Saree

by Su Dharmapala

  ‘Come, Kumar, we must go,’ Madhav insisted, manhandling the young lad off the couch where he lay sprawled. Madhav did feel stirrings of pity in his heart. They’d both been up since three in the morning and everyone was exhausted. ‘Look, we’ll stop by the shops in Clayton and see if we can get some fresh laddoo. Would you like that?’

  ‘Hmm . . .’ Kumar grunted.

  ‘I’ll even buy you a lassi.’

  ‘Hmm . . .’ he grunted again.

  ‘Okay. We’ll go and see Brendan, and while we’re at the hospital, I’ll make Brendan let you play with his PlayStation.’

  That was enough to get Kumar up off the couch and out to the car. Madhav followed him a few minutes later, first taking the time to go into his room and fetch the cheque that he had to give the Khans. He felt as if he could not dress the deity in the saree meant for her unless he’d given the money for the garment in return.

  ‘We have to go to the hospital first,’ Kumar insisted as they started driving down Ferntree Gully Road towards the hospital in Clayton. ‘Visiting hours finish at six, but we can go to the Khans’ place any time.’

  Madhav groaned. It would be another fight to get Kumar off Brendan’s hospital-issue PlayStation in the recreation room.

  The Monash Medical Centre was a large teaching hospital in the south-eastern suburbs of Melbourne and was a state-of-the-art facility. To Madhav’s eyes it looked more like a hotel than a hospital – it certainly put the NHS hospitals of London to shame with its wide clean corridors and brisk staff who rushed about doing their work.

  ‘Hey, Brendan,’ Kumar greeted their young friend as they entered the rec room, which was kitted out with computer games, PlayStation consoles and all manner of gadgets to keep the young patients entertained while they were receiving treatment. Brendan was slumped on a wheelchair with his legs raised, playing computer games.

  ‘Hey, Madhav! Hey, Kumar! How are you?’ the young boy replied cheerily. ‘I hoped you’d come today, but I wasn’t quite sure because of all the Navaratri celebrations.’

  ‘What do you know of Navaratri?’ Kumar asked.

  ‘Well, der! I’ve been around the temple for months now. Are the poojas going well? And how is the preparation going for the pageant? I am so sad I’ll miss it all tomorrow.’

  ‘The doctors have said you can come out for the evening to watch the pageant. It’s been all organised,’ Madhav said. Indeed he’d had a lengthy conversation with the head of paediatrics assuring the man that Kumar would pick the lad up before the pageant and bring him back after.

  ‘Nah . . . they’ve changed their minds,’ Brendan replied with a grimace as he moved painfully. ‘They’re in there talking about it right now.’ He jerked his head towards the little meeting room on the other side of the corridor.

  Madhav let Kumar and Brendan get on with killing some poor aliens or some such nonsense and went across to knock on the meeting room door. Sharon, Brendan’s mother, seeing that it was Madhav, let the young man in before resuming the argument she was having with the doctor and the physiotherapist.

  ‘I can’t afford private physiotherapy. I guess he’ll get what he gets,’ she rasped.

  ‘The more intensive the physiotherapy he receives at these early stages, the better his recovery will be. With three extra sessions a week, Brendan would be out of here within a couple of months instead of six.’

  ‘I can’t afford sixty bucks a pop three times a week,’ Sharon insisted. ‘I can barely put food on the table as it is!’

  ‘Anything extra would be great,’ the physiotherapist insisted. ‘Even a single extra session a week would be a huge help.’

  ‘Nah . . . he just gets what he gets,’ the woman said.

  ‘Mr Patel, how can we help you?’ the doctor asked, turning to Madhav.

  ‘I was just wondering why Brendan said that he could not come to the pageant tomorrow night. I though we’d settled it. Kumar from the temple will drive him there and back again.’

  ‘It’s not the coming or going, Mr Patel, it’s just that he needs a long physiotherapy session in the heated pool and the only time we can schedule it is in the evening.’

  ‘Ain’t it strange? The boy burnt his legs with hot water and now they’re using a hot pool to cure him,’ Sharon chipped in. She didn’t add that it’d been her fault that he’d burnt his legs in the first place. Not many six-year-olds would be able to drain hot spaghetti unsupervised.

  ‘Can’t he attend another session? Navaratri only comes around once a year and it is very special,’ Madhav pleaded.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ the doctor said, ‘but we need to get him into all and any sessions we can get.’

  Something started to burn in Madhav’s heart. What was happening to Brendan was not right. A child’s recuperation from a horrible accident should not be dependent on what his parents could afford.

  ‘Come, Kumar, come!’ Madhav insisted an hour later, when visiting hours were nearly up. ‘We must go! We have to get back to the temple in time for the evening ceremonies after we give the Khans the cheque!’

  ‘But you promised me laddoo and lassi,’ Kumar said as they walked out of the hospital. ‘The Indian shops are just around the corner.’

  ‘Oh, come on then,’ Madhav said grumpily. ‘But we need to hurry.’

  Only Kumar could not quite decide on which sweets he wanted. He stood there with his nose plastered to the glass behind which rows and rows of brightly coloured sweets were displayed to the great joy of the shoppers. ‘I must have some laddoo. I love burfi as well. And they have excellent gajar halwa here. Have you tried it, Madhav? Maybe I’ll get some sandesh, too.’

  ‘Whatever you get, make it quick,’ Madhav growled as the shop assistant poured out two bright orange lassis into tall plastic glasses. Madhav hurried from the queue, as all the Indians in Melbourne seemed to have congregated in the sweetshop to get their festive sweets. In the crush he almost missed seeing a familiar face.

  ‘Arjun . . . is that you?’ Madhav asked, spotting Nila Mendis’s nephew.

  ‘Oh yes,’ the young man replied distractedly. ‘But my name is Aravinda.’

  ‘So how is your aunt? We haven’t seen her for quite a while.’

  Aravinda sighed deeply. ‘She is not at all well. She’s had a complete breakdown. She and my Aunt Renuka return to Sri Lanka tomorrow.’

  ‘I’ll tell her you came to see her when she is better,’ Renuka said as she led Madhav and Kumar into the tiny lounge room.

  ‘But why can’t I see her?’ Madhav insisted.

  ‘Because she is not up to it,’ Renuka told him. ‘I don’t know why Aravinda invited you back here.’

  ‘She was fine when I left,’ Aravinda replied as he came into the lounge carrying a tray of tea things. Their living space was small even by Indian standards – just two rooms connected by a dingy living room, spilling over into a tiny damp kitchen. No natural sunlight. No natural ventilation. ‘She even got up this morning and made her own breakfast.’

  ‘You know she can change from minute to minute,’ Renuka said as she wearily sat down. She was precise and elegant in her movements, dignified despite her present poverty. ‘Though I haven’t seen her this bad for a long time.’

  ‘She’s always been bad,’ Aravinda retorted. ‘And I still don’t understand why you will insist on taking care of her. She is no blood relative of ours!’

  ‘Aravinda . . .’

  ‘Renuka, nanda, you have to put her in an asylum and be done with it. She is not our flesh and blood and she has nothing to do with us. I have no idea how I allowed you to convince me to let you come and stay with me!’

  ‘She is more than flesh and blood . . . she is my very life,’ his aunt replied softly. ‘You did not know her before, when she was not crazy. The most talented saree weaver you have ever met. If she was still herself today, we would not be worthy to have her set foot in our house.’

  ‘She wasn’t born crazy?’ Madhav asked.

  ‘Good heavens, no
! She was sane as you or I,’ Renuka replied. ‘And a very talented saree maker, skilled in the pancha dakshata.’

  ‘So what happened? What made her go crazy?’

  Renuka stared at the wall for a long moment. The pain in her eyes palpable.

  ‘It was me,’ Renuka confessed, tears starting to drip from her eyes. ‘I destroyed her life. Because of my jealousy and greed, her husband was murdered and her parents stole her newborn child. The gods have punished me, though. Everything I set my mind to from that point on was a disaster. Every business venture. Every relationship I ever had after that ended in disaster. My family chased me away because they thought I was cursed!’

  ‘Then one day I was visiting the last of my relatives who would give me roof space when they took lunch – dhanay – to an asylum in the hill country of Sri Lanka. And that was when I saw her. My old friend from the weaving mill. They had her chained to the wall naked. That is what they do to the mentally ill in Sri Lanka.’

  ‘What? What happened next?’ Kumar asked, horrified.

  ‘I knew what I had to do. I had to make reparations. I took her home with me and I looked after her. Things started to change then. I got her some treatment and slowly she started to improve. My family started to speak to me again.’

  ‘So what are you doing in Australia?’ Madhav asked.

  ‘We came here so I could work,’ Renuka explained. ‘Although my family supports me, I no longer want to be dependent on them. I am still an excellent dressmaker. So I have been working here illegally sewing saree blouses and the like so I could save enough money to go back home and buy a little house. That way Nila and I can live peacefully by ourselves.’

  ‘So why are you going back? Plenty of people work here illegally for years!’ Kumar exclaimed.

  ‘Because she needs medication. Truly, this is the worst I have ever seen her. I cannot take her to the doctors here because we are illegal immigrants. I need to take her back to Sri Lanka. Look, if you are really quiet, I will show you,’ Renuka offered.

  Standing up, she gestured for Madhav and Kumar to follow her and cracked open the door to one of the other little rooms. The diminutive woman who’d been the bane of Madhav’s life was now in a straitjacket, lying sedated on the bed.

  ‘We can sedate her enough to take her on the plane and back home,’ Aravinda explained.

  Renuka sighed. ‘We were so close.’

  ‘Close to what?’ Madhav asked.

  ‘Having enough money to build a house and maybe start a little business. I thought we could set up a little sewing business when we got back,’ Renuka said. ‘All I needed was enough money for two sewing machines and a small house. I have saved ten thousand dollars in the last two years and another five thousand would have been perfect.’

  ‘It is very commendable that you are looking after your friend,’ Madhav said as both Aravinda and his aunt Renuka showed him and Kumar out. ‘You are making a lot of good karma. Wholesome deeds that will bear fruit in the next life.’

  ‘No,’ Renuka insisted looked at the young pundit in the eyes. ‘I am just making amends. This is my penance. The gods, they can see. They see when we try and right the wrongs we’ve done.’

  It was the perfect spring evening for a pageant – about twenty-five degrees, with a light easterly wind. It was just as well there was a cool breeze, for there were thousands of people, both Australian and Indian, mingling in the crowds. The mayor of the City of Knox was riding on the first float in the pageant, mounted on the back of a large flatbed truck. It depicted the myth of King Rama and his queen, Sita, who was abducted by King Ravana of Lanka, with an epic battle scene forming the backdrop. There were loud cheers and applause as it went by.

  As the float passed out of view of the crowd, the mayor thankfully collapsed onto a chair and loosened his hot red mayoral robes. He’d had a rich meal of dosai, sambar and chutney with the assembled VIPs in the rectory before and was feeling decidedly unwell. ‘I just hope you don’t get sick on the float and make a fool of yourself,’ his wife had scolded him. ‘You know you can’t eat spicy food.’

  ‘But darling, have you tried those doughnut-shaped vadais? They are divine!’

  ‘Yes,’ the woman confessed greedily, stealing another one of the deep-fried doughy snacks from the table. ‘I suppose it is a matter of getting used to it. That boy certainly has,’ she remarked, pointing to Brendan, who was sitting happily munching away on a plate of uppuma and chutney.

  Brendan was still thinking about food when Kumar wheeled him out to the stage set up for the VIPs in front of the temple. ‘Do you think I could take a bag of muruku with me to the hospital? I just love muruku.’

  Kumar was too excited to reply, though. ‘Look, Brendan, look!’ he cried, pointing to the second float coming down the road. This one was in the shape of a lotus flower and the pundits were sitting on the petals. ‘There are the pundits from the temple! Wave!’ he said.

  Brendan was too caught up watching the pageant to take up the issue of muruku again. Drummers and fire dancers paraded gaily down the street, the light breeze keeping them cool as they performed and the crowd cheering them as they passed.

  ‘The Rebels Motorcycle Club!’ Brendan squealed as the bikies from the back paddock rode up on Harleys. ‘Woo hoo!’ he screamed with joy as the younger members did tricks and stunts. ‘I’ll never be able to ride like that,’ he whispered to Kumar, looking at his legs.

  ‘Why not?’ Kumar demanded.

  ‘The physiotherapist said . . .’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t worry about what the physiotherapist said,’ Kumar told him. ‘Madhav’s looking after everything. That’s why you could come tonight.’

  ‘What?’ Brendan asked, confused.

  ‘Oh, look, the Mahalaksmi float!’ Kumar shouted, and started to cheer ‘Mahalaksmi! Mahalaksmi!’ along with the crowds.

  The float itself was truly magnificent. In the centre of a massive paper lotus stood a seven-foot-high statue of the deity. It had taken twenty strong men to lift her from the temple and place her on the float. The petals of the lotus were gold and red, and around the goddess were symbols of fertility and abundance – stalks of rice, coins of gold and large urns of milk.

  ‘She who was with us at the time of the beginning of the universe and will be with us until the very end,’ the chief pundit of the temple boomed in a massive voice. ‘All hail Mahalaksmi!’ he shouted as all the pilgrims let out a mighty roar of ‘Om Sri Mahalaksmi Devi’ as the driver of the float flicked on the lights.

  There was an awed silence as everyone took in the majesty of the deity. Resplendently dressed in a magnificent red and gold silk saree, she was abundance, fertility and goodness personified. Even from a distance people could see the intricate gold embroidery and rich tapestry that clothed her glory.

  Next came Durga-Amman’s float, decorated entirely in yellow and orange. Garlands of marigold were hung from a lintel and young boys flung cut halves of lemons and limes at the crowds.

  ‘She who is invincible and gives us strength to face life!’ the senior pundit visiting from India boomed. ‘All hail Durga-Amman!’ he roared as the pilgrims joined the deafening refrain of ‘Om Sri Durga-Amman’. This was the cue for the float driver to switch on the light, and again, there was a stunned silence.

  This time the deity was dressed in a bright yellow saree and draped with hundreds of gold necklaces. In her many hands were miniature weapons made of solid gold. Many pilgrims made vows to her there and then, asking her to remove obstacles from their paths, convinced their lives would change for the better.

  Then the final float started down the hill. Some who saw it coming thought it was just a leftover float of no consequence and started to make their way to the main temple to complete their offerings and be on their way back home. It was only when the float reached the VIP stage that people realised – this was the goddess Saraswati.

  The float was very modestly decorated. Just garlands of orange blossoms that permeated the even
ing air with a sweet but uplifting fragrance. The seven-foot deity at the centre of the float looked as if . . . What? Could that be possible? Was she just dressed in a plain white cloth? It looked like a rough calico!

  ‘She is all that is wise and pure,’ Madhav called from the float.

  A murmur of disapproval spread through the crowd. Hadn’t everybody contributed handsomely for an extraordinary saree to be draped on Saraswati? What was this?

  ‘What happened?’ Brendan demanded of Kumar.

  ‘Wait, you’ll see,’ Kumar smiled back.

  ‘She who is wise and pure has no need for finery or riches,’ Madhav called. ‘She is that which is grace. And grace requires no embellishment. It took me a while to understand that. The gods do not need money or fancy offerings. Just sincere prayers. They always listen to prayers that come from the heart. So please join me,’ he implored. ‘Om Aim Saraswatiye Namah.’

  The pilgrims were angry. They did not join in his chant. What had happened to all their hard-earned money? Had he swindled them?

  Madhav looked at the angry pilgrims and then up at the sky to send a quiet prayer heavenward. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a plane streak by. Perhaps it was the one carrying Nila Mendis and her friend Renuka home to Sri Lanka.

  Yes, he was happy. Deeply and supremely happy. For deep within Renuka’s handbag was a cash cheque for twenty-five thousand dollars. Enough for her and Nila to start a new life and for Nila to have the care she needed.

  He’d asked Kumar to take him into the city that evening after visiting Nila. He’d walked several miles along the Yarra River to the heart of Melbourne, then sat by the banks at the Arts Centre and watched the schoolboys row as trams rattled past on their way to St Kilda. He breathed in the city air and his mind was no clearer than muddy Yarra flowing in front of him.

  Then he wandered back along the length of the river, to Abbotsford, until he’d come to an old ramshackle building. ‘Abbotsford Convent’ the sign read. Divinity had a strange way of attracting the divine. Perhaps Jesus’s mother Mary was not that different to Mahalaksmi, Madhav had thought as he crossed the cracked and abandoned courtyard. Then he’d sat down by the river, plunged his feet in the murky water and meditated.