Our Favourite Indian Stories

by Khushwant Singh

  After soaking the clean seeds in water, I went to light the fire in the oven in the yard. I saw Kariya sprawling on the old ash. Since I couldn't drive him away I carried him out. It came back and began licking my leg again. I poured kerosene on the faggots and lit them. The sudden flame would keep telling me, 'How much longer will you continue to lead this lonely life?' I kept a vessel of soaked castor seeds on the fire, and blew the flame high. When I drew back from the smoke I saw the dish of castor-oil near the oven. Deciding it was too late for an oil-bath, I kept the dish of oil on the wooden chadi in the kitchen and came back to the fire and blew at it. In the dancing flame I felt I was seeing many things that had happened in the past...

  As was the custom, Akka and Bawa came home for this year's Deevalige (festival of lights) also. Their children had come too, one of five and the other hardly a year and a half old. When their cart came and stood in front of our home I was lighting the tiny earthen-lamps in the small niches in the front wall of out house. The boy-child had come running to me and embraced me and I had kissed and fondled him. Turning towards Akka, Bawa had said, 'See how fond your sister is of children. We must quickly look for a husband of her,' and made me blush. 'Bawa was always like this. Under some pretext or the other, he would keep chatting with me. How he used to tease me when I was a small girl! He would pull my plait, pinch my cheeks, kiss me and say he would surely have married me instead of Akka, had he seen me earlier! Now that I was grown up, he couldn't do all that but itched to talk to me and follow me around. Akka didn't like this at all and would ask him to keep off, but he didn't bother.

  Sitting with Ayya after the festive lunch, and munching betel, Bawa had broached the subject of my marriage. Standing nearby, Akka had added a word here and there. Somewhat reticent in the beginning, Ayya had said clearly, as if he were snapping a twig-'I am simply against this match. I do not like giving both my daughters into the same household. Have I not told you so before?"

  I had liked Ayya's answer-Bawa's younger brother was a loafer, addicted to gambling and cards. My sister had said in an unguarded moment- 'I would rather stay single than wed such a fellow!"

  After a heavy Obbatoo meal at night everybody went to bed. After finishing the kitchen chores I too went to bed and slept. Sometime later I felt something heavy pressing on my chest. Frightened to death I couldn't even scream. When I did manage to scream 'Akka, Akka,' it must have been a gurgle in the throat. Suddenly the pressure lifted and I sensed someone moving away. Unable even to open my eyes, I just lay where I was. A little later Akka also gave a shriek. Bawa struck a match and asked what was wrong. Akka stammered 'I felt as if someone fell on my body.' He smiled and said 'Should you get alarmed over this small thing? Can't you see that black cat, going there?'

  'Where? I cannot see any cat at all,' she said doubtfully.

  'Look, it is crossing the mud-wall of the middle room and going into the kitchen.' Akka now insisted, 'I cannot see any cat.'

  And Bawa scolded her, 'You seem to have all kinds of nightmares these days. If you are so frightened, I myself will come and lie down next to you.'

  I heard him going towards her. Then snatches of their talk... 'Shame on them both Thoo... Thoo...not caring for my presence! Even as I am sleeping here!... surely, whatever fell on me now fell on Akka'...

  How could one be sure it was Gourakka's black cat? If it was really a cat, then Akka should have seen it. Or was someone telling a lie? I began to suspect Bawa. Could it not be he who had tried to sleep with me and, finding me unwilling, gone and pressed on Akka also? Could he be lying about having seen a black cat? Why should he have come to me when he had Akka to sleep with? She was not very old... May be five years older than me, that's all... I couldn't understand anything... My mind swayed and lurched till day-break.

  When the seeds dried out fully over four days in the sun, I ground and pounded them, winnowed and put them to boil again...

  That Tuesday, in spite of my entreating him not to go, Ayya insisted on going to Kadahalli to purchase a pair of bullocks. The trip became fatal for our home. There was plague at Kadahalli, but the villagers there had hidden the news from outsiders. Like others, Ayya too was deceived. When the returned home, he was running a high temperature. I gave him gruel to drink. That night he squirmed and tossed about like a rat dying of plague. He couldn't lie on his back or his sides, nor could he sit up. He was burning with fever. By the next morning he had a small boil on his left armpit. He couldn't lift the arm any more. I went out and brought the Pandit who lived in our village outside the Fort in which we lived. When he came and examined him he said:

  'This is not any ordinary boil; it seems to be a plague boil. Let us see and wait till tomorrow. Meanwhile, let me go and get some medicine.'

  He brought some dry roots and rubbed it into a paste on our round stone-disc used for grinding sandal-paste. 'Apply this paste every hour. Maybe the boil will melt.' I did as he said. Next morning the boil became bigger and more painful. Pandita came again. He was now certain that it was plague. I felt as if the skies had come down on me. I fell at his feet and pleaded with him to save Ayya. Stroking my head, he said kindly:

  'Don't worry. I shall do my very best.' He went and brought a different root and sat grinding it and I sat near him weeping.

  'Don't cry. Have faith in God.'

  When he came to wipe my tears with his cloth I felt shy and turned away. But at that moment I felt consoled somewhere deep within me. In that anxious hour he had appeared like God to me.

  'Take this paste and smear it on his boil.'

  I took it in a dish and went to Ayya. He wouldn't allow me to touch him. I would not leave him alone. Ayya was always like that. A man strong enough to stop a charging bull in its tracks, but one who would fuss like a child over little ailments like cough, cold or headache. He would not allow me to touch his boil and started of screaming. It was only after Pandita himself coaxed him that he allowed me to apply the paste on his boil.

  The boil got worse day by day. Even though Pandita laboured hard day and night there was no sign of the boil either opening or shrinking. On the eighth day, Pandita brought a bundle of a variety of medicinal roots. He made me apply the pastes, one every hour.

  That night, even as the whole village slept, the light in our house continued to burn. Clouds gathered in the dark sky and it began to rain. I took the paste near Ayya and called out gently to him. He didn't wake up. He was groaning in his sleep. He didn't seen to be conscious. I withdrew silently step by step. Pandita sat dozing against the wall.

  'Sir, you shouldn't lose more sleep. By now I have come to know roots to grind and when they must be applied. Please go home.' And I yawned.

  'Even you have not slept the last three nights. So you sleep first. I shall remain here. Please go.'

  He looked at me strangely and repeated the word 'Go' like a caress. I started wondering about everything he did and said. While his mouth uttered 'Daughter, Daughter,' his eyes, seemed to be saying something else altogether.

  'Go, I myself will wake you up when it's necessary.' The words were smooth. I had always felt that people living within the Fort were different from those outside it, and their behaviour always seemed odd.

  I stumbled in the darkness towards the room. I was groping for a mat and pillow when, sensing a light behind me, I became frightened and screamed. On the threshold, holding a burning torch was Pandita.

  'Don't get frightened, it's me. 'His face seemed very broad and his nose was like that of a hawk's. I felt him entering the room, and my heart hammered. In the yard it rained. I saw him going out slowly into the darkness. Reassured, I stretched myself on the mat and closed my eyes. The drumming of the rain increased and somehow Ayya's mournful illness seemed to have become a little distant. I could not sleep in spite of having kept awake for the past few nights. I saw the burning torch near the yard-pillar being quenched; the dark filled my eyes. The moist air seemed to seep through my Kalkunke blanket and I shivered with the cold. I bunche
d myself up, too tired to take the trouble of getting myself another blanket...

  Sleep must have come I don't know when In my dream I saw myself as the princess of the story Awwa used to tell me. Dressed in my rich silk sari, wearing my diamond ear-rings and gold bangles I was wandering in my garden. Ah... the Prince arrived on his white horse!... He got down from the horse!... He was coming near me... He came and embraced me.

  'It's me, it's me. Don't be afraid.'

  Pandita whispered smoothly as he slipped his hand in, unbuttoning my blouse. Wide awake now, I felt as if I was in another world. I had lost all control. Outside, the rain poured, rushing from all the four outlets into the yard. When I stammered 'Ayya,' Pandita said 'I have just applied the paste.' The pungent smell of the paste assailed my nostrils. And then it vanished, and I was the dream princess again. Riding the magic horse...

  When Pandita slipped out of the house, the rain had thinned into a drizzle. When he disappeared into the darkness just four steps beyond the yard, I giggled. Even though I hadn't eaten well for the past weeks, I felt full and happy. I seemed to have forgotten Ayya's plague boil and Pandita's paste. I was happy as I used to be when in the past I would stand in the sun, after an oil-bath. Forgetting that it was night, I went out and stood in the rain. I felt like dancing when the spray fell on my face. Sticking my tongue out, I tried to drink the drops of rain.

  I stumbled against Kariya as I came back into the house. The rain had stopped. Ayya's paste had dried up. After gazing at his face for a long time, I went to grind some more fresh paste.

  Though he was lying like a log, Ayya seemed disturbed within. As I was applying the paste, he was mumbling. His lips trembled as if the word came struggling out from within and shuddered to a stop on the lips. Sensing the moment of death, memories of the past must have troubled Ayya's mind.

  I remembered what Awwa used to say:

  Ayya was really young then but had he thumped the earth with his toe, then water would have surely sprung out of it: He was that strong. His wife was a sick woman.

  'I was like a touch-me-not plant. If I slept with him one night, it would take three months before I recovered...' Awwa used to say.

  Ayya groaned.

  Even before the wedding, everybody in the village said: 'What, such a frail bride for our hefty young man?'

  Ayya's father, had been won over by the gold offered and had agreed to the match—Ayya himself had told me this. He had been glad when she had given him two chubby daughters. He would always curse his father and say that the pleasures of the bed were not destined for him.

  It was during this time that Onkaramma had come from Dharwar and set up a small shop in our village. She was hefty like a buffalo. She would giggle for no reason whenever Ayya went to buy beedies at her place.

  One night Ayya lingered on in her shop after all the customers had gone away, and she called him in for a cup of tea. When he had finished, she spread the bed, laughing all the time... ('Your Ayya told me all this himself shamelessly,' Awwa had said).

  Ayya opened his eyes suddenly, like a dish opening suddenly when the lid is removed. He gazed at me as I applied the paste on his boil... I looked at him, and when I thought of how strong he had been and how weak he was now, my eyes filled with tears. Pandita's medicine had only made the boil bigger. I felt sick in the stomach.

  Ayya was staring at me... His gaze troubled me... Was he thinking about what would happen to me after he went away? Was he feeling guilty hat he hadn't got me married, but had kept me at home to look after him, after Awwa's death?

  I saw tears in Ayya's eyes and dabbed them even as I was applying the paste to the boil. Tears brimmed over in his own eyes. As I went on staring, I felt that Ayya was no more there. I was all alone at home. Darkness filled my eyes and I shuddered...

  Though Swami was high in the heavens, Pandita had not turned up. So I began grinding the paste myself. Ayya's face looked more wan and thin today than yesterday; the eyes were becoming glassy. By night it became difficult for him to swallow water. Another day and night passed. Ayya was struggling for breath. Towards day-break, just when out cockerel was crowing. Ayya's big soul flew away. Six others in out village caught plague, and two of them died. It didn't fortunately kill more.

  Akka, Bawa and other relations and friends came over. All of them went away one by one, after ceremonies.

  Only Akka stayed on for a while. When I missed my periods that month, she was alarmed. I told her everything. She wailed that I had brought shame to our home. She asked Onkaramma to give me medicines to get it out. The thing inside did not budge. She tried every conceivable remedy. Nothing happened. Her husband started writing to her frequently. 'There is no one to cook at home. The younger child is ill, come soon.' The people of the village began to get suspicious and Pandita fled one night. Akka embraced me as she was about to leave.

  'I am going most unwillingly, leaving you in this condition. What can I do? I shall tell Onkaramma. She will look after you. I shall come without fail for the delivery. Don't worry. Let people say whatever they like.'

  Akka was weeping as she got into the cart...

  I stirred the thickening mixture with a ladle. When all the water had dried up the mixture started oozing oil. I poured out the oil into another dish, leaving the sludge behind. I kept the oil again on the fire. I was perspiring profusely in the heat.

  'If it's male, I shall bring him up, even if I have to wear myself out...'

  I must have said this aloud, for Onkaramma, who had come in just at that minute lisped, 'If it's female, give her to me... I shall bring her up...'

  The oil thickened further. Stirring it vigorously, I put a drop into the fire. The oil flamed out immediately. 'It is the right consistency', said Onkaramma. After kicking aside Kariya, who was licking my feet I peered down. Even as the odour stung my nostrils, I poured the oil onto a pot.

  Translated by Dr Rajeev Taranath

  Amasa

  Devanoor Mahadeva

  Amasa is Amasa's name. Maybe because he is dark, maybe because he was born on a new moon day (amavasya), the name Amasa has stuck to him. If his parents had been alive, we could have found out why he came to be called Amasa. But by the time he could walk around on his own, the mother who bore him and the father who begot him had been claimed by their separate fates. Since then the Mari temple has meant Amasa, and Amasa has meant the Mari temple. But just because he lives in the Mari temple, it doesn't mean that he is an orphan. The Mari temple has offered shelter to many like him. Especially in the summer, the little temple becomes a regular camping ground for people seeking shelter from the heat.

  Now, apart from Amasa, there is also an old man living there. He's really ancient. So old that every hair on him, on his head, body and limbs, has gone grey. Nobody so far has seen him get up from where he usually sits. In a corner of the temple is spread a tattered, black blanket, nobody knows how old. He's always sitting on it, feet stretched before him, or leaning on a pillar, with his hands behind him. Apart from these three or four postures, he doesn't seem to know any other. It has somehow become his habit to sit like this, his eyes half-closed. He never sits any other way. Sitting like this, he looks as though he were lost in thought. Maybe it is his face, all wrinkled, that makes him look so thoughtful. Or perhaps it is his white moustache, thick as an arm, which comes all the way down to his neck from his side. There is always a man-sized bamboo stick. It doesn't have much use though, since Amasa is always around whenever he wants to move about. But it comes in handy to chase away the hens, the sheep and the young goats that wander nearby.

  We've talked of all this, but we haven't told you his name. Everyone in the village, from the youngest to the oldest, calls him Kuriyayya (Sheep man). Was he named so at birth? That concerns neither you nor us. But this much is certain; from the day he could stand on his own feet to the day his feet could no longer walk, he has herded the sheep of the village headman. Even now when he sits with his eyes half-closed, he counts the sheep, one b
y one, on his fingers, to himself. This goes on, six or seven times each day. And he hasn't missed a single day. Amasa began to grow up right in front of his eyes. He is now around ten or eleven. Whenever Kuriyayya calls, Amasa answers. Every evening as the night descends on the village, Amasa and Kuriyayya wait eagerly for the monastery bell to ring. The moment it strikes, Amasa grabs the plate and glass kept by Kuriyayya's side and runs. As the night has already fallen by then, you can't see Amasa running in the dark. But if you skin your eyes and peer into the inky night, you can see the darkness stir at his flight. One doesn't know for how long he has gone. It's only when his call 'Ayya' shakes the night that you know he has returned. Kuriyayya sits up if he's lying down. As always they eat the gruel from the monastery in the dark. Amasa then goes to sleep. Though the village too has by then gone to sleep, the silence of the night is broken now and then by the barking of dogs and the hooting of owls. The old man, unable to sleep, stares into the night. He mutters things to himself, calls out to Amasa a few times and, getting no reply, finally falls asleep.

  Mari festival comes to all the neighbouring villages once a year. It came to Amasa's village too. It was only then that Kuriyayya had to shift himself to another place, for the villagers scrubbed the temple, painted it with white-lime and red-earth, and made it stand out. When it was done and all sides freshly painted with stripes of white-lime and red-earth, the morning sun fell on it and the Mari temple shone with an added brilliance. Only Kuriyayya's corner, surrounded by all this brightness, looked even gloomier. In the hall, a dozen men milled around, busily running back and forth, getting the torch ready, cutting paper of different colours for decorating the yard and doing a hundred other jobs. And since almost everyone there wore new white clothes, the Mari temple sparkled in whiteness.