“Banu is coming at the end of the week to be with you. I know you are waiting for me to shout at you but I am going to disappoint you. I realize that the fault is not yours, it is mine.”
“Yours?” gulped Dharmu. “But I was the one drinking.”
“I should have realized how unhappy you were. I should have been more caring but I have been so preoccupied with work. I know that it is a poor excuse for a negligent husband. I should have realized how lost you were, left all alone in this alien world. You sought release from your misery in a wrong way but all is not lost. I will help you get over this bad time and together we will make things better.”
Dharmu could not believe what she was hearing. She had been dreading the worst but suddenly the dark clouds lifted and sunshine was pouring in. She let slip a nervous snicker and then realizing that she ought not to be laughing, unexpectedly found herself crying. Mahadevan sat next to her and cradled her head on his chest, rocking her back and forth as he urged her to calm down.
From the corner of the verandah, Kandu and Rukku watched, unnoticed by their parents. And they smiled at each other.
CHAPTER 48 – MEERA
RANGPUR
Meera could barely breathe. She held him in a close embrace, their hips locked, even after the passion had abated. She ran her arms across his smooth shoulders, feeling every muscle, drowning in the languor that set in after an almost violent act of copulation. Copulation. Just that. Not lovemaking, copulation. Two bodies, two motives but one single, burning, overwhelming desire. His body, which had been so enjoyable as he thrust lustily into her, was now dead weight and seemed to be sucking the life out of her as it lay limp across her naked form. She put her hands on his muscular shoulders, urging him to move so she could breathe.
“Shoro… ogo shoro… jete hobe… shunchho?”(Move…Hey move over. I have to go…can you hear me?)
Still recovering, he groaned and unwillingly moved off her, mumbling incoherently, “Meera, Meera, you drive me crazy.” Then in a few minutes he was fast asleep.
She looked at his inert body and the mere sight of his black oily nakedness, his rugged, half shaven young face with its strong protruding jaw line, his tight and hard stomach muscles, his muscular thighs and his engorged manhood, made the heat spread once again in her loins. She turned her head away hastily, knowing that she needed to get back to the bungalow. She had stepped out only to use the bathroom when he accosted her, a pleasant and invigorating bathroom break, but she was in a rush to get back in case Kandu baba woke up. She put on her sari and blouse and quickly glanced at the mirror, smoothing down her unruly hair, forcing it into a tight bun. She stared at herself in the broken mirror as she attempted to reapply her bindi with red sindoor. In the heat of the lovemaking, the sindoor had spread all over her face and there were remnants on her cheeks and to her horror, on her white sari. But under the cover of darkness no one would see her now. She examined her unlined brow, her soft almond shaped eyes, her smooth tawny skin and her full lips. Yes, she still looked desirable, especially after the passion of the last few minutes. She was young. She still had beauty, zeal, ardor and love burning inside her. She was still alive!
When she entered Kandu baba’s room, he was fast asleep. Thank God! She had been taking many chances lately and was lucky not to have been caught. Initially, she had delved into one wayward, exhilarating instance but this last month, she had been slipping out at least two or three times a week. He was like a drug and no matter how much she got, it was never enough; she wanted more. She lay down on her bedroll and as soon as her head touched the pillow, she felt that uneasy sensation again, a gnawing feeling at the pit of her stomach and she sat up gasping. Since Kamala died, nothing made sense anymore. She felt a nibbling emptiness eating away at her insides and whenever that happened, a violence erupted within her, making her want to smash everything around her. Of course, she couldn’t; she merely fell back into bed, hammering her pillow repeatedly, crying till her tears dried out completely.
Meera had been unable to come to terms with Kamala’s violent end. Death she was used to but every time she closed her eyes, the scene of Kamala’s final moments flashed across her mind’s eye. The pain, the fear, the sheer terror the child must have experienced would explode in her mind in images so real she could not tell if she were sleeping or awake. Knowing that her child had suffered so much made her death all the more difficult to bear. She tried to be brave and immerse herself in her work but the demons appeared at night when the household was quiet. She loved the children and Kandu baba’s antics made her forget her own pain but the nights were unbearable. Everyone had been so compassionate with her initially but soon their patience for her melancholy had died out. No one wanted to hear about Kamala any more. Whenever she tried to talk about Kamala, they would make excuses about getting back to work … and soon enough, she got the message and stopped talking about her unfortunate daughter. Life was strange. Only a few months ago, Kamala had been living and breathing and filling her life with happiness, and now she had faded into a memory. Not talking about her could not erase Meera’s pain. Kamala was her only child and now her life felt like an empty photo frame.
As her mind raced through the painful flashbacks, Meera locked her arms around herself and rocked back and forth. She had seen around nine harvests when she was married to her husband, who was several years older than she. No one really kept any account of a person’s age, which was counted by the number of rice harvests they had seen. Meera’s husband had seen nearly forty harvests and Meera was his second wife.
Almost immediately after marriage, he wasted no time in claiming his conjugal rights, tearing her so badly that Meera was sent home for six months till she healed. Her mother had little compassion for her pain, having gone through the same ordeal at about the same age. All children were married young and in these parts the girls stayed with their husbands, never going home until their first confinement at the time of childbirth. When Meera returned, her husband showed a little more consideration and was gentle with her. She had only had her menstrual period twice before conceiving Kamala. The birth of her daughter was the happiest time of her life, and comforted by a cooing baby strapped to her back, she didn’t mind the housework and toiling in the fields. Somehow after Kamala’s birth, she didn’t conceive again. Everyone said she was infertile but she knew it was because of her husband’s inability to perform, although she could not share this information with anyone. Now that she was in the prime of her womanhood, her husband had become infertile, impotent and old.
Hard work and a meager diet take its toll on people in these parts and they aged very quickly. Repulsed by her husband, Meera was thankful he had stopped forcing himself on her. His sunken cheeks and eyes made his nose stand out like an eagle’s beak and the loose skin of his hollow chest hung over his protruding ribs. He ate only kanji and soft fish because he had lost most of his teeth. Heaven knows what disease caused this but his body was that of a man who had seen a hundred harvest moons.
When Meera left the village to find work in the city, she knew her husband was grateful for one less mouth to feed. Every month Meera returned, eager to spend a few precious hours with Kamala, but now that was gone and since Kamala’s death, she had no desire to return to her village. Neither her presence nor her absence made any difference to anyone there. Here in the bungalow, nothing happened without her; one always heard Meera this and Meera that. She felt good to be needed. The children loved her but these were not her offspring. The mere thought that she had none of her own any more made her even more depressed. How nice it would be if she could only have another child; but how could that happen? When she was alone, thoughts of her loneliness and longing for a child consumed her and strangely, as these thoughts obsessed her, she found herself driven towards Kalia.
The gardener’s aide spent hours toiling in the hot sun every day, his skin burned to an oily ebony — hence the name Kalia. Meera was so absorbed in her own misery, she hadn’t noticed him u
ntil a few months ago. One night, she stepped out of the bungalow and was making her way to her hut when she saw someone drawing water from the well — someone powerfully built and very young. The subtle movements of muscles rippling under his sweaty skin as he pulled on the rope mesmerized her. She couldn’t take her eyes off him, staring and taking in every part of his glorious body, as if a magical spell were cast over her. All these months of loneliness had suppressed her emotions, creating a sort of violence bubbling within her like a volcano waiting to erupt. She found her body suffused with heat, rising from her loins and rapidly spreading — an unfamiliar sensation that seemed to obliterate her pain and melancholia. She found herself walking towards him like a zombie. Alerted by the tinkle of her anklet bells, he looked at her for the first time. The moonlight shone off his body and he seemed a celestial gift, a heavenly offering against her pain. She dropped the pallu of her sari and exposed herself as his eyes undressed her. The chemistry was instant and unambiguous. He lifted her up, carried her into her room and then coarsely pulling up her sari, he pushed her up against the door and forced himself into her. Meera’s head was swimming, caught up in the madness of the moment and even after he put her down and left the hut, she couldn’t believe what had just happened. That was the first of their many rendezvous, stolen moments of passion, with the moon and the stars as their only witness. But Meera felt no guilt. She owed no one anything. She belonged to none. All she had to deal with were her own feelings, her own conscience. And nothing else could have felt more right.
Part XVII
Rajam
CHAPTER 49 – RAJAM
VIZHUPURAM – JULY, 1935
Rajam shielded her eyes from the strong rays of the setting sun as they pierced through the leaves of the banyan tree, blinding her momentarily. The summer had been unbearably hot and with the additional weight of the baby, she had low tolerance for heat. But on a more positive note, she had been relieved from the burden of heavy housework. Nagamma’s benevolence was uncharacteristically thoughtful, stemming from her elation that her favorite son Partha was soon to be a father. This delight thankfully filtered down to Rajam, who incidentally happened to be carrying her grandchild. But Rajam wasn’t going to complain. After so many years of harsh words, snide remarks and downright malice, this was a welcome respite. Nagamma was so thrilled when she first heard the wonderful news that she bought Rajam a new single stone diamond nose ring, even though she herself continued to wear a vepalai twig in her nose. Times were hard and almost all the land she owned was gone. They were very close to insolvency and there seemed to be no way out. To add to her problems, Sushila and Siva had moved out of the house and now Siva gave a paltry thirty rupees to Nagamma to run the house. Nagamma’s son, Thambu, was still young but she was urging him to quit studying and find a job, as Partha earned very little as a schoolteacher and there were so many mouths to feed. Some days the family ate only thayir shaadham, rice with watered down yoghurt and pickle, but Nagamma always made a small portion of vegetables just for Rajam. The growing fetus needed nourishment.
Frankly, the expectation of a new arrival in the family was the single ray of sunshine in an otherwise cloudy sky. Nagamma took extra care of Rajam and although her manner was brusque and her comments indifferent, yet Rajam could tell that her feelings were real and her happiness heartfelt. In her own bizarre and constrained manner, Nagamma was exposing a softer side of her nature. Sometimes Rajam could not understand how someone who in the past had taken such pains to hurt her could alter so drastically on hearing the news of her pregnancy. Still, Rajam remained on guard, never knowing when this new behavior would drop and uncover the real Nagamma!
The best part was that she was spared from the cow dung routine, as Nagamma did not want to expose her to any infection in her delicate condition, unfortunately for Sushila who had consequently inherited this unpleasant chore. Now that Sushila was not around, Nagamma actually did it herself, making Rajam feel guilty but not guilty enough to offer to do it. If Rajam felt any negative energy at all, it was from Sushila. On hearing the good news, Sushila was quick to hug her and congratulate her but in her eyes, Rajam caught a glimpse of something else. She could have sworn it was jealousy but Sushila had no reason to be jealous, having such a nice husband with such a well paying job. Now she even had her own home and her own kitchen and was finally free from Nagamma’s clutches. If anything, she should have felt compassion for Rajam for having to suffer Nagamma’s presence through her pregnancy. Human nature has minimal appreciation for what one has and covets what is out of reach. Many times in the past Rajam had to remind herself of her good fortune whenever she was depressed about not conceiving. She had been so preoccupied with conceiving that now she felt as if she had nothing to do and even less to think about.
Her father sent her harmonium to her and she spent many hours practicing music and singing. Music was supposed to be good for the baby and if she sang a lot during her pregnancy, then the baby would imbibe the talent even before birth. Even Nagamma enjoyed the sound of the music and often when Rajam took a breather, she would hear Nagamma’s booming voice asking her why she stopped. Rajam hoped that this change in their relationship would persist even after the birth of the baby.
The new leisure time provided many opportunities for Rajam to be alone with Partha, a rare privilege in the past but now commonplace. This evening they had strolled out to the calm and bountiful mangrove, where family problems were left behind, at least for the moment. A few weeks ago she had felt soft butterfly movements inside her stomach, an extraordinary fluttering sensation, reminding her of the tender life growing in her womb. Partha was terribly excited to feel these movements and constantly badgered Rajam to allow him to touch her stomach, stressing her out because of the family’s constant presence. But here alone in the mangrove, Partha gleefully cradled his head in Rajam’s lap and enjoyed a different sort of intimacy, this time with his unborn child.
“Hello, Kamu… can you hear me? I am your Appa,” said Partha, attempting to send a message through her navel to his child, whom he affectionately named Kamu, short for Kamakshi.
“Don’t come so close, it tickles. Yenna, how can the baby hear you?”
“Why? If she can hear your music, then why not my voice? I want her to know me. She is so close to you but she doesn’t know her Appa yet, so I need to talk to her.”
“But don’t put your mouth on my stomach; it tickles,” she said gently pushing him away. Reluctantly, he turned his head in Rajam’s lap, looking up at the sky through the leafy foliage.
“After Kamu is a year old, we will have a baby boy and I will call him Karthik,” boasted Partha.
“Don’t plan so much. Let this baby be born and then we will think of another. And can you get off my lap now? It’s so hot my thighs are wet.”
“Ooh… let me see!” exclaimed Partha, enjoying Rajam’s embarrassment whenever the conversation turned sexual.
“Yenna, you are so shameless,” repeating what she must have said a million times over, pushing him off her onto the soft grass.
“Let me enjoy being with you here at least and stop pushing me away. I can’t come near you at home in the day time because everyone is wandering around, and at night if I try anything, you push me away saying that it will harm the baby. I want to be near you and touch you. Is that so wrong? Why do you constantly push me away? Anyway, when you go to your parents’ house next week, god knows what I will do till you return. I will probably be a raving lunatic by then.”
Rajam felt bad. She didn’t push him away to reject him. It wasn’t acceptable for people to demonstrate their affection in public and pushing him away had become a habit. She saw his sulky face and burst out laughing.
“Come on now! Don’t get angry with me. Did I tell you Amma wrote to me? She is so excited about celebrating my Valaikaapu ceremony, she has been making all kinds of preparations and is planning to invite the whole city. It’s going to be so exciting. Kunju and the kids will be there and
in any case, you will be there very soon for a whole week for the Seemandham ceremony, so why are you complaining?”
“But half the time will be spent celebrating the Seemandham and I won’t be with you. Besides, I don’t understand why you have to go so early.”
“Amma says that the Valaikaapu is always performed in the seventh month. Unfortunately, Amma and Appa have moved to Chidambaram. Had they been here, I would have gone to their house for a week and come back home for the Seemandham. As it is, traveling is a risk, although I must admit that I have a good feeling about this baby. I have crossed the fifth month and things don’t often go wrong after that.”
“That’s another thing: August is onlyyour seventh month and I don’t like you being tossed around in a vilvandi, even if it is only to and from the train station.”
“Didn’t I tell you? Appa has arranged for a police van, so I will arrive in Chidambaram like royalty with police escort.”
“Ha! Trust him to pre-empt me. Looks like he’s more concerned for you than I am.”
“Of course, after all I am his chella kutti.” The evening was very pleasant with a light breeze rustling the leaves and for a while no one spoke. Instead, they soaked in the energizing splendor of the outdoors, drenching themselves in the calm it created within them, though neither of them was especially aware of it.
“Yenna, what is insolvency?” Rajam asked voicing her thoughts.
“It means that you are bankrupt. That you have no money to repay your moneylenders.”
“Have we borrowed from someone?”
“Yes from many ‘ones,’ but don’t worry your head about it. You have the baby to think of. Let Amma and me handle that part.”
“Have we lost everything?”
When the Lotus Blooms Page 34
