He told her she could either walk around once or do it three times, and went ahead and did three rounds himself. Watching him, Ponna lost all her fears. Like the old woman had said, this was nothing for someone who had roamed around forests. He helped her hoist up her sari and fasten it securely.
Two vultures circled around in the endless expanse of the sky. They seemed motionless, their wings stretched wide without a discernible flutter. They blessed her. She held her palms together over her head and prayed, ‘God, my father, please make sure I do not gain the reputation for being barren.’ And just like he had done, she crossed the wall and navigated the precipice with the tenacity of a rock lizard. When she reached the end of her ordeal, he gave her a hand and helped her cross over the wall to his side. He held her close to his heart and exultantly kissed her on the cheek, lips and head. When they sat in front of Pandeeswarar, she burst into sobs.
‘Seeking a life, we have pawned our lives. Don’t cheat us, god,’ she cried out loud. With her head on his chest, she felt dizzy. She lay there with her eyes closed. He laid her on the ground and splashed some water on her face. She regained consciousness. ‘Maama, shall I do two more rounds?’ she said. He was firm in his refusal. The effect was the same whether you did it once or a thousand times.
She started making pongal in front of the Pandeeswarar temple. The priests of this temple were from the Pandara caste. They came only when there were crowds, like on new-moon days. On other days, they came only if someone went and fetched them. Kali climbed down fast and was back by the time she had finished making the pongal. She was amazed at his speed. When the mind is excited, the body begins to take flight. By the time the Pandara priest came and finished the prayers and they climbed back down, darkness had begun to wrap itself around everything.
They could never forget the night that followed. That was the night everything came together blissfully. That was the night they slept well, confident that the seed they’d planted would definitely grow. She also thought of it as her penance for wounding his heart with her words earlier that day. His body and mind expressed his conviction that nothing could sufficiently express his gratitude for this woman who had risked her life doing something all women feared to do. The night was filled to the brim with giving and receiving. In the middle of the farm, on the coir-rope cot, she lay like a garland on his chest. They both felt they needed nothing; nothing could make him happier than to die at such a moment.
She was confident that she wouldn’t bleed that month, that there would finally be an end to all the talk.
NINE
And the kind of talk they had endured! Many people had concluded that Ponna and Kali would not be able to have children at all. It was, in fact, their desire that it should not happen. Even her sister-in-law said so once.
‘What are you going to do by saving money? Eat well, wear good clothes and be happy.’
‘Why? Are we starving now? Are we standing naked in front of your house?’ Ponna retorted.
Her sister-in-law’s face shrank. ‘I didn’t mean it that way.’
‘What kind of talk is this? Shit-eater talk.’ Ponna could not keep it from tumbling out.
And her sister-in-law held on to that last comment. She went around telling everyone, ‘She called me a shit-eater.’ No one bothered to ask what had provoked such an abuse. ‘Ponna talks too much,’ they said. But Muthu would never say anything like that. He loved his brother-in-law more than his sister. He scolded his wife. And all of this effectively ruined the relationship between the sisters-in-law. They never again spoke to each other properly. Whenever she knew Ponna was coming, her sister-in-law left for her mother’s house with her child.
Kali had two uncles. They lived quite well in Sanarpalayam with a field and a house. But they had an eye on his property. Whenever his uncles’ wives met him at any function, they fawned over him like they were ready to hand over their lives to him on a platter. The uncles visited them at least once a month. They brought fruits and vegetables or something else for their sister, Kali’s mother. They gave some of it to her and the rest to Ponna. Ponna always made fun of this practice: ‘Even when she is fit to be a grandmother, she gets her due from her mother’s house.’
Kali would smile but not say anything.
One of the uncles had three daughters and a son. The other one had two sons. Once in a while, they would send their children over and it was not easy to attend to them. But all of this was not out of love for Kali and Ponna. Rather, this idea of bonding regularly was a strategic move on the part of the uncles. After all, if it ever came to a property dispute later, the closer ones might get more, right?
The second uncle’s last son was Kadhirvel. In his village, everyone called him ‘Water Gourd’. He looked like a water gourd on which someone had hung a shirt. It was easier to assemble a herd of goats than to keep an eye on him. One moment he’d be playing right in front of the house and the next second he couldn’t be seen. How long could one keep an eye on him like a snake upon its prey? Looking for him, Ponna would have to walk up and down between the house and the farm at least four times a day. But if there was work in the field, Kali expected her to be there. Water Gourd was good at wandering alone, and she let him do as he wished. It was all right as long as he did not create trouble.
The children did bizarre things when they jumped and played in the well. When one of the boys wanted to leave early and started climbing up the well, they would throw mud on him. He would have to jump back into the water to wash away all that mud. It was very difficult to escape the mud-pelting. During one such game, our Water Gourd fellow threw a stone at the boy who pelted him with mud. It hit him sharply on his feet and he writhed in pain. But he retaliated by aiming one back at Water Gourd. It was sharp as a sickle and it hit our boy on the back of his head, even making a dent in it. Despite his dense hair, blood flowed down his nape. It stopped only after a herb extract was applied on it for a week.
As soon as she heard the news, his mother came rushing like a she-devil. God knows who managed to convey the news to her three villages away and into a forest beyond that. There are folks who go out of their way, first thing in the morning, to make sure they have a nice fight to watch. Shouldn’t the woman have first inquired about what had happened? She might have a great deal of love for her child, but how was any of this Ponna’s fault? She was screaming even as she came down the street. When she reached the gate, her words were as hot as the sun: ‘She would know only if she had a child of her own! She has taken such good care that my boy’s head is broken. Would any mother allow that to happen?’
When the boy had come home injured, Ponna had run here and there to find a medicine to apply on his wound. All that seemed to mean nothing to his mother. All that Water Gourd had done when he was bleeding profusely was to whimper in pain. But now, looking at his mother, he wailed. His mother spoke as if it was Ponna who had deliberately thrown a stone at him. Disgusted with the behaviour of the mother and son, Ponna retorted, ‘Well, if you know the blessing of having a child, why don’t you keep him to yourself? Why send him here?’
That was it! A thousand words came pouring forth then.
‘Do you think we are the kind of people who wash their asses in any river?’ raged the boy’s mother. ‘I sent him because he wanted to go to his aunt’s place. Look at her, advising me like she has raised some seven or eight children.’
Ponna did not say anything. With the entire village watching, Ponna’s mother-in-law rushed to her sister-in-law and said in a pleading voice, ‘Please leave him here. I will take care of him.’ But the woman didn’t listen. She took her son away.
Long after she was gone, her words seemed to echo in Ponna’s ears. Kali did not say anything. Ponna cried, ‘Even if we don’t have children and decide to give away our money, we should give nothing to these people.’ He just smiled. Since then, neither of the uncles sent their children there.
This asset of theirs, the land, seemed to irk everyone. Does anyone know who ploughed thi
s land a hundred years ago? Can anyone say whose land it would be a hundred years from now? If man had the prospect of living any longer than he already did, he would want to keep everything for himself. When we finally leave, life strips us even of the little piece of cloth we are wearing. And all this talk! Even those who look like they could die any day now talk non-stop about money and inheritance.
One Tuesday, Ponna went to the fair with Pottupaatti. The woman had got her name from the large pottu, larger than her forehead, that was tattooed on her. Ponna needed company to walk the five or six miles and though Pottupaatti was terribly slow, Ponna asked her to join her.
Covering her head with a basket, Ponna tackled the sun as she walked. Their onward journey was smooth. She bought enough stuff to last a week. She even got titbits like pears and puffed rice with peanuts. Her basket was full. The old woman had no money on her. Feeling bad for her, Ponna bought her some puffed rice with peanuts for one anna and dropped it in her basket. On the way back, the woman remarked casually, ‘You have bought so little. Do you have a child crying at home? Your husband and you are protecting an inheritance that god knows which wretched dogs will claim later. Why don’t you eat what you like? Whom are you being so miserly for? A woman without her husband and an inheritance without an heir are the same, they say.’
Ponna was enraged. She had taken pity on the old woman, but now she started shooting her mouth off.
‘You and your husband had no control and you were producing babies even when you were forty-five. You divided your land among them. Do any of your sons work the land now? Didn’t it go as bad as not having heirs? You don’t even have anyone to give you some money to go to the fair. You don’t have money even to buy yourself some puffed rice. What have you accomplished by bearing children?’
Ponna made sure the woman heard each word clearly and stomped off. The woman could not say anything. She was perhaps scared that if she said anything more Ponna might knock her down. But she spoke to others once she reached the village. ‘Do you know what happened when I went to the fair with that witch?’ she began and told the entire village her tale of woe. In her version, the old woman had caringly suggested that Ponna should buy some snacks for her husband. To which, apparently, Ponna had replied, ‘It is because of your careless spending that you lost all your land. Both your property and mine are properties with no heir.’ All of it came to Ponna’s ears. Neither Pottupaatti nor her daughter-in-law spoke to Ponna after that. Ponna thought it best not to say anything more.
It seemed that people who had children could do anything they wanted—that only they had such rights. But Ponna was aware of her sharp tongue and what it could unleash at any moment. Fearing the consequences of such an outburst, she tried to be very careful in public spaces. But, somehow or the other, a quarrel would ensue. Even her neighbour Sarasa had a silly expectation that Ponna should bequeath things to her children. After all, Ponna herself had none.
Sarasa’s children happily helped themselves to kuzhambu, rasam and anything from Ponna’s house. Sometimes, she even made them eat there. If not for the chatter of those children, she would only have to listen to her own echo bouncing off the walls. So, she was very loving towards them. The older girl played snakes and ladders and hopscotch with Ponna. Then they’d both comb their hair and decorate it with flowers. The girl didn’t even mind running small errands for Ponna.
It so happened that Sarasa’s brother-in-law was getting married. The girl was from Kollaipalayam, which was just two villages away. Sarasa had insisted that Ponna come ahead of time. But since it involved getting a bunch of other women ready, Ponna got delayed. How could Ponna go all that distance alone? Some ten or fifteen of them went together. In front of everybody, Sarasa made a derisive remark. Perhaps it was her way of showing how close she was to Ponna.
‘Despite my telling you to come early, you are arriving only now. Did you get delayed in getting your daughters ready?’
She was showing off that she had children while Ponna didn’t. Her mocking tone stung her. One or two of the women laughed at Sarasa’s remark and looked at Ponna.
‘As if those with children are always doing such a great job!’ Ponna exploded. Unable to stop herself, she went on, ‘This one runs around with a soiled ass after shitting, the other one runs about wiping its mouth after eating. I comb this one’s hair every day. It is not enough to give birth to children—you should also know how to take care of them!’
Silence prevailed for a while in the entire wedding pandal. The women who had laughed at Sarasa’s remark were not laughing now. Ponna did not feel like staying there any longer. She turned around at the entrance and started walking back. To make sure she didn’t give anyone a chance to come after her, she walked really fast and crossed that village. She later heard that Sarasa had sat and cried about it. She might have done it to clear her name.
After this episode, Ponna did not attend any functions. Whether weddings or funerals, either Kali or his mother had to go. If any of them put pressure on Ponna, she would respond in their own style: ‘I have no children. What function is going to happen in my house tomorrow? Whom am I going to invite with betel leaf and nut? Are things so bad that when I die no one would come to carry me? Will they let me just lie here and rot? I don’t want to go anywhere. And no one needs to come here either. It is enough if they leave me alone.’
Sarasa pulled a long face for a while. She even kept her children from going to Ponna’s. And she also took better care of them—she washed their feet, fed them well and combed their hair properly. Ponna smiled inside watching all this. But it lasted just a week. Then everything went back to where it was. The older girl started coming running to Ponna with a comb in her hand. Sarasa too squeezed in a word or two here and there. But Ponna was sure that Sarasa’s dream of getting a share of their property for her children must have vanished.
Ponna had believed that the barren rock would put an end to all the cruel talk. But all that effort of climbing up the hill and putting her life at risk came to naught. No change occurred in her body. Everything went on just as it had. She didn’t know what more could be done.
TEN
An ant in his armpit woke Kali up from his slumber. The skin swelled up a little when he rubbed it involuntarily. He sat up. Sounds of cooking were coming from inside the house. Muthu hadn’t returned yet. Kali felt like going for a short walk. Other than the house and the portia tree, there was mainly sun-scorched dry land all around. It had been twenty days since the month of Vaigasi had begun, but the sky hadn’t yet opened its eyes to shed tears of rain. The farmers were waiting for the rain so they could begin the first round of ploughing. But while the heat kept rising, not a single smudge of grey could be spotted in the sky. It sowed within them the fear that the rains might fail this year.
There was no problem of fodder for the cattle. One granary of pulses and another of corn were still intact. Water scarcity might hit them, but whatever water was left in the well could be used sparingly—none for the coconut trees, only for the cattle. After all, it would have to rain at least by Aipasi or Karthigai. The god in Thattangadu had apparently prophesied this: ‘There will be less rain this year for sure!’ Kali thought he should plan accordingly.
He looked up. The sun was overhead. It must be around noon. He wondered if his mother would have given water to the cows. He had put the husk in the shed. The cows only needed to be brought and tethered. His mother would do the work for one or two days, but he was contented only when he did it all himself. He wondered why he could not trust anyone. Ponna always scolded him, ‘I too am a farmer’s daughter. Don’t you think I can handle them for a day? What is it that you do to them that I don’t?’ At night, even a little movement from them would wake him up. It had been several years since he had slept peacefully. Even when the body is ready for deep rest, the mind keeps irking it just like the ant from this tree. How can one sleep like that?
The barnyard occupied his mind wherever he was. It was only ther
e that he felt safe. It was enough just to be there and talk to the cattle. When he was alone in the fields, someone would come at night to keep him company. Whenever Uncle Nallupayyan came, Kali was delighted. He was a distant relative of Kali’s and must have been over fifty. And he always spoke with great excitement.
Uncle Nallupayyan never married. It was all because of what had happened in his youth. He did not get along with his father. They stayed in the same house, but they tried not to see each other. He found his father’s voice as bitter as neem fruit. The moment he heard it, he would run far away. When asked what exactly the problem was, he smiled as he explained, ‘When I was a child, he took me on his shoulders to see the temple chariot. Everything would have been fine had he come straight back home after seeing the chariot. Instead, he went to the prostitutes’ street, carrying me along. He sat me down on the porch and went inside one of the houses. I waited for a while, but it seemed like the man was not going to be out soon. So I walked back home on my own. I must have been five or six years old. Did I keep quiet about this at home? No. I told my mother that it happened like this, like that, and so on. Even my mother did not mind the fact that the little child had walked all that distance alone. She took umbrage only to the fact that he went to a prostitute. He came long after I had returned and said, “The boy got lost in the crowds. There is nowhere I haven’t looked for him. That is all our bad luck.” My mother rushed towards him with a broomstick and hit him on the head. She screamed, “You want a prostitute? If you come into the house again, I will chew off your neck.” It appears that my mother never allowed him near her after that. That made him angry at me. Whenever he saw me, he would grimace like he’d just drunk some castor oil. As for me, I could never forget how he sat me down at the entrance to the prostitute’s house and vanished inside. So, we don’t get along.’
When Nallupayyan was fifteen or sixteen years old, the father and son got into a massive fight. Standing in the field, his father threw a ball of sand at him, and in response he threw the spade at his father. It cut into his father’s calf and the old man collapsed, screaming, ‘Aiyo!’ Scared that he would be caught, Uncle Nallupayyan ran to the house and took money from his mother’s purse, which she kept hidden inside a pot. He then ran away from the village and did not come back for six months. When they finally got over their anger at his stealing the money, they looked for him here and there, but they could not find him.
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