by Eric Alagan
It had already been several days since I last saw my Athan’s back. Meanwhile, food had lost all taste and sleep eludes me. Every sunrise, I watched the morning grow with hope and every sunset the day died, giving over to night, leaving me yearning for my husband who was my thumb and beak.
Gayathri and her daughter failed, yet again, to entice me with food and, stifling the dull pain in my stomach to keep alert for the sudden arrival of my husband, I went to bed.
Sometimes the earth quivered as if it was a slumbering beast shivering to shake off the torment of ticks. When I asked, the kind woman, Gayathri, said,
‘It’s the nature of the beast to remind us to live correct lives, Lady Kannagi.’
Upon enquiring further, Gayathri related a tale handed down for generations, part of the local lore, and similar to the extraordinary story told by Eraivan, the Arakan king.
‘It’s a fire-breathing creature of immense proportions and power which lurks beneath the earth, its fiery tongues always probing, seeking a fissure. And once found, it’ll escape to the surface and fly high into the clouds and rain down fire and smoke and ash for days on end, the likes of which we witness but once every ten thousand harvests or more.’
‘Will it surface here, in the village?’
‘The village is safe, Lady Kannagi, but the wise ones say where evil reigns, the beast will discover an exit and surface to devour and destroy.’
It was a superstition of people who lived close to nature and therefore, when the ground moved again, I ignored it and turned to relieve the numbness on my side.
But this night a light weight rested on my arm and rocked me back and forth—and I woke with a start. Blinking into the dull dark, I saw eyes! I cried out. And immediately a hand clamped over my mouth.
‘Little sister.’
The voice was familiar, and the hand over my mouth released, followed by a whisper.
‘It’s me, Savaali.’
I smelt Savaali; he had the smell which followed the Arakans.
‘We have news of your husband, Kovalan sir.’
‘Kovalan?’ I whispered.
He said yes, and rose in one movement, pulling me up to my feet. He held my hand and guided me in the formless dark, and we eased out the door and into dim light.
‘Where are you taking me?’ I twisted my hand free.
Savaali held a finger to his lips. Grasping my hand again, he ducked and crouched and, tugging me in starts and stops, weaved and darted from shadow to shadow as we navigated past silent houses and opened windows. When we reached the outskirts of the village, I pulled my hand free again and demanded.
‘What news of my husband, Kovalan?’
‘Not here, little sister, for the wind had risen and the dogs will sniff us. Come, I’ll carry you so we can make better haste.’
He squatted and this time, without protest, I climbed on his back. And as he trotted off in a brisk pace, he said,
‘I meant the dogs will sniff me.’
‘Where are we going?’ I clung tight and bounced on his back, and my words pumped out one at a time.
‘To the edge, where Eraivan awaits you.’
‘My husband, what news of him?’
‘Eraivan waits, little sister, though for now I don’t know what the news.’
Savaali was already slick with sweat and I had difficulty holding on to his slippery shoulders.
‘Wrap your legs around me and press tight,’ said the Arakan.
‘Your girth is too wide.’
‘Not as wide as my woman, little sister, do you remember her?’ said Savaali. ‘And if you continue to slip, brace yourself, wedge your toes into my waist belt.’
I did as he suggested and that helped to hold my grip. I remained worried for my husband but Savaali’s presence instilled confidence. Blind hopeful confidence.
‘My woman, do you remember her?’ Savaali asked again.
The big man’s effusive cheer proved infectious. Surely, nothing can be amiss. Not with my big brother around. Thus assuring myself, I said,
‘Yes, how is she, your woman?’ I recalled a huge black woman with pendulous breasts, frizzy brown hair, and a ready smile.
‘Which one?’ There was mischief in his voice.
‘How many women do you have?’ I asked.
‘One, but she’s so huge, sometimes I think I sleep with two. She has a round belly with a deep sunken navel.’ He laughed.
‘You make fun of your wife.’
‘She’s not wife yet and for now sleeps with whoever she chooses. I too have enjoyed kalavu, pre-nuptial love, with her. Perhaps one day, I’ll marry her and keep her for my own.’
‘You’re an upright man, Savaali, but tell me, why would you marry a woman who already knows other men?’
‘You speak with the head of a townsman, little sister, a city dweller corrupted by the insatiable need to possess another. But so be it, I’ll tell you why.’
But he did not. We reached the meandering paths and Savaali picked up speed. After waiting a little longer, I burst with impatience and cried out.
‘Tell me Savaali, for your silence is the tease.’
‘You betray a hidden anger, little sister, and it smoulders. Fearful is the day men will cringe and shiver, and soil themselves when your anger erupts.’
‘I do not know what you speak of, but tell me and test me not any further: why do you prefer a known woman?’
‘I wanted to just now say but noting how risqué it might sound, decided to let it pass, but since you’ve instilled awe in me with your hidden anger, here it is, my story. I once made a terrible mistake. It was a moonless night. Intoxicated, and to render my enjoyment complete, I rolled over and penetrated my woman. What is the word you cultured people use? Coitus.’ And again he laughed.
‘Yes, I had coitus with the woman, but she was not one who ordinarily slept with me. It was a terrible mistake made in black darkness.’
‘Oh, god, what happened?’
‘You ask this of me? Of course, I enjoyed myself and she too I believe.’
‘I meant, silly man, what happened, as in what were the fruits of your error?’
‘Silly?’
He stopped and twisted to lock eyes with me. A silence fell, making me regret the liberty taken. He had always been a jolly man but now, alone under the hazy moonlight, I feared him.
Rallying my courage, I said, ‘I meant no harm but only jested with my brother, who I suspect has great affection for his little sister.’
‘Even with an elder brother, you’re wont to jest?’ Savaali leaned back, bringing his wet cheek so close I felt the heat from his hard-set face.
‘Well, yes,’ I said and, having detected a softness in his voice, pointed a defiant chin at him and continued, ‘especially with my elder brother, for only he has the wisdom and patience to brush off irreverent words of a mischievous little sister and spy the love within.’
‘I’ll think more on these matters of wisdom and patience you claim to see but they have themselves hidden so well from me.’ Savaali made a face and said, ‘For now, what troubled you so much, little sister, that you let spew such irreverence at me.’
‘Silly?’
‘Not the word, the question, silly.’ He roared with laughter and set off again in a fast trot.
Savaali had set and sprung the trap, but for a moment I was happy for it. I feigned annoyance and whined, and gave playful kicks, making him laugh even louder.
‘I meant, what happened next, after that terrible mistake with the woman of the night?’
‘Oh, in the morning, I did not know who the woman was, and no one made a petition against me. But I was sure she was not my woman.’
He hopped across a dip in the ground. He was carrying my weight and running, and I, bouncing on his back, remained conflicted. It was as if I ate bitter gourd with payasam, for one part continued to worry for Kovalan and another part thanked Savaali for the fleeting distraction.
‘But I learned something from m
y error,’ he said.
He did not finish his story. It became clear now. He was deliberately diverting my attention from all talk regarding my husband. Surely, Kovalan is safe. If he were not, this huge honest man will speak the truth. And so, again I found confidence and courage. But I was abrupt. I snapped.
‘Finish it then, what did you learn?’
‘You see, you see, you see—anger!’
‘Savaali, please.’ I made whining noises as restitution for my rude response.
‘You’re as eager as a hatchling in a nest, and here is the juicy worm. That day I learned that intimacy feels the same no matter with whom. I can take another woman, and another and yet another, but at the moment of release, the sensation is the same, is it not? That’s why my woman, heavy and jolly as she is, gives me total pleasure, as complete as any fading beauty of round breasts and ginger waist. Why then should I hurt my woman’s feelings and let her grief fill my heart? I’ve since kept my discipline.’
‘That’s very generous and decent of you,’ I said.
‘And I always say, water quenches thirst. And it matters not whether drunk from a gold goblet or a raw gourd.’
‘Is that what you always say?’
‘No, I just now thought of it and said it.’ And he laughed that eight-waved sound of his.
As we progressed into the half-moon shrouded terrain, I marvelled at how well he had distracted me, with his tales and laughter, from my worries over Kovalan.
Savaali stopped, and I sensed that exhaustion had got the better of him. But I was only somewhat right, for shapes emerged from the night. Arakans.
A huge Arakan, who wore a stern face and a tuft of hair, approached. The Silent One. The brothers greeted one another by colliding with force as if they were wrestlers in first contact.
After a whispered conference, a burly young man carried me. And the group set off again, in a fast run, with Savaali, tired as he was, keeping pace. The path climbed in a steady slope but our small party was relentless. Perspiration oozed from my every pore and I exerted all my strength to hang onto the humping back of the man. The group pressed with their forced run, and entered and embraced the pit darkness of the forest.
The steep gradient tired my carrier and they transferred me from one man to another, all the time pressing ahead at the same tempo. It shocked me that like an Arakan woman I too embraced so many men. What was I doing? Where is my dear husband? I recalled my dream many years ago of an Arakan bearing me away with Kovalan giving chase. Many disjointed thoughts surfaced. Then, exhaustion overwhelmed and I fell into a concussed sleep, my head bouncing on the muscular shoulders of my carrier.
I do not know how long the men struggled thus but when I awoke, with my arms aching and legs bowed with pain, there was already a hazy blue fog about us. And the first glimmer of dawn greeted us.
The Arakans stopped and lowered me next to a tree stump. Grateful, I sat down, happy to retire from the world of aches. A heavy woollen cloth draped over my shoulders. I pulled the blanket around me and looked up into the grinning face of Savaali.
‘We made good time but you’ve grown too weak,’ said Savaali, ‘and so I’ve sent a runner up to the edge to fetch Eraivan down to meet us here instead. You rest and regain your strength, little sister. Here.’
He placed a bowl in my hands. Hot goat’s milk, warmed over a new fire. He placed another bowl beside me. Pieces of honeycomb, juicy with raw honey.
‘Here’s a piece of ginger, and there’s also water here for you to wash, and change clothes.’
It was then I realised, Savaali had taken a bundle of garments from my room. I chewed the raw ginger and gargled with water. All around, Arakans, young men who had carried me in turns, collapsed from exhaustion. Seeing them thus, sapped by their selfless exertions, my eyes grew wet. I turned away, for if they saw my tears it would hurt them even more.
By the time Eraivan arrived with his entourage, the long searching fingers of sunlight already encroached on the valley below. He had timed his arrival, so I was well-rested, washed, and presentable.
Several of his men carried a stretcher; on it, a body covered by rough cotton cloth. I jumped to my feet and rushed to the stretcher.
‘Oh no, my dear Athan.’
‘It’s not Kovalan, little sister.’
Savaali stepped forward and scooped me off my feet and turned, so his body blocked my view of the stretcher. ‘Not Kovalan.’ But something else seemed to trouble him.
‘Who then?’
‘We’ve a guess, and only because he told us before his life escaped through his terrible wounds,’ said Eraivan, as he approached.
Forgetting decorum, I ran and hugged him tight. My reaction took him by complete surprise and he stood transfixed for a moment before circling his massive arms around me. His touch was light and reminded me of dear Father holding me in his arms.
I looked past the Arakan king at the stretcher, now laid on the ground. It was a man under the brown stained shroud. I searched Eraivan’s face.
‘Who is he?’
‘He claimed to be your elder brother and also a friend of your husband.’
‘Anandan!’ The name escaped my lips.
‘That was the name he claimed as his. Say he is the one, before I present further news concerning your husband.’
‘My husband, my dear Athan, is he safe?’
‘He is, little sister, he is as of now.’
Taking my hand in his massive paw and placing another hand on my elbow, Eraivan guided me up the small rise to the leafy stretcher.
He gestured, and an Arakan knelt and removed the flap of cloth covering the face. With my heart thumping to escape my chest, I stepped forward.
It was Anandan. My knees buckled, and I collapsed with a cry, with Eraivan holding and following me down to the ground.
Anandan had grown older and thicker but his trademark smirk, as if mocking the god of death, etched his face. I melted into copious tears and lamented my friend, my grief feeding on itself and driving me into greater despair.
Eraivan, after waiting in respectful silence and seeing me tire, sat me on a thick protruding root, not far from the prone body of Anandan.
‘He perished not by our hands, little sister,’ said Eraivan. ‘We put herbs and such-like miracles of the forest to soothe his last hour. Your brother died easily with a look of contentment, especially after he finished this, a letter addressed to you.’ He handed over a roll of old hide, cut from an Arakan coat, and said,
‘Do these words hold meaning to you, little sister?’
‘Yes, but it is difficult to read in this poor light.’
‘Bring the light,’ ordered Eraivan and several torches converged around me.
‘Is it our little sister you grunts wish to roast?’ said Eraivan in a thick voice and the torches leaned back a little, like unfolding petals.
The light better, I read Anandan’s words, written by a shaky hand as his life bled away:
Our dear Kovalan stands falsely accused and under threat of execution for having stolen the Pandyan queen’s anklet. Summoned to Madurai by their prime minister, Sagasana, to bear good witness but I am betrayed. Dally not. Save your husband ~ your loving brother Anandan.
While I read Anandan’s message, the Arakans brought forward a man, his hands bound behind his back but not otherwise harmed. They forced the man to his knees and stepped back.
‘This is the canny coward for having fallen with a cruel knife on your unsuspecting brother,’ said the Arakan king. ‘And an unknown villain stoked him.’
Eraivan threw a look at the Silent One who grasped the man’s head and pulled it back. The Arakan drove his knee into the man’s back and placed the edge of a knife on his straining neck.
‘You turning your knife on sir Anandan, when his attention diverted, was no chance quarrel occurred on the ride,’ said Eraivan. ‘Was it Sagasana or some other who charged you with robbing this innocent man’s life? Speak and be quick with it.’
The man, his eyes blazing defiance, sneered and spat.
‘The rider is a slave,’ said Savaali. He stepped forward and with one tug ripped off the man’s tunic. ‘See the old whip wounds like withered branches on his back. He knows pain and will not speak in haste though it is inevitable he will, but do we have the time for such a show?’
Savaali gestured and the Silent One cleaned the flat of his knife on the man’s cheek.
‘The one who holds you to his blade is my brother,’ said Savaali. ‘He’s not as charming as me but he will part your tongue down the middle from throat to tip, and render you the snake you have been to one who trusted you. And if you still do not blabber, split as your tongue will be, you will annoy my brother greatly and I dread to think what next he conjures up.’ He leaned down and whispered. ‘The Silent One has a nasty imagination.’
The man studied Savaali and spied the blade from the corners of his eyes. Part of him counselled reason but another part, the stronger, seemed defiant. The rider started to look away but at the last whisker’s moment, changed his mind and said,
‘I plead mercy for a servant merely completing a task under pain of death.’
Savaali smirked. He and the Silent One gave their attention to Eraivan. The chieftain stepped forward and said,
‘Who paid you to steal the life of sir Anandan? Reveal the name, you wretched man, and you’ll go free. Was it Sagasana or another snake slithering in the palace mulch?’
‘Sagasana.’
‘Wise decision.’ Eraivan gestured and the Silent One manhandled the rider to his feet.
‘You promised my freedom,’ said the rider.
‘That I did, but I also did not say when,’ replied Eraivan. ‘You’ll remain our guest until the little sister here redeems her husband’s freedom. Meanwhile, you’ll regale us with tales of your other adventures, of all the innocent lives you stole and put blame on us.’