by Gracy
BABY DOLL
STORIES
GRACY
Translated from the Malayalam by
FATHIMA E.V.
To my Appapan, my grandfather,
who held my hand as he walked me into an enchanted
world of stories about animals and birds.
Contents
1. The Parable of the Sower
2. A Raindrop in Summer
3. The Magician from the City
4. Parting with Parvathi
5. Arundhathi’s Dreams
6. Cat
7. The Denouement
8. The Rabbits of Mamallapuram
9. Baby Doll
10. Petra
11. Fraction
12. No One Understands Athmaraman!
13. It Is Winter Now on Earth
14. The Tenth Commandment
15. Illusory Visions
16. The Secrets of the Earth
17. This Is Joseph’s Story; Anna’s Too
18. Orotha and the Ghosts
19. Kallu
20. Doomsday
21. Aram Shah
22. Outdoor Sights
23. Ball
24. Do Not Trespass
25. Body and Blood
26. The End of a Naive Romance
27. Theechamundi
28. A Lizard Birth
29. Beware of Dogs
30. What Mother Ought to Know
31. Coming Home
32. Panchali
33. Wounded by the Void
34. Sorcery
35. Devi Mahatmyam
36. Fever Eyes
Notes
P.S. Section
About the Book
About the Author
Praise for Baby Doll
Copyright
1
The Parable of the Sower
The Guru began another parable. ‘Hear ye therefore the parable of the sower. A sower went forth to sow. As he scattered the seeds, some fell by the wayside, and the fowls of the air came and devoured them. Some fell upon stony places, where there was scarcely any soil. As soon as they sprouted, they wilted, scorched by the heat. Other seeds fell among thorns. The nettles grew with the plants and choked them. The few seeds that fell on fertile ground sprang up and bore fruit.’
The band of disciples snacking on LSD on the seashore grunted assent and listened. Crawling forward on all fours, they prostrated at the Guru’s feet. ‘Guru, you’re great! Nonetheless, how about deciphering the relevance of the parable for us?’
The Guru drew deeply on the fumes of hashish. His heavy-lidded eyes welled up with kindness as he surveyed his disciples. ‘Little lambs, do ye not comprehend this parable? The ones who sow are none but us. We set forth with baskets full of seeds. The seeds that we sow in barren women are eaten away by their barrenness. The seeds sown in virgins are aborted as soon as they begin to sprout. The seeds sown in whores are smothered by the pills they swallow. But it is the seeds sown in other men’s wives that sprout, thrive and bring forth abundant fruit.’
Thereafter, they boarded the barge and left for the opposite bank.
(Vithakkunnavante Upama)
2
A Raindrop in Summer
Shorn of all leaves, the nameless tree stood on the footpath like a lapse in memory. She stood beneath it listlessly, with no destination in sight. She’d had no particular purpose in mind when she got out of the hostel. The letters scattered on the pages of her books had started to bore her to death. For some reason, she was convinced that they would never come to aid her in life. Her teachers, lecturing non-stop in classrooms, were like comical figures in a play. It was after her mother had walked out that her father enrolled her in a faraway college and left her in the hostel. Though he sent her generous monthly allowances, seldom did he visit her. On the rare occasions that he did, he would bid goodbye in a hurry, citing flimsy excuses. She knew that it was her resemblance to her mother that was driving him out of his mind.
As the glowing, red speck of sun on the eastern sky too faded out, she could feel the cold, slimy swirls of boredom beginning to tighten around her. Searching for a sliver of an escape route, her eyes scanned the pathway, which extended merciless, drained of the last drops of the kindness of daylight. As the rush on the pathway seemed to increase, a vague uneasiness began to smoulder within her.
When a young man on a scooter appeared in front of her suddenly, she waved her handkerchief at him, compelled by some feeling that she herself was not clear about. Stopping the scooter, he looked askance at the stranger’s face in front of him, trying to place her in memory. Offering a smile wrenched out with some strain, she asked, ‘Mind giving me a lift?’
Relieved at having escaped a difficult situation, he smiled. Rubbing his face hard with a handkerchief, he countered, ‘Where to?’
Cocking her head a little towards the left and frowning, she asked herself, ‘Where to?’
Her mind a blank, she finally took refuge in a wilted smile which could be read any which way. A damp glow shone in his eyes. He scanned the surroundings hastily and nodded.
‘All right, get on.’
The scooter whirred ahead. His long, unruly hair flew in the breeze. Curling her right arm around his waist, she laughed.
‘Speed up!’
He revved the engine and the scooter flew. She was elated by the hope that death could strike them like a bolt of lightning at any moment. Pressing herself against him, she kept urging, ‘Faster, faster!’
Flying through nameless streets, the scooter stopped in front of a hotel, panting. Suppressing a smile, he looked back and asked, ‘Have you figured it out?’
‘What?’
‘Where you’re to be dropped off!’
Her eyes became shadowy. She was just starting to enjoy this charade that had surfaced out of the blue. But now she could not decide what the next scene should be.
Without saying anything further, he led her inside. Doodling vague figures on the smooth surface of the dining table with her pointy nails, she wondered about the possible finale of this hastily concocted game. Poking her plump cheek with his forefinger, he asked, ‘What are you thinking?’
She glared at him, her look a warning. Embarrassed, he laughed it off, as if it was an unintended slip-up. Quickly, he turned his attention to his plate and continued in a matter-of-fact tone, ‘You haven’t answered yet.’
Turning her head, she murmured like a sleepwalker, ‘I don’t know. I swear.’
‘Okay. Then leave it to me.’
She felt that the touch of secrecy in his tone was unnecessary. He and the world in front of her faded slowly. In its place, a timeless, grey emptiness flooded in.
When the bolt in the hotel room fell into its slot, there was only hatred left in her mind. An irrational vengeance, unsure of its recipient or reason.
As she lay, bearing the merciless weight of unfamiliarity on her, she wedged the pain between her gritted teeth.
Stunned by the small spots of red on the bed sheet, he faltered, ‘So, you…?’
She lay prone, pressing her face into the pillow. Pleased, his fingers caressed her back tenderly.
‘It’s your first time, isn’t it?’
The softness in his tone enraged her. As if stung, she raised her head and snapped, ‘No, man.’
‘But then, how … this…?’
She smiled with a withering scorn. ‘Haven’t you heard of Kunti?’
‘No.’
‘Then I am Kunti.1 Between the dark folds of my mind, I have hidden five mantras. Mantras to make me a virgin again and again, after each coupling.’
Looking into his drained face, she broke into peals of laughter, as if a spring had found release. Though her eyes brimmed, and she panted and choked, she continued to laugh, ro
lling on the bed.
(Venalil Oru Mazhathulli)
3
The Magician from the City
Perhaps it was because he was fed up with the city that the magician moved to the village. Under a banyan tree, at a junction blanketed with red soil, he opened his magic box. Someone sang mellifluously from the box, drawn by which the villagers came singly and in groups.
The young woman, clad in a set-mundu,2 her forehead marked with sandal paste, arrived with her fiancé. Standing close to him in the crowd, she looked curiously at the magician.
He wore loose pyjamas and a guru shirt. He had sandalwood clogs on his feet, a rudraksha mala around his neck, and a red turban edged with brocade. His attractively long beard and hair were neatly trimmed. Three corals were threaded on both ends of the gold wand that he twirled. Some magical song was frothing in his half-closed, reddened eyes. An alluring smile trembled on his lips.
Gripping the young man’s hand, the young woman stood gazing at the magician. Realizing that her control was slipping and that she had goose pimples all over, she became nervous.
The magician lifted his face skywards, threw his right hand up in the air and beckoned once. In his hand appeared the plump, luscious fruit of Eden. The onlookers’ mouths formed holes, through which air rushed in and out with a hissing sound. From his bag woven with golden threads, he pulled a double-edged knife that shone brighter than the moon and cut the fruit. Small pieces were handed out to each of them to taste. The girl stood restless and uncertain as to what to do, gazing at the piece of fruit with its tempting aroma, which the magician had placed in the well of her right palm with a slight smile. When she looked at her young man, she saw him peering at his share, turning it this way and that before popping it into his mouth, which opened like a cave. He waited greedily for the next item, scarcely aware of her presence. For no reason, the girl felt like weeping. Curling her palms now grown moist, she waited.
Drawing a speckled egg from his pocket, the magician waved it in a circle over his head. Using his pointed fingernail, he drew a vertical line on it and split it open. Out came a red bird, which shook its feathers, darted into the sky, and disappeared somewhere over the horizon. He smiled at the bulging eyes of his spectators and threw the empty eggshell into their midst.
He turned to the girl and called, ‘Come, gorgeous, let me turn you into a snake.’
The girl shuddered and looked uncomprehendingly at her fiancé’s face. He just stood there, smiling. The magician pulled her by her left wrist, adorned with glass bangles, made her stand aside, and waved his wand in the air with the ease of an acrobat. He stroked the crown of her head three times with his wand. A slithery serpent materialized in front of the spectators, standing upright on the tip of its tail and swaying its multicoloured hood. When they stepped back horrified, the magician began to blow his makudi.3 The snake moved from side to side, as if hypnotized. Whistling a tune under his breath, the magician placed the snake in his basket and turned to the young man.
‘Come, let me make you into a tusker.’
With a foolish smile, the young man stepped forward, his chest all puffed up. The magician passed the other end of his wand from the top of the young man’s head to his big toe. A trumpeting tusker appeared before everyone. Abruptly, the magician waved his wand and vigorously clubbed the tusker on the head. It ran amok into the crowd with a murderous bellow. The villagers ran for their lives.
Finally, whistling, the magician opened his basket.
When darkness swooped into the village like a vulture, the girl was found sitting alone amidst shattered bangles, sobbing, hiding her head between her naked, blood-smeared thighs. Her perspiring palm was curled around a wet, damp charcoal.
(Nagarathilninnethiya Jalavidyakkaran)
4
Parting with Parvathi
When Parvathi stepped into my life, we were both sixteen. Her fair chubby face, large bright eyes, and long thick hair intoxicated me. I was fed up with other girls whispering about men in voices tremulous with yearning. Often, it used to surprise me that I felt none of the attraction towards the opposite sex, natural among girls of my age. On the other hand, I had to struggle to bring under control the bubbling excitement at my secret urge to touch Parvathi’s cheeks with my forefinger, press my lips to her eyes, or to caress her shiny hair. The surging flame in Parvathi’s eyes disturbed me. A gloomy voice within me kept murmuring that many an eyyampatta4 would be consigned to that flame.
That summer vacation, while I was awaiting my exam results, the news that Parvathi’s marriage was fixed came as a terrible shock. It was unbearable even to think of witnessing the moment when Ramanathan would enter Parvathi’s life in the presence of the overflowing nirapara and the lighted nilavilakku.5 Despite her insistence, I refused to attend the wedding. On the seventh day after the wedding, wrapped in a crimson silk sari and her hair in two plaits on her bosom, Parvathi came looking for me like a flame of fire, with Ramanathan in tow. When they came in, I was lying face down on the bed, trying in vain to impart some colour to the emptiness that had taken hold of me. Though I received them with as much feigned warmth as possible, I was often lost in the emptiness that shrouded me.
When I had to join a college rather far away for my degree course, my relationship with Parvathi remained suspended on the flimsy threads of letters exchanged occasionally. Parvathi used to complain that all my letters carried a shadow of desolation, perhaps mirroring my anxiety that any moment the relationship might break up. Once, when a letter – disfigured by overwriting, corrections and tears – from Parvathi came in search of me, I rushed home in panic. Realizing that her tear-swollen face and tremulous mouth were stirring a strange yearning within me, I was scared to even look at her.
However, she was absorbed in the unravelling of a tragic tale.
When the husband of Ramanathan’s distant cousin agreed to teach her driving, Parvathi had felt elated that a long-cherished dream of hers was coming true. Ramanathan too had no objection against the balding, middle-aged Unniyettan who was generally regarded as a decent fellow by their relatives. Initially, Ramanathan used to keep them company. Eventually, perhaps beginning to get bored, he started sending Parvathi alone with Unniyettan, and lost himself in the office files in the evenings. Apparently, Parvathi was shocked out of her wits when one day, as she was driving, hands clutching the steering wheel, Unniyettan suddenly kissed her on one of her slender arms, on which a faint blue down lay swooning. Though shaken, I refused to accept what she said. I could hardly make sense of why I too, unaccountably, felt slightly relieved that my anxiety about her was not baseless after all. I lost the thread of Parvathi’s story and did not realize when the car managed to reach some side street. When darkness flew low on its spread wings in the isolation of the hill slope, they had passed through a narrow road suffused with a pristine light and stepped into some freshly minted world. When I realized that there was not even a shadow of remorse in Parvathi’s voice, my body quivered like a bunch of flowers, even as I tried to suppress a sob.
It was then that she embarked on a comparative analysis of Ramanathan and Unniyettan. Parvathi said that Ramanathan’s fingers were always cold. She confessed that Ramanathan always sought his satisfaction without waking her, while she slept dead to the world. Because I knew nothing about men, I promptly believed everything she said. In the middle of it all, I got a chance to ask her what was troubling her. It seemed that Ramanathan had found out about her double game, and was forcing her to keep a distance from Unniyettan. But the passionate letters of deep yearning that she had sent to Unniyettan’s workplace had begun to haunt her. It was when she confessed about the looming threat that the letters might be used against her, and that the possibility was driving her to contemplate suicide, that I embraced her for the first time. I tried to say something, but my throat constricted and I lapsed into silence.
Shaking free of my embrace, she quickly beseeched me to help her retrieve her letters at the earliest. Perhaps i
t was the softness of her body and its scent invading my senses that made me agree.
That is how I went to meet Unniyettan. As soon as I entered his office, a set of eyes swirled around me. They were clouded over with the smoke of suspicion. Mustering all the courage I could, I knocked on his cabin door. When permission to enter boomed from the other side, I walked in. The first thing I noticed was his eyes. I was taken aback to see a blaze in them – the same flame I had seen in Parvathi’s eyes. I warned myself that he should be dealt with carefully. Nevertheless, the story he told me was entirely different. According to him, it was Parvathi who had lured him into a spider’s web of temptation, even as she was learning to drive. Not knowing what the truth was, I was vexed. Whatever it was, I insisted that the letters be returned. Without replying, he gazed deep into my eyes, and rather unreasonably, I grew disoriented. When he began to size me up from head to toe, his curiosity made me feel discomfited that I was a mere woman. Mortified by the trace of tears that had suddenly sprung into my voice, I mulishly insisted on retrieving the letters. Pressing his little finger into the dimple on my chin, and with an intriguing smile, he promised to hand over the letters if I would go with him to his quarters where they were kept safely. I smelled danger somewhere. Saying that I was hard-pressed for time at the moment and assuring him that I would certainly come another day to retrieve the letters, I walked out on legs that had turned wobbly.
I said nothing to Parvathi about my failed attempt. To forget all that, I tried to throw myself into my studies. However much I tried, a bewilderment that I could not let go of robbed me of my sleep. So, it was like a godsend when my father’s summons arrived, ordering me to return home immediately. Not even in my dreams had I guessed that it was to meet a prospective suitor. However, when I saw the slim, fair-skinned young man with eyes full of kindness and chiselled red lips, I felt that I might be able to share my concerns with him.
On the first and subsequent nights of my marriage, I realized that Parvathi had taken me for a royal ride. By then, I had become sure that no man could fulfil his desire without leaving a scratch on a woman’s sleep. That is how the first black speck appeared in my mind.
