The boat he so loved fled deep into the west – as if to proclaim it had no use for him.
The forces that had been awakened wouldn’t be contained. He understood the purport of what had happened. Palani leapt into the sea. To catch up with the boat; to once again establish his right. Like an otter, like a dolphin, he raced to the west. It was his need to live his life as a fisherman, as the son of the sea. A giant wave, a wave that until that day had never risen as high, rolled over his head. The next second, draining him of all his strength, the sea flung him into a heap back on the shore.
Palani lost; he was defeated. He got up and ran to Kunjan Valakkaran’s home. He had a question to ask, ‘Am I unfit to go to sea?’
Kunjan Valakkaran shifted uneasily, unable to find an answer. ‘That…’
‘That’s a lie! Bare-faced lies. She is not a fallen woman. I know that!’
‘But that’s what everyone’s saying.’
Bristling with anger, Palani said, ‘Yes, that’s what they are saying!’
He turned and walked back.
Sixteen
When Palani returned home Karuthamma was surprised. She couldn’t understand the reason. She asked him what had happened. He said, ‘You are a fallen woman. So they have declared I am unfit to go to sea.’
Karuthamma was astounded. So many people had branded her a slut but her husband had never accused her, ever. This was the first time. In fact, he wasn’t accusing her as much as repeating hearsay. And so, because of her, a good fisherman was cast away from the sea.
Palani asked her, ‘Didn’t you know you are a fisher girl? So why then in your childhood did you frolic and play with that Muslim boy?’
That was true. No one had ever asked her such a question. Even when her mother had scolded her in the past, she had never had to answer such a severe or obvious query. Karuthamma was perplexed. She understood all the implications of that question. She was obliged to answer it. But what could she say? And so Karuthamma accepted it as her fault. With tears she said, ‘It happened. Please forgive me!’
His ire wasn’t directed towards her. He said, ‘Why should I blame you? It’s not your fault.’
Karuthamma felt relieved. He had forgiven her. He believed all of what she had told him. He was blaming her indifferent upbringing. It was a great relief.
Palani continued, ‘They let their daughter gambol with that Muslim boy, and now it is their daughter who has to suffer its consequences. Shouldn’t the father and mother be the ones to look after their children?’
But Palani’s anger didn’t stop there. He stared into her face and asked, ‘I suppose your father acquired his boat and nets by using you as bait to lure and cheat that Muslim boy. Wonderful indeed!’
Palani was justified in his suspicion. That was a secret she hadn’t revealed to him. She should have, Karuthamma thought. One day she would tell him about that as well.
Palani instructed his wife, ‘Look, just as your parents did, you must bring up that creature in your belly. If it is a girl, you must make sure that she brings harm to some fisher boy on the shore. Do you hear me?’
‘No,’ Karuthamma said. She understood his sarcasm. She would never allow the child growing in her to experience what she had; she had endured so much, learnt so many lessons. Even if it was the most difficult phase in her life, Karuthamma knew a respite. It was the first time he had referred to the child growing in her. And the first time he had openly spoken about her misdemeanour. Palani didn’t believe in any of the rumours that had spread everywhere. Whew, that itself was a relief!
Though they had stayed together for a while in the same house, she didn’t dare take advantage of that. Instead, like a helpless creature seeking solace, she went to sit by him. He didn’t kick her away. That was a big thing. It truly was a remarkable thing.
She asked, ‘How will we live?’
Palani hadn’t considered that.
She cursed everyone, ‘Bloody back-stabbers! They won’t even let me go sell fish in any of the settlements! And won’t let you go to the sea either!’
Palani straightened up. He said firmly, ‘I am a fisherman, girl. Will live as a fisherman and die as a fisherman!’
She saw a man filled with masculine vigour. Muscles that had toughened with work rippled. She was under the protection of a fisherman with fortitude. Palani clenched his teeth and said, ‘Who has the right to declare that I am unfit to go to sea? I am born to work the sea. Everything in the sea is mine. Who has the right to deny me that?’
Palani’s being quivered with righteous indignation. He was the owner of a cornucopia of riches!
‘A fisherman won’t go out to till the soil or dig the ground. Palani will not do that either. That’s for sure.’ And then Palani assuaged his wife. ‘You don’t worry. Palani will live off what comes from the sea.’
It was the time when the nets were being hauled in. He had lived on the sea since he was five. It was the first time he was sitting at home without any work.
When he looked to the west, Palani could see the boats in the mid sea. It was a day when the catch was mackerel and kuruchi! Palani became restless. What could he do? Bristling with rage, he sat there grumbling, feeling his repressed masculinity protesting.
Karuthamma felt something stir in her. If he was a fisherman, she was a fisherwoman. She too must live off the wealth of the sea. No fisherwoman lived by husking coconuts or spinning rope. It wasn’t meant for her. She asked, ‘Shall I go east to sell fish?’
Palani refused, ‘No, you stay at home. There is no need for you to haul a heavy basket around dragging that belly with you.’
‘I am all right, I am not yet weak or tired.’
Palani said forcefully, ‘I brought you here knowing I could look after you. I have the strength for that. You don’t have to do a thing.’
Karuthamma didn’t accept that suggestion wholeheartedly. But she took strength from it. As a woman at fault, she had worried about what was to be of her. But in declaring that she needn’t work, he was saying he would take care of her.
It was a memorable day in her life. For wasn’t this the day when she truly became a wife? What else could she want for? Was there such an able husband as hers on this shore? Every aspect of the bond between a husband and wife was explored on that day. There was just one thing left. Just one aspect.
Palani said, ‘Karuthamma, there is one thing to remember … you must be careful to never stray … no one can deny you a place on this shore as a fisherwoman then.’
Palani spoke his mind. Until then she had always clung to his feet or laid her face to his chest crying her innocence. He had never asked for such an avowal. In reality, it was the right of each husband to ask such a troth of his wife. Without that her sense of belonging would never be complete. Such an avowal was contained in the ritual of marriage: You mustn’t ever stray. And it was a primary factor in a husband’s love for his wife.
It was a grateful wife who sank onto his wide chest in complete fulfilment. The dams in her eyes burst open. She spoke as if to his very heart, ‘Why do you say that? I know I am at fault. Will I ever stray?’
Palani continued to caress her back. He consoled her, ‘Don’t cry. You mustn’t cry.’
The died-out fervour blazed again. His strong muscular arms almost suffocated her with the strength of his embrace. Sensual rapture was found again. Orphan Palani had someone to consider now. And she, hapless woman shorn of kith and kin, had him to depend upon – Palani. He for she. And she for him. They would hold hands and fight their way forward.
The boats drew close to the shore. Palani could see the hustle and bustle of trade. Palani said his friends would be asking themselves how he would survive now. But they wouldn’t be able to put him down. They needn’t even try. Palani wasn’t one to give up.
Karuthamma had a query of her own. ‘Didn’t any of their wives ever make a mistake?’
‘Of course! Liars, they are all just silent about it, keeping it to themselves…’
>
She wanted to know all about it. She wanted to know about the past of each one of them so she could fling it back onto each one of their faces. Her tongue was sharp enough for that.
She said, ‘If not now, but later I will ask each one of them.’
All decisions had been resolved. And they were one. But what were they to do now? How would they survive?
‘What do we do? Why don’t you speak about that?’
He couldn’t but think about it. It was a serious issue.
Karuthamma continued, ‘I have twelve rupees with me.’
It wasn’t enough to accomplish anything. A net would cost about thirty rupees.
Karuthamma had a brainwave. ‘Why don’t we buy a fishing rod?’
‘But don’t we need a canoe if we buy a fishing rod?’
‘And one more person to go in the canoe. But who would come?’
Palani dismissed it airily. ‘Don’t worry about that. If there was a canoe, I would go on my own and make enough for us for each day.’
There were a few canoes on that shore that were ideal for fishing. Karuthamma wondered if they could rent out one of those.
‘No one will give it to us. If there is an accident, the boat will be lost.’
‘So what is the way out?’
Palani thought for a while and said, ‘Give me the money. I’ll buy a fishing rod.’
Karuthamma counted out the money and gave it to him. Palani left to buy the rod.
The wife of a man who had decided to take life on was fortunate. Once again the house, things for the house, a boat, nets and suchlike appeared on the horizon. An uncelebrated Mannarshala Ayilyam, had gone by. But there would be more.
She prayed that the child in her wouldn’t be a girl. She had endured the trials of having been born a girl. And if it was a girl, what if history repeated? No, she wouldn’t allow that. She wouldn’t let that girl child play or grow up alongside a boy child. She wouldn’t let her get entangled in a love affair.
And if it was a boy? She wouldn’t allow him to be the cause of trouble for any girl.
She cooked rice and curry in the kitchen. She thought that once again they would eat off the same dish. She would roll a ball of rice and place it in his mouth. Not a small ball of rice but a big one. Karuthamma dreamt of many such things.
Even if they were starving, she would put up with it and everything else. Her husband loved her. He had forgiven her for her trespasses. What more could she need? Her god had protected her.
Palani came home after dusk with the fishing rods. Big and small ones! He turned them around and began fixing the lines on them. And so everything was prepared.
When the shore fell asleep, Palani stepped out with the rods. She would let him go only after he had disclosed his agenda. He would borrow a canoe from someone without his permission and sneak out to sea. Before the shore awakened, he would fish and return. ‘I too have to live off the sea.’
Karuthamma was frightened. To go by himself at night into the sea? Anything could happen.
She said, ‘But. But…’
‘Why not?’
‘But alone!’
‘I am a son of the sea!’
As he walked she said, ‘You mustn’t chase after fish into the deep seas!’
He didn’t say he wouldn’t.
Karuthamma couldn’t sleep. She sat beneath a coconut tree to the west of their hovel. Further to the south, she saw a canoe go into the sea.
Karuthamma’s heartfelt prayers must have worked as a talisman for him.
Before anyone woke up, Palani returned. He had got some fish. Early in the day Palani reached the market at Karthikapalli. He had fish for eight rupees.
A canoe was needed. If they were going to save for it, it would take a long time. If they had one hundred and fifty rupees, they could buy an old canoe. There was a way. She had her gold. But Palani didn’t want to sell that gold to buy a canoe.
‘That came from your money-grubbing father.’
She retorted, ‘No, it’s mine! My mother made it for me.’
‘Nevertheless, I can’t … I can’t use a girl’s wealth.’
‘So am I not yours?’
He didn’t reply. Buying a boat with money from selling his fisherwomen’s jewellery wasn’t part of his scheme of things.
And yet he took the gold from her and sold it. He then bought a small boat. Even if it wasn’t what he wanted, it was the best he could get for that amount.
The neighbourhood was agog with the news of Palani having bought a boat. Perhaps there was much speculation about that as well. Why wouldn’t they say the money for the boat too came from that Muslim?
Palani’s new enterprise began well enough. Some days he got five or ten rupees. And some days there was nothing. His vigour and well-developed muscles were not satiated. The boat was much too small. He didn’t feel as if he had done any work; his vigour had no outlet; he didn’t tire enough. Moreover, the boat and oars were not big enough for him. He needed a big boat for himself. And at the helm of it, he wished to stand with a giant oar. And to pursue the big catch with a whorl of nets.
Karuthamma asked him, ‘Would you go on your own if you had a big boat? No one will go with you!’
‘If I have a boat, they’ll come sniffing like street curs!’
Meanwhile though, Palani made up his mind about one thing. ‘I won’t go to sea in another man’s boat!’
Karuthamma’s pregnancy made her tired. Her belly too was swelling up. When he went out into the sea, his thoughts lingered at home. He couldn’t spend too much time at sea.
One day when he came home from sea, there were a few women gathered there. They beamed at him and said, ‘It’s a girl!’
A newborn baby was being bathed in a trough made from the outer bark of an areca palm. It was bawling its head off. The midwife handed over the bathed baby to Palani. He didn’t know how to take it in his hands. He had never held a baby before.
When the husband and wife were alone, he asked her, ‘Why are you so dull?’
She was listless.
‘Is it because the baby is a girl?’
She said, ‘If it were a boy…’
She continued, ‘Doesn’t the father feel the same?’
‘Oh, I don’t think so.’
‘You are just saying that!’
‘No, how does it matter if it is a boy or a girl?’
She revealed her decision to him in one sentence. ‘I won’t bring this girl to be another Karuthamma!’
Palani smiled. ‘And neither will Palani be a Chembankunju!’
The arrival of that baby brought into their lives a new meaning, a new density. The two of them were living for another being as well. Another life depended on them. For Palani, the child was only a source of joy. While he waited for fish to snare on his rod, it was that angel’s tiny clear eyes he thought of. And then he would yearn to come home. Karuthamma taught Palani how to hold the baby. She would scold him, ‘If you keep cuddling the child, she will be spoilt!’ Frightened, Palani would put her down.
As far as Karuthamma was concerned, the child had birthed with it a few reasons for anguish. Her mother wasn’t there to see that child. When she gazed at the baby’s face, she would think of Panchami. Panchami, who had flailed and kicked her arms and legs in such joy as a baby, had once been her life. Panchami had done no wrong. But the relationship with her too had been severed. How was she coping? Karuthamma wondered. That worry blazed in her.
One day Palani came with a piece of news. Chembankunju had brought home a woman from Cherthala or so. Someone from Neerkunnath had mentioned it and that was how it had reached Palani’s ears. And so in that house where Karuthamma was born and reared, a home that her mother had ruled, a strange woman had taken over as queen and keeper. Her mother had built that home; everything had been her mother’s. How would that strange woman treat Panchami? When Palani walked around holding the baby close to him, she would think of how once her father too must have held he
r so. Her father had loved her once.
Soon as she began to feel she could take liberties with Palani even to the extent of finding fault with him, she chose a moment to bring up the matters of her home. ‘My father had hoped that you would have stayed on in my home after the wedding.’
He asked, ‘Do you think any able fisherman would stay on in that manner in his wife’s home?’
Another time when he was dandling the baby she said, ‘I am reminded of my Panchami’s baby face when I see her face. I would never put her down.’
With tears in the corner of her eyes, Karuthamma continued, ‘Poor child! She will have to put up with whatever the stepmother does.’
Palani asked, ‘Why is that?’
‘That’s how stepmothers are!’
‘What can be done?’
She ventured cautiously, ‘I would like to see her.’
Palani didn’t respond.
Yet another time in a moment of play and laughter, Karuthamma asked, ‘Shall I go to Neerkunnath just once? To see my Panchami.’
He didn’t like that. With an enchanting smile, she said, ‘Listen, we have a daughter. She won’t come to see her father!’
He demanded brusquely, ‘What do you want? To see that Muslim? Are you using Panchami as an excuse to go there?’
Karuthamma was stunned. Nothing had changed. The nature of the beast was the same. Hadn’t that black shadow called ‘that Muslim’ not disappeared yet? Wouldn’t it ever be erased?
Karuthamma felt she had put the wrong foot forward. She said, ‘No, I’ll never go to Neerkunnath. Nor will I ever ask to go there.’
But there was no consolation. Wondering if her life would turn murky again, she asked with tears in her eyes, ‘Don’t you trust me?’
A black shadow stretching as far as life itself. How could she escape it?
Chemmeen Page 16
