“Muniamma!” he screamed, his voice reverberating inside his own head. No one else heard him.
Mahadevan had been depressed after hearing of his transfer to Sylhet. No matter how much he tried to rationalize, he could not come to terms with this move. He should have had that promotion by now. It would have made a world of difference to his morale and would have given Dharmu something to look forward to. Thirteen years away from the power center, away from urban civilization, except for his brief sojourn in Madras, way back in 1926. He would just have to grit his teeth for a few more years and wait and hope. His own rise in the hierarchy was not of paramount importance to him. He could think of so many more concerns: his children’s education and their future being foremost. The girls were growing up, and how would he secure a good match for Vani when he lived in the back of beyond? In any case, the girls were familiar with Sylhet and Dharmu had become reconciled to moving there. She had a soft spot for Sylhet because Kandu was conceived there. Maybe moving there would rekindle those good moments. The job would be less taxing and he would have more time for his family.
He sighed, momentarily distracted as his newly hired assistant, Vaithee, walked into the office with the day’s mail. Mahadevan indicated with a snort that he put the mail into a folder. Vaithee spoke Tamil, which was a welcome respite from constantly speaking Bengali. What made him come so far from his home for employment was a mystery and Mahadevan didn’t probe too much. He was efficient, spoke minimally and that was good enough. His eyes however, were always bloodshot and wore a haunted look, making Mahadevan wonder what dark secret was trapped inside his head. But he never asked him about it. Instead he turned his attention to the mail folder.
It was hidden under some long routine memos and he didn’t get to it right away. However, seeing that the envelope contained the Imperial stamp, he opened it immediately and in complete disbelief read its contents. The earlier transfer orders were rescinded. He was being promoted to Additional Deputy Secretary in the Industries and Labour Department and would have to report to duty on April 27th in New Delhi. In the interim he would be stationed in Nadia District, north of Calcutta, as Magistrate and Collector.
He dropped the paper down, unable to register and digest this information, unsure that what he had just read was not just a figment of his imagination. Picking it up, he read it three times over. No, this was no mistake. What a turn of events! He felt his energy rise and soar heavenward. Then he leaned back in his chair, threw his head back, and laughed wholeheartedly.
Mangalam returned to her daughter’s side, mopping her sweaty forehead. Dusk had cast its dark mantle over the house and the lamps had to be lit. Chithi had kept a hot stove ready with a pot of boiling water bubbling over it. The pains were strong and the head had almost crowned but the baby was taking her own time to come into this world. Rajam had been in labor all day and was weak from the pain. Chithi felt her stomach. Rajam would be ready to push very soon. Hopefully she wouldn’t bleed too much. She had spent the last few hours preparing all kinds of kashayams from a combination of ground and boiled herbs to ease the process. Just then, Rajam screamed as another contraction tore through her belly. “Enough, Amma, no more… make it stop. Never again, never again will I ask for a baby,” she sobbed. Chithi had seen so many women say the same thing, swearing never again to have another baby. But the following year they would be back with swollen bellies ready to undergo the same torture to hold a bundle of joy in their arms.
Mangalam gave her a sip of water, soothing her, holding her gently in her arms. “Soon Rajam, hold on, it will be over soon.”
“Banu Mami… come here… hurry up. The flower, it’s going to bloom!” Hearing his desperate call, Banu dropped her sewing and walked out, amazed at how closely Kandu was observing the ripening of the bud, awaiting the elusive bloom. She wondered if the story about the flower blooming only once a year was a figment of his imagination but she humored him anyway. The plant was actually quite ugly and the bud uglier still, but she hid her skepticism from him. The stem had taken a “U” shape, rising upward and the once limp bud had lifted up. Kandu squatted comfortably, admiring the bud, slapping his arms at intervals to get rid of the swarming mosquitoes. The swarms were at their peak at dusk. Banu wrapped the sari around her shoulders and hunkered down next to him.
“See, the bud is slightly open; its tips are white,” he said, marveling at the latest transformation. The two of them sat quietly admiring the unsightly pregnant bloom.
“What do you think this means? The Brahmakamalam blooming? Is something wonderful going to happen to me?” Kandu was reading too much into an ordinary event, ready to fire his already fertile imagination, Banu replied with a laugh. “Oh didn’t you know? The love of your life, your special friend will be born somewhere in this world. And she will wait to meet you and marry you.”
Kandu frowned, not appreciating her response. Girls? Marriage? That wasn’t exciting. He didn’t like girls anyway but somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind, he tucked away this seemingly unimportant piece of information.
Sushila sat in the easy chair in the thinnai, waiting for Siva to return home from work. She had only to cook for three people and had plenty of free time to sit and ponder about her life. Moving to Madras was supposed to have been the ‘Great Escape,’ but surprisingly, she actually missed the bustle of living in a joint family. She missed the excitement, the gossip, constantly having to attend to little things, chores which at the time she considered tedious and cumbersome. On the other hand, she enjoyed the freedom, the space to think and breathe, to do things that only she wanted to do. Siva had settled into his new job but the guilt of abandoning his family had worn him down. He hardly slept at night and his eyes had dark patches underneath them. His tossing and turning disturbed Sushila’s sleep as well and only when he decided to wake up and sit outside, could she actually fall into a deep slumber. His mind was terribly disturbed, although he never openly admitted it.
That evening, from the thinnai, she could see him walking down the road, briskly for a change.
“Sushila, good news, I finally managed it.” Siva was breathless as he entered the courtyard.
“Managed what?” Sushila asked, amazed at his joyful appearance, a refreshing change after his recent depressed state.
“I got a job for Partha and Thambu in the same company. Isn’t that wonderful? Now they can all move here.”
“Move here?” Sushila wasn’t so sure this was exactly the news she was waiting for.
Swaminathan watched his daughter stare vacantly out of the window. Kunju was still numb after the events that had taken place recently. So young to be a widow. Heaven knows what karma was playing out that she had to face this sorrow at such a young age. They had not spoken since they boarded the train to Chidambaram. What was there to say? Swaminathan sighed deeply. His mind jumped from one thought to the next. He was due to retire in three years. Maybe now he would have to ask for an extension. How was he going to manage such a large household on his meager pension? He hoped he wasn’t too late for Rajam’s delivery. A new child in the house might lift Kunju’s spirit. Had Mangalam rested enough? Caught in a quagmire of emotions, Swaminathan found himself unable to focus on a single thought as his mind moved from one problem to the next. Too much had happened this last month and his shoulders ached as he physically took on the burden of his family. Maybe things would not be so bad. Maybe the joy of being surrounded by his sprightly grandchildren would alleviate the burden of responsibility. Maybe. He gazed out the window, just like Kunju.
His thoughts were interrupted by a large, noisy group of men dressed in white cotton, entering the bogey. By their conversation he gleaned that they were returning home from an INC meeting in Bangalore. Swaminathan turned away and once more stared out the window, his expression soulful, as he watched the landscape fade in the setting sun. Morchas, meetings, marches … how long will they go on before the sun sets on the British rule? When will a free India become a reality
— one year — ten years? — And Kamu? Will she have the privilege of living in a liberated Bharat? Will she ever understand what we endured for her sovereignty? Will she value freedom? — Maybe.
Dharmu sat on the verandah combing Rukku’s hair, listening to her idle chatter, patiently responding and laughing at her comments — something she had not done for such a long time. So much had changed this last month. Mahadevan had become so loving, attending to her every need. It was almost as if some miracle had taken place. She had not even thought about drinking in over two weeks and her face looked brighter with color in her cheeks. For a change, she spent time with her daughters and not just with Kandu. But she knew that Kandu was special, her only son, and he would always occupy that unique, hallowed place in her heart. Sylhet was not going to be so bad. After all, she and Mahadevan had shared some intimate moments there and that’s where Kandu was conceived. Her thoughts were interrupted as the front gate opened and the phaeton noisily came to a stop at the foot of the stairs. Mahadevan was out in a trice and climbing up the stairs two at a time, waving a piece of paper in his hands.
“Dharmu, Dharmu, you are not going to believe this,” he said breathlessly, a smile lighting up his face, making his wide jaw line even more pronounced. One by one faces lit up, and smiles turned to laughter, followed by whooping and yelling with everyone hugging one another, tears of joy streaming down their cheeks. Nothing could have been more welcome than these astonishing tidings.
Meera watched the family unite and celebrate, bringing into sharp focus her own sorry plight. They were going to leave Rangpur, causing her to wonder what she was going to do. They were the only family she knew, and she could not go with them, not with the baby growing in her womb. Part of her longed for the happiness a new baby would bring but the other half was lost, searching for some inkling, some brainwave about how her future would unfold. Where would she go, and who could help her with this new baby? Should she return to her husband and beg his forgiveness, or go to her mother’s village and make up some story, hoping for acceptance? She went back into the dim comfort of her hut and sat on her bed, her arms locked around her as she rocked back and forth trying to comfort herself. Something would work out. If Banobibi had brought this baby into the world, then she would have a plan for her. She softly sang to herself a lullaby her mother used to sing, her sweet melody cutting through the darkness that enshrouded her.
Rajam squatted on the floor, leaning back against her mother, the pain exploding in her brain. Chithi was in front urging her on, now that she was ready to push.
“Mukku, Rajam, mukku.”
“I can’t any more. I just can’t push. It’s not coming out.” The contraction passed and Rajam leaned back in Mangalam’s arms, turning her head to swallow a few sips of water to soothe her parched throat. She was consumed by the effort, her whole body covered in sweat. She had no idea that childbearing was so difficult. Mangalam held her in her strong arms, rubbing her lower back and whispering in her ear, “It’s almost out. The next push you have to put in all your effort and the baby will be out. Come on, Rajam, you can do it.”
But Rajam didn’t think she could. She was half dazed, in pain, and terribly uncomfortable. The effort of pushing in a squatting position tired her now shivering thighs. She leaned back, slumping her quivering body against her mother’s supportive one. She closed her eyes, grateful for the respite between contractions and suddenly had a vision, a feeling of déjà vu, almost as if she were sinking into the comfort of a familiar dream.
Partha led the retinue up the stairs, carrying a lantern to shine some light on the dark terrace, which was deprived of illumination on this virtually moonless night. When he told them about the imminent flowering of the Brahmakamalam, the whole family wanted to see it. After dinner they followed him in single file up to the terrace. All except his father, whose snoring provided the background music for this motion picture: the flowering of the Brahmakamalam plant. The moon was a sliver in the sky and in the muted darkness, the radiant glow from the white flower delighted its enthralled observers as they crowded around the half opened bud.
“Aha!” exclaimed young Kannan totally in awe. “I can actually see the Shivalingam inside.”
“It’s beautiful. Why didn’t Rajam tell me anything about this?” wondered Nagamma. Rajam hardly told her anything but Nagamma did not realize that.
“There!” exclaimed Thambu. “Did you see that? I saw it opening.”
“Yes, yes, that’s right! I saw it too,” added Kannan excitedly. The flower was blooming right before their eyes, an incomparable sight, almost a touch of heaven on earth. Comfortably seated on the terrace for awhile, no one noticed the passage of time, so engrossed were they in the proceedings. Nagamma had barely finished chewing her paan when they realized that the bloom was completely open. The heady scent was all consuming. No one spoke. Words were inadequate to describe the experience. They were lost in the marvel of nature, in the beauty of creation, submerged in the intoxication of this unique experience. No one was ready to break the poignancy of this moment with something as mundane as spoken words. They watched and marveled, completely united in expansive joy.
With no warning, like a whiff of perfume in the wind, the thought crystallized in Partha’s brain. He knew that the moment had arrived. He knew that he was a father. He knew that Kamu must be born.
Rajam closed her eyes, submitting to the vision unfolding within her.
She was running in a green valley, the wind in her face, her soft feet treading on silken grass that was softer than the softest silk. The field was lush and green and the heavily clouded sky blocked the sunlight. She was back in the memorable verdant meadow surrounded by blossoms of Brahmakamalams waving gently in the breeze, dancing as it were in unison. White bunches of Brahmakamalam in full bloom, their soft white inner petals a gentle but pronounced contrast to their spiky outer ones. She stood still in amazement, with the gentle wind caressing her face as she submitted to the intoxication of the fragrance, which danced around her nostrils and settled in her wavy locks. She turned slowly around, her body responding to an unheard rhythm, reacting to the joy brimming within her, when she saw the child. Straight black hair cascading over her shoulders, reaching her small waist. Her narrow unlined forehead, soft plump cheeks and pert nose complemented her large sparkling eyes. Just then the clouds parted and the glorious rays of sunshine shone down, lighting her up, as her radiant face broke into a smile, which travelled from her lips to her doelike eyes, illuminating them as though they were fired with a torch from heaven. Eyes with a twinkle of mischief that exuded her joy for life, though she didn’t say anything. She just smiled, but Rajam heard her unspoken words clearly as if they had said,
“Amma, I’m ready.”
With a mighty push from her mother, Kamakshi entered the world, her petite arms and legs flailing frantically, her tiny face screwed up as she let out a prodigious wail announcing her arrival.
“It’s a girl!” yelled Chithi in joy as Rajam’s exhausted face broke into a smile. “Kamu,” she said softly.
Mangalam held her in a gentle embrace. “Yes, Kamu. All your desires and yearnings have been answered. Sankaracharya was true to his promise. You are a mother now.” She helped her to her feet and led her to the cot to rest and then joined Chithi with the newborn, checking to see if everything was normal. Ten fingers and ten toes. Once they were satisfied, the baby was washed in warm water, covered in a blanket and placed in Rajam’s waiting arms. She looked at this wrinkled, squirming bundle of life in her arms, and tears of joy and disbelief rolled down her cheeks. All at once, Kamu stopped crying and opened her eyes for the first time, allowing Rajam to stare deeply into her soul. Those eyes… with a twinkle in them? She knew them from somewhere, but she couldn’t recall exactly where. The vision emerged like a distant memory from a misty dream.
The Lotus had bloomed.
Miles away in Rangpur one satisfied six-year-old boy hugged his pillow tight, a smile anointing hi
s face as he slept soundly after an exhausting evening watching his flower, the Brahmakamalam, bloom. Everyone, including Meera and the servants, had spent the evening in amazement as they watched the burgeoning bud burst into bloom. Sinking deeper and deeper into sleep, he dreamed the same familiar incomprehensible dream.
He saw her once again running down the hillside towards him, a red rose in her hands. She stopped a few feet away from him and smiled.
“I’m here,” she whispered, her voice soft and sweet. He stood firm, his brow furrowed as he looked at her questioningly, trying to figure out who she was. His short pudgy arms akimbo, he demanded to know who she was.
“Your friend, didn’t you know that already?” was her cheeky reply.
“My special friend?” asked Kandu, the words slipping out on their own volition. She smiled and said nothing, merely turned around, ready to return from where she had come.
“Wait,” he called out, eager to stop her. “Come back. Don’t go so fast. If you are my friend, then let’s play.”
She shook her head. “Not yet, it’s not time yet.”
“Then when? When will you come back?”
“Soon,” she said, shrugging her tiny shoulders. “I’m still small, I have to grow.” Kandu didn’t quite understand why she had to leave so soon, and if she had to go so fast, then why had she bothered to come? But he wanted a special friend very much. “Will you come back for sure?” he asked again, eager to meet her once more.
“You know I will,” she said as she turned again to scamper off.
“But you will have grown; so how will I recognize you?”
When the Lotus Blooms Page 38
