Partha paused before replying. He knew this was no time for Rajam to worry. She needed to be calm and happy no matter what. Yet, he couldn’t lie to her. She was his wife, his predicament was hers and she had a right to know what the future held in store for them. With reluctance, he answered her. “Yes.”
“The house, the lands?”
“Yes to both.”
Rajam looked worried. She had been hearing this word for a while but had no idea what it meant and what it would signify for the family. She had always been well off and never had to deal with poverty, the very thought of which petrified her. Now it all made sense: Siva running off, refusing to sign the papers and leaving the family in the lurch. Now her life, which was on the threshold of completeness, was teetering on the brink of ruin. How ironical. What would happen? Would she have to sell her vessels and jewelry? Where would they live and what would they do? What about the baby? How were they going to manage? Everything around her seemed to be crumbling and she didn’t quite understand the ramifications of insolvency. All she cared about was the future of this child in her womb and now that seemed to be in jeopardy. Involuntarily, her hands went to her stomach in a protective gesture. She put her fingers under Partha’s chin and turned his face up sharply to face her. “Are we poor? Tell me, are we going to be in the streets?”
“No Rajam, in fact we’re rich.” This was stupid. Here she was dead serious and Partha was joking and playing with her again. Rajam didn’t understand what he meant till he qualified his statement a moment later.
“We have each other. That is enough. God will take care of the rest.”
‘Yes,’ thought Rajam. ‘That was true.’ They were a family, and together they would face every challenge. Whatever happened, they had each other … and God, who was always there. After all, God never gave you a problem you couldn’t handle. They would solve everything together and make this whole financial business a small, surmountable hurdle, and while doing so, they would enjoy themselves. The future promised to be exciting with so much to look forward to. Maybe the time for change was imminent. A new baby, a new home, so why should she be so fearful? Surprisingly, excitement had replaced her worry. What an amazing difference one reassuring statement could make.
CHAPTER 50 – MANGALAM
CHIDAMBARAM – AUGUST, 1935
Mangalam gasped in horror as looked at herself in the mirror. She had used too much turmeric powder while cleaning her face, creating an unnaturally bright yellow. She picked up the bottle of talcum powder and applied it feverishly, hoping to change it to a lighter shade of yellow. This was terrible! Today of all days she had to use turmeric. So many people were coming and she was going to look like a clown. She looked once again at herself and now her face had become a patchwork of yellow and white. This would never do. She couldn’t face her guests looking like this. Now she would have to wash her face again. What a waste of time! As she ran out the back, she could see Parvathi busy in the kitchen speaking to the cook. Thank goodness for her. Heaven knows how she would have managed without her. The house was full with Kunju and her six children and Rajam. Parvathi was remarkably efficient and took over much of the housework. Thanks to this blessing, Mangalam could take complete care of the children, something she loved doing, so Kunju got a break from the bathing and changing and feeding. Mangalam grabbed the tin of shikakai and went across to the well, moistening the brown powder in her palm and then scrubbing her face till it turned raw. Wiping her face, she ran back in to her room to finish dressing.
At least seventy women were coming for lunch to celebrate Rajam’s Valaikaapu — the Bangle ceremony that was celebrated in the seventh month of pregnancy — and they would be here in less than an hour. Rajam had bathed and worn her sari and was waiting for Mangalam to give her the jewelry. She wore a black Kanjeevaram sari with jarigai oosi, thin lines of woven gold thread. This was the only occasion when a woman could actually wear a black sari, the color to ward off the evil eye and ensure a safe delivery. Satisfied that she had chosen a gorgeous sari, Mangalam also bought some complementary jewelry — a set made of black beads and gold. These black beads were considered auspicious, especially for married women. She had asked the bangle seller from the market to bring his best selection and Rajam and Kunju had a grand time selecting bangles. All sorts of glass bangles sparkled in the tray, some with gold work on them, some cut, others embossed, yet making the choice mind boggling but enjoyable. During the ceremony the older women would adorn the pregnant lady with glass bangles, which she was supposed to wear till her pains began. The clinking of the glass bangles was meant to have a calming effect on the baby but it would make sleeping difficult for Rajam, who cradled her head on the palms of her hands while she slept. In any case, Mangalam assured her that by the time delivery came around most of the bangles would have broken, making the load lighter. After picking the bangles for Rajam, they had bought a few extra to give to their guests.
Delectable, tantalizing aromas wafted in from the kitchen as the ladies walked in the door. Mangalam had invited all the ladies from the neighborhood, including some ICS wives and she didn’t want anything to go wrong. Today Rajam would be the center of attention. She was seated in the middle of the mutram on a chair and she glowed with the morning sunlight beaming down on her. Her inner happiness radiated from every pore and the excitement of the function completed her contentment, making her doubly radiant. Mangalam looked at her younger child. She had grown up so much since her wedding. She knew Rajam had been stressed out because of her problems with Nagamma, but now all visible signs of anxiety seemed to have vanished, replaced with sheer sparkle and joy. After so much prayer and of course the unforgettable benediction of Sankaracharya, she was blessed with this pregnancy. She looked so pretty; she was sure to have a female child. Sankaracharya had said that she should be named Kamakshi and everyone already referred to the baby as Kamu. Hopefully, it would be a girl; no boy would appreciate being named Kamu. She took a little mai from her eye and smeared it on Rajam’s cheek, not wanting any evil eye to fall on her precious child, especially since she had spent the last few minutes admiring her. People said a mother’s pride and admiration was especially harmful. ‘So ugly, so ugly you look, Rajam,’ she muttered under her breath, hoping to counteract the effects of her recent compliments.
The function went off beautifully with all the elders anointing Rajam with turmeric, chandanam and kumkumam and of course putting the bangles on her wrists, which was the main purpose of the ceremony. After everyone had gone home, Mangalam walked into her room, when suddenly she felt the whole room swim. She tried to hold onto her bed, but then everything darkened around her. When her eyes opened again, she was on the bed and both Kunju and Rajam were fanning her, their eyes wide with trepidation. “Yenna aachu? What happened?” she asked, attempting to sit up, only to be pushed back down by both girls simultaneously.
“Nothing Amma, you lie down. You fainted, that’s all. I think you have worked too much and the heat must have affected you. Appa is bringing the doctor.”
“Doctor? There’s no need for that. Oh Perumalai! This is embarrassing!” Mangalam had never been to see a doctor before. In fact, she had never fallen seriously ill. Common colds and stomach ailments were always treated at home with herbal kashayams and the thought of going to an English doctor was appalling. No respectable Brahmin woman appreciated being touched by another man, even though he was a doctor and she couldn’t believe her husband was going to subject her to this. Just then, Swaminathan walked in, holding the English doctor’s black valise. “Come Doctor, this is my wife, Mangalam.”
“Yenna,” she reproached him. “How can you bring him here? How can you allow him to touch me?” But Swaminathan summarily dismissed her. She had been unconscious for a long time and somehow he knew everything was not right. The situation looked dubious, an emergency calling for drastic measures. He knew how Mangalam felt about English doctors and he would not have resorted to this extreme step if he didn’t think it absolutely necessar
y.
Much to Mangalam’s horror, the doctor listened to her heartbeat with some strange instrument touching her body, which was unpardonable, and she held her breath as he took her blood pressure with some apparatus that hurt her arm. After he finished his examination, he took Swaminathan out to talk with him.
“Your wife has very high blood pressure. She may have had a minor stroke; her responses are not too good.” Swaminathan had no idea what he was talking about and the Doctor attempted to explain it as best as he could. “What shall we do, Doctor? What medicines can we give her?”
“Unfortunately, I cannot recommend any medication, other than less salt in her diet and lots of rest.” He wrote something on a piece of paper, a draught to be prepared by the pharmacist to calm her down and help her sleep.
Swaminathan was really worried, especially after the doctor explained to him what might have happened to Mangalam. All his life she had just been around, his constant companion and he always expected her to be healthy and outlive him; most women did. This piece of news gave him a real jolt. For the first time in so many years of marriage, the thought of her mortality entered his mind and it scared him. Mangalam was the backbone of this home and he couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to her.
“Yenna, what did the doctor say?”
“Nothing serious; he wants you to rest and eat food with less salt.”
“Less salt? Oh no! It’s better not to eat. I can never think of eating food without salt.”
“We’ll talk about that later. Now you rest.” Swaminathan left the room with the girls, instructing the children not to disturb their Paati. He sat outside in the thinnai on the easy chair. What a day it had been; such a wonderful celebration and now this. He shook his head and sighed loudly. The gate creaked as the postman came through with a telegram. Swaminathan felt uneasy. No one sent telegrams unless they had bad news. Fearing the worst, Swaminathan opened the telegram.
It read: Panchu serious. Stop. Send Kunju immediately. Stop.
This was terrible. Kunju had arrived a week ago and now she would have to go back to Bangalore. Naturally, he would have to accompany her. But how was he going to leave Mangalam and Rajam with six children? Besides, Mangalam was already sick; how would she react to this news? He had to make arrangements for Kunju and himself to take the night train and he called his orderly, instructing him to buy tickets. Parvathi would take care of things. She was like an iron pillar, especially in times of crisis. He tried to think if Kunju had mentioned anything about her husband’s condition. Kunju had said that Panchu had some trouble with digestion but she did not seem worried about it; at least she had not mentioned anything alarming. What could have happened now? He closed his eyes and prayed. Kunju had six children! If anything happened to Panchu, then they would be his responsibility. His own son, Mani, was still unmarried, and Swaminathan’s responsibilities were far from over. And now he might have the additional burden of caring for six more. He prayed fervently that everything would be all right soon but he didn’t feel at ease. A niggling doubt popped into his mind that this time around prayer might not be enough. He was a strong person and his police training gave him the ability to deal with crisis, but he found it difficult to control his emotions when it came to his children. Kunju was still young. What was going to happen?
Swaminathan suddenly became aware of his inner turmoil and he jerked himself out of the vicious cycle of emotions. Whatever happened, he would deal with it. He entered the house and went into the bedroom to check on his wife. Mangalam was fast asleep on the bed and next to her on either side were Kunju and Rajam, each with one arm thrown protectively across their mother. His eyes moistened with emotion. He walked out, not wanting to disturb such a touching, tender moment.
CHAPTER 51 – NAGAMMA
VIZHUPURAM – SEPTEMBER, 1935
The house was quiet. It had been so after Sushila and Siva left but with Rajam away as well, the silence was deafening. Tearfully Nagamma stared at the jewel in the palm of her hands. Red rubies set in the design of a snake — a Nagara, a hair accessory that she was going to present to Rajam on the occasion of her Seemandham. The setting was intricate, with tiny rubies and two small emeralds for the eyes of the snake. Nagamma watched her uncontrolled tears drip onto the jewel, like a superfluous adornment, misting the eyes of the snake until the green emeralds could scarcely be seen. She was not given to emotional moments but the events of the last few months and the ensuing stress had been too much for her. Siva abandoning her when she needed him the most was the worst — such a stab in the back. She always prided herself on the way she brought up her children, instilling in them the utmost respect for authority and family values. Sushila must have been the negative influence; he could not have thought up such a morbid plan on his own. He was her eldest son and had always been someone she could rely on. How could he abscond, leaving her to deal with this mess?
“Chi chi,” she murmured under her breath, trying her best to reign in her uncontrolled feelings. She did not want to cry. After all, what was the worst that could possibly happen? That she could die? And until that happened she could not give up. Still, no matter how hard she tried, she could not deal with the idea that all her efforts over her whole life had come to naught. She was too tired and had no more energy to go on. She strived so hard for so long and when she needed the most support, Siva had left. It tore away at her flesh to see her son leave like that. She could not believe her own son would kick her when she was down — tell her that her problem was hers and he could not involve himself any more. What if she had said the same to him when he was a child nursing at her breast? Your hunger is your own and I can’t be bothered? Why were the rules different for mothers and offspring? What was it that turned a child against the mother? Was it because he was solely responsible for the finances in the home that he resented his mother and siblings? Maybe that’s why he took such delight in putting them in a situation where they would be forced to fend for themselves. How could he bring himself to utter such harsh words that pierced her soul, language so hurtful that she would carry them with her into her next life? Did he not see that his mother’s blessing shielded him, protecting him from bad karma? What demon had entered and captured his mind, making him willfully capable of divorcing his family?
While Siva had wildly accused Partha of escaping his duty, Nagamma was filled with pride to see her younger son stand tall, ready to accept any responsibility. Completely calm, Partha told his brother to leave in peace. He was ready to sign insolvency papers, throwing caution to the wind, not caring about the outcome. The future, he said, would take care of itself. The heated exchange, the bitter words, reason and rationale lost in the fire of resentment and aversion — sheer insanity! She saw the futility of trying to reason with madness, in trying to change the unshakeable; the effort had left her weak and emotional, and she couldn’t afford that. Now she needed to harness every remote resource, every accessible reserve of energy, and see the family through this crisis. For so many years she held the fort all by herself, secure that the money from her lands would put food on the table. But then she was young, strong and infallible. She was always so proud of her achievements but more so of her family. How could she be on the brink of complete ruin? She simply could not accept it. The tears involuntarily welling in her eyes, she buried her head in her lap and cried loudly. Tears saved up from months of anxiety and stress flowed freely down her wrinkled cheeks. Her husband was sitting outside, but he was fast asleep in the easy chair and the sounds of her lamenting didn’t reach his deaf ears. She was alone… as usual.
When the tears abated, she walked to the well and washed her face and sat down again to admire the jewel in her hand. She had sold her last piece of jewelry, her diamond earrings, to make this hair piece, a gift for Rajam, who should never lack anything, especially during her pregnancy. Nagamma’s earrings had been an heirloom in the family for hundreds of years, passed down from mother to daughter. They were the size of pigeon’s
eggs. ‘Blue Jagger Diamonds’ they called them. She touched the ordinary pearl earrings that replaced the coin sized earrings and tears welled up in her eyes again. Everyone identified her by the large earrings, which had adorned her ears for as long as she could remember, and the last thing she wanted was for others to feel sorry for her. No, instead, here she was feeling sorry for herself. Fate had brought her down from grace and she would no longer be able to hold her head high and walk the streets of Vizhupuram. The grand, proud, striking, imposing lady had been ousted from her self-styled pedestal. She could imagine the neighbors discussing how Nagamma had no house to live in any more. No house? Why, she had no food to give her children. For the last few months they had eaten only thayir shaadham and pickle, and just the week before, she sold the last of her silver vessels to buy a bag of rice.
“Maa kuru dhana jana youvana garvam harathi nimeshath kaalah sarvam,” she recited an ancient Sanskrit verse out loud, one that her mother explained to her in detail several times in her youth, but which signified nothing until now. How true that Sanskrit shloka was. One takes so much pride in one’s ancestry, family wealth and youth but time takes it all away, leaving you wondering what you were proud of in the first place and if in fact it was ever yours.
Nagamma walked into her room and opened the almirah to put the Nagara away. Next to it sat another small blue velvet box. Gingerly she opened it, revealing a small seven-stone diamond nose ring. She took it out of the box and for several minutes watched it glimmer in the evening sunlight. Then, very purposefully, she unscrewed it, pulled out the brown dried vepalai twig from her nose and threw it on the floor. Then with resolve and pride she replaced it with her new diamond nose ring and looked at herself in the mirror.
No. The queen was not yet vanquished. She still reigned supreme.
When the Lotus Blooms Page 35
