by Eric Alagan
‘But open in our deepest intimacies and frank in our long discourses, as we’ve always been towards one another, my lord, you must agree men exercise two sets of moral codes: one for women and one for men. Women, as the mighty Kaveri, should not break her banks but men are free to explore her sisters, Himavathi, Bhavani, and Bedavathi. Society accuses the former for losing her chastity but fetes the latter his conquests. And here you are, consorting with me, and we are truly both chaste.’
‘Indeed, here I am, as you say, consorting with you, Devi, and we are both chaste.’
I took the drink and Madhavi, pleased, in one smooth motion regained her spot next to me. She placed a soft hand on my shoulder, and I felt not a shiver of excitement but only revulsion.
I regained my composure for, my decision already made, it would not be decorous to exchange more harsh words. She had insulted our relationship and questioned my morality. After all, she was a devadasi. Her ilk was ostentatious in their dedication to temple service but danced in the public eye for all to leer; and surreptitious in service to their gurus, and also allowed into their sanctums any man who contributed coin.
‘Are you feeling better, my lord?’
‘You have satisfied my curiosity.’
I rewarded her with a brief emotionless smile and stood up, not only to escape her touch but also to hide my face from her scrutiny. Trained like all women of her ilk, she could read a man’s intentions from a mere twitch of a muscle.
‘Madhavi,’ I said, making my voice soft, ‘you have often beseeched me to visit my chaste wife, Kannagi, a matter I had wished to discuss earlier and only now found the opportunity. Do you continue to embrace this wish, that I visit my flawless wife, Kannagi?’
‘How delightful, and yes, my lord, and with the impending birth of our child, she is very welcome to join in our joy.’
‘Yes, those were my exact intentions and I shall directly make haste to visit that peerless person, my wedded wife, Kannagi.’
‘Now, this very night? But why the haste, my lord, for would it not bode better to rest and recover, and make your vital visit under a gloriously bright sunlight? To call on her under the veil of the night, would it not diminish the significance of this welcomed event?’
‘It is an auspicious day, Madhavi, and I should cross the threshold there before the sun hides and extinguishes all that is good of today.’
I turned to her. A mistake, for she right away read the intentions lurking behind my eyes.
‘I too cannot bear being separated from my dear elder sister, Kannagi,’ she said, and held my arm, her grip tight and possessive. ‘But the suddenness of your errand troubles me, my lord. Please, rest the night and after the morning ablutions, take the holy kumkuma from our altar and smear it on her forehead and escort her back with all proper rites and respects.’
‘Madhavi, I have been fair to you, treated you well and, unlike most men who shackle their women, I have not put you in a gilded cage. I have given you the freedom, free as the bird to return to the perch as and when you wish to, have I not?’
‘Yes, my lord, in this and many other aspects, you have gone against the grain, but, though your tone is soft, your words are daggers with twin edges.’
‘Would you have me chained, Madhavi?’
‘Only with my love, my lord, and why again Madhavi, what became of Devi?’
‘Would you have me chained?’ I persisted, intent she answers to my satisfaction and not lead with her questions.
‘No, my lord, never.’
‘Good, and shackle your hesitation, especially since you have often chided me for not visiting my dear blemish-free wife, Kannagi. I need to go to my wife and see how she fares and attend to her comforts, for I have neglected her more than any decency allows.’
‘Your words are correct, my lord, but do not go just yet to steal a visit, as though you were a thief. There is only a fingernail sliver of a moon for guidance and even that under the gloom of a foggy night.’
‘Steal a visit, you say?’ I snatched my arm free of her hold. ‘Is my wife some devadasi to receive nameless men in the stealth of the night? How dare you, a woman of known value?’
‘Oh god, why do you speak so harshly? You know that’s not what I meant.’
‘Enough!’ I raised my hand. ‘My heart is set, woman, and if you now dread my departure, is it because you fear the bonds of your love not strong? Who waits in the shadows you fear your heart will invite, to steal a visit as some thief, when I am gone?’
‘Oh, god! How can you speak such words to me? You’re the only god I’ve had sight of, my lord. There is no one, no lurking shadow.’
‘Enough! Wish me well then, and speak no more, for from your own reckoning there is no alarm, am I not right? Goodbye, Madhavi. I go now and there is no need for rest or sleep, for I am invigorated and awake.’
I moved to the door with Madhavi hurrying behind. I picked up my pace but she, a well-trained dancer, matched my steps with ease. As we went down the stairs, she spewed much but I did not care to hear her words, for they were water falling off feathers; and this dove would spread its wings and be free again. By the time we reached the threshold, the servants had appeared at windows and doorways to bear silent witness.
Madhavi dropped to the floor and grabbed my sandaled feet. She was crying, a scene I had sought to avoid.
‘I fear, my lord, you’ve decided to exclude me from your life. Please, I beg you, take me with you. All I need is a place at your feet and that is enough wet love for my heart.’
‘The wet love you feel now, Madhavi, is only vapid blood weeping from a vented neck long after the heart had stopped thumping.’
‘Don’t discard me, my lord.’
‘If you are a chaste woman as you claim to be, do not cross the threshold and sully my pure wife Kannagi’s house, for that is a holy abode.’
Then, as she clung to my feet, I wriggled out of my sandals, leaving them in her hands, and stepped out and onto the free sands of fate. Behind me, the wretched woman’s wails pierced the night. Whereas a day earlier, a sniff from her would have ruined my day, now, I felt nothing.
I had finally broken from her hold. I was free to return to my dear Kannagi. Free! I breathed deep and exhaled. The air was brisk and sweet.
As I calmed, a new fear gripped my chest. Kannagi. My dear Kannagi. Oh god! Will she take me back?
13: Kovalan returns to Kannagi
I FASHIONED THE TURBAN with the tail end wrapped across my face, and only my eyes exposed. Thus disguised, I paid the bullock cart driver the last piece of silver I had with me, for I did not wish to take even a copper coin from that woman, lest it soils my new beginning. As for my share of the earnings, well, let my money be the going-away gift, the end of a sorry relationship, and a price well-paid for a lesson hard-learned.
I erred. I succumbed to weakness. Lust imprisoned me. The burden of blame is mine to bear alone. But another voice within laughed. The burden had always been on my blameless wife, Kannagi. Oh god. What a wretch I had become. But I thanked all the gods for having given me sight.
The bullock cart trundled along the streets in the silence of the night, the wheels making sharp sounds as they crushed stones and left behind bad memories, and the soft tinkle of bells hanging around the necks of the beasts heralded new promises.
Then a thought stroked and sent a chill through my being. What if Kannagi was not at home; what if she had long gone to her parents’ house? I felt trepidation even meeting her, let alone bearing the shame of facing my in-laws, or my parents.
But no, I knew my dear Kannagi would never resort to such a venture. She is my wife, my best friend, and though it has been about two years since I left, she would await my return in our house. Our house. How strange but correct the words sound. Our house. No, her house. And so I argued and debated, and sank into the troughs of doubt and shame, and kept raising my eyes to the peaks of hope and reconciliation.
When the bullock cart turned the corner into
the familiar street, I was glad it was late at night, for the lights in the bungalows had doused and there were no people about on the street or servants lounging at gates to catch up on gossip. The families had retired behind closed doors; the children fortified with meals to face the fast overnight, tucked into warm beds; and the husbands and wives enjoying their intimacy.
Suddenly, I felt acute homesick and yearned for my wife’s platonic company, without the overhanging feelings of guilt. A guilt I had banished to the depths of my mind but knew its ever-present indictment.
Yes, I enjoyed Madhavi’s company, her music, her body, and the unfettered carnal pleasures. But looking back, I was not a happy man, for the feeling was one of emptiness, devoid of all divine and societal approval. That bliss was an illusion requiring the shroud of darkness to vindicate and bring to life. Whenever I ventured out with that woman, I felt the staring eyes, disapproving behind masks of fawning smiles. It was mere rapture that I could have purchased for a handful of coins from the doorways which exuded cheap sweet scents in the narrow alleys of Maruvur District.
True happiness could only come from the embrace of one’s wife. I knew that now. And I again thanked all the gods who had nudged me to the right path. I had behaved as a child, ever demanding for the new toy that caught my eyes. New toys did not give new pleasures. For pleasure hid in every toy and relied more on one’s imagination to bring it forth.
Though we had lost dozens of full moons, my dear Kannagi and I could look forward to a long, loving, and happy life. I owed Kannagi an immeasurable debt and even if she poured anger and disappointment upon me, I resolved to take all her venom, for truly I would be a deserving recipient.
Engrossed so, I mumbled a silent prayer as the bullock cart pulled up in front of my house. I gazed at the all-too-familiar gate. The driver said something, but I waved him away.
There was no watchman, and I wondered whether he was away on his rounds. I waited until I realised there was no one on duty, not even a stray cat. I jiggled the heavy lock, but it demanded a key to come free.
I yearned to call to Kannagi but decided against it, lest the neighbourhood roused too. It annoyed me that the devadasi had been right. Perhaps I should have waited for light. I stood there under the black sky, glad the moon was too thin and too shrouded by clouds to expose my foolishness, for I was indeed a fool sneaking back to savour the true love I had abandoned.
The night turned frigid but, in my anger and hurry, I had forgotten a warm coat. Another mistake, a miniscule error of judgement, one of a long string of missteps but none bigger than the ones committed against my dear wife. I deserved to suffer the cold already cutting through the fabric to the bone. I deserved whatever punishment the gods showered down upon me.
Curling into a tight ball, I pushed myself into a corner of one of the stone pillars standing sentinel at the iron-gate. Sleep did not come but instead memories kept me company. My conscience jeered but above the noise I heard a little encouraging voice to keep heart, and to trust my dear wife, Kannagi. I promised to redeem myself by providing Kannagi the life she deserved, so her sacrifice, her fortitude, and her faith would not go to waste. She deserved the best, much more than I could ever give even if I lived a hundred years and devoted every moment to making her happy. But henceforth nothing would discourage me. I would dedicate my life to my wife.
Throughout my troubled sleep, I startled awake whenever a night bird flew past, its wings flapping, or when a dog, disturbed by things of the night, howled. I did not know whether devils or demons wandered but if there were, perhaps they left me alone because I was under my Kannagi’s protection.
I must have fallen asleep for I woke in the morning, feeling the pain of stiff joints. I peered over the wall and spied the family Tulasi plant on the plinth. The slender green was flourishing, and it pleased me and gave me hope. It meant Kannagi would appear to water and circle the plant, as she hummed her morning prayers. And perhaps she would take me in before the neighbours stirred. I was not ashamed of what people might think of me but was afraid of the injury she might suffer from cruel words hurled by others. For this reason, I did not wish for queries from curious eyes.
A small light came alive within the depths of the house and sent my heart thumping. The light was not from the bedrooms, which were on the top floor, but from one of the smaller rooms below. Was it Kannagi or one of the servants woken earlier?
The front door cracked open and a faint shaft of light fell on the ground beyond the threshold. A lithe graceful figure emerged, her steps soft and careful, as if not to cause injury to earth-mother. Parting the misty swirls of dawn, she approached the family Tulasi plant.
Kannagi came to offer morning prayers. My heart pounded and hot tears dripped down my cheeks and wet my tunic. She was engaged in venerations and, not wishing to intrude, I remained hidden.
She looked serene but sad, and my silent tears continued to flow. Her presence and prayers were cleansing me. I was ready to accept her anger and, god forbid, even her rejection. Yes, if she so decided, I would go away and attach no blame to her.
Kannagi, after her prayers, went back into the house and even as I debated how best to make my approach, she again emerged, holding a roll of banana leaf and a tin pail. She drifted to the low wall behind which I cringed, opened the gate, and unrolled the banana leaf on a plinth set outside the gate. Retrieving several small bundles of hot cooked food from the pail, she arranged them into a little pyramid. Satisfied her charity would feed some poor for the day, she turned but paused, alerted by some sixth sense.
My legs straightened, as if on their own accord, and I stood up.
She stood speechless, and I moved forward, with a swell in my throat. Immediately, she ran forward, went down on her knees and touched my feet. Her hot tears blotched my dusty skin, and it wrecked my heart. I knelt down with her and we held one another and sobbed. With trembling hands, I took Kannagi’s weight and pulled her up with me.
‘Athan,’ she kept repeating. ‘Athan.’ And she said, ‘You are rain for my drought. A life-giver. A good man. I knew you would return.’
I withdrew my hands, afraid to hug her, afraid my embrace would sully her purity. But she would not have it. She wrapped herself in my arms. I stiffened and she looked up, gazing into my eyes.
‘Do you not wish to hold me, Athan?’
I blabbered some incoherent words of confused contrition, and together we cried.
I WAS BACK HOME BUT felt very much a visitor, a stranger who could not muster the nerve to wander the house at will. I needed to gather myself and also give Kannagi time to get accustomed to my presence.
The living room looked the same but stripped clean of furniture. Even the swing chair I sat on, though polished, lacked cushions. A solitary oil lamp, statuesque and of gleaming brass, stood in solemn silence. It was a new addition; one I did not recall.
Kannagi brought a tumbler of warm milk and I asked her to take a sip but she refused, insisting I first quench my thirst. I decided to please her and reminded myself to do anything and everything as she wished, no matter how miniscule. I threw my head back and, as was the custom, poured the milk down my throat.
When I handed the tumbler to her, Kannagi took the receptacle, turned aside, and drank the tiny residue left behind. She closed her eyes and swallowed with satisfaction. What a fool I was for having emptied the cup.
‘I’m so sorry, my sweet, I drank it all.’
‘All the more I can taste your sweet saliva, dear Athan,’ she said.
We spoke about many things, safe matters that skirted my indiscretions. As the morning gave way to noon, I asked about the state of the house. It was neat but empty. Bare, save for a few kitchen utensils, sleeping mats, and the oil lamp.
‘The oil lamp has an aura about it,’ I said.
‘You selected a worthy family heirloom that provided light in my dark nights.’ Seeing my expression, she said, ‘My brother Anandan, before departing for Araby, conveyed it to me as you direc
ted.’
‘Yes,’ I said, hiding the truth that I knew nothing of the lamp lest it hurt her. ‘It gleams, but what calamity, my sweet, has swept through our house and cleaned it so bare?’
‘Please, Athan, vex not yourself. I caused our poverty. This cursed woman before you carries the blame and will gladly suffer any punishment you deem fit.’
‘Cursed? You? No, never you! I committed grave errors, unforgiveable wrongs, and will not add to the store. But there is treachery here, I suspect. Tell me, my sweet, share the story without fear. Who or what has brought this disaster upon us?’
14: Fortune lost to Folly
HOW AM I TO TELL MY Athan the truth? There is no gold, no silver—not even a copper coin. How could he not know? Surely, he knows it was by his will I sold everything to send him money. He must know. Even our house belongs to moneylenders.
He has many dreams and shared many eager plans to rebuild our life. Cursed I am to break the truth and dash all his hopes. The genesis of our doom took root after my brother Anandan sent word to my dear husband to come and fetch me to Tree House. Alas, my dear Athan never came but in his stead, another did.
Madhavi’s mother, who identified herself as Amah Chitra-Vathi, came unannounced. Vasantha-Mala, the maid-servant, accompanied the old woman. When my servants brought the news, I did not know how to receive the elder. There were no established customs. How would a wife welcome the mother of a woman who had taken away her husband? Outraged and offended, and forgetting hospitality, I kept her waiting. I refused to set eyes on the woman, for only an evil being could have given life to a daughter who would steal another’s lawful husband. But in time, I relented because I could not disparage my parents by displaying poor behaviour fed by anger. I decided to receive the woman and if she proved to be a disagreeable person, so be it. For she is not my mother and not my teacher, and from my manner, she might learn how a chaste woman lives and conducts herself, and how my parents and teachers nurtured me with correct mores.