by Eric Alagan
Our meeting started off wary, but the woman had a fetching way that dispelled my worst fears.
‘It’s a house of great splendour,’ said the woman, marvelling at the high ceiling and heavy drapes. Her eyes flitted over the furniture and their intricate carvings, and the flawless sheen of the brass artefacts. For a moment, the surroundings engrossed the woman but after regaining her presence, she said,
‘You’re fortunate that your husband Kovalan has ensconced you in such a lovely gilded cage. And which love-bird will find cause to complain?’
Amah Chitra-Vathi spoke of many other things but for the most part I remained silent, except for adding a soft word or two so as not to show overt rudeness, until she touched the kernel of my concern—Kovalan, my dear husband.
‘We were all distraught when Kovalan decided not to fetch you to Tree House,’ she said. ‘It was such happy news from your brother Anandan and conveyed flawlessly by our trusted Vasantha-Mala. Your sister Madhavi had been persistent, at the risk of incurring Kovalan’s disapproval, in encouraging him to take you back and acknowledge you as his first wife.’
‘Tell me more, please, for what could have frustrated my brother’s happy solution?’ I asked with unhidden excitement. Noticing my enthusiasm, the woman grew verbose.
‘Alas, Kovalan, possessed by things fascinating and frightening, neglects his business and indulges in the devils’ drinks,’ said the woman. ‘He has gathered around him a coterie of hangers-on, the kind not allowed past any decent threshold, but what can I, a poor wretched old woman, do? He is a frequent visitor to pleasure halls where nymphs with wasp waists and deep honeyed breasts swarm, ever ready to suck the vitality of wealthy men, and returns inebriated, past the midnight call. Please forgive me, my child, it’s not for me to disparage anyone, and especially your beloved husband, and if I speak ill, may worms infest my tongue and cause it to wither and drop.’
‘And what of Madhavi, did she not help my dear Athan find his way?’
‘Alas, your sister Madhavi, that foolish girl, loves him with her pure heart and has offered to help pay for expenses your husband incurred. She has agreed to exploit her talents in return for crass coin. But Kovalan, ever full of pride and quick to anger, will not hear of it. Meanwhile, moneylenders, like stray cats and rabid dogs, appeared at our doorstep, claiming your husband had ransomed his indulgence with borrowed money. So here I am, having shamelessly climbed your gilded steps, my flickering strength drained, even as fear gripped my weak heart at the reception you would give one such as myself.’
‘Dear Amah Chitra-Vathi—’
‘There is no need for such formality, my dear, for you are queen of this vast and wealthy palace. Please, a simple amah will do, as even a bent old wretch infested with lice deserves that.’
‘You are no wretch, mother dear, and as you wish, amah, please forgive my reluctance just now for not having quickly received you. I was angry but remembering all good things taught by my family, I cringed. And if you will now allow me to make amends and redeem my worth in your eyes, I shall remain always grateful and with ready hospitality.’
‘Yes, I can see correct upbringing in you and what a lucky man, Kovalan, to have you for a wife. If he could treat your sister, Madhavi, with but a fraction of the consideration a man accords a mongrel.’
‘What do you mean, amah? For I know my husband well and he is not any such sort.’
‘He is not, except he curses your sister Madhavi for not having coffers filled with gold and silver to give when he stretches out his hand. He always chides her that if it were his dear Kannagi, he has to but blink and she would pour gold and silver in his lap, prompting him to hold up his hand and cry: Enough, enough. What can one say? We’re women, are we not, and suffer a woman’s lot.’ She exhaled. Then, placing a hand on my shoulder, she said,
‘I empathise with how you miss your beloved husband, for I too, at about your age, suffered the same fate when my husband, a good man, left saying he was going away to seek his fortune, to give me a good life, though the only life I yearned for was to be of service at his feet and find pleasure in his embrace. My husband was a good man, who wished the best for me and my daughter, Madhavi, all of one-year-old then.
‘My husband having gone away, the years passed and my despondency grew heavier. I waited at the threshold for his happy return but knew in my heart that either bandits or wild animals had taken my poor husband, a good man. So, I did the unthinkable and became a dancing girl. Society spewed ill and painted smudge while relishing my wincing body. For what does society care, my dear child, Kannagi? I had a cursed stomach to feed, and also a suckling child, dependent as a desperate hatchling in an exposed nest. There were predators all around, men with gold in their pouches and lust in their eyes. Should I sell my daughter to these upright men of society? Would that have gained better approval? Or should I have pressed her into slavery or let her loose to beg on streets? Or would you have me work in a house of ill-repute, and play a poor role model and hasten my daughter’s own demise?
‘Therefore, I danced till my soles flattened and grew calluses, sang till my voice went hoarse, and smiled till my face grew stiff as clay. I eked out a miserable living, collecting copper coins from men who fashioned themselves generous even as they tossed with one hand and grabbed my femininity with the other. It was a terrible life not even your worst enemies deserve. We women bestowed with beauty, supposed gift from the gods, know it to be a curse. Men view us not as equals in a partnership but as mere playthings; toys they discard when our beauty wanes and withers. We give our youth to men but only to die before death catches us. Not a day went by without some man offering vulgar proposal. These are matters which I cannot bring myself to speak, not even in my advanced age, having nothing more to hide, nothing more to give, for men had seen it all and stolen it all. For when these memories overpower me, in moments of my weakness, I run and hide in shadows and weep in shame for what I had become. But I told myself, it was me or my daughter, and so I gave myself over to things no woman brought up in a loving home and correct path, as you have been, should give your ears to.
‘I did not wish for my daughter, your sister Madhavi, to endure the echoes of my wretched life and when she suggested performing in the dance halls to eke out a living to support Kovalan, I felt my entire body suffer the unbearable agony of lasciviously licking flames. I confess I grew in hatred for Kovalan for what he had brought upon my precious child. Please, forgive me my frankness but this is a mother’s heart bleeding to you, and as a woman I seek your understanding as entwined as we are in the greater sisterhood of our lot. As women, my dear child, we’re but toys for the whims and amusement of men.’
Hearing the old wretch’s wrenching words, my tears flowed, and I placed a hand on hers. She grasped mine as if it were a lifeline. I saw in her my mother, and many soft feelings tugged me.
‘Your husband, Kovalan, born to riches, behaves as a child and, with Madhavi unable to give him gold and silver, laments that you, Kannagi, would never deny him.’
‘Did he say that, dear amah, did he mention my name?’
‘Why of course, my child, no sun sets in our household without Kovalan mentioning your name at least a dozen times or more. Hearing him speak so well of you in praise and more, your sister Madhavi becomes desperate to fall at your feet to receive blessings. But alas, he forbids her to cross the threshold. It is so sad, for what a joy it would give my faltering heart, fast depleting its store of finite beats, to behold two lovely and loving sisters unite into one, both serving the man they love so dearly.’
‘Is sister Madhavi a person of so much kindness and love towards me, even one whom she has not met?’
‘Who is to tell, my dear child, whether you have already met in another life, perhaps she as your slave and you as her mistress?’
‘No, dear amah, if I had been so blessed, I am sure we were sisters and no less.’
‘But forgive my wicked eyes, for I see something troubles you, my ch
ild, something about your sister Madhavi.’
‘Forgive me too, amah dear, I have been selfish, harbouring a woman’s heart, a wife’s hurt, and filled with ill feelings towards my sister Madhavi.’
‘But the blame is not yours, for those who spin tales juicier it is to embellish with half-truths and full-lies, my daughter dear, though my womb is not worthy to have borne one as chaste and generous as you.’
‘Please do not judge yourself harsh, amah dear, for no womb is unworthy to bear life. How can I help? Show me the way.’
‘As I just now mentioned, my poor daughter and your sister, Madhavi, does not want to be a burden to anyone, most of all you. And Kovalan, claiming to have so much wealth it would last ten generations, he said, has also forbidden her to dance in the public eye. But we cannot take his money, all the more for society already views me as a woman without morality. You, foster daughter to this poor old hag and sister to the blameless Madhavi, you would understand. For you’re so pure, your purity blinds me; for you’re so chaste, your chastity makes me drop at your feet.’
So saying, and without warning, she touched my feet. My toes withdrew in shock, and I bent down and pulled her up. I wiped her warm tears and hugged her tight to my bosom. I comforted her but the embrace comforted me too.
When she had collected herself, I said, ‘Wait here, I’ll be back soon.’
Grabbing two bags of gold coins, I re-joined the poor woman and placed them in her reluctant hands.
She kept saying no, as if afraid someone might discover the bags on her person and accuse her of thievery. But I kept pressing the pouches into her pale palms.
‘Oh my dear child, one cannot speak of the things I did; certainly not in polite company or high society. But I’ve never lived on charity. I’ve always worked, had to work, for every miserable bowl of salt-less gruel.’
‘Amah dear, dwell not on the past but look at the present and to the future.’
‘But my dear child—’
‘Not another word, please, amah dear. Please. If you love me as your elder daughter, take the money and let’s not hear another word about the matter.’
‘You chain me with your love, leaving me compelled to receive these but even then only upon your insistence.’
‘On my insistence then, please,’ I said.
‘May all the gods shower good things upon you in this life and many more.’
The old woman took the gold and gave it to her hand maiden, Vasantha-Mala. Then, grimacing with pain, she rose and said,
‘This gold will last until a month but I’m sure by then your sister Madhavi would come up with some new plans.’
‘Inform my sister Madhavi not to stray from the path of dharma. Ask her to do as Kovalan says, do not cross the threshold. Fear not for coin, for there is more where these came from. What use is money stored and not used?’
‘Wise words from one so young,’ said the woman, ‘and if ever the need arises, I’ll, as you wish, dispatch Vasantha-Mala and you can drop a copper coin or two in her palms.’
Before bidding her farewell, I presented the old woman some kumkuma in a small silver container, for though deserted by her husband, in the sight of god, if not society, she remained married and wore the holy thali around her neck.
Over the months the hand-maiden, Vasantha-Mala, came calling, for it was plain my dear husband’s appetite was insatiable and I handed over more and more treasures. There was no unhappiness on my part. It was after all his, and it gave me great joy knowing my dear husband was living without need. The visits became more and more regular and at shorter intervals too.
First the gold went, then the silver, and before long there was no more, not even a copper coin. After which, I sold all the valuable paintings, the bundles of precious books, wood carvings, and exquisite furniture. I sent repeated word to my dear husband, wanting to know which pieces of furniture to keep and which to sell. Should I sell his favourite swing, the one he likes to sit on when composing songs? How about the divan in our bedroom, where, during happier days, he sat and sang songs and lulled me to sleep? According to Vasantha-Mala, my dear husband wished to sell everything. Everything! She further reported he was engaged in commercial ventures and for me not to worry. He hoped to recover all our spent wealth. The news gave me heart. It meant he had distanced himself from his debauched friends and turned to his business interests.
But the maid-servant continued to appear, an itch that would not go away. Yes, an itch, because with passing months, she grew haughty and even discourteous. But with my dear Kovalan persisting, I had to endure even a servant’s subtle insults.
The woman would enter uninvited into my home and, without a word, sit in the living room. Silent. Brooding. Demanding. She behaved as a debt collector, leaving me to hurry and gather whatever meagre articles of value overlooked.
Finally, and at wit’s end, I borrowed against the house and now the moneylenders own it. Unable to maintain the household, I had to let go the servants one after another. There was much emotion as these people had served us well and their livelihoods depended on us.
All this, I related to my dear Athan. He listened with a patience I had not seen in him; after which, he sighed and said,
‘Knowing we were on the road to reunion, the witch Chitra-Vathi had the maid carry lies about the reception you promised. The news stopped me from coming to you sooner, my sweet. Then, having bought the time, the witch well exploited it.’
‘Was Madhavi a confederate in the scheme?’
‘I don’t think so, but please do not again mention that name in my presence.’
‘As you wish, dear Athan.’
‘Let’s leave this fraud buried and never let it come between us. I do not wish to be a public fool, and therefore will not seek restitution from the swindlers. The people who wilfully cheated us will have money enough to erect their tombstones.’
‘I know well your temper, dear Athan, and already rejected all help from my parents.’
‘And never will I return as a failure to my father’s house.’
‘Then we have nothing, dear Athan.’
‘I have you, my dear blameless wife, and you are treasure enough.’
‘You could call on our dear friend Anandan, who sent a message of having returned from Araby. He has grown wealthy by all reckoning and promised to visit after settling his immediate affairs.’
‘No, my sweet,’ he whispered, ‘let us not sully his success with our sorrow.’
So saying, he embraced me tight and long, and our shoulders turned dark and wet with tears, and our eyes drained.
‘My ankle rings, Athan.’
With nervous excitement I removed them from my feet and placed the pair in his hands. He studied the ankle rings and his fingers traced their perfect curves.
‘But they are yours, my sweet.’ His voice was a whisper.
‘I give them to you to sell, Athan, and with the seed rebuild your honour.’
‘I will not sell them, ever.’
I remained silent, did not wish to nag, for he would arrive at a wise decision.
‘Perhaps,’ he said with some hesitation, ‘perhaps, I can pawn one piece and rebuild our lives with the money. And as soon as is possible, redeem the pawn too.’
‘A good suggestion, my dear Athan.’
‘But not here, my sweet, not in Puhar.’
After a few moments, he said, ‘We will directly adventure to the Pandyan’s Madurai, the ancient city of ramparts, and free from knowing looks and snide whispers, seek a new life.’
‘A good suggestion, my dear Athan. When do you wish to leave?’
‘Now, my sweet, right away, before the sun rises and brings with it ridicule and painful gossip.’
15: In the West lies Fate and Fame
KOVALAN WAS EAGER TO leave. He worked through the night writing several letters to our families, Anandan, and to the moneylenders. Leaving the palm leaf letters on the family altar, where a visitor would find them, we bundled sev
eral necessities for our journey: food and water, thick cloaks and rolled mats for sleeping, and a few incidentals.
My poor husband removed the rope, the only piece we had, from the well and tied it around the brass lamp to better carry it. The lamp was heavy, but he said it was an article we could use to barter. He planned to carry all the load but, wanting to share the burden, I would not have it. He agreed without question and his meekness saddened me. Ever since his return, he agreed to all my requests, large and small. Defeated and subdued, he had withdrawn into himself. I resolved to help recover my dear husband’s past vigour and confidence.
Well-provisioned, in the early hours of the morning we stepped over the threshold. As stated in his letter, I left the household keys in the tall plinth where grew the family Tulasi plant. Clasping my hands, I went around the magical plant several times in silent prayer. Satisfied, we took a last look at the house and grounds and, with heavy sighs, opened the gate and let ourselves out onto the street.
In the distant dark, a dog barked but otherwise only the buzz of insects wished us well. High in the heavens, in the sheet of deep, unrelenting black pin-pricked by stars, the thin moon smiled. The nights ahead promised to grow brighter and it would be another week or more before the sky darkened and hid the dangers of the land. To keep out the morning cold and the heat which would bathe us in the day, Kovalan wrapped a turban about his head and I pulled a shawl over mine.
Hunching under the heavy cloth bundle and lamp, Kovalan set a steady pace, and I three steps behind. Every hundred paces or so, Kovalan turned to review my progress, and I rewarded him with a moment’s smile. It wrecked my heart, seeing him thus. He was of gentle persuasion, not drawn to physical prowess and unaccustomed to deprivations. After he turned several times, I assured him I was holding out well, and not to waste his energy and rhythm by stopping to check on me.
Kovalan, not used to carrying heavy loads, shifted his bundle from shoulder to shoulder. I wondered how long more before his skin rubbed raw and bled. I consoled myself that much of what he carried was food and drink, and with every meal stop the load would lighten. But in his bundle was the oil lamp, a heavy burden but an indispensable need.