At this point the audience was in raptures, extolling the virtues of a God who never lets you down, seemingly oblivious to their own wretched situation. Velandi waited till they quietened down before continuing.
“When Nandanar reached Chidambaram, as expected the Deekshathars would not let him in. After realizing this was the boy for whom the Nandi had moved, they agreed to let him in if he would walk through a wall of fire. A huge crowd gathered and the priests brought in lots of firewood. All the while Nandanar sat in meditation chanting the name of Shiva, “Om namah shivaya om namah shivaya.”
“Then what happened?” Velandi was speaking way too slowly, elaborating on too many minor details and they wanted the story to climax; but Velandi prolonged it unnecessarily, enjoying the attention he was receiving.
“It was evening and the temple was beautifully decorated. Everyone waited as the head priest brought out a flaming torch and lit the dry wood. As soon as it caught fire, the flames streaked upward toward the heavens. Nandanar then stood up and with resolve, walked slowly but with determination, towards the fire. As he stepped into the blaze, the crowd closed their eyes, not wanting to witness the public annihilation of an innocent devotee of God. The smirking priests thought to themselves that this would be a lesson for any who dared question their rules. One less parayan would make no difference to the world. To their utter astonishment, Nandanar emerged from the other end unblemished, with not a single burn on his body or clothing. The last thing they saw was Nandanar running towards the sanctum sanctorum.” Velandi paused for dramatic effect before concluding his story.
“For a while no one could move; they were awestruck by this miracle unfolding before their eyes but in a few moments the crowd followed him into the inner temple. No one was there — no body, nothing. He had become one with the Lord.”
The deep silence that followed the story was broken by the mullahs calling the faithful to prayer. Not wanting to lose their place in line, everyone hurried back to their former spots. It was just a matter of time before dinner would be served. After Nandu ate, Velandi swallowed only one mouthful and packed the rest for his wife and children. Tonight a cupful of water would have to suffice. Muniamma’s need was far greater than his.
CHAPTER 38 – RAJAM
VIZHUPURAM
The heads of more than twenty women could be seen bobbing above heaps of flowers, in the central courtyard of the temple. Marigolds, roses, lilies and blue December flowers were all piled in neat mounds. Today women from Rajam’s street had gathered to make garlands for the temple deity. Every day, a different group met at the temple, everyone volunteering their time depending on their household schedules. No matter what their personal commitments were, they helped out at the temple at least once a week. Of course, everyone did so with the ulterior motive of accumulating the grace of the Lord, even though it was one more opportunity to get out of the kitchen and socialize. Making garlands was an art these women had learned from the time they were children, placing two flowers flat on the string facing opposite directions and then looping the thread around in order to fasten it. The more experienced taught the novices to loop it skillfully with just the right tension, as leaving the thread too limp allowed the flowers to fall and too tight to cut the stem. The red roses had such a strong fragrance that after making the garlands, Rajam’s hands smelled of roses all day. She was making rose garlands and it reminded her of her marriage ceremony, when the whole house smelled of lilies, jasmine and roses.
At the time of her marriage, her father brought in special flower experts skilled at garland making from the town of Salem. They arrived four days prior to the wedding and deftly wove garlands from morning to night. Once a garland was made, they wrapped it in wet muslin to preserve it. When they opened the muslin bundle four days later, the garlands still smelled as fragrant as if the flowers had just been just picked off the trees. Inspector Swaminathan spared no expense for his daughter’s wedding. All the saris came from silk houses in Aarani and Kanchipuram, the best flowers from Coimbatore and the whole house was covered with a colorful pandhal. He rented a beautiful white Dodge car from his friend Muhammad Salih for the groom’s wedding procession. It was a grand wedding and over the three-day ceremony, food was served to over five hundred people. Five years later, he was still repaying his debts. Luckily, he was able to raise the money for the wedding through his friends, so there was no fear of high interests if he could not pay back on time. He knew of many stories of those unfortunate enough to borrow from money lenders, the arrears multiplying over time, making repayment of wedding loans a lifelong process, sometimes even passing their liability as a legacy to their children.
The conversation in the temple was lighthearted and generally centered on those not present to defend themselves. Rajam described her visit to meet Sankaracharya in Chidambaram and soon the conversation turned to holy men, with everyone adding their two pice2about their own experiences with saints. The discussion moved from holy men to impersonators and then converted into a heated discussion on theft and burglary, though how the conversation got there, no one knew. Rajam found out that Muthu Mami had sold the house and set off on pilgrimage to the Himalayas. Poor thing. After Revathi’s horrible death and Raman’s even more horrific one, she had no reason to live here. She prayed that Muthu Mami eventually find some peace and redemption.
Of course this led to expert advice on pilgrimages, since every Hindu dreamed of making a pilgrimage and visiting the holy cities situated in the Himalayas, along the banks of the river Ganga. Bathing in the ghats of Benares (Kashi) redeemed a person of all his sins and ensured freedom from the cycle of karma and rebirth. Rajam listened closely to several anecdotes of beautiful temples and hermitages in sacred locations like Hardwar, Hrishikesh, Badrinath, all the way to the source of the Ganga in the glacier of Gangotri. Each person tried her best to outdo the previous story but there was no denying that the journey to Gangotri was supposed to be remarkable, replete with a sense of being one with nature and with God. Rajam wondered if she would ever make that fateful pilgrimage.
Rajam lifted a pile of garlands to deliver to the priest, who had a small room at the back of the temple, where he lived with his wife and two-year-old son. He was not there but Rajam found his wife watering the plants in the tiny garden.
“Leave them in the corner. I will put them away,” she said with a smile. She had just bathed and her hair was still covered with a thin towel. Rajam had never found an opportunity to meet her earlier and decided to use this chance to speak with her. She seemed to be around the same age and looked friendly. “Namaskaram,” she began. “My name is Rajam and I know you are Savitri.”
“Yes, Rajam, I have seen you many times at the temple but we never had the chance to meet.”
“You have a really beautiful garden,” Rajam said looking around, admiring the tiny garden.
“It’s not very big but I really enjoy talking care of it. I have jasmine, hibiscus and roses, all the flowers I need for my daily pooja. Of course the temple flowers are sent here by the merchant, so we don’t really need to worry about that.”
Rajam’s eye caught sight of two unusual looking plants in clay pots in a corner of the garden. “What are those? I have never seen leaves like that before.”
“Oh that. I really don’t know what they’re called. Muthu Mami, do you know her? She gave them to us before she left on pilgrimage. Apparently she got it from some friend who went on a pilgrimage to Kashi but it only brought her bad luck. I’m sure you know her story better than I do. Somehow when these things come to the temple, just being here in this holy area energized by positive energy from chanting mantras changes its luck. In fact, the day after I got it, I realized I was pregnant. Strange how something is misfortune to one and good luck for another.”
Rajam felt a momentary pang of jealousy when she heard Savitri was pregnant. As soon as the thought entered her mind, she forced it out, telling herself that she should not be jealous of other people’s fortu
ne or children. She bent down to look at the plant. “My God, what a strange plant!The leaves grow out of leaves.”
“I know. And just last month, I plucked a leaf and put it in the soil … and see how it has grown.”
“Remarkable. You must have green fingers.”
“No, not really. I did nothing other than water the plant.”
“You found you were pregnant as soon as you got the plant?” The words slipped out of her mouth before she could stop them.
“Yes. Why do you ask? Do you have children?”
“No,” said Rajam, careful not to sound dejected and divulge her innermost thoughts.
“And you want a child, isn’t it?” Rajam said nothing but her silence revealed all.
“I tell you what; you take one of the plants.”
“No I couldn’t.”
“I insist! It might bring good luck just as it did for me.”
Somewhat hesitantly, Rajam took the plant. It was ridiculous what she was ready to believe in order to have a child. First, she thought sandalwood from a saint would get her pregnant and now she was taking a droopy plant home in the belief that it would change her fortune. But she was desperate and willing to try anything. Having a baby would change everything. It would change how she felt and maybe her mother-in-law would demonstrate some respect for her. The whole world viewed a young girl so differently from a mother of a child. Yes, this plant would bring her the luck she needed. She would water it every day, just as she watered the sandalwood and she would have a child soon. Very soon.
_________
2A former Indian coin worth one sixty-fourth of a rupee
CHAPTER 39 – RAJAM
THE BRAHMAKAMALAM BLOOMS
The Brahmakamalam grew amazingly fast. It was now almost three feet tall. Rajam had taken the plant home less than a fortnight ago, and already there were many new jade green leaves. On closer inspection, it looked as if a bud she spotted a few days ago sprouting from one of the leaves was ready to bloom. She lifted the pot and walked up the back stairs. The open terrace upstairs was a wonderful spot to keep this plant, a celestial adornment to an otherwise almost bare concrete rectangle. She placed it in the northern corner, turning it so the bud got maximum exposure to sunlight. A charpoy stood on the other corner, a woven jute bed on a wooden frame covered with thin cotton bedding. Sometimes in the hot summer months, the men slept on the open terrace to avoid the scalding heat inside the house, which made sleeping indoors impossible. Rajam ran down to the well and filled a copper pot with water, which she then carried gingerly up the stairs, pouring the water onto the plant with deference, like gentle rain on a warm summer day, mindful of its inviolability, its pure sanctity.
Ever since the plant came into her life, she sensed a shift in her mood. Gone was the depression, the fear, the anxiety and the stress, and in its place a smile, an expression of pure joy for no apparent reason. She was like a mother caring for this plant as if it were her progeny, counting each new leaf and lamenting each withered one. Today she felt an elation she had not experienced for a while. It was amazing how being close to nature brought you so close to godliness, the flowers and leaves just a gentle reminder of the cycle of never ending creation. Being with nature brought hope for the future, of exciting new prospects with each blossoming bud.
Her happy thoughts were rudely interrupted by Nagamma’s raucous voice. She was screaming at Sushila. That was surprising! What did Sushila do that was so bad to make Nagamma raise her voice at her, of all people? Rajam knew it was better to stay out of it but curiosity got the better of her and she found herself moving involuntarily towards the kitchen. Sushila had ignored the food on the stove and the delicate pieces of podalangai were now charred bits of charcoal.
Nagamma continued endlessly, “How could you ignore the food like that? What was so important that you had to forget about the stove? Have I not taught you anything in all the years you have been here? Look at the dish! Now we will have to break our hands cleaning it.”
‘Not you,’ thought Rajam to herself, ‘Sushila or I will be assigned the task.’ But she did not speak, merely hid behind the door watching Sushila squirm for a change. From her position, she was hidden from Nagamma’s view and could see only Sushila, crouched down on the floor vigorously slicing the podalangai on the aruvaamanai, probably imagining it was Nagamma’s head on the curved knife instead of the inert vegetable. She looked annoyed; her lips were drawn into one straight line and her brow knit. Rajam could see she was fuming, focusing on the task at hand, so she would not lose it and shout back. Rajam could not help rejoicing to see someone else at the receiving end of Nagamma’s tirade. She felt a little guilty thinking so but she was so tired of always being the victim.
Nagamma continued relentlessly, “Did your mother not teach you anything about the kitchen or about looking after the house? Now see, everything is going to get delayed. It’s almost time for lunch and no curry is ready. Do you think I am a magician that I can bring vegetables on the banana leaf just like that? What were you doing anyway that was so important?”
Sushila mumbled something about washing clothes and Rajam chuckled, thinking she should have said, ‘No, not a magician, a witch’. At least today things would be different; it would be Rajam consoling Sushila and not the other way around. She walked into the kitchen and swiftly picked up the leftovers from yesterday’s meal, leaving the room just as speedily, not wanting to get caught in the crossfire. She went out the back door and looked around as she placed the food on the floor but the street was empty except for a couple of stray dogs. The parayan had not yet come but he would be here any time. He had better hurry or the dogs would beat him to it. Then she suddenly remembered she had to discard of one of Partha’s shirts that she burned while ironing, so she ran back in to fetch it and put it outside with the food. She knew the parayans appreciated anything they got and the shirt was practically new except for the burn. She barely put the shirt down when Nagamma yelled for her in her raspingand surprising genteel tone. “Come, Rajam. Your friend, Savitri, is here.”
Ever since she gave the plant to Rajam, the two women had become friends and Savitri dropped in often to visit Rajam, a welcome breather, breaking the monotony of the day.
“Yenna, Rajam? What are you up to?” Savitri waddled in holding her son at her waist. Rajam loved playing with him and enjoyed listening to his baby talk. Balu ran out as soon as he heard Savitri’s voice and tried his best to entice little Ramu to come and play with him, but Ramu was shy, and it took some persuasion to make him leave the cozy comfort of his mother’s lap. “Have you made plans yet for Pongal?” Savitri asked as soon as she squatted next to Rajam on the floor in the outer thinnai.
“Not really.” Things were always so hectic dealing with only mundane chores that Rajam did not realize Pongal was around the corner. Savitri actually did her a favor by reminding her about it. There was so much work to prepare for the festival. The most enjoyable part was shopping, which she looked forward to. “Maybe this weekend I will go with Sushila and buy new clothes and all the supplies.”
“Why don’t you come and help me at the temple? We are expecting many devotees and I need some help with the prasaadham.”
Pongal was a harvest festival, very important for farmers. For Tamils, it was a big occasion, with lots of preparation and festivity. Initially a celebration of the winter harvest, for farmers who toiled all year in the fields, Pongal celebrated the bounty of nature with great fanfare. As usual, a festival meant special food items had to be prepared, which on this occasion was called Pongal. Not being particularly fond of sweets, Rajam did not like shakkarai pongal. She looked forward to eating the more savory venn pongal with pickle and curry on the side.
“No one leaves the temple that day without prasaadham and we are expecting quite a crowd as usual. I haven’t really involved myself in celebrations at the temple so far and I’m not sure how much to make. If you make a big pot of shakkarai pongal, that would make four large pots,
as I have already asked three others. Then two people are making venn pongal. That should be enough, don’t you think?”
“That sounds fine. You can look at the crowd and adjust the helpings. I can definitely do my bit,” said Rajam, who knew they would be cooking pongal that day. It was just a matter of making a larger quantity and cooking food for temple prasaadham was a blessing. But then she remembered something. “Savitri, I may not be able to help you at the temple. I will have my period that day.”
“How can you tell that you will be ‘out of doors’ with such precision? I am always late and my period always disrupts everything. I can never plan on anything. Not that I need to worry about that now.” Savitri rubbed her swollen belly as she spoke.
“Oh, Savitri, I can tell with conviction. It comes like clockwork in twenty-four days but I will tell Sushila to help you.” Savitri stayed for a while, then left after enjoying a hot cup of coffee, much to Balu’s disappointment.
The evening meal finished, Rajam prepared the bedrolls in the large inner room. Today Siva and Sushila would have the bedroom, so Balu was to sleep next to Rajam and she kept his soft pillow on the mattress right next to her own. The moon had risen high in the sky by the time the men came inside. The weather was so nice that the men sat upstairs on the terrace till late. Normally, they did not sleep outside in winter because of the pani, the cold dew that settled in the early hours of the morning. Their bodies were so accustomed to the heat that even the slightest drop in temperature made them feel extremely cold; and in the mornings they would cover their heads in monkey caps and wrap warm woolen mufflers around their throats to keep themselves warm and prevent a cold.
When the Lotus Blooms Page 29
