by Gracy
Invisible Houses
Ammu continued drawing houses. The payments for the flat had to be remitted. Ammu and Baby Uma had to live as well. Ammu’s houses sighed as they moved into hands that took them to faraway places. Baby Uma grew up as quickly as one stands up from a seated position. Ammu’s heart burned in apprehension as youth filled Uma with full breasts and flowing tresses. When Ammu looked into Uma’s starry eyes, a lament broke free from her heart, ‘My Vishwanathan, my Lord!’ She turned to Uma. ‘Until now, you were safe in the women’s realm. If you feel like falling for any of the boys you meet, don’t forget to think of this Ammu. It should be a boy whom Amma would love to have for a son,’ said Ammu as she kissed the forehead of Uma, who was setting off for her first day in college.
When a Girishankar began to appear frequently in Uma’s conversations, Ammu sharpened her senses. And when ‘Girishankar’ became ‘Shanku’, she expressed her desire to meet him. In appearance, they seemed like a good match. Yet, she wondered why Uma’s forehead creased as if someone had drawn deep frowns on it. Ammu felt sad when she noticed that Uma’s gaze seemed to pass through wherever it fell. Finally, Uma opened up. ‘Amma, I don’t understand him at all. Sometimes, it seems like he loves me. But it looks like he does not have the guts to admit it even to himself. Then again, sometimes he appears not to love me at all. Once, over the phone, he admitted his fears about his caste going extinct. But they still wouldn’t marry outside their caste. He also told me how a friend had made fun of him, saying that everyone from his caste ended up with the same features because of generations of intermarriage. When I heard that they force their dead bodies to sit up before the warmth disappears from the corpse, I was really scared. When he added that it was in the same posture that the body is buried, I just couldn’t help saying, “Then come to this side. At least you can lie with your body stretched out.” Amma, I could imagine him standing frozen on the other end of the line. Then what I heard was the receiver being hung up. Standing dumbstruck, at that very moment I decided that never again would I let slip a single word that betrayed my love.’
Ammu only said that she was wondering why that young man’s face did not stay in her mind, even though she had met him twice. ‘Amma!’ Uma stared at her, all wide eyes. Ammu teased her, ‘Don’t let those eyes pop out. You’ll need them the next time other brave hearts appear on the scene.’ Then, in a voice icier than death, Uma declared, ‘Oh, if that’s the case, I’d rather not marry at all!’
Even when Uma noticed her mother sitting down, benumbed by the sudden chill, she did not relent. It was after that, that the houses refused to manifest themselves on Ammu’s drawing sheets.
The Fortress of the Ancestors
Leaving her pencil on the table and switching off the light, Ammu walked to the kitchen. She poured herself a cup of strong black coffee. She then went to the balcony to gaze at the sleep-deprived city rubbing its eyes. That is when she felt that she had to see Girishankar’s house. From the heart of that house, Ammu would glean the question that her daughter did not ask and the answer that Girishankar did not part with.
Ammu set off. She caressed the chin of the car and said that they were going on a trip. Growling once, the car rushed out of the gate. ‘There’s no hurry. Take it easy, slow down, slow down,’ Ammu said, holding the reins. As she turned from the main road into the narrow lane to Girishankar’s house, she thought up a handy lie that could jump out like a rabbit from a magician’s hat.
Even then, when she got out of the car and stepped on to the front yard, her heart missed a beat. Ammu realized that the house was not yet ready to let go of its traditions. At the sound of the car, two faces peeped out. Ammu guessed them to be Girishankar’s mother and younger sister. Trying to hide her uneasiness, Ammu wondered why the rabbit refused to come out of the hat. At that moment, Girishankar appeared, looking utterly bewildered. ‘Come in!’ he invited her, drawing up a wicker chair. Sensing the mother and daughter disappearing somewhere into the darkness inside, Ammu was momentarily relieved. Girishankar stood leaning against the wall and said, partly to her and partly to himself, that his father had gone out somewhere. Ammu wondered what to ask. When you start thinking, words abandon the tongue. Through the unbolted silence of the front door, Ammu’s eyes wandered outside.
That is when it happened. In an instant, the sleeping graves here and there in the yard began to wake up one by one, and yawn. Various pale forms began to emerge. Having sat cross-legged for many years, their hands were holding their knees which refused to straighten out, and they entered the house, dragging their lame legs or skipping on one leg. An ancient odour spread through the rooms. The empty eyes of the ancestors who crowded the rooms began to stare at Ammu. Ammu knew that Uma would never be able to enter this house, breaching the ranks formed by these countless ancestors. Neither would Girishankar be able to come out. Ammu’s parched throat felt like it was burning. Her tongue gave up. Darkness suffused her eyes. When Ammu stood up, the ancestors made way for her. She felt her way out blindly. When she turned back, she saw them coming out one by one. Standing row after row to form a fortress, they continued to stare at her with empty eyes. Somehow, she scrambled into the car. The door slammed shut. She held on tight to the steering wheel. ‘Protect me!’ she pleaded with the car, her heart melting.
The car held its breath and flew. Past the side road, on to the main road, and right into the path of a lorry that came rushing blind and deaf. ‘Ayyo!’ A smothered cry escaped before the car rammed against the wall and stood still.
Resting her head against the wheel, Ammu panted. ‘Where are we now?’
The car let out a deep sigh. ‘In the land of misery itself!’
(Shoonyatha Kondu Murivettavar)
34
Sorcery
Appan had a magical trick to rein in anger. A three-letter swear word. Once uttered from the peak of his anger, he would grind it between his teeth, and his enraged face would adjust its contours. The wrinkles on his forehead would smoothen out. The redness in his eyes would start to dissolve. The flared nostrils would retract. The taut nerves would relax. Appan would turn calm and exit the valley of rage.
From the time I can remember, I have been fascinated by this secret practice of Appan’s magic. In contrast, Amma almost shuddered each time she heard Appan utter that word. Appan would smile, watching with curiosity as Amma’s resentment made her breasts swell before she chewed her annoyance and swallowed it. Appan would chuckle, ‘Cow! Chewing the cud!’
At that, Amma would swivel round and stomp back inside, and Appan would laugh as if tickled. I too would get a rebuke laced with fondness whenever I struggled to break free of Amma’s hold when she dragged me along: ‘Delicate chap. He’s sure to be ruined, hanging on to Amma’s tail!’
After the harvest, Appan would distil hooch with new paddy grains, aided by Nanu, who had abandoned his barber’s occupation. Drinking this holy arrack distilled to a transparent consistency with a mixture of pineapple, sultanas and poovan bananas, Appan’s cheeks would turn as ruddy as ripe cashew fruit. Dribbling four drops on to my tongue and winking his caution to never let Amma know, Appan firmed up his secret contract with me. Though I hardly fancied the spicy smell and sharp taste of toddy, it was pleasurable to team up with Appan in secret.
In the evenings, smelling of arrack, Appan would lie outstretched on the armchair in the patio, stroke the downward arc of his moustache and call out to Amma lovingly, ‘Mary, my girl, do come here, won’t you?’ Taking no heed of the weight on Amma’s face, he would seat her on his lap and caress her charming chin. When he stroked her breasts surreptitiously, pretending to draw two circles on her chest, Amma would hiss ‘Che!’ and thrash her way out. Roaring with laughter, Appan would manage a quick pat on Amma’s retreating bum. Chewing the tip of his moustache, he would lie stretched out on the armchair, with a smile directed at the entire world. Gradually, he would fall asleep in the same position.
It was at those times that I would sne
ak out from my hiding place and peer into Appan’s face. It hardly ever looked like he was sleeping. It only seemed as if he were enjoying himself, lying there lost in some lovely memory. I promised myself that when I grew up, I too would lie like that in the same armchair and look at life with the same nonchalance. However, I also decided never to use the swear word that seemed to rile Amma so much. By then, Amma, grunting, would have pulled me away and plopped me in front of the study table. The weight of my schoolbooks crushed all my decisions.
Before I could land a job after completing my studies, Amma died of mouth cancer, and I was shocked to hear that the last word that had twisted its way out of her mouth, wrenched with pain, was the same three-letter swear word. When it whooshed out like the piercing whistle of wind from her, Appan swallowed his hot tears as he gazed intently at her face becalmed by death. ‘Why this password now, Mary, my girl? As if I don’t know what’s inside and outside my woman!’
I was staggered by the knowledge that what I had seen on the outside was Amma’s masquerade. My respect for Appan only increased. However, Appan lost all his enthusiasm. Lying in his armchair, he wandered aimlessly through invisible worlds. Nanu, who was no longer a barber, waited around for a long time, leaning on the seat in the porch. Finally, emboldened enough to sit down, he tried to motivate Appan, calling out to him, ‘Moothare!’44 Having failed miserably, with downcast eyes and his rolled thorth tucked under his armpit, Nanu walked away and disappeared.
One evening, Appan beckoned to me: ‘It is to give you something not included in the will. Guard this well: it’s a mantra handed down over generations. It will come in handy.’
A beatific smile infused Appan’s face. The mantra was transferred to me as soon as it was uttered. I too smiled. Seeing that the smile on Appan’s face was not fading, I went into the kitchen to tell my wife that Appan’s smile had returned. She was roasting beef. I was drawn to the view of her backside. Though she had a beautiful bottom, her breasts were lime-sized. Returning home after seeing her for the first time, the knowledge that there would hardly be any scope for drawing circles on her chest while lying on the armchair had stiffened into a regret. At the most, one could draw a small triangle. My friend, who had accompanied me, reminded me that she earned a fair pay packet, and that these days, that was more important than anything else.
Trying not to glance at her chest, I traced two circles in the air. Then I picked up a piece of beef sizzling in the pan, chewed it, and washed it down with a glass of water. Ambling through the house, I strayed back to the sit-out. Wondering why the lines of laughter on Appan’s face seemed unaltered, a dreadful thought gripped my forefinger. Under Appan’s nose, my finger froze, struggling for breath.
Realizing that Appan had cheated me, rage rushed in, and unforeseen and abruptly, the same mantra blossomed on my tongue too. I stood upright in shock. Then, with a faint smile, I muttered into his ear, ‘What say you, Appa?’
(Manthravadham)
35
Devi Mahatmyam45
When Neeli opened the front door, Devi was astonished. ‘You haven’t changed at all in the last ten years!’ Letting her diamond-sharp smile spread into her eyes, Neeli said, ‘Is that so? But you have changed quite a bit!’ While the friends were sizing each other up, a crystalline voice was heard asking if they were not going to be invited in. Only then did Neeli notice the young man behind Devi. Tilting her head slightly to the left, Neeli scrutinized him with an intense expression. Then, extending her open palm in a gesture of friendship, she said with a yakshi laugh, ‘Welcome to Kalliyankadu!’46
Stepping inside, Devi was astounded. Not only was the flat named Kalliyankadu, but Neeli had also planted cacti and palms in flowerpots everywhere!
‘What would the fate of a yakshi be if there were no palms, Devi! Most days, I lure men to the flat on the pretext of borrowing lime for paan. Every day, a palm is chosen to become an illusory mansion. The next day, at daybreak, only hair, teeth and nails remain under the palm tree. If you don’t believe me, rake the earth beneath each palm a little and see for yourself!’ Neeli’s chuckle blew out the light in Devi’s eyes.
‘I hope my sitting here doesn’t bother you?’ Again, that guileless voice attracted Neeli’s attention. Neeli threw an alluring smile at the bright-eyed young man seated on the stool. Then she gestured to Devi to sit on the rattan chair.
Seated on a swing slung between palm trees, Neeli turned gracious and pleasing: ‘Tell me, what would you like to drink? Coffee? Tea? Or something cold?’ ‘Tea, isn’t it, Prakashetta?’ Devi prompted, not giving him a chance to ask if there was anything hot. With evident difficulty, Devi turned her face, which resembled a huge blob of butter, and peered intently at her husband. Getting up from the swing, Neeli gathered them into the silken web of her smile and walked to the kitchen. Noticing her husband’s curious eyes following Neeli’s slim body, which seemed ready to fly off with its flowing, long tresses, Devi became uneasy. When Devi got up to follow Neeli, mumbling ‘Just a minute’, Prakashan’s curiosity shattered on her portly waist.
Neeli, who stood gazing attentively into the vessel on the stove, turned her fawn-like neck when she heard the rustle of silk. She poured boiling water on the tea leaves in the large teapot, put the lid on, and turned to face Devi.
‘Why aren’t you married yet?’ Devi prodded.
‘I don’t even think about it. I like my job. Whenever I get bored, I sit on that swing amongst the palms and turn into Kalliyankadu Neeli. When I tire of hounding wayfarers and spitting out brawny men after chewing them up, I flee the city. Father welcomes me, humming “Neeli came and the pala flowered” which he remembers from his first-grade lesson. My stepmother doesn’t resent me either, maybe because she doesn’t have children of her own,’ said Neeli as she mixed the tea.
‘So, you’ve never forgiven me, have you?’ Devi’s breath rasped. As she was pouring tea into three cups, Neeli’s voice became taut: ‘If Mohan’s love had any substance, he wouldn’t have fallen into your swamp. That’s why he came back when you tired of him. But by then, I’d already become Kalliyankadu Neeli!’
Father’s words smouldered in her head: ‘Man has always feared an independent woman, my child! That’s why she was spun into a yakshi who eats men raw. That’s why she was summoned with ancient black magic and nailed on to the kanjira47 tree.’
A murmur emerged from Devi’s bosom, ‘Anyway, I seem to be paying the price for all those sins now.’ Neeli’s eyes quickly skimmed Devi’s body, untouched by the imprints of baby fingers. ‘I will find peace only when you give up your solitary existence,’ Devi added.
Tea tray in hand, Neeli walked into the living room with a scalding smile. When she handed over the tea, Prakashan’s curiosity touched her fingertips. ‘Is the blood of the yakshi hot or cold?’
‘That has to be experienced first-hand,’ Neeli shot him a fiery smile without so much as glancing at Devi.
Handing back the empty cup, Prakashan stood up and returned her smile, saying without any qualms, ‘See you soon!’
Neeli’s explosion of laughter revealed her fangs, and her tongue dripped blood. ‘It would be best to carry a Devi Mahatmyam with you for protection!’
(Devi Mahatmyam)
36
Fever Eyes
The rain had started before they could.
With his moustache twirled to sharp points, the sleeves of his kurta folded up to the elbows, and his arms crossed over his chest, Appachan glared at the rain. Watching the rain cover the earth with a grey woollen blanket, she was tempted to slip under it. The brand-new slate pressed close to her chest and the long slate pencil in her left fist held her back. Peering anxiously from her father’s face to the rain, she wiped her right palm impatiently on the green leaf embroidered upon the red of her dress.
When the rain disappeared around the distant curve, Appachan took a long umbrella from a corner, lifted the edges of his mundu to fold it above his knees, and asked, ‘Shall we go now?’
Taking care not to hurt the puddles on the ground, she glided on her tiny feet. The wet earth licked her soles with its cold tongue. She halted slightly whenever she spotted sharp pebbles with the protruding teeth of a she-demon who lived under the earth. Then she ran down. Balancing herself on the straight ridge that carelessly parted the paddy fields on both sides, she reached the bank of a streamlet. With a lengthy stride of his long legs, Appachan crossed to the other side. Lunging, she too managed to jump over. Turning around a corner, she reached a place where two streamlets were entangled like a pair of boa constrictors that had crawled in from either side. Frightened, she stared at the vortex formed by the streams trying to swallow their own tails. The world that she was familiar with was coming to an end. This was where she used to come for her evening bath with Ammachi. The vortex would appear only during the rainy season, when the streamlets would surge in exultant flow. During summers, their practice was to merely hold hands and saunter lazily.
They turned left, walked further, and crossed a coconut-trunk bridge to reach the other side. She walked behind her Appachan for a long while along the slim waterway flowing between wild shrubs taller than her. Erecting high green walls on either side, the shrubs trapped her in a moat. That is when she recalled a story told by her grandfather. The story of an old king who had a deep moat dug around his palace to prevent anyone from abducting the beautiful princess. A smart prince eventually captured the country when his horsemen flew over the moat to enter the palace. He carried the princess away as well. She was astounded by how the neighing clouds in the sky transformed themselves into black horses.
