Baby Doll

by Gracy

  Before she could answer, Grandpa’s summons was heard. Its echoes became a frown on Aunt’s forehead.

  Grandpa was lying in bed. Tara sat on the cot and asked, ‘What’s wrong with Grandpa?’

  He sat up. ‘Nothing serious. Just some uneasiness.’

  Tara bit her nails and became morose. ‘For a few days, I too haven’t been feeling well. Now that the tree in the serpent’s kavu has also fallen down, I’m starting to get scared, Grandpa.’

  Taking Tara by the hand, Grandpa set off from the house. Even after he crossed the yard and reached its edge, he did not let go. Tara was taken aback when he said, ‘You are my sorrow, my little one.’

  ‘Me?’

  Grandpa’s eyes filled with the russet glow of sunset. When she stood looking at it, Tara felt that she and Grandpa were on some pathway in paradise. Then he held both her hands together and muttered, as if in a dream, ‘Your poor mother … It was when she was eighteen that she came as my daughter-in-law. She was like a flower then. And with a nature like silk. But what’s the point of talking about that? Didn’t her husband die in the dawn of her youth? Then what happiness was she to have? Human beings are prone to commit mistakes and err. But this isn’t anything like that. It’s sheer vengeance. She is settling scores with the Virgin. But when things were happening right in front of my eyes…’

  Tara was vexed when Grandpa’s words became indistinct and trailed off into silence. Once again, she felt as if many secrets were swirling around her.

  Hugging Grandpa, Tara became mournful. ‘I don’t understand anything. Sometimes I feel I have no one.’

  A sob escaped Grandpa’s lips. He held Tara close and stroked her head. Then he said in a gloomy voice, ‘You are my only granddaughter. I can’t stand you being unhappy. But my time is coming to an end.’

  Holding on to him tight and unable to say anything, Tara sobbed.

  Grandpa continued, ‘I had two children. It was after ten years that I was blessed with a son. I brought him up, guarding him like the pupil of my eye. Sorrow strangles my throat when I think that it was I who decided to clear the serpent’s kavu. Still, such a terrible punishment…’

  Grandpa broke into sobs that racked his chest. A spring was opening up in the depths of his soul which had been tormented for years.

  That night, Tara’s grandfather too was uprooted.

  4.

  Well into midnight, the udukku40 drums began to sound from the hilltop. Their beat descended down the hill and began to echo in Tara’s veins.

  She was startled awake.

  The panels of Amma’s bedroom door were parting. Soft footsteps reached the front door. She listened closely. At the touch of Amma’s fingers, the lock melted like butter. Amma halted in the living room for an instant. When the drumming tapered off, she stepped out into the front yard. By the time Amma reached the kavu, Tara had gathered enough courage to cross the porch. Bunching up the folds of her skirt to stop it from rustling, she tiptoed, making her footsteps soft like cotton. Yet, she could hear the sound of her agitated heartbeat as the night held its breath. Tara wrung her hands. The night smelled of freshly sprouted mushrooms. Tara felt that there were snakes somewhere close by. Her mouth clamped down the cry that sprung from her throat like an arrow.

  When Amma slipped away from her line of vision, Tara panicked and hastened her steps. Caught in wild brambles, she stumbled and fell on her face. When she heard someone rollicking with laughter, she raised her head. The Nagayakshi, who had been sitting on the ground with her palms pressed flat on the earth behind her, was looking up at the sky and laughing her head off. Yet, the laughter was not coming from her mouth, but from her eyes. Like sparks of fire. For a moment, a brilliant light emanating from the head of the Maninagam filled the kavu. The Karinagam had disappeared somewhere.

  Thereafter, all the visions hid themselves in the cave of darkness. Tara, who jumped up in panic, ran into the night, scarcely aware of where she was headed. The next moment, her eyes were shocked by an unbelievable apparition.

  Amma’s naked, white body stood like a possessed statue in the dark! It was when she peered closer that she saw the Karinagam coiled languorously around Amma’s hips. Blinking hard, Tara sharpened her gaze. Amma was standing with her face against the huge hood of some Naga prince. Suddenly, she recognized the man with the broad shoulders and trim waist as Pushkaran. She guessed that he too was naked. Her eyes were bulging so hard that they seemed ready to pop out any moment.

  Amma’s face was being swallowed by the dark shadow. As Pushkaran’s lips began to crawl down, each part of Amma’s body began to reveal itself little by little, shining after its eclipse. Finally, Pushkaran sat on his knees and buried his face in between the marble thighs.

  The sharp talons of the wild night pierced Tara’s eyes. A storm that emanated from her head picked her up and sent her swirling through the sky.

  When she regained consciousness, she was sitting on the porch of her house. She was not aware of her torn skirt or the bloody scratches on her body.

  Somewhere, a morning cock crowed.

  Tara saw Amma wafting towards her like a white flower in the mild breeze. Revulsion, decked up in waist bells and anklets, and with a sword held aloft, danced within her chest. When Amma reached the front yard, Tara jumped up.

  ‘Stop right there!’

  Startled, Amma swayed and collapsed on the ground. Struggling against the grip of her teeth, Tara’s words emerged in a scream, ‘Now I understand what Valyamma meant when she said that the Chamundi was sucking your blood. If that is a bloodthirsty Chamundi, then this is a fiery Theechamundi. Just you see!’

  Tara ran to the kitchen. She doused herself with kerosene from the can. She struck a match and lit the edge of her skirt. When the flames began to constrict her, she screamed loudly and prised open the doors to the inner chamber. Inside the room, she blazed for a while. Then, with an anguished groan, the door swung shut.

  (Theechamundi)

  28

  A Lizard Birth

  Two house lizards lived in a famous hospital in the city. A male lizard and a female lizard. Disillusioned by the daily dramas enacted endlessly inside the hospital, only recently did they get married, ignoring the warning that marriage is harmful for health. After the downpour of ardour exhausted itself, they scanned the room with clear eyes. The worn-out young man on the bed and the young woman seated near his feet remained frozen, as in a still photograph. The male lizard was troubled when he noticed in the girl’s eyes an emptiness that could rip out anybody’s heart. Hearing the click of heels, his attention shifted to the entrance. Seeing a female visitor come into the room like darkness descending abruptly, the male lizard told the female lizard, ‘Look, this female form has no sympathy or kindness towards this young man or his beautiful wife. The healthy visit the sick only to distress them with their vibrations of health. They won’t even make allowance for a peaceful death. If you listen to what she says, you are sure to recognize that.’

  The visitor sighed, keeping her hand on the girl’s shoulder while she sat immobile like a painting. ‘A cousin of mine, who had a similar accident, passed away due to jaundice.’

  Realizing that there was no response from the young girl, the visitor continued, hiding her displeasure, ‘You shouldn’t lose courage, Arathi. Aren’t you still young? Life doesn’t end with this. Are you pregnant or what? If so, just abort it. It is rather tedious to bring up fatherless kids these days.’

  The female lizard clicked violently in protest. ‘How awful! Need the truth be told so brutally? Shouldn’t there be a bit of softness at least?’

  The male lizard was irritated. ‘Why did you make that click now? Don’t you know that man is superstitious and places a lot of importance on the clicks of lizards, even when he thinks he is very progressive? Their science says that if a lizard clicks from the southwest side, especially on a Wednesday, it surely portends the death of kin. This moment has confirmed for that young girl what she has been dreadin
g for days.’

  Ashamed, the female lizard hung her head in guilt. ‘Che! I didn’t think that much!’

  With a wise air, the male lizard continued, ‘These days, men give importance to the brain, not to the heart. Just imagine that infant coming into this world with the label of a father-slayer! Won’t its life be hell thereafter?’

  Realizing that a heavy silence was filling up the room, the visitor got up reluctantly. ‘It won’t be right for me sit here any more. It is time for the doctor’s rounds. We’ll meet again, okay?’

  When the shine of the silk sari disappeared beyond the door, the bluish lips of the young man groaned, ‘Arathi, will you do it?’

  The girl started, ‘What?’

  ‘Will you kill my child?’

  Two teardrops began to run down her cheeks. They halted for a second at the edge of her face, then fell upon her burning bosom.

  At that moment, the doctor and his team pushed open the door and entered. The male lizard cautioned the female lizard, ‘To be honest, actually, this is the monster who sent this young man to his deathbed. It is not because of the wounds from the accident that he is going to die. Had he been referred to the general physician for jaundice, he would have been given the right treatment. This man’s ego would not allow that. Now, what’s left for him but to die!’

  The female lizard looked at her husband’s face with reverence. Pretending not to see that look, the male lizard spoke as if to himself, ‘Alas! The arrogance of Kishoralal’s race is still intact. This lot will never be party to the self-realization he had towards the end of his life.’

  The female lizard could not contain her curiosity. ‘Who is this Kishoralal?’

  In the male lizard’s eyes, the memory of his past birth convulsed like a severed tail. ‘That is a character from a story by Ponkunnam Varkey. An excellent doctor.’

  The female lizard’s eyes bulged in blankness. ‘Ponkunnam Varkey?’

  ‘Yes. He was a well-known Malayalam short-story writer.’

  The female lizard was very impressed with the general knowledge of her male counterpart. She was curious. ‘Aren’t you just a lizard? How did you pick this up?’

  With a sigh, he intoned, ‘In my previous birth, I was a writer. I was proud that my stories were the best in Malayalam. That’s why I was reborn in this life as a lizard who holds up the ceiling from collapsing.’

  The female lizard beat her head against the wall with shame. ‘Alas! I can’t seem to recollect anything about my prior birth. I really would love to know who I was then.’

  The male arrogance had not eroded completely, even in this birth. ‘For that, you need to experience enlightenment. In every person, there is a Bodhi tree. Identifying that, you need to meditate underneath it. The way the Buddha did.’

  With excitement, the female lizard queried, ‘What enlightenment did he attain after that?’

  The male lizard was bewildered. To hide that, he hastily fell into a runnel of a speech. ‘What the Buddha did is something that you women can never do. To search for the root of sorrow in this world, he abjured his palace and crown. He sat beneath the Bodhi tree and opened the doors of meditation. Then everything became illumined for him.’

  His consort refused to let go of the stubbornness typical of women. ‘I didn’t get an answer to my question!’

  The male lizard was baffled again. Blinking his round eyes two or three times, he managed, ‘The knowledge that desire is the cause of all sorrows.’

  His wife burst into laughter. ‘Was it to find this out that the poor prince made such sacrifices? So pathetic! Even women trapped between the walls of the kitchen, and smeared with smoke and soot know this!’

  The male lizard’s arrogance splintered.

  When a scream rose from the room, their attention slid down. When she understood what had happened, the female lizard’s eyes welled up with tears. ‘Look! That young man is dying. His lips are tremulous with sorrow as he murmurs, “My child, my child!” Looks like his soul is condemned to wander without ever entering the world of its ancestors.’

  In a grave voice, the male lizard prophesied, ‘This young girl will not allow the baby in her womb to see the light of day. A better life does await her.’

  The female lizard became thoughtful. Then she said, ‘Within a few moments, this room will fill up with relatives. Before that, I’m going to get into the clothes in her bag. I really want to know what’s going to happen in her life now.’

  The male lizard was shocked. ‘Girl! Don’t be idiotic. She will live her life. You look after yours. Remember, you have to bear my children.’

  Shaking her tail, the female lizard turned to him, ‘Any female lizard would be capable of bearing your children. However, this is something that only I can do. Besides, I need to know how much women can accomplish.’

  Saying this, the female lizard leapt into the bag and disappeared from his life.

  (Gaulijanmam)

  29

  Beware of Dogs

  The old house, immersed in contemplation right in the heart of the city, always drew her to it like a magnet. When the breeze ran its fingers through the needle leaves of the bamboo grove which hid the house partially, music suffused her heartbeats. Spread out behind the bamboo grove was a massive seven-leaved yakshippala tree in full bloom; she had set aside a few questions she wanted to ask the yakshi who dwelled on it. However, totally uncharacteristic of the house was the board on the gate which barked and jumped at her with the warning: ‘Beware of Dogs’. Whenever she saw the picture of a dog with its erect, triangular ears, sharp canines, tongue that flowed like a scarlet river, and eyes that drilled down to the bottom of her heart, even the soles of her feet would break out into cold sweat. It was only recently that someone had assured her with a sly smile that there was no need to fear that dog so much: ‘There is only an old man and his woman living there with their daughter-in-law. It is a place much frequented by many gandharvas41 who come and go … There, a couple of thousand rupees can be earned in an hour or two.’

  With the door securely locked behind her, she stood naked before the mirror and mused as to what could be her market value: One thousand? Two thousand? Proudly, she examined her stomach that showed no sign of a baby having occupied it, and breasts that showed little signs of sagging or wear. Nevertheless, she knew that pride was a crystal glass that could shatter easily. Her husband’s behaviour in the bedroom was no different from his office behaviour: undo the strings and go straight into the file.

  Turning away abruptly from the mirror, she laughed like a maniac: ‘You can keep your thousands of rupees. Just give me a handsome gandharva to keep me company. Without even a scrap of secret joy to take refuge in, how can one bear to carry on in this life…?’

  Yet, someone else had assured her that it was all nonsense: ‘It’s an awful lie! There’s no yakshi or gandharva there. There’s only an old couple, and a withered girl who looks after them…’

  Forlorn, she lay on her back on the cold floor in the afternoon. ‘Alas! That house is a sob that faltered on its way to an orphaned old age!’

  ‘No way!’ – someone else was firm – ‘It is a haunted house!’

  In the nights, as she lay wounded by formless sorrows, that house in which ghosts laughed and wept became a soothing salve for her.

  One day, when the scent of the blossoming yakshippala tree wafted over, she crossed the gate, taking care not to look at the dog’s picture. When she took the first step on the dilapidated path leading to the courtyard, the clamour of the world outside swirled down some vortex and disappeared. A snake lying on the fallen leaves of bamboo raised its head and looked at her. Unblinking, she looked straight into the interest shining in its eyes. Once its curiosity dimmed, the snake crawled into an anthill. A strong breeze dishevelled the hair of the yakshippala tree. The bamboo clusters whistled like a bad omen. A woodpecker flew over her head with a melting cry. Crossing the yard that lay buried under overgrown grass, she reached the porch. As she
stood leaning against a pillar with faded woodcarvings, she wondered if she were passing through a dream that she had once dreamt but then forgotten. After a short while, she placed her hand on the door handle. All of a sudden, the door panels gave way and she was swept into the house.

  It was a large hall. Her feet sank into the swamp of darkness and chill that languished on the floor. Without glancing left or right, she pulled her legs out and kept replanting them until she entered a corridor. In the deep darkness, someone blew out her eagerness. As she stood vexed, her eyes lit upon four doors that appeared like cave paintings on either side of the corridor. With that, her curiosity began to smoulder again. She gathered that they must be bedrooms. Pressing her ear against the door to the first room, she stood quietly for some time. She could barely catch the wriggle of tickled laughter, or the hiss of lust poised aggressively like a snake’s hood. Disappointed, she moved to the next door. She listened intently for the groans of abandoned old age. The invisible tip of silence pierced her bosom through the closed door. Pressing her chest, she reached the third door. Her nostrils faltered as they caught the rotting stink of woman’s dreams strangled to death in pitiless aridity. She could only smell the mouldy stench of trapped darkness. No ghostly whisperings and no cackle of skulls hailed her as she proceeded, dispirited, to the fourth door. At that moment, she became certain that the house held nothing but the deathly pall of silence.

  In any case, people are always like this. They will embellish with fine details and embroidery even things they hardly know anything of. That is when her thoughts veered towards another bolt from the blue: weren’t empty houses usually kept under lock and key? In answer to her question, a dirty palm clamped tight over her mouth.

  It was the watchman.

  (Nayayundu Sookshikkuka)

  30

  What Mother Ought to Know

  She blazed in a deep crimson sari. It was while she was wondering whether she should braid her hair or tie it up that the doorbell rang. Unable to decide, she let her hair loose and opened the door. Noticing her husband recoil, as if scalded, she laughed. He realized with dread that the pointed edge of that laugh was splitting open his old wounds. In a listless voice, he reminded her, ‘Don’t forget that you’re going to a house of mourning. And remember that it’s your own mother who has died.’