Be patient and have faith,” her mother said. “It is probably only a passing phase and things will definitely improve. Do not do anything to anger him. You are a woman and are dependent on him for everything. You certainly cannot leave him and come home because he slaps you. We can’t do anything to help you.” Revathi was left with no choice other than returning to her abusive husband.
When the Lotus Blooms Page 19
