“Avvaiah! AVVAIAH!”
She whirled around, eyes wide with fear. “Nanju? What is it, are you hurt? What’s the matter, monae, what happened?” He shook his head, that burned-hair smell still in his nostrils, trying hard not to cry. “Then what … is the cremation already over? What’s this? Did you wet yourself ? Nan-ju.”
Nanju looked down at himself, his cheeks hot with shame. “Avvaiah,” he mumbled, hanging his head.
“Nanju … ,” Devi began, aware of the women looking in their direction.
“Here, monae.” One of the grand-aunts bustled toward Nanju, a plate in her hand. “You look hungry. Will you eat some ottis? The other children have already eaten; you must be hungry, too. It’s okay, kunyi, stay here with us and eat.”
Nanju sat down heavily with the plate, trying to hide the wet stains on his shorts. His legs were still trembling. He began stuffing chunks of otti into his mouth, trying to block the memory of the jerky, puppet-like movements the Nayak’s body had appeared to make in the midst of the leaping flames.
“Really, Devi,” his grand-aunt said softly. “What were you thinking, sending the child alone?”
Devi stiffened, masking her guilt with a haughty toss of her head. “He is a man of this house, too, is he not? It is his duty.”
“His duty? There is a time and place for everything, you should not have—” She stopped short as a third woman approached them.
The woman smiled at Nanju and he smiled tremulously back, trying not to stare. She was so fat!
“Devi akka, how are you?”
“Not as well as you, evidently.”
Nanju looked up at Avvaiah. Her voice sounded funny. She was smiling, Nanju saw, but it was one of those pretend smiles that did not reach her eyes.
“Yes,” the other woman laughed. “It took a few years, but my husband has done me in at last, good and proper.” She rubbed her belly contentedly.
“I saw him carry the body down to the fields.” Devi said the first thing that came to her mind. Machu’s wife looked quizzically at her, and Devi turned hastily toward Nanju to compose herself.
She was pregnant. Machu’s smiling, happy wife was full with child. The child that should have been hers. Theirs. Filled with a sudden fury, Devi snapped at Nanju.
“What are you doing, staring up at me like that? Stop dawdling and eat your otti, or is even this too much to ask?”
Devi lay awake that night, able neither to sleep nor rail nor weep for fear of who might hear. She had not attended Machu’s wedding. She had vowed to, at first. She would look her best, she promised herself, look so beautiful she would trounce the bride. Ultimately, though, she had been unable to, sitting frozen at the edge of her bed, the sari she had so painstakingly selected lying in a crumpled heap on the floor. Tukra had had to repeat his question many times before she had finally responded. No, she had said dully, they would not be traveling to the Kambeymada village after all.
She had steeled herself that following Puthari to be civil to his wife. Fat, she had told herself, the girl would be fat and simple, but even she had to admit that Machu’s wife was pretty. It had taken every ounce of Devi’s willpower to sound even-keeled as she congratulated the girl. “May you live long,” she had said, unable to complete the blessing: May you live long, may you have a happy life, may you die a married woman.
Once again, Machu had stayed away from her.
Still, as a year went past, and then another, Devi had found consolation in the flatness of his wife’s stomach. Machu may have told her that it was over between them, but she knew, she knew from the way he held himself, from the way he stood when she was near, that it was far from over. It could never be. Every year, she would anxiously scan her rival’s midriff; every year, she had been rewarded with a sharp sense of triumph at its virgin emptiness. He may be married in name, she had told herself, but it was clear he did not desire his wife. And who could blame him? Why, one had only to look at the woman’s backside, flat as a washing stone.
Her eyes burned now with the image of that monstrously pregnant belly. The belly button poking so impudently through the folds of the other’s sari, drawing attention to the life swimming within. Machu’s son. There was not a doubt in her mind that the child would be a boy. The bile rose in her throat. What did you expect? That he would be celibate forever? It was you, was it not, who asked him why he remained unwed?
Nanju moaned softly, caught in some disturbing dream. She was reminded of that afternoon, the look of sheer terror in his face as he had come running up to her. What kind of a mother was she, she asked herself unhappily, staring at her sleeping child.
“How many children should we have?” she had asked Machu once.
“Six.”
“Huh,” she had replied. “I want ten. Five boys and five girls, and then, when the tenth is born, you and the rest of the village will throw me the customary feast to commemorate my giving birth to ten healthy children.
“Why do you look so dubious?” she had continued merrily. “Just think, what a fine household ours will be—you, the tiger killer, and me, the mother of ten children!”
He had grinned. “I don’t care about ten children, or two. However many, let them be healthy and happy, that is all.”
“Hmm … ” She pondered this point. “Maybe you are right. Still, our first should be a boy, don’t you think?” She had rested her chin upon his chest, smiling at him. “A boy, just like you.”
Nanju moaned again, burying his face into the pillow. Pressing her teeth into her lip to keep from crying, Devi patted him wearily on his arm. He shifted and then, curling himself into a tight ball, grew still once more. Devi turned toward the wall.
She awoke bleary-eyed and disoriented. It was a gray, leaden morning, an anemic mist drifting through the inner courtyard. A mass of clouds threatened rain at any moment, setting off a nagging ache in the middle of her forehead. She lay still for a moment, gathering herself. There was one last detail to take care of and then she could leave.
When the Kambeymada men gathered on the verandah, scratching their itchy, stubbled scalps, they looked startled at Devi as she walked out to join them. Did this girl have no sense of propriety? Daughters-in-law had no place in discussions about property. “My husband cannot be here,” Devi offered by way of explanation. “I … I am here in his stead and for my son, Kambeymada Nanjappa.” She pulled the end of her sari closer about her as if to ward off their disapproval.
“Yes, well. We could have informed you of our decisions later.” She pretended not to hear, casting her eyes downward as she stationed herself firmly by a pillar. The men glanced at one another, unsure of what to do, and then proceeded as if she were simply not there.
The times were changing, they concurred, the old joint family system no longer worked; the Nayak had managed to keep the family together through sheer force of will. With him gone, who would keep the peace? Better for each male member of the family to take his share of the property or its equivalent in cash. The house along with the surrounding land would go to the Nayak’s oldest surviving brother and his family; the rest of the estate would be divided. They began to move through the ranks of the family, apportioning the assets. To the oldest surviving brother, a parcel of five hundred acres. To the second, four hundred and sixteen gold sovereigns. To the third … When it was the turn of the Nayak’s sons, Devanna’s father was given four hundred and thirty acres. He beamed and nodded. It was fair.
“And to Kambeymada Devanna, the house he is currently residing in.”
Devi’s head snapped up. “Is that all? What of my husband’s share of the land, or its equivalent value?”
“Land? There is no land. What need does Devanna have of land when he can barely walk? We are giving him the house.”
“The house will not pay us an income. What need does he have of land, you ask? All the more reason when he is an invalid! He has a wife to support, does he not, and our son?”
The elders glanced at one anot
her. The temerity of this woman! “There is no land that has been assigned to Devanna, nor any other assets,” one of them told her curtly. “Still, if you are dissatisfied, you should talk with your father-in-law.”
“It is like this, you see.” Devanna’s father would not look her in the eye. “Not a lot of land has been given to me. And as you know, I have four other sons besides Devanna.”
“Four other sons?” Devi’s voice sounded unnaturally high even to her ears. She paused, trying to regain her composure. “Four other sons, father-in-law? May I remind you that Devanna is your firstborn?”
“Yes, kunyi, I know … ” Still he would not look at her. “My hands are tied, unfortunately. Things are so expensive these days … In any event, you have the house.”
“A house? My son, a scion of the Kambeymadas, and all he is entitled to is an ill-ventilated chattel? Is this fair?”
She looked around pleadingly at the elders. “Please,” she said, her voice cracking. “We do not have much. The Nayak sent us money every month, and even with that, I have had to … each grain, we count each grain that goes into the cooking pot. I do not see the money continuing now that the Nayak is gone. Be fair to my son—how are we to survive without any land?”
“No, kunyi,” Devanna’s father hastened to explain. “I will continue to send you money each month. How much do you need? A hundred rupees? Two hundred?”
“I do not want any more charity,” Devi flared. “Just give my son his due. Give us the land he is entitled to.”
They shook their heads regretfully at her. This was the best they had to offer, and a generous offer it was, too. She should take it.
Finally, desperate, Devi looked toward him. Machu. Make them see reason. She realized with a shock that he was not even looking at her, gazing out instead at the green smudge of the fields, the small tic in his jaw belying the deliberately bored expression on his face, telling her just how unwilling he was to intervene on her behalf.
Devi nodded, her eyes brimming with tears. “So be it,” she told them, turning to go back inside. “Keep your charity. I will make ends meet without you.”
Nanju looked at Devi, alarmed. She was always sad when it was time to leave the Kambeymada home, but he had never seen his mother cry like this before. “Avvaiah?” he asked, staring crestfallen at the tears running down her face.
She shook her head, trying to smile. “Nothing, it’s nothing. Come hurry up, gather your things. We must leave for Mercara.”
She made him seek the blessings of every elder in the house, touching all of their feet herself as they stiffly wished her well. Only then did she seat herself in the cart. Nanju looked anxiously at her as they pulled away from the house. He searched for the right words. “Don’t be sad, Avvaiah,” he began hesitatingly. “Appaiah told me that we have to let Kambeymada thatha go. He told me that Thatha had lived a very long life and—”
Devi nodded. “Yes, yes. I’m tired, Nanju, that’s all.” She touched his cheek to soften her words. “Avvaiah has a bad headache. Do you think you can be quiet for a while?”
Nanju nodded stoutly. He was glad to leave. He wanted to go back to the calm of Mercara, to Appaiah. He looked at his mother. At least she had stopped crying. He drew his knees up to his chin, gazing out of the cart. It would be better at home.
The clouds shifted wanly across the sky, the Kambeymada house coming into view one last time between the trees before vanishing altogether.
Tukra had just negotiated the third bend in the lane when Nanju raised his head. “Avvaiah,” he pointed. “Look.”
Machu rode right up to the cart. “Devi.
“Devi,” he said again.
She alighted gracefully and they moved to the side of the lane. Nanju craned his head, trying to hear what they were saying, but the breeze snatched away most of their words.
“Congratulations.”
“Yes.”
“Are you happy?” She tried to smile. “It will be a boy. A boy, just like you.”
“Devi. What happened back there. It was not right.”
“And yet you did nothing to stop it.”
“What good has it ever done to go up against an army? Better to catch them unawares, or take them on one at a time. Anyway”—he shook his hand impatiently—“I came to tell you this. Do not worry. I will see to it that you get your fair share.”
She laughed, a shrill, mocking sound. “I’m sure you will, just like you did this morning.”
“Devi—”
Tears threatened the back of her eyes, and she laughed again to cover them. “Here.” Nanju saw Avvaiah reach into her blouse and place something in his uncle’s palm.
“I gave this to you.”
“A tiger’s claw for your tigress? Yes, I know. But you have a wife now, Machu, you will have a child soon. This … you should take this back.”
He put the brooch back in her hands, cupping them hard in his own. “This is yours,” he said roughly. “Do with it as you will. Throw it in the Kaveri if you wish. But it was meant for you alone. None other than you.”
To Nanju’s dismay, Avvaiah started crying again when she returned to the cart. “Hurr … Hurr,” Tukra encouraged the oxen, and they steadily moved forward again.
“Avvaiah,” Nanju said helplessly. He was a man, wasn’t he? Appaiah had told him that he needed to take care of his mother, and Nanju knew he must not fail her again. “Avvaiah, Kambeymada thatha—”
“He is gone, Nanju,” she sobbed. “He is lost to me forever.” She hugged him to her, so tight that his ribs hurt, but Nanju knew it was important, very important, not to move at all.
Machu went to see the elders of the family that same evening.
“Have you gone soft in the head?” they asked incredulously, when they heard what he had to say. Machu, however, was adamant.
Two days later, when his wife went into labor, it was a boy, just as Devi had predicted. He cradled the baby in his arms, gazing wonderingly at him.
Are you happy? she had asked.
His son roared lustily, and for the first time in a very long while the shadows shifted momentarily from Machu’s heart.
Chapter 22
When the Kambeymada family sent word to Devanna that they had reconsidered the division of the property, Devi knew it was all Machu’s doing. I will see to it, he had said to her, that you get your fair share.
Devanna stared in wonder at the letter, and then he read it again to make sure he had not misunderstood. “My father! He did this, I suppose … I hadn’t expected, I never thought that … Look, Devi,” he said hoarsely. “A hundred acres!”
Devi had spared him the details of the denouement at the Kambeymada house, how she had pleaded with the elders and especially his father to treat Devanna equitably. She said nothing now to disabuse him of the notion of his father’s largesse, but there was a fierce exultation in her eyes as she stared at the letter. I will see to it, Machu had promised her.
She sent Tukra to the Nachimanda village with news of this windfall, bidding Thimmaya to come at once, and they set out the very next day to inspect the property. The land that had been bequeathed to Devanna was a coffee estate that lay about half an hour outside Mercara. It had belonged to a Scottish planter, and when he had left Coorg—I have had it with these blasted rains, he had shouted after an especially poor season—Kambeymada Nayak had promptly bought it from him. Buy paddy acreage; this is not the time to be investing in coffee, the Nayak’s cronies had urged, but the Nayak had gone ahead regardless. “Land is land,” he had pointed out. “It can lie untended for a while until coffee prices improve.”
Devi knew little of this as she looked around her, at the array of coffee bushes, the pond glinting in the distance, the vast, dilapidated bungalow at the head of a winding gravel drive. “Iguthappa Swami,” she said softly to her father, “is looking after us once more. We will—” She stopped short at the worried look on his face.
“What?” she asked anxiously. “What is it?”<
br />
Thimmaya shook his head. “There would at least be some paddy, I hoped. This—the land is all given over to coffee.”
“It is. That’s a good thing, isn’t it? To own a coffee plantation, like the white folk?”
Thimmaya glanced at Devi, trying to curb the anxiousness in his breast. His poor child, how would she ever be able to … nothing she knew of coffee planting. Where could he even begin?
“Appaiah?” Devi asked again, her eyes huge. “Please. Just tell me, what is the matter?”
“The thing is, kunyi, coffee yields have not been … they have been poor for quite some years now. When the first coffee estates were planted—many years ago, when your Tayi herself was no older than you are now—in those days, they say the coffee crops did very well indeed.”
The yields realized by those pioneer white folk had been so rich, he explained, that multitudes of their brethren had followed, pouring into Coorg. The 1870s and ’80s had seen their estates proliferate around Coorg. Even the Coorgs began to scatter handfuls of coffee berries here and there among their holdings, acquiring such a taste for the beverage that no kitchen was complete without a pot of strong black coffee sweetened with jaggery brewing on the fire. The truly wealthy among them, like Kambeymada Nayak, had acres of underbrush cleared from beneath their holdings of rosewood and turned over to coffee. The plants had grown robustly, producing profuse clumps of berries season after season.
And then, toward the turn of the century, things had taken an abrupt downturn. Coffee yields had fallen inexplicably low all across Coorg. No matter how the planters weeded or pruned, no matter whether the hands that tended the estates were white or brown, no matter the soil scientists brought in from Mysore nor the roosters sacrificed to the wood spirits. For nearly seven seasons now, the coffee in Coorg had been reduced to a few measly tons of output.
Tiger Hills Page 24
