On stage, Siruthondar had entered in a dance movement and was introducing himself. It looked like the dance performance might actually be good. She looked towards the man through the corner of her eye. He wasn’t there. She thought she would leave too. But that might give him the idea that she had come out looking for him. It might be good to leave after a while. The things this god did! He dug out a forgotten face from the depths of her heart and placed it in front of her. Was it her punishment to remember that face forever? ‘Please appear with a new face, one I am not familiar with,’ she prayed. Had she earned his wrath after having rejected two of the gods? Is this a crowd of gods too? Is he watching me?
It looked like there was a way leading out in every direction; there were gods wandering everywhere. ‘Come to me with a form I like,’ she kept praying. She went past the Omkali temple and reached the west chariot street. There was a wide space at the intersection with the north chariot street. Hearing some loud whistling from there, she walked in that direction. She was thirsty. Was it her mind’s thirst that was peeping out through her tongue? On the west street, there were four or five unmanned water pandals. Anyone could help themselves to the water. She drank some and splashed some cold water on her face. She felt refreshed.
She glanced at the temple down the slope. In the moonlight, its tower looked taller. When she reached the crowded street corner, all the while praying in her mind, she saw a team of Oyilattam dancers performing there. There were over twenty of them; they all wore yellow headbands and held long red streams of cloth in their hands and danced in rhythm to the drums. She looked in amazement at how, when they took four steps in unison and turned around suddenly, the several pieces of coloured cloth that waved in the air flared and settled like snakes flying in the air with their tongues out. She was familiar with the dance. This was the same dance that was performed on all nine days of the Mariamman temple festival. Youngsters trained in summer with a teacher. Also, because it was done in the temple, it was called Koyilattam. It started with a slow movement of the hands and feet, but it gradually gained speed and reached a crescendo. And as the dance grew faster, the whistles grew louder. Sometimes, the performance opened with a song and every dance was alternated with a song. But this dance looked different, perhaps because of the colours that had been added to it.
Whenever she heard the whistles, she was beside herself, clapping and jumping in joyful laughter. It looked like she might even join the dancers. The beauty of it, when they moved to the front and turned around, was so intense that it wrapped itself around everything in the vicinity. Looking at the dancers, she wondered if men were really such beautiful creatures. She felt a wild urge to run and embrace them. She jumped and almost fell on the girl standing next to her. But the girl didn’t take it amiss; she just laughed. ‘I don’t see women performing anywhere,’ she said in a gossipy tone. It looked like she too would have liked to join them. Ponna gave her a friendly smile.
When she felt something touching her earlobes, she reached back and wiped herself. It felt as though someone was blowing gently on her nape. She turned around and saw a pair of eyes to her side. She knew it was the touch of these eyes that had bothered her. Those eyes pierced the glow of the burning torches, and touched and teased her. The folded dhoti and the towel that was around his neck and fell over his chest made him look like no one she knew. His hair had been combed carelessly, and it looked like he had not even started shaving. It occurred to her that this was her god. His eyes smiled. His lips too were parted in a permanent grin. In a delightful, repetitive game, his eyes moved towards the dance only to turn back to her suddenly. She looked fondly at that desire-filled face. Then she closed her eyes and tried holding it in her mind. But it slipped away. She could recollect the eyes, the lips and the head separately, but she could not put them together. Why wouldn’t it stay in her mind?
It was unlike any other face that had stayed on in her mind. It was never easy for a new face to make its place in a shelf of faces. ‘This is how I expected you to be, god,’ she thought. Then his eyelashes lowered and eyebrows slanted. She understood that he wanted her to walk out with him. She was overcome with shyness. When she remembered that Kali too often spoke this way—in signs—her mind closed up. She was never able to keep Kali aside. In twelve years, he had gradually etched himself on every fold of her heart. No one could do anything to him. She would find him in any man. She could recognize him in anyone. She felt like screaming at this image, pleading with him not to remind her of Kali. If she spoke to him in signs, he would respond like Kali too. She knew she had to leave from there and get to a place where they could talk in words.
When she emerged, parting her way through the crowd gathered around the Oyilattam troupe, he too came and joined hands with her. She was surprised that he read her mind so quickly. She felt that just a small shift of the body was enough for a man to understand a woman. The grip of his hand was comforting. He walked with her along the north chariot street. She decided to let him lead. Along the way were shops selling puttu laid out on baskets layered with white cloth. There were small crowds here and there. His lips grazed her ears when they said, ‘Shall we eat puttu?’ A male voice dripping desire and intoxication. She didn’t even think. She nodded. He peeped into every store, but didn’t stop at any.
Finally, he stopped at a shop that was halfway down the street and got hot puttu on a leaf plate covered with dry leaves stitched together. There were four portions of puttu with gravy on the side. Though she thought she might not be able to eat so much, she did not refuse. He brought his plate and ate standing next to her. She liked the way he carefully chose the puttu after considering several shops. It made her happy to think that he would have chosen her the same way. She took some puttu and put it on his plate, but she was too shy to look up at this face. ‘Why? Enough already?’ he said.
‘Please speak some more,’ she pleaded in her mind. With a man, that was how she always felt—like he did not speak enough. You want your dear one to talk to you non-stop.
She was eating, her head bent low, when he said, ‘Selvi, look here.’ When she looked up in shock, wondering who Selvi was, he brought a handful of puttu close to her lips. She let him feed her. ‘He has given me a new name so that no one around here gets suspicious.’ She found this cleverness very attractive. He continued to feed her without any hesitation. But her diffidence came in the way of her desire to reciprocate. As if he sensed that, he said, ‘Hmmm,’ and, bending close to her, held her hand and brought it to his lips. She fed him without looking up.
When they started walking again, she literally stuck to him. She did not know the way, and she had no sense of the people around her. ‘He is my god. My job is to go where he takes me,’ was all she could think. Like a rain-soaked chicken, she huddled in his warmth. It appeared that he was taking her far away from the crowds and the noise.
THIRTY-THREE
Kali woke up at exactly the same time he was used to for feeding the cows every night, but he could not rise because of an overpowering dizziness. He lay down for a little longer, tossing his head from side to side. The thatched mat he was lying on made crunching sounds under his head. When he sat up with some difficulty, he could see everything very clearly in the moonlight. The realization about where he was and in what circumstances dawned on him with a sharp pain. Suddenly, a roaring wind entered the coconut grove and pushed the fronds around. They made a great noise and it seemed that they were beating their chests. For a moment, Kali experienced great fear.
He was used to the sound of palm fronds rustling in the wind. They’d look like they were clutching their hands to their chests. But this was the first time he was witnessing how the coconut fronds spread their arms out and wailed in panic. Slowly, the wind died down. Outside the hut, Muthu and Mandayan were lying on mats that were facing different directions. All that great wind did nothing to disturb their sleep. When Kali got drunk and passed out, Muthu had been quite stable, which was unusual. Normally, it was
Muthu who gulped down his alcohol like water and went flat very soon. How did it all change that night?
Perhaps Kali could not control the excitement at seeing coconut toddy and arrack. But he had been happy. He had not planned to spend the night here, but it all ended up working out that way. Maybe Muthu was used to coming here, getting drunk and lying around. That was why he did not say anything. Kali looked at the sky. He could not find the moon, but its light fell continuously through the gaps in the grove. He got up and washed his face with the water in the pot. His breath stank and his saliva tasted foul. So he spat it out and rinsed his mouth. He removed his dhoti, which was coming undone anyway, and wiped his face with it. Then he tightened his loincloth and wore the dhoti over it. His towel was caught under Muthu’s sleeping body. He tried to pull it free, but he had to move Muthu a little to get it out. Then he sat on the mat.
He didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t fall asleep again. He never could sleep once he woke up at the time when the cattle needed to be fed. He always just stayed awake gazing around. If there was moonlight, he would carry a pot and go to the well. The barnyard needed twenty pots of water every day. What did it matter when he got that work done?
Though he knew he could not fall asleep again, he lay down and stretched his legs. Again, a mighty wind swept into the grove. Kali thought that it was only here that he was actually able to see the wind. If the wind was so strong in Vaigasi, one could imagine how forceful it would have been in Aadi. No one would stay in the grove with such a wind blowing around and the trees screaming constantly. Perhaps, if one was used to it, one could stay. After all, Mandayan could not vacate the hut and run elsewhere just for the month of Aadi.
Mandayan was still full of affection for Kali. He kept saying ‘My Gounder’. He even said yes when Kali asked for the child. He wondered what gift Mandayan had that whenever he slept with his wife, he had a child. The gods seemed to keep giving to someone who kept saying ‘Enough!’ while the one who desperately wanted it was simply told to fuck off. Even if Mandayan agreed to give the child, Katthayi wouldn’t agree. However dire the circumstances might be, no mother would gladly give away her child. Like she said, would it work out to raise a Mooppan child in a Gounder home?
He remembered that even Ponna had once said that if it came to adopting a child, she would prefer one from the same Gounder caste. ‘But not from our relatives. They will talk as if they have given us a portion of their wealth, and we cannot raise the child with them watching. Even if the child had a minor cold and fever, they’d say we did not take good care of it. If you can find a child from some unknown place, I will consider raising it.’
Kali too was not that keen on adopting a child. Would that stop people from talking? They’d only say, ‘He calls himself the father to someone else’s child.’ Would this make them invite Kali to weddings and funerals and give him pride of place at special gatherings? He would still be the impotent one. Ponna would still be the barren woman.
On a moonlit night like this one, when they were in the barnyard and Ponna lay with him on the cot, she had said, ‘We don’t need to raise someone else’s child, maama. We won’t be able to be as loving to it as we could be to our own child. If the child does something stupid, we would think, “Had he been our own child would he have done this?” And he might also think, “They wouldn’t talk to me like this if I were their own child.” We don’t need all that. If we manage to conceive one of our own, well and good. If not, we will just be the way we are.’
Another time, however, she spoke differently. Since it had rained well, they had planted cotton. The plants had grown nice and robust. The old woman who was supposed to be grazing an entire herd of goats in a nearby field dozed off, letting her goats wander into Kali’s cotton field. When Ponna ran from the barnyard, they were busy munching away at the lush cotton plants. And by the time she chased them all out, a sizeable portion of the plants had been reduced to leafless stalks.
‘Who knows which man she went with, abandoning her goats? Let her come. I will scoop the life out of her!’ Ponna kept yelling.
Finally, the old woman arrived, looking somewhat sheepish. Seeing her, Ponna shouted in rage.
‘I just dozed off in the heat,’ the woman said nonchalantly. ‘Why are you making a big deal out of it?’
Ponna’s anger peaked. ‘I am making a big deal out of it? Come and take a look. They have damaged one square measure of the crop. How dare you say I am making a big deal out it!’
To shut her up, the woman had just one thing in her arsenal, and she used it: ‘Why do you worry so much about an heirless property?’
Ponna was shocked. But she collected herself and responded, ‘So what? Have you come as the child to eat off my property?’
She was quite hurt by what the old woman had said. Outraged, she walked back to the barnyard and said to Kali, ‘I don’t know what you will do and how. I want a child right away.’ This was not a doll he could get immediately from the shop, was it? He tried to soothe her, but to no avail.
‘Go somewhere and get me a child!’ Ponna raged. ‘I don’t care even if it is from an untouchable woman. I don’t care if you have to buy one for money. I don’t want anyone to be able to say that this property of ours has no inheritor. Go now!’ And Ponna physically pushed Kali out of the barnyard.
She was very angry. But where would he go? How would he get a child? He stood there for a little while and then peeped inside. She was lying on the thrash floor. It took him great effort to console her that day. The topic of adopting a child usually flared up like this now and then and got put out on its own. To reclaim her from the effect of these conversations, he had to go home at night from the barnyard for a few nights. His intense embraces accomplished what his gentle words could not. If she slowly loosened her body and showed some involvement, it meant she had emerged from her despair.
G A P P A A.ORG
THIRTY-FOUR
To this day, Kali found something very inviting in Ponna’s speech and demeanour. He felt that it would’ve been nice if he had stayed with her and not come along with Muthu. Only Ponna’s mother would be with her, and if he knocked on the door and asked for some water, she’d understand his intention. It was not too late even now; he could still go back. It would be a long time before dawn. Even if he walked really slowly, he could get there before the blackbirds started chirping. Thoughts of Ponna excited him. Even the great wind blowing in the grove failed to quench his body’s thirst. He sat up. Muthu was fast asleep. Let him come in the morning after drinking some more toddy, he thought. At home, they’d serve chicken in the morning. Kali could always come back here, bringing some for Muthu. He decided to tell Mandayan and leave.
Bottles of arrack stood by Mandayan’s sleeping head. One was half full and the other was untouched. Kali took the latter; it might come of use. The half-full bottle also attracted him. He drank a little from it and it hit his empty stomach with a sharp sting. He looked around and saw coconuts lying next to the hut. He broke them open with the sickle that was lying at the hut’s entrance. They were good, fleshy coconuts. He ate the pulp of one, took another with him, and emerged out of the grove.
The moon had slid slightly down the sky to the west. He did not even think about the long distance he had to walk. Lying on the cot under the portia tree, Ponna was beckoning him with outstretched arms. The only part of the walk that was difficult was when he had to get down to the stream and climb up on to the other side, where it was dark since the moonlight came filtered through the dense bushes. When the wind started again, he could hear the wailing of coconut fronds from behind. Once he climbed up, he saw elevated fields stretching to a great distance. There was also the comforting presence of palm trees here and there. Memories of days when he had walked along the fields after watching street plays scrolled across his mind.
A big crowd of them would walk and run through the fields, scaring even the birds sleeping on the trees. The next day, people living in the shacks along
the fields would inquire about the previous night’s noises. All of these ended when he got married. Uncle Nallupayyan used to say, ‘If one can freely get the pleasure of a woman without getting married, who would want to get married?’
He was right in a way. Was it only pleasure that came with marriage? It gave one an heir to complete one’s final rites and to inherit one’s wealth. Can one abandon a corpse because one didn’t know where the fellow was from? If there was no one to do the final rites, one had to run around and find someone who could do it. You would have to fall at his feet and beg him. There are even stories where somebody had to write off his wealth to someone else just so he would have someone to complete his death rites. There was nothing more ignominious than having to take care of the property of an heirless man. Imagine the physical fights that would break out over Uncle Nallupayyan’s property when he died.
A while back, when he had come to Kali’s barnyard, Uncle Nallupayyan had said, ‘I will write my property in your name. There is no one more important to me.’
Kali said, ‘Ah! You are such a tease! Here I am, wondering what to do with my wealth, and you are offering me yours!’
‘You will give birth to one,’ said Uncle. ‘And even if you don’t, it’s not a problem. Enjoy it all as long as you can, and when you think your days are over, write it off to someone or the other. Are we going to pack all this land into a sack and carry it with us when we go?’
Once, Uncle Nallupayyan came with a large dish that was half-filled with chicken meat. The meat had been cooked in its juices and fried well. He also had a bottle of arrack with him. That was a time when Kali had a lot of work in the fields. He had worked for four days and had put out all the raagi to dry. The work of clearing the field of raagi stems was going on. While he allowed other people to pick the grains, he wouldn’t let anyone else cut the stem. If he started very early in the morning when the mist still lingered, he could finish working on over half an acre before the sun hit his forehead. Once the grains were picked, what did it matter if the field stood for a week with just the stems? But Kali wouldn’t have it. He would even cut them at night, if there was moonlight. Ponna didn’t approve of this. There were always rodents in a raagi field, and snakes came to catch the rodents. Why risk anything at night?
One Part Woman Page 16
