by Gracy
Panting after climbing up a high slope, she was surprised to find Appachan standing discomfited in front of a thatched hut by the wayside. She followed Appachan’s gaze to see what was on show. Leaning back against the coconut palm in the yard was a woman, standing with the foot of her folded left leg pressed against the tree trunk. She was fascinated to see a pair of wings on the shoulders of the woman, yearning to fly into anyone’s heart. She looked curiously at the abundant hair gathered into a coil at the back, and breasts as big as pomelos in her blue-dotted blouse. She was drawn more to the folds visible between the blue of her blouse and the green of her chequered mundu. She had been annoyed by her Ammachi’s tummy swelling almost as if it were about to explode.
With a look that seemed to have hooks, the woman asked, ‘What are you standing there for? There’s swell stuff inside. Come and try taking a sip.’
She was taken aback to see that Appachan’s legs were moving towards the woman. That’s when the eyes of the woman in the dotted blouse hooked on to her. The woman asked gently, ‘What’s your name?’ Looking unblinkingly at the woman, she retorted, ‘It’s an old name! Guava!’ Bouncing with laughter, the woman took hold of Appachan’s hand. Thereafter, they forgot all about her. They lowered their heads to enter the hut and disappeared inside. Though the woman’s smile had seemed bright, the little one’s eyes welled up. Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, she slowly walked up to the door of the hut and pushed her head into the darkness inside. Appachan was sitting on a wooden stool, oblivious of everything but the woman fluttering around. She was amazed by the speed of the woman’s hands as she took out two red chillies from an earthen pot, charred them in the fire, peeled two small onions, crushed them together on the grinding stone, dribbled coconut oil over it and kept the chutney in front of Appachan. With a smile spicier than the chutney, the dotted woman then poured him a glass of arrack. Appachan emptied it in one gulp. With his lurid smile gliding over the woman, Appachan swayed in his seat. He raised his little finger and stopped the woman from filling his glass again: ‘Aren’t you more potent than this stuff? Let me enrol the child in the school and return. Be prepared!’
Seeing Appachan get up, the little one moved back to the front yard. A pair of wings had sprouted on Appachan too. Swaying a bit and smiling at no one in particular, he called out to her, ‘Come, little girl!’ Then he unfurled his wings to fly. As she ran to keep up with her father, trying hard to purse her lips tightly together, every now and then they parted to let a sob escape.
2.
Seated on a stool in front of the headmaster, Appachan smiled as he blew into his kurta on which sweat had drawn maps, trying to push out the heat trapped inside. The headmaster was taken aback by the pungent odour of his smile. Two teeth, refusing to be contained by lips, advanced towards her. At that moment, the headmaster’s face looked like a bespectacled black ant. Frightened that the two teeth were spades that could uproot her, she hid behind Appachan. To reduce the tension in the air, the headmaster cajoled, ‘Come forward, little one! Let me see you properly!’ With a diffuse smile, Appachan pushed her in front. Like a housefly, the headmaster’s glance swirled around the black mole on her fair cheek. Looking into her eyes that were getting ready to rain, the headmaster attempted a joke, ‘Aren’t you a mole baby!’ To convince her that it was a joke, the headmaster laughed with a sound like dry thunder. Ignoring that laugh completely, Appachan twirled his moustache into points sharp enough to go through the eye of a needle. Then he said in a rough voice, ‘It is because you try to pun and be funny that you have sprouted two tusks, saar!’
Startled, the headmaster stared at the tips of Appachan’s pointy moustache. Then summoning the clerk rather too loudly, he asked him to fill up the application form. The clerk beckoned them closer: ‘What’s your name, child?’ Her tongue lay frozen, unable to say ‘Guava’ like she usually did. At that point, Appachan growled, ‘Sheba! The Princess.’ The clerk frowned at Appachan: ‘Date of birth?’ ‘Now she is over four. But you may write a date that says she is five.’ The clerk’s nose wrinkled: ‘Couldn’t you have waited until next year to enrol her?’ Appachan extended his neck towards the clerk as if to tell him a secret, ‘You know what, sir? My wife has gone for her third delivery. When that baby arrives, everything is going to be a mess. If this one is in a proper place, the burden would be so much less.’ The clerk pushed the application form towards Appachan: ‘Then put a signature here.’ Taking the pen, Appachan drew a scrawl.
As he was getting out, Appachan advised her, ‘Make some good friends. I will come to fetch you just for today. Wait for me on this porch.’ She stood looking until the white of Appachan’s kurta disappeared. That’s when she remembered the woman in the dotted blouse. Drawn by a dream, she stepped out into the yard. Looking back, she saw the headmaster. As if bitten by a black ant, she lunged across the front yard.
Far away, she saw Appachan taking a moment to remove his wings in front of the hut and then wriggling in. She slowed down her run to a walk. Spitting out the nails she had bitten off, she stood in front of the hut for a while. She glanced at the head of the coconut palm. Above her, the coconut palm spread out like Appachan’s umbrella. And above it, the sky bulged darkly. A grunt and a suppressed groan brought her back to earth. Looking through the slits in the thatched walls, she staggered. She didn’t know why Appachan was trying to kill that woman in the dotted blouse. With a stifled cry, she ran out.
The sky fell upon her with a roar.
3.
As she floated up from the depths of darkness, nothing registered in her vision. The hood that the sun had unfurled over her when she was in the grip of fever still hovered over her eyes. Her grandfather’s wrinkly fingers searched tremulously through her knotted hair, as he called out, ‘Sheba! Princess Sheba! Do you know who this is?’ The question buzzed around her ears and flew away.
Her grandfather caressed the mole on her cheek tenderly. Touched by love, the cells in her body awoke. She smiled faintly. ‘Grandpa, Grandpa, when I ran, there were no mother trees. Under the father trees, I was fully drenched.’
Grandpa stroked her cheek sorrowfully. ‘Why did Princess Sheba run out of school?’
She pulled the net of memory closer towards her and shook it. What popped out was a couplet.
‘The dotted woman under the coconut tree
Was killed and wolfed down by Appachan!’
Grandpa was at a loss. ‘What story is this?’ But then the images gradually began to clarify under the sun’s canopy and understanding dawned. With his hand on his chin, he said thoughtfully, ‘That woman is a sour puss. Had I known your father was planning to visit her, I would have taken you to school myself.’
Her voice gained strength, ‘She’s not a sour puss, Grandpa. Appachan’s the sour puss. Didn’t he kill her?’
Grandpa muttered in anger, ‘Even if they’re killed by some man, these types will sprout again.’
She let out a sigh of relief. ‘Shall I make a song about the dotted woman, Grandpa?
‘She has silver wings and a creased belly
And a smile like lightning!’
Grandpa’s face failed to light up even when he heard the song. Listening to the roar of rain, she pleaded, ‘I can only hear the rain from this room, but I can’t see it. Will you please take me outside, Grandpa?’
Grandpa turned distant: ‘Let your fever come down!’
She was stubborn: ‘Just take me to the door.’
Holding her close to him on his lap, Grandpa sat on the raised threshold of the front door. She laughed with glee: ‘Grandpa looks like the kangaroo in pictures.’
Grandpa nodded, ‘True, true. When I had a son, I didn’t carry him around. When he had a daughter, I wouldn’t set her down on the floor.’
Nestled close to the warmth of Grandpa’s greying chest, she peered at the rain. Sighs bubbled out from within the cooling earth. She chased the bubbles and played connect-the-dots with them. When poked, the bubbles burst. Seeing
the waterlogged yard, she made up another song:
‘Rain is hopping drop by drop
Water’s spreading wide and far
It’s time to put out paper boats
It’s time to sing eleleyyaa…!’
Grandpa asked, ‘Where does my Princess Sheba find all these songs?’
She pointed to the bird fluttering in the clearly visible bone-cage of her chest. Grandpa could not see the bird and was taken aback. Would the heat of her fever melt down her songs too?
4.
Stroking her shorn head, Grandpa laughed. ‘Now my Princess Sheba is just like a freshly hatched baby chick.’
She too laughed as she played with the mole on her cheek and began to sing.
‘Does the chick have a cheek?
Does her cheek have a mole?’
Grandpa played with her mole and sat looking at it for no reason. ‘You like this mole a lot, don’t you, Grandpa?’ Lost in thought, Grandpa nodded.
‘Saroja of the south-side house wanted to know who had made a beauty spot with kajal on my cheek. I told her that no one drew anything. My Grandpa’s cheek has it. So does Aunt Molly’s cheek.’
Memory brightened Grandpa’s eyes. Blood roared through his veins and his skin smoothened. She sat shellshocked by how Grandpa had suddenly become young. Then a ruthless voice which did not reveal its body was heard: ‘Oh yes, your aunt indeed! Wasn’t she the fruit borne when Masculine Annam swayed around, carrying your Grandpa on her hip?’
Suddenly, Grandpa’s skin hung loose, the blood having drained out.
‘Annam! Masculine Annam!’ Grandpa muttered in sorrow. ‘When it came to beauty, poor Annam came nowhere near this Kunjeli, this wife of mine. Her broad shoulders, narrow hips and flat bosom had earned her the name Masculine Annam. When Chackochan brought her home after marriage, she was Barren Annam for the first ten years, as she didn’t conceive. Undeterred by anything, Annam worked alongside the men, spade in hand. She climbed up ladders and plucked jackfruit. She wrapped a rope around her legs and climbed coconut palms to pluck coconuts if necessary. Her hands were as big as those of men and as calloused. Only at close quarters was it revealed that her insides were as soft as silk – and how much darkness had seeped into her because she could not be a mother. The peace that came from lying in the warmth of that strong body was not to be found anywhere else. Thereafter, Kunjeli’s seductive body and razor-sharp tongue could not touch me any more. When the popular nickname of Barren was wiped off from her, she was full of gratitude until her last breath. The blow on Chackochan’s masculinity made him gather everything he owned and shift house to the half-acre of land he had bought in Mannarkkad. But Annam refused to leave. That she could occasionally see the father of her child was her secret reason.’
She sharpened her ears to figure out who Grandpa was talking about. Must be Masculine Annam. Though she had heard a lot about her, she had never actually got to meet Annam even once. She had died long ago, yet she kept coming to this house often.
Grandma shouted from inside, ‘Go sleep somewhere instead of lying in that old man’s lap, you little devil!’
Huddling closer to Grandpa’s chest, she sang a couplet:
‘Shaking her curly tail does she come,
Grandma, the she-devil!’
Grandpa laughed out loud when he heard that. Grandma rushed out like a storm and glared vengefully at her mole. ‘This old man has spoiled the girl and turned her into a rebel. Girls should have their feet firmly on the ground. She’s to go to some family after marriage.’
After Grandma shook the thick rings in her ear, stamped her feet and went back inside, she reassured Grandpa, ‘Let the feet be firm on the ground. But the head ought to touch the sky.’
Bewildered by her songs, Grandpa hugged her close and kissed the crown of her head.
5.
It was while she was listening to toddy cats cavorting on the roof that Ammachi arrived home after her delivery at her parental home. Horns had not yet sprouted on the Little Devil she had brought home wrapped in white cloth. They were accompanied by Ammachi’s perpetually sorrowful mother with her bovine face. Hanging on to her right arm was Princess Sheba’s sister, the Slender Loris, who glared at her. Staring straight at the Slender Loris, she made faces and sang:
‘Rounded eyes! Wacky nose!
Duck-like lips! Mud-pie tummy!’
Though she did not understand a thing, the Slender Loris began to bawl as loud as she could. ‘Don’t mind her, it’s your sister,’ Ammachi-Amma consoled, as she lifted her up and set her on her waist. Ammachi, who came back after putting the Little Devil to bed, glared at her, ‘Since the fever struck, the girl has become naughtier!’ Exactly at that moment, the Little Devil started crying. Ammachi returned to her bedroom. Setting the Slender Loris down on the floor, Ammachi-Amma stroked Sheba’s hair. ‘Is my girl’s fever gone?’ Nodding, she got lost in the endless depths of Ammachi-Amma’s eyes. The deep water in those eyes swelled and she was submerged, neck deep. In a low voice, she asked, ‘Who drowned to death in Ammachi-Amma’s eyes?’
Looking into her eyes, still not free from the fever’s clutches, Ammachi-Amma sighed gently, ‘Wasn’t it long ago? Even the body didn’t come up, you know?’ She lifted her chin and sighed again, ‘What’s this fever that has caught my child? If it rises so high at this age, then what will be left of her life?’
Later, she heard Ammachi-Amma in the backyard, saying, ‘Kunjeli chettathi, after the ninetieth day is past and the hundredth day is crossed, how much longer can we keep my daughter in our house? That is not our custom!’
As she was grinding on the stone, her long strokes going back and forth, Grandma said dismissively, ‘When there is a pot and a vessel, sometimes they clank and knock against each other.’
‘Amma!’ When she heard the damp voice summon her, Ammachi-Amma went back into the house. ‘Why do you bother to say unnecessary things, Amma?’ Ammachi’s voice was heavy with displeasure. In the darkness, Ammachi-Amma’s eyes flared like flaming torches. ‘You conceited woman! You are the one responsible for all these problems. This world will go to the dogs if women were to live in the same loose way as men.’
In the evening, Appachan crawled home like a snail. He shut himself inside the small room to the side of the porch. When Ammachi-Amma knocked on the door and called out, ‘Ousep, my son!’ he withdrew completely into his shell. Despite feeling slighted, she waited outside his door for a while before retreating.
Serving hot kanji and roasted papadum, Grandma called Sheba. Because she didn’t like either of them, she begged Grandpa, ‘Just one story!’
Grandpa started telling her a story as he fed her. ‘It was long, long ago. Tying up the elephant near a riverbank in the forest, the mahout got into the water for a bath. A boa constrictor which had crawled in was frightened by the elephant. The elephant too was scared of the boa. The elephant stood still, thinking that if he moved, the snake would swallow him up. The snake too stood motionless, fearing that the elephant might eat him up. The mahout, who was unaware of all this, freed the elephant from his chains and was immediately swallowed up by the boa. Poor thing! Trapped between the elephant and the snake, he lost his life.’
Lost in deep thought, she asked, ‘Aren’t we all like that, Grandpa? Don’t we get stuck between things?’
Grandpa stared at her as if he didn’t know her at all. Then he stroked his chest and shook his head. ‘In the grip of fever, hasn’t Princess Sheba’s head heated up too much?’
6.
Ammachi-Amma went back the next day. Until then, Appachan did not step out of the room. Even after he came out, he refused to face Ammachi. When he went back into the room for something, Ammachi went behind him. Sheba was all ears as Ammachi questioned him, ‘Why didn’t you come to fetch me?’
Appachan ground his teeth. ‘What for? I heard all the news!’
Tracing an imaginary halo over her head, Ammachi asked innocently, ‘What news?’
When Appachan
boiled over with rage, his moustache trembled like a cat’s tail. ‘Don’t you know, slut?’
Extending his right hand to hold Ammachi by her neck, Appachan asked in a suppressed voice, ‘How many times have you slept with him? Tell the truth! Or else, I will finish you off!’
Ammachi’s eyes rolled up towards the ceiling. The forefinger on her right hand trembled in front of Appachan’s nose. ‘Once? Lying whore! If you don’t come out with the truth, today is going to be your last day!’
Ammachi added the middle finger to the forefinger. Appachan was relentless. ‘The truth!’ Ammachi spread all her five fingers and slipped down in a heap. Sheba was sad that there were only so few fingers on one hand. ‘Hmph!’ said Appachan, and rushed out in a huff. Staring at the two circles that oozing milk formed on Ammachi’s blouse, Sheba stood there for a long while. The odour of milk did not bother her at all. She remembered that Ammachi had hardly touched her except for wiping her head after her bath. Whenever she saw Sarojam of the south-side house being held close and kissed again and again by her mother, a sob would escape her throat. So, whenever possible, she made Sarojam cry. She wondered with hatred: Who on the earth did Ammachi ever love? Her dragonfly eyes brimming with memories, Sheba moved towards Grandpa. ‘Grandpa! Am I not a dragonfly now?’
For a moment, Grandpa stopped crushing the paan mixture. ‘Is that so?’ Her voice went down to a secretive whisper, ‘The eyes of dragonflies stick out because they see things they’re not supposed to see. It’s because they cannot forget that their eyes shine so much.’
A bulge in Grandpa’s throat rolled up and down. ‘What happened now?’
‘Appachan crushed Ammachi’s neck. Ammachi is lying dead, drained of milk!’
Grandpa scrambled up and went into the kitchen. ‘Kunjeli, just go check what has happened to her!’
Turning her face away, Grandma walked out of the kitchen and stepped into the yard. Grandpa hurried to the bedroom and peeped in. Sheba yanked Grandpa’s hand from behind. ‘It’s not milk, Grandpa! Just plain water!’
