Baby Doll

by Gracy

  She burst into laughter again. ‘Isn’t it the death of one’s mother that one should celebrate?’

  Retreating from the battleground like a wounded soldier, he walked to the wardrobe. Carefully selecting a sari full of yellow flowers, he extended it to her. She waved it away disdainfully, ‘I hate yellow!’

  As his expression turned pitiable, she took off her sari and, in an act of revulsion, threw it on the bed. Swinging swiftly towards the mirror, she stood staring at her reflection for some time. With fingers trembling in some memory, she passed her hands over her face. Her fingers crawled down her throat, lingered on her small breasts for an instant and slid down. They stopped upon reaching her belly. She interlaced the fingers of both hands, wriggled her shoulders, threw back her head and yawned widely. Never before had his wife seemed a greater stranger to him than at that moment. He feared that she would sprout jutting canines, and her tongue would slide out, dripping blood.

  Proving his fears utterly misplaced, she took out a rose-coloured sari from the wardrobe and began to drape it around herself. Braiding her hair unhurriedly, she said, ‘It’s too far for me to travel by scooter. Call a taxi.’

  He cast an oblique glance at his wife lying back in the car seat, her eyes closed. He wondered how the stress of the past three months had disappeared into thin air at the news of her mother’s death. After all, what do you know about your wife anyway, he asked himself. Why would such a slim, fair girl marry a man as sooty as raw black iron? Didn’t your own reflection in the mirror startle you? He was certain that she could never love him. In the bedroom, she was always an ice maiden. In vain had he tried to stir her with fingers and tongue. Anyway, he was relieved that she had at least given him a son. Whenever he telephoned his son, now studying medicine, he was tempted to ask him if femininity dissipated at the age of forty-one. He was sad that they never did share the kind of camaraderie that would allow him to ask his son that question. Hence, he repeated that question to himself. Some time ago, his fingers used to freeze whenever he touched his wife. These days, what could be discerned was something molten, blistering her from inside. His hand stretched towards his wife, as if to check how it was now.

  At his touch, she woke up startled, and her eyes flew open. Her heart pounded, agitated by impatience. She was eager to see for herself and ascertain that her mother was indeed dead. Death must have appeared in the form of an illusionist in front of Amma who had never given a damn for anyone. She tried to imagine how, at the touch of his magic wand, the sarcasm that those red lips always wore as a wet sheen would have vaporized into thin air. Amma had always been proud of her imagination which compared her daughter’s irregular and slightly protruding teeth to a pair of herons in the field. She used to be furious when her mother’s proud breasts looked down upon her chest, smiling in sympathy. Those curly, black tresses that covered the whole of Amma’s back and flowed down her shapely bottom sneered at her straight-as-a-broomstick, bronzed strands. Hips that spread like wings on Amma did not even deign to favour her backside. When the suitor who came to see her made Amma stifle her laughter, sniggering that he was nothing but a black demon, she had decided instantly: ‘A black demon is fine with me!’

  She got out of the car and went straight to the living room. As Amma lay stretched out, fully covered, she could not make out the changes that had come over her in the past five years. Sitting beside the corpse, she gazed intently into its face. Amma’s face was that of someone who did not seem to have had enough of living. The flush of sarcasm on her lips had not yet disappeared. With a vengeance, she bent close to Amma’s ear, the anger barely leashed in her whispered taunt, ‘You’ve finally lost control of everything, haven’t you?’ She felt a wave of mirth cruise through the dead body. She trembled with rage. Grinding her teeth, she hissed, ‘Can’t you stop this at least now?’ Opening her eyes like slits, Amma stared at her fiercely and parried, her voice sharp like the tip of a needle, ‘I haven’t decided to stop anything at all!’ She smirked, ‘Yeah, right. Aren’t you going to turn into a handful of dust in a few moments?’ Embers of laughter glowed on Amma’s lips: ‘I will be born again. As your granddaughter!’ At that, she smiled with derision: ‘For all that, there’s a time and certain requirements. Now that you’ve become a soul, you can no longer do as you please.’ Amma’s face twisted with obstinacy: ‘Then I’ll be reborn in your womb itself. You just wait!’

  She laughed out loud. ‘This time, you’ve failed, you crone! My birthing days are over!’

  The funereal house, which had been whispering, lapsed into a sudden silence.

  (Amma Ariyendathu)

  31

  Coming Home

  The son’s voice was unusually distraught. Amma, I’m coming home now. It’s earlier than I wanted to.

  Some indistinct sounds of delight emanated from Amma. But by then, the connection on the other side had failed. It was after she replaced the receiver that she had a premonition. Might he have lost his job? He had managed to find one only after searching in vain for a long time and wearing himself out – and that too, after he had finally gone to another country. If there was some other way, my son would not have left home, leaving his Amma all alone here. Wasn’t he forced to go away, despite assuring her over and over again that he would always be in his mother’s line of sight until her very last breath?

  The mother felt rather out of sorts. Distressed, she was unable to either sit or stand. Then the phone rang again. Amma, I’ve reached Bombay. Will reach Kochi by the next flight.

  The son’s voice sounded unusually drowsy. He must have been sleeping on the flight. Suddenly, she too felt sleepy. The bed, with its cover torn here and there and cotton popping out, resembled a still sky choking with white clouds. As soon as she climbed on to it, her eyes closed, as if of their own volition.

  Her sleep was interrupted again by the phone ringing. Amma, I’m calling from Kochi. Will reach in an hour’s time.

  The son’s voice was wintry as snow. The receiver slipped from the mother’s hand. It swung from its wire like someone who had hanged himself a moment ago. It frightened her for some inexplicable reason. Dragging her swollen feet, the mother stepped out. Holding on to a pillar on the porch, she stood with her eyes trained on the road.

  An ambulance rushed in, and screeched to a halt on seeing the mother on the porch. Four or five people carried a coffin out of it.

  (Vazhikkannu)

  32

  Panchali42

  On the first night of the wedding, the mother-in-law handed a glass of milk to the daughter-in-law. Smiling a little at the astonishment on the bride’s face, she added, ‘It is Falgunan’s order.’

  When Krishna walked into the room, Falgunan was smoking a cigarette, leaning back against the frame of the bed. The suffocating smell in the room betrayed that he must have turned quite a few cigarettes to ash.

  When he heard the sound of the glass being placed on the table, he turned towards her. At that moment, his face was not that of one man. Taken aback by the four or five who were jostling with each other in his body, Krishna’s heartbeats lost their rhythm.

  With a smile unlike that of Falgunan, he got up and held her close. In a rather unfamiliar voice, he whispered, ‘I was thinking, Krishna, what a sexy sensualist you were! Calling us the Pandavas, did you not love all five of us equally?’

  At that point, Krishna realized that a terrible misfortune was lying in wait for her, with its mouth wide open to swallow her life. She cursed the day on which the five young men had come to stay next door. She had been a fifteen-year-old then, ready to explode at a mere touch. She had rejoiced, realizing that her heart had space enough for all five. It was as natural as five flowers blooming on one stalk. She replied to each of their letters. She waited for each of them in the assigned meeting places. Realizing that none of them knew what she was doing, she had even congratulated herself. But now, Falgunan…

  Falgunan, who was tracking her thoughts and had reached ahead through a shortcut,
said, ‘I studied with determination. I tackled all the competitive exams doggedly. Opting for the best job, I stood proudly in front of your father. And he bestowed you upon me. However, I mustn’t forget my friends. So, from today onwards, I am apportioning you into five.’

  Krishna was bewildered, unable to understand what Falgunan was trying to tell her. She had not seen the other four since then. They had not attended the wedding either. Suddenly, a strange fear overtook her. She paid attention to the darkness outside. Would they be crouching outside for their turn?

  Falgunan laughed. Krishna shuddered at the sharpness of that laughter. Picking up the glass of milk, Falgunan raised a toast: ‘To the beginning of our married life!’

  Taking a gulp of the milk, he handed over the glass to Krishna.

  ‘Here, have some, Yudhishthira’s beloved wife! Just a sip. You mustn’t forget that the other four are waiting.’

  Krishna took a sip, baffled as to how this drama would end. She drank a mouthful each for Bhima, Arjuna, Nakula and Sahadeva. With each sip, she had to become the beloved wife of each one of them. Even so, Krishna was relieved. At least none of them was around. When the glass was empty, Falgunan continued with a malicious smile, ‘Though it was Falgunan who won Krishna, it was Yudhishthira who slept with her first.’

  He took her hand and led her to the bed.

  ‘You know, of course, that Yudhishthira was a thorough gentleman. Especially when it came to women. So, my lady may undress herself.’

  At that moment, Krishna felt that perhaps this was not as terrible a game as she had been expecting it to be. Yet, she felt reluctant to undress herself. When it came to her ideas about her first night, Krishna was hardly any different from any other girl. So, she did nothing until she realized that her husband meant what he said and was waiting patiently for her to undress.

  With a slight smile, he said, ‘Yudhishthira was capable of diving deep into the Vedas and the Upanishads and exploring as much as he wanted. But when it came to women, he would be satisfied easily.’

  Stroking Krishna’s body just once, he entered her and came immediately.

  It was when she was looking distastefully at her husband, who had turned around and was fast asleep, that she realized that her heart had splintered into five. As he sucked in the air lustily, she was alarmed to see him grow into a form as massive as Bhima.

  The next night, Krishna was as turbid as the water in the pond that Bhima had entered in search of the elusive flower of kalyanasaugandhikam.43 Bitten lips, throat like a wilted lotus stalk, wrecked breasts, the whirlpool on the belly with its rough edges, and bruised loins, all pulled her down into an abyss of emptiness. When she opened her eyes after some time, her husband’s laughter dragged her to the shore.

  ‘Bravo! Not only your heart, Krishna, but your body too is well equipped to bear five.’

  That was when she understood that things were getting out of hand, far beyond what she had imagined. Then, taking her by surprise, her splintered heart came together again and hardened like a rock.

  Whistling a song under his breath, Arjuna entered on the third night. His lovelorn eyes caressed Krishna for a long while. He undressed her with infinite care. Lifting her like a veena, he seated her on his lap. He sighed sweetly, ‘How I had yearned for you Krishna, from the moment I saw you!’ His fingers played ragas brimming with love. However, Krishna did not melt at all.

  On the fourth day, she decided that she would not return from her father’s house, which they were to visit for a customary feast. However, Falgunan mercilessly killed Krishna’s hopes. ‘We aren’t going anywhere without giving Nakula and Sahadeva their due turns!’

  On Nakula’s night, Falgunan said, ‘Amongst the five, Nakula is the most handsome. But he only loves his own body. He has no desire for the female body.’

  Ignoring her voluptuous body, Nakula became busy. Then he went into the bathroom, bathed, applied perfume, and emerged more handsome than ever. He fell asleep almost instantly.

  On the fifth night, Falgunan became kind. ‘Krishna, in these matters Sahadeva is really shy. He won’t even have the guts to touch you. But aren’t you his woman too? So, you have the responsibility of rousing his masculinity.’

  Krishna’s fingers began to move about with self-loathing. Forgetting his shyness, Sahadeva became erect. Unable to bear his strength, Krishna ground her teeth. She knew for sure that this game of taking turns would continue forever. Krishna’s vengeful glance pierced the back of her husband’s neck like a secret sword just as he turned to go to his office, now that he had exhausted his leave. Stroking his neck to soothe the wound, he swirled around abruptly. ‘Hey, Krishna! Be ready by evening. We’re going to your house today.’

  Revving the car, he left. For a long while, she stood there confused. Then she bathed and changed into fresh clothes.

  When Falgunan reached home in the evening, the bedroom door was shut. When he knocked, the door opened wide. Krishna’s dishevelled hair and perspiring face greeted him. The big vermillion circle that had started running down her forehead blazed like a pyre. Scalded, he peeped into the room. In the yellow brilliance that streamed out, his eyes felt blinded.

  Apprehensively, he asked, ‘Krishna, who’s inside?’

  Krishna burst out laughing. ‘It is true that Panchali had five husbands. But none of them came to her aid during trying times. For that, somebody else was needed. If you don’t know who it was, go scour through the Puranas!’

  (Panchali)

  33

  Wounded by the Void

  Can the emptiness of paper be so sharp? Ammu’s eyes have been wounded. Yet, Ammu is smiling now. But then, what’s the difference any more between Ammu’s smile and her cries? From the moment Ammu lost her hold on Vishwanathan’s finger, her smiles turned into cries.

  Vishwanathan’s Ways

  Nobody could forget Vishwanathan once they had met him. Then how could it be different in the case of Ammu Panicker, who had met him at the engineering college where they studied together? ‘Your father, Kuruvilla, really took me for a royal ride, my girl! If he had named his daughter Ammu Kuruvilla or Ammu K, would a first-class Nair boy have been misled? But what’s the point of blaming your father? I wonder what the heck our darling regents who ruled the land saw in those Christians, to bestow them with such honorific titles like Panicker, Tharakan, etc. Anyway, the long and short of it is that it has turned this fool’s life upside down.’ It was when she heard this sigh that Ammu’s eyes began to shine with love. It was also then that Vishwanathan sealed Ammu’s lips with a kiss, finding no other way to avoid those eyes that bored into his innermost thoughts.

  After the wedding, Vishwanathan took Ammu to his ancestral house. On that wide veranda which did not allow any shadow to fall, Ammu stood immobile. She held on tightly to Vishwanathan’s hand. ‘Vishwanathan, don’t take another step! I can sense the heart of this house getting ready to implode,’ she tried to dissuade him. But was Vishwanathan the kind to be stopped by any obstacle? At the first step itself, thunder struck! ‘Get out, you shameless fellow!’ Vishwanathan’s father stood his ground, blocking the doorway. Vishwanathan’s elder brothers backed him up. For a moment, Vishwanathan listened, catching the groan as his mother collapsed, sobbing. The next moment, he caught hold of the girl whom he had wed, and turned back, his head held as high as the sky. Still, after he crossed the front yard, he faltered. ‘My Ammu, when you said houses have hearts, I didn’t believe you.’ He held Ammu close to his chest, sobbed once, and said that at least now a way had been revealed to him.

  Ammu had never differentiated between the living and the non-living. She could communicate silently, and as long as she pleased, with things that others deemed lifeless. That now became a boon for Vishwanathan. With the help of his friends, he started a construction company called Ammus. He laughed when asked why it was Ammus. ‘One Ammu who can talk to living things. Another Ammu who can talk to non-living things. Then what else but Ammus?’

  Ammu wa
s the one who drew the houses on paper. Replanting them into the earth was Vishwanathan’s job. When people came looking for plans for their houses, Ammu would advise with a smile that touched hearts, ‘Like you, houses too have hearts, okay? If they do not align with yours, you’ll never enjoy peace in them as long as you live. People who have lived in more than one rented house will easily understand how pleasurable it is to live in some houses.’ Then, Ammu would go on asking them one thing after another. They would answer one after another. Finally, with a serene smile, Ammu would nod, ‘All right, all right, I’ll draw the right house for you.’

  How many houses Ammu ended up drawing this way! Houses with open hearts. Houses with their hearts shut tight. Houses lost in themselves, and then shuddering into wakefulness suddenly. Vishwanathan did not even let Ammu deliver a baby. He was determined that he would not allow baby Uma to be born in a rented house. Uma was the name that Vishwanathan’s mother had set aside for the girl she wanted after delivering two boys. When it was a boy the third time too, his mother had settled for Vishwanathan since it was not to be Uma. Vishwanathan also had a hope that his mother would slip past his father and come to see the baby if it were to be named Uma. And did his mother do that? Avoiding everybody’s gaze, she took off to the other world.

  Sitting frozen for a long time, without uttering a word, Vishwanathan then went to see his mother’s body. He too came back as a body. Neither his father nor his brothers bothered to show their faces for the funeral. Again, it was Vishwanathan’s friends who helped. Though they pressed her to sell Vishwanathan’s new car which had crashed into a wall and opened the door to his death, Ammu did not budge. Ammu was the only one who could hear the car’s shattered heart sob, ‘It was a mistake! It will never happen again!’