When the Lotus Blooms

by Kanchana Krishnan Ayyar

  When the ship docked, Mahadevan lugged his suitcase up five flights of stairs to the arrival hall with no one to help him. He missed being able to call a coolie to do the heavy lifting, something he took for granted in India. While the Indians grappled with their luggage, the dock hands helped the white families. All the Indian boys gathered together on shore wondering what to do next, when an official told them they would have to walk down the street a couple of kilometers to take the bus to London. Mahadevan and Shanti were not excited about dragging their cases such a long distance. They noticed a dock hand at the end of the platform smoking a cigarette and decided to ask if he would do it for them. He was sitting on a bench, his sparse reddish brown hair uncombed, his clothes a shade between grey and brown, dotted with samples of all the food he had eaten in the last three months. He looked up as they approached and disdainfully informed them, “Sorry, I don’t talk to Darkies.”

  The realization hit Mahadevan so hard he could not think clearly for several minutes. In this country it didn’t matter that you were a Brahmin. It didn’t matter that you hailed from generations of highly educated and spiritual people. It didn’t matter that you were racially so pure that you could trace your ancestry back five thousand years. It didn’t matter that you spoke the Queen’s English better than most Englishmen. It didn’t matter that you had your master’s degree in Mathematics. To every Englishman you were just a darkie, an outcast.

  This was Mahadevan’s first lesson in humility and self-control. He was so angry he wanted to slap the sardonic grin off the dock hand’s blotchy, pink face, but he did not do that. He merely stepped back, turned around and walked away. There were many other similar incidents that made him realize his place in society, but this incident affected him most profoundly because it occurred almost as soon as they landed on British soil, making him apprehensive about what was to follow. As he dragged his brown leather suitcase down the street, he remembered his mother’s words.

  “Never forget who you are and where you’re from because that will ground you and allow you to face any obstacle.” Nothing had ever sounded more true to him.

  Examining his pocket watch, Mahadevan was amazed at how many memories one small watch could trigger.

  CHAPTER 20 – DHARMAMBAL

  RANGPUR – 1934

  Dharmu awoke after seven o’ clock. The sun was streaming in through the window and she closed her eyes, unable to stand the glare. She sat up on the edge of her bed, with her legs dangling over the side. Her eyes were still heavy with sleep and she had no desire to awaken and embark on the day’s chores. She could hear Kandu’s voice. He was sitting in the study with his father, praying. Walking to the doorway, she observed them silently. Father and son, sitting cross-legged on the floor with their eyes closed. Mahadevan was saying his morning prayers. “Om Rajadhi rajaya prasahya…” His voice was low and melodious. Kandu was sitting next to him, attempting to imitate his father. “Omamnamanmanaman” was the best he could do.

  Dharmu felt guilty not teaching the children to recite any Sanskrit chants. She did not feel sacred verses should emerge from a mouth that ate the flesh of animals. She was too impure and could not face God because she had sinned. Mahadevan tried to explain to her that God was with you irrespective of what you ate. If He did not like meat eating, then more than three quarters of the world would be godless. Many times Mahadevan asked her to at least light the lamp in the morning after she bathed but Dharmu was stubborn. She would not go anywhere near the altar, forcing Mahadevan to teach his son about God. At least that way Kandu got some spiritual training.

  Dharmu went into the bathroom to bathe in cold water. During the summer months she bathed at least four times a day. There was no other way of cooling the body. She called this ‘Kaka kuli,’ which was how a crow bathed, in and out of the water in a couple of minutes. When she emerged from her room, father and son were sitting outside. Kandu was firmly ensconced in his Daddy’s lap, drinking his milk out of a small silver glass. This was a ritual every morning. He would sit on his father’s lap and either Dharmu or Mahadevan, and sometimes both, would pour milk into his small glass from a large one. Mahadevan looked up and saw Dharmu walking out towards them.

  “Did you sleep well?” he asked her.

  “Like a log. It was so hot, I couldn’t open my eyes.”

  “It was just the opposite for me. It was so hot I couldn’t close them.”

  Dharmu picked up the large silver glass and poured a little warm milk into Kandu’s small one. Watching this whole cozy scene with a scowl on her face was Vani, who had just woken up. ‘There they go, mollycoddling him. Why does he need to sit on Daddy’s lap? He’s almost six years old for God’s sake; surely he can drink milk all by himself,’ she thought to herself. There was no point in voicing her thoughts when no one wanted to hear them. She walked across the open balcony and sat down next to her mother.

  “Did you drink your milk? Go, ask Meera to heat some for you,” said Dharmu turning her back to Vani while she continued fussing over Kandu.

  ‘What about you? Can you not tear yourself from your son to heat it for me?’ Vani thought, a scowl on her face. But she didn’t say anything and no one said anything more to her. They were too busy coochie cooing with Kandu. Vani sat there for a few minutes waiting to be noticed, and when she realized no one had anything to say to her, she got up and walked away, dragging her feet, her eyes moist with tears. Neither Dharmu nor Mahadevan realized what had just happened. They had no inkling Vani felt slighted and unloved, no idea both their daughters were craving their parents’ attention. Both of them were so happy to have a son at last and unintentionally ignored the girls. Kandu was much younger and naturally more interesting. His nature was so bright and lively, they just enjoyed being in his company. Deep in their hearts they believed having a male child was more important to carry on the family name, and daughters were temporary guests till they got married. Mahadevan was always so concerned about women having a voice in his courtroom but he forgot that here in his house, they needed to be heard too. Their error was not one of commission but of omission. Neither of them intentionally kept the daughters at arm’s length. It was just something that happened over the years and no one could be entirely blamed for it. Kandu saw Vani walk away and ran after her. “Want to play?” he asked, dancing around in front of her.

  “No, not with you,” said Vani angrily. Kandu was perplexed. He could not remember what he had done to annoy her.

  “Why?” he asked with all honesty, his eyes open wide.

  “Because I hate your face.” She didn’t mean to be spiteful but it felt good being mean to him. Kandu stuck out his tongue and crossed his eyes.

  “What about now? Do you hate my face now? See? It looks just like you.”

  Then he made a monkey face. “Ha ha…that’s your face. Monkey face, monkey face, you have a monkey face.” Kandu was dancing in front of her singing this ditty and pretending to move like a monkey. He thought it was hilarious but Vani was not amused. Already she was on emotional overdrive and this was the last straw. She burst into tears and ran into the kitchen. Blissfully unaware of his sister’s resentment at his being the focus of their parent’s affection, Kandu skipped sideways to his room, where he busied himself playing with his toy cars.

  Meera was in the kitchen helping with the morning chores. “What happened? Who said something to hurt my sona moni’s feelings?” She affectionately put her arms around Vani.

  “That stupid Kandu. I hate him,” Vani said stamping her feet in frustration.

  “Now now, don’t call him names.” Meera used the end of her sari to wipe Vani’s tears.

  “He made faces at me and called me monkey face.” Deep in her heart she knew it wasn’t Kandu who bothered her but was unable to voice her real resentment. Meera held her close trying to calm her down. After Kamala’s death, Meera tried to show more affection to the children to compensate for her own loss.

  “Boys will be boys. Just because he says it,
does your face become like a monkey?”

  “I guess not,” replied Vani, a little calmer now and able to think rationally.

  “Forget it. He is just a child. Kandu baba likes to play around with you. Don’t mind him. Come, my sona moni. Let me warm your milk for you.” Vani sat on the floor, watching Meera heat the milk on the stove. Meera was nice. She had lost her own daughter recently but still she was so good to all of them. “Meera, will you put the milk in a small glass and give it to me a little at a time?”

  “Like Kandu baba? Of course.” Meera sat next to her and watched her drink, rubbing her hand over Vani’s hair and smoothing it back.

  Vani closed her eyes and just for a moment imagined it was her mother stroking her hair. But when she opened them, she saw Meera’s kind face and scowled at her. Immediately, she felt ashamed. Poor Meera, she was so nice and didn’t deserve being treated badly. Vani’s face broke into a smile; she put her arms around her kind ayah and nestled her head against her welcoming bosom.

  Kandu walked out into the verandah just as the bearer was in the process of serving breakfast. Porridge, toast, two eggs sunny side up, freshly squeezed sweet lime juice and black coffee, the kind of food that was unhealthy yet delicious. For Mahadevan, who always rose before dawn, the day was almost half over and he was famished. He dug into his meal, watching Kandu fly paper airplanes replete with sound effects, all of them crashing repeatedly and then magically rising up again.

  “Dharmu, I am going to make arrangements for you and the children to leave this week. It’s getting too hot and maybe all of you will enjoy being home. The kids need to know their grandparents.”

  “When will I have to leave? This week? It’s too soon. I have to pack and do a million things.” Even as the words left her mouth, she did not know why she was protesting. After all, the chance to go home to her mother’s house was all she thought about and now that it was here, she felt a certain panic of sorts.

  “It’s better you leave early. We are expecting some trouble in this area and I don’t want you to get stuck. The orderly will come with you and you can take Meera if you want.

  “What about you?”

  “I will come as far as Calcutta and see you off there. I have some work to attend to. Maybe at the end of the month I can get some time off and meet you in Nagarcoil. Spend the first six weeks in Dindigul, and then go to Nagarcoil. Does that sound all right? We can come back together around Deepavali.”

  Dharmu was thrilled. She hated the climate and surroundings in Rangpur and only put up with it for her husband’s sake. The children were isolated and had no friends here. It would be great for them to visit home and be with their cousins. Happily she jumped up and went into the house, humming as she picked up Kandu, giving him a smacking kiss on his cheek.

  “We are going home. We are really going home.”

  Mahadevan raised one eyebrow, pleasantly surprised at his wife’s sudden change in demeanor, noting her sprightly step and the complete mood switch, dull one moment to delirious the next. He sighed aloud. Yes, he needed this time to reflect. Their marriage was not living up to her expectations. She was bored, scared and lonely. He needed to make some serious changes and take steps to improve their relationship.

  But right now he had to be centered and in control. Nothing could affect his equanimity at work. He had to be composed and deliberate. That was important above all. He would think about Dharmu later …

  Part VII

  Rajam

  CHAPTER 21 – NAGAMMA

  VIZHUPURAM

  Nagamma was resting in an easy chair after a heavy meal. Through half closed eyes she could see Rajam and Sushila talking and their laughter wafted in through the open door. She couldn’t help thinking how lucky they were to be young. Although Nagamma was only in her early forties, she felt much older. Her life had been very hard. She was the one who made all the bold decisions in the family. It had not been easy. Her father died when she was very young, leaving large estates in the capable hands of his wife. A few years after Nagamma married, she and her husband moved into her mother’s house. In the beginning, her husband, Munuswamy Iyer, resisted the idea, as he was studying law and didn’t want the disruption. But eventually he succumbed to the pressure and once they moved in, actually enjoyed the benefits of being just an Aathu Maaplai, a son-in-law, who lived at home with no major responsibilities.

  Nagamma’s mother, Orukai Rukminiammal, took complete charge of the estates and only occasionally asked for help from Munuswamy. From a very young age, Rukminiammal had established a routine and understood the minute intricacies of running a business and of dealing with men. Although it was very hard for men on the estate to take orders from a woman, everyone in Vizhupuram held Rukminiammal in high esteem. The women admired her for what they aspired to but could never be, and the men admired her for exactly the same reason. When the farm laborers came in her presence, they would remove their turbans or head cloths, bow their heads and fold their arms across their chest in a show of deference.

  It was uncommon to find a Brahmin household run by a woman. While their brothers played outside with friends, Brahmin girls stayed in the kitchen, learning how to cook and run a household. They had only a few years to apprentice with their mother, perhaps the only time they would learn with kind, encouraging words. Once they left their home, they would be under the eagle eyes of their mother-in-law and their shortcomings and lack of experience would become huge issues in their new home. Fate had given Rukminiammal opportunities to explore areas strictly reserved for men, which developed hidden talents and a sense of fulfillment that only comes with focused purpose. Since Nagamma was her only child, Rukminiammal had to be the strong father figure that destiny had stolen away from the child, but there were times when she was the gentle, comforting mother as well. From a very young age the underlying message had been strong: ‘You can do it yourself because that way it will be done better.’

  Orukai Rukminiammal could not abide sloppiness or wasteful emotion. She never tolerated anyone who sat around moping over problems or wallowed in self-pity. She never allowed Nagamma to think, ‘Why me?’ It was always, ‘Thank God I have the opportunity to face and solve this.’ Nagamma was trained to be bold, independent, involved and proactive. Theirs was a household where the women were empowered and as a result, much more dominant than was the custom of the time. Rukminiammal drew a clear line between control and tyranny but did not teach that particular lesson well to Nagamma. As a result, Nagamma became officious and often dictatorial. Her word was law and with everyone asking for her advice on everything, she enabled them. The children hardly ever went to their father for guidance. He was like a non-entity in his corner of the house, lost in his own thoughts, cut off from reality

  All kinds of crops were grown on the land, including coconuts, pepper, sugarcane, rice, pulses and vegetables. Some of this was kept for personal use but most of it was sold in the mandi, the open market. As the income from the estates was much more lucrative, Munuswamy did not bother to complete his law degree. In the beginning he tried to get involved in the day-to-day working of the estate. He kept accounts, held meetings with the workers and went to market to buy seeds and sell produce. Most mornings he spent out in the fields, most often accompanied by Orukai Rukminiammal. Over time, he noticed in all his activities he was overshadowed by his mother-in-law. Slowly, even his wife became involved in the daily workings of the estate and always came up with the better, brighter and more acceptable ideas. As Nagamma became more dominant and overbearing, Munuswamy conceded his position as the male in the family and let her handle most of the problems on the estate. He spent the better part of the day reading the newspaper, chatting with neighbors, or just napping. Even though he was home all the time without any real work, he never helped out in the kitchen or in domestic affairs unless explicitly directed to do so by his wife. Every time he spoke or tried to offer a suggestion, Nagamma would shut him up or shout him down. Rather than undergo her scorn, he pref
erred to retire quietly to his comfort corner in the thinnai. Nagamma didn’t really need him for anything anyway because she took care of everything and she did it well. He was just an appendage that she had no time for, useful to run errands, send messages and do odds and ends. As a result, Munuswamy became reticent and withdrawn. He felt as if his manhood had been taken away from him. Nagamma even decided the time and place for sex. They had five children and his only involvement with them was taking them to school and bringing them back; Nagamma took care of everything else. In the early days, there had been gentler moments, nights of intimacy and even passion but once the children were older, the equation between husband and wife changed and that part of their life became a distant memory.

  Nagamma had endless energy. Waking an hour before dawn, she had the morning meal prepared even before the children woke up. After that, the women took care of business while a hapless Munuswamy watched, feeling virtually castrated, helplessly resigned to his fate.

  After her mother died, all the property went to Nagamma. Soon, she realized that the children would need a better education. The one near the estates wouldn’t do; it was two miles away, where children of all ages sat under a tree, learning the basics from an aged schoolmaster. The world around them was changing. With the British in control of everything, it became very important for the children to attend a proper school that was age appropriate, where they could learn English. They had no choice but to move closer to town.