When the Lotus Blooms

by Kanchana Krishnan Ayyar

  The money still came from the plantation and for a few years, Munuswamy continued to stay at home. But things were not going very well in the estate. Once a month Munuswamy made a perfunctory visit but he was so out of touch with the peasants. They had no respect for him and began stealing from under his very nose. Nagamma was so busy with the house and children she became less involved in the land. Money became tight as the sale from produce dwindled. They knew they were being cheated but packing up and returning to the farmland to oversee their employees was not an option. As a result, the erstwhile trusted tenants took full advantage of their absence. Either it was a drought, or floods, or rats that ate half the grain. Not being able to control both places at once, Nagamma had to accept the situation. Every year they sold a parcel of land to enable them to run the household and when the money ran out, Nagamma sold her silver vessels and jewelry. This continued for a while until finally Nagamma decided it was time for Munuswamy to awaken from his stupor and find a job. Munuswamy, after years of idling at home, was reluctant and unsure of himself. He did not know where to begin. What could he do? He had no experience of any kind. But their family was well connected and using the influence of an old family friend, he finally got lucky. He had not completed law school but was able to find a job as an Assistant Lawyer in a small law firm. The hours were decent and he brought enough money home to make ends meet, but the best perk was that he could be away from home all day. In fact, when he returned from work, Nagamma was actually happy to see him.

  Times were extremely hard. All of Nagamma’s training as a child came into good use. She could make a bag of rice last for three months. She scrimped and saved and devised a cooking system so there was not an ounce of wastage. Everything in the house was reused. The cows provided milk and the family still received some food grains and vegetables from the land. Each child had two pairs of pants and two shirts, one veshti to wear to the temple and two old ones to wear at home. Pattu had two long frocks for school and when she was older, two pavadais. Excesses were never tolerated. They lived simply but ate well. Things got a little better when Siva began working and now with Partha also teaching, there was enough money. Life stopped being a struggle but Nagamma could not halt the momentum she had created and ease up on the family’s lifestyle. She was always in crisis mode and had no tolerance for unnecessary waste of time or energy.

  Looking at Rajam through the doorway where she was sitting and talking to Sushila, a pang of resentment gripped her. Rajam’s diamond nose ring was sparkling in the sunlight. With smoldering envy, Nagamma eyed the bright green and maroon sari, a gift from her mother for Deepavali. No one ever bought anything for Nagamma. Once a year on Deepavali she would buy herself one new sari. But Rajam, she was lucky. At her wedding her parents gave her several saris and almost six sets of jewelry. Nagamma nostalgically thought about the time when she too had saris and jewelry. But now, all Nagamma had was her thaali and her huge eight-stone diamond earrings. She used a twig from the vepalai tree in her nose so the piercing would not close. All the rest of her jewelry had been sold. She looked resentfully at Rajam’s glimmering nose ring and couldn’t control her thoughts. ‘She has everything; beautiful white skin, not pock marked dark skin like myself. She is so attractive and petite, not large like me with a huge nose.’

  What irked Nagamma most was that Rajam had the love of her husband and shared an intimacy with him that Nagamma could never have with hers. It never occurred to her that this was her own doing. Her own dominant nature had transformed the relationship with her husband and now there was no time for regret. For the first time in her life, Nagamma faced this negative, mean, envious, side of her own nature that years of hardship had brought on.

  Like many other women, Nagamma got her gratification from her sons, Partha in particular. She loved him more than any of her sons. Partha brought out the gentler side of her nature seemingly back from extinction. He looked just like her and that was something special for her. She took pride in everything he did, laughed at anything he said. His achievements were her pride and his disappointments her agony. When he wanted to marry Rajam, she was very quick to arrange the match because his happiness was so important to her, but she did not realize how much it would hurt her to see his abrupt shift of affection. Suddenly, it was Rajam he called for when he returned home from work. It was Rajam who was the recipient of a fragrant string of jasmine bought at the street corner. Even when he ate he would ask Rajam for the extra serving of rice. Every outward demonstration of his affection for Rajam jerked at her heartstrings. What really peeved her most was her favorite son’s moon-eyed adoration for this chit of a girl. Every time Nagamma saw this, she would quickly send Rajam away on some unimportant errand. It was like a spontaneous reaction. She found the slightest excuse to point out a mistake and recently, Rajam was always making mistakes.

  Somehow she could never get it right. The rasam was too salty or tasteless, the beans cut too long, or the kitchen not cleaned properly. Nagamma made snide remarks about her clothes and jewelry and her demeanor or lack of respect. Every day, she remarked about the rich little girl who was too spoilt to face the real world, about the privileged girl who can’t put up with living with an ordinary poor family — all without any provocation on Rajam’s part. It was almost as if her entire focus in life was to find out what hurt Rajam the most and then make cutting barbs about it. Her abuse was completely verbal. She never touched a hair on Rajam’s head; instead, she toyed with her emotions. As a result, Rajam became jumpy and nervous around her and inevitably spilled something or the other, inciting more caustic remarks from Nagamma.

  Timid to begin with, Rajam found it difficult to handle her mother-in-law’s spiteful comments. Her mother’s home was filled with so much love, understanding and tolerance that it was impossible to deal with someone who constantly said hurtful things. As a natural consequence, Rajam’s personality transformed. She was always on edge, never calm, never knowing what was coming next. From the time she woke up to the time she slept, she was at a heightened level of stress. Her moist palms made it easy for steel vessels to slip out of her grasp. Sometimes when Nagamma walked into the room, Rajam’s neck got into a terrible spasm, the pain so intense, she would have to stop what she was doing until it passed.

  Perhaps it was this underlying stress that prevented Rajam from getting pregnant. She was nervous about sharing her pain with another person. Even if she wanted to, whom could she confide in? And after that, could they possibly get rid of Nagamma? Because that was the only way the pain would go away. If she ever told her father, he would be horrified and indignant that his precious daughter was unhappy. It was quite possible for him to come and create a huge scene, maybe even take her away and she loved Partha too much to allow that to happen. Besides, that would only add to her stress and make things worse for her. Most of all, the scandal would make it impossible for them to live in Vizhupuram. Partha had two more brothers to be married and Rajam did not want to besmirch the name and respect of the family. Besides, she was sure this would lead to barbs about her father and she could never tolerate that. He was always above reproach and she could never allow anyone to say anything about him. She loved and respected him too much. If she told her husband, he probably would not believe her because Nagamma was all sugar and honey with him. In fact, she was sugar and honey with everyone else.

  Rajam could not fathom why she had been singled out for this mental torture. She was always extremely polite. She did things before being asked to. She worked tirelessly all day. But nothing she did appeased her mother-in-law. The taunts and barbs continued relentlessly. Rajam had no one she could really talk to or confide in. Although she had married Partha, her entire life had become focused on Nagamma. She constantly devised ways of avoiding her mother-in-law to escape her ridicule. She saw that her closeness to Partha resulted in painful derision and this made her avoid contact with him, at least in front of Nagamma. She almost wept in self-pity over the irony of it. As a result, Raj
am made a momentous decision to shut off her mind: she would not react to anything, no matter how provoking it was.

  Not long after she made the pronouncement, an opportunity came to put her new strategy into practice. She had been happily chatting with Sushila when she heard Nagamma’s booming voice summon her. She dropped the bucket and ran in.

  Nagamma looked at her with half closed eyes. “Press my feet,” she ordered.

  Rajam crouched down and proceeded to meticulously massage her feet.

  “So? You look very happy now that Partha is back.”

  “Yes,” mumbled a fearful Rajam, apprehensive about what was coming next. In the ensuing uneasy silence Rajam pressed Nagamma’s calloused toes even harder, doing it just the way she liked it, from the base of the toes to the tip and down again.

  “What’s this I hear about you going back home?”

  ‘Oh no.’ Rajam’s heart began pumping harder. ‘Now I won’t be able to go home.’ She grappled for the right response. If she asked for permission, she ran the risk of being denied the privilege. If she said she had decided to go, then she would be chided for being too bold and she did not want to be crossing Nagamma. Finally she said, “Your son wants to spend Deepavali with my parents in Chidambaram.”

  “Partha wants to go?” Nagamma asked in disbelief. She could not challenge that. For once Rajam chose her words correctly, putting the onus on Partha, making it impossible for Nagamma to retaliate. Rajam continued to diligently press her mother-in-law’s insole. She kept telling herself that no matter what the provocation, she was not going to cry.

  “You better make sure you clean the front and the backyard and apply cow dung before you go.” Nagamma knew this was one job she hated doing but that would be her punishment for willfully abandoning the family. Rajam had just completed this distasteful task two days earlier but she did not want to mention that in case it forced Nagamma to change her mind about letting her go home. Nagamma continued relentlessly.

  “At least be useful in the house, since you are otherwise good for nothing. At least Sushila has been pregnant once. Look at you; you are bringing shame to the family. Theruvulai ellarum peshara. Everyone is talking about my barren daughter-in-law and feeling sorry for us.”

  What that had to do with anything Rajam didn’t understand but who was she to argue with Nagamma? She wanted a child just as badly but God was denying her that pleasure.

  “Remember this: a woman has status only if she has a child; otherwise she is nothing. What is wrong with you? You and Partha are at it every night like a pair of street dogs. Why is nothing happening?”

  ‘Stop! Stop!’ Rajam screamed to herself, but no words escaped her mouth. What kind of woman was she to compare their union to the rutting of dogs? The only time Rajam was completely relaxed and actually happy was when she was alone with Partha at night, with no audience. They were so much in love their union took on a sacred form. It was ethereal, holy and private. Rajam’s ears turned red at Nagamma’s reference to this personal element of her life. What business was it of hers to even broach this topic? No one talked openly about this. Sex was between two people behind closed doors, not a casual topic of conversation. But no words emanated from Rajam’s mouth. Hot tears instead began welling in her sad almond eyes.

  Nagamma saw the reaction and unflinchingly went for the plunge.

  “I would never have agreed to this alliance if I had known you were barren.” She paused for dramatic effect, before plunging the knife a little deeper. Rajam still said nothing but the pressure on the toes eased.

  “I have been very kind to you this far but if you don’t get pregnant by next year, I will have to find a second wife for Partha.”

  Rajam stared up at Nagamma in disbelief. ‘No! Never! Could she really do it?’ Rajam knew several men who had married twice if their first wife were unable to conceive. Partha would never agree to it. He loved her too much. But then again, he was scared of his mother. If she put enough pressure, could he actually succumb? Rajam just stared up speechless, the tears now streaming down her face.

  “What are you crying for? Your own father married twice. Surely you know that. So why not Partha?”

  That was it. Rajam fled from the room out into the courtyard past Sushila and into the corner of the cowshed. She had no idea how Nagamma knew about her father’s second marriage. It had been conducted in secret and no one but her mother and sister knew about it. The very fact that Nagamma mentioned it debased her father’s dignity. Yes, he had married twice but that was a supreme act of kindness, not because of some depraved need. Nagamma had done the unthinkable. She talked about Swaminathan Iyer as if he were some debauched wastrel. Coming from Nagamma’s mouth, even the sacred Gayatri Mantram became profanity. Rajam’s ears were ringing after hearing this blasphemy. What made her feel worse was she had said nothing in retaliation, knowing that her father’s sacrifice had been demeaned. He was a man of such noble principle and so respected in the community that Rajam could not console herself. She would never forgive Nagamma.

  ‘Please, God, end my life; I can’t go on, I just can’t go on. Take me into your refuge, please,’ she prayed fervently. She sobbed uncontrollably for what seemed an eternity.

  When she finally composed herself, she walked back into the house.

  Nagamma was asleep, a smirk on her face like a satisfied lioness after a kill.

  Rajam went back out to the cowshed, her only refuge, rocking back and forth in an attempt to calm herself. She had heard about her father’s second marriage from her mother, Mangalam, and now the memories of her maternal grandparents flooded her being. Stories from the past flashed by in images so real and so sad, forcing the tears down her cheeks even faster.

  CHAPTER 22 – MANGALAM AND SARASWATHI

  PUDUKOTTAI – LATE 1800’s

  Rajam’s mother, Mangalam, grew up in the village of Pudukottai. Her father, Guruswamy Iyer, was a schoolteacher. Like all other Brahmin women, her mother, Rajalakshmi, stayed home to look after the children. Guruswamy was born into a family of priests and until he was twelve years old, attended a Veda Pathashala: a school attached to the temple, where young children were taught to chant Sanskrit shlokas. Guruswamy’s father worked as the temple priest in the Shiva temple, where his ancestors had officiated for generations. He belonged to one of the highest sub-sects, the Vadama Iyers. Guruswamy learned the ancient Sanskrit texts but to his father’s disappointment, did not follow in his footsteps and become a priest in the temple. Instead, he taught at the local school. The income from the school was minimal and as he was good with numbers, he supplemented it by keeping accounts for the local merchants. Some of them paid in kind; the bags of rice and lentils very welcome in the poor Brahmin household.

  Like all Brahmin priests, Guruswamy wore his veshti in the traditional panjakacham style but instead of being bare bodied like his father, he wore a long black coat, something the local people adopted from their British masters. He wore his hair in a traditional kudumi or top knot; across his forehead were three lines of vibuthi ash, a symbol that he was a Shaivaite, and in the center of his forehead a perfectly round kumkumam pottu. Around his neck, he wore a Rudraksha japamala, which had belonged to his great-grandfather. The beads of this japamala were from the sacred Rudraksha tree native to the Himalayas, the abode of Shiva. Several times a day he used his japamala as a rosary to keep count as he chanted the sacred Gayatri Mantra a hundred and eight times, an auspicious number in the Hindu religion.

  For several years Guruswamy was the Assistant Teacher in the local school, until the old school master retired leaving him in charge. Attendance in the school depended on the season. Girls were not allowed to attend school and the boys’ attendance would be erratic, as most of them had to help out in the fields. He taught them whenever they came, knowing that a thirst for knowledge could not be forced on anyone. None of his students ever crossed the eighth grade. The elders from the village Panchayat paid Guruswamy a small stipend. As his needs were minimal,
he was content and did not aspire for anything different. In fact, he was so involved in teaching that he did not marry till he was almost thirty years old, that too only under pressure from his family. His father was deeply saddened by his son’s single status and wanted to see him married. Every Brahmin needed to experience grahastha, the life of a householder, in order to get moksha, release from the cycle of births and deaths. At every opportunity, he tried to persuade his son to try life as a householder and not continue his bachelorhood forever.

  Finally, Guruswamy agreed to marry, officially ending his long sojourn as a Brahmachari. A match was arranged with a young girl from a neighboring village named Rajalakshmi, who was several years younger than he. He was amazed when he realized how wonderful married life could be and adored his young wife. Within the first year, Rajalakshmi gave birth to a girl, whom they named Mangalam after his mother. Five years later they had another daughter, who was named Parvathi after her mother. The two girls added the much needed chatter and laughter to the household, but it was every man’s duty to have a son to carry on the family tradition. It was the son who performed the Anthim Samskara, the last rites for the father honoring the ancestors, releasing them from human bondage, and though Guruswamy loved his daughters, he longed for a son. Almost every year after that Rajalakshmi miscarried and with each pregnancy her health weakened.

  Mangalam and Parvathi were very close, even though there was a five year gap between them. Growing up in Pudukottai, they seldom experienced any hardship. They played together, ate together, slept together, sharing their lives with complete abandon. They were cosseted by their grandparents and spoiled by their father. Life was idyllic and it seemed as if nothing could spoil that.

  But life as they knew it suddenly changed. When Mangalam turned eight, her mother died at childbirth bearing a third daughter. The birth was extremely difficult and though her old grandmother was experienced at delivering babies, she knew there was trouble when labor continued for three days. When the baby’s head finally emerged, the cord was wrapped around her neck three times. Paati had to cut the cord before the small, slithering, unfortunate child could enter the world, albeit for a short time. A day later, Rajalakshmi breathed her last tired breath, leaving the small infant in the care of her mother. Guruswamy was devastated by her death and felt responsible for it. He never remarried, although it would have been wise to do so, having three small children. Instead, his mother-in-law, Paati, took care of the three girls: Mangalam, Parvathi and Saraswathi.