When the Lotus Blooms

by Kanchana Krishnan Ayyar

  “Kannan Chithappa says that a terrifying ghost lives under the tree outside the toilet. A woman with long curly hair and red eyes lives there and if you touch her tree or use the toilet for too long, she will eat you up.” Kandu was really disturbed and his heavy lidded eyes had a hint of tears in them.

  “Have you seen my hand?” Nilakantan held up his large hand and Kandu touched it, savoring its roughness.

  “See how big it is. If any ghost dares come near you, I will smash it to pieces.” Kandu had seen Thatha kill scorpions and break coconuts with his bare hands on many occasions. Yes, Thatha was strong. Kandu slept peacefully, knowing that as long as Thatha was around, no one could touch him. He snuggled close and took a long deep breath, soaking in the heavenly scent of sandalwood.

  Part XI

  Rajam

  CHAPTER 31– RAJAM

  VIZHUPURAM TO CHIDAMBARAM

  Partha walked to the vilvandi stand early that morning, where four carts were waiting. All the drivers lay asleep in the back of their carts while the bullocks chewed grain placed in a bin nearby. “Oy, someone get up. Hello! Vilvandi kaaran! Wake up!” After haggling with a half asleep driver, he arranged transportation to the train junction. Partha rode the cart back to the house to fetch Rajam and soon they were on their way. Partha sneaked his arm around Rajam’s shoulders, taking advantage of a private moment.

  “Yenna? Would you think of a second marriage?” asked Rajam.

  “Why do you ask? Did anyone say anything to you?”

  “No,” said Rajam a little too quickly, not wanting Partha to suspect anything. “Sushila said someone in her village married a second time because his wife could not have a baby; that’s why I’m asking you.”

  Partha looked at her amused. “Actually, come to think of it. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to have another wife.”

  “What!” said Rajam her eyes opening wide.

  “In fact I am planning one for every day of the week.”

  “Pongo naa. Stop joking. I am serious.”

  “Okay, so tell me, have you got anyone in mind I can consider?”

  “Yenna, stop it. I am really serious. Suppose I could not have a child, would you consider remarrying? Answer me, yes or no.”

  “No.”

  “No? Just that?”

  “What do you want me to say? You asked me to say yes or no, and I said no. I tell you what, you let me know what you would like me to say and I’ll say it.”

  “I can’t understand why you always treat me like a child. I’m not a child. In fact I am old enough to be the mother of your child, so treat me with some respect.”

  “Okay. Respectfully, I hereby declare I love you and you only, and that you will be the love of my life as long as I live. I vow here and now, that you, Rajam, will forever be my only wife. There, I said it. Happy?”

  “Yes, happy,” declared Rajam shaking her head vigorously from side to side. “But do you think I will have a child?”

  “Not if you constantly doubt it.”

  “So then what should I do? I wait every month and nothing happens.”

  “I tell you what. Let’s go away for a month and do it seven times a day,” said Partha gleefully.

  “Pongo naa, you always joke. And you know how I hate it when you talk about you-know-what.”

  Partha was enjoying this lighthearted banter but Rajam was embarrassed. “The Vandi driver is listening. Have you no shame?”

  “Anyway, we are here now, so I suppose I have to take my arm off your shoulder.”

  They reached the train junction and after paying the driver, made their way to the platform to catch the train to Chidambaram. Not too far from Vizhupuram, after a short train ride, they reached their destination by early afternoon. Swaminathan Iyer met them, together with a couple of constables, who would bring the luggage home. They got into a beautiful vilvandi lined with red velvet with soft cushions. Being a Police Inspector had its perks, as many people wanted to keep the police happy. A family of businessmen, who lived on the same street, had loaned it to Swaminathan for the day. The vilvandi meandered through the main streets of town, making its way to Swaminathan’s house, which was right behind the police station. Centrally located across from the Great Shiva Temple, the first few streets around the temple were part of the Brahmin agrahaaram, where no other caste members were permitted to live. Mangalam was very happy here because she could visit the temple every day and had made a lot of friends in the area.

  The cart came to a scraping halt outside Swaminathan’s house. Hearing the gate creak, Mangalam ran out and on seeing Rajam and Partha, dropped the laundry clothes that were in her hand. She yelled for her sister, Parvathi, to bring the aarathi to perform a ritual designed to remove the evil eye and bring good fortune.

  “Wait, wait, and don’t come in. We have to take the aarathi. Maaplai has come to the house. Wait right there. Parvathiii…”

  Parvathi came out and placed the aarathi plate on the floor. Parvathi Chithi was unfortunately widowed soon after her marriage and returned to live with her sister Mangalam. It seemed to be her destiny to live in the Swaminathan household, where she was a pillar of support to everyone around, content to nurture all the children and grandchildren. As she was a widow she could not perform the aarathi and it had to be done by Kunju and Mangalam. Kunju, who was right behind her, picked up the plate, and mother and daughter did a quick aarathi. The plate had a mixture of kumkumam and lime, which when added to water, turned into a bright red color.

  Rajam hugged Kunju. “Where is the baby? I am dying to see him.” The two of them ran inside laughing and chattering and soon Rajam was back with the baby, a little bundle wrapped in a white sheet. Around them were all the grandchildren, two boys and three girls: Venkatu, Visu, Sundari, Lalitha, Jayalakshmi and the latest addition, Natarajan. Parvathi stayed busy with Kunju coming home every year for her confinement.

  “Yenna have you ever seen anything as beautiful as this? Come, would you like to hold him?” Without waiting for a response, she placed the baby in Partha’s arms and joined the others in the kitchen. In a few minutes a yell emanated from the mutram.

  “Mami, Kunju, Rajam come quickly, take the baby. Oh my God, he has urinated all over me!Ayyo moothram penjurthu! Heavens, it’s all over my pants. Oh my God, my hands! Someone come here!”

  Rajam scurried out. “Yenna na moothram daane, a baby’s urine is not dirty. Why are you fussing so much?” She scooped up the baby and then looked up to see a horrified Partha with a wet stain in the front of his clothes. It looked as if Partha had peed in his pants and she burst out laughing. Mangalam, Kunju and the children also walked in, all of them doubling up with laughter. The kids were thrilled, chanting “Chithappa moothram penjuta.” “Uncle peed in his pants,” much to Partha’s annoyance.

  “Laugh all you want. I am totally outnumbered, so I won’t say anything.” Partha made a quick exit to wash up and change, while Rajam took the baby inside and put the soiled blanket for washing. Once again, she wasn’t sure what dry clothes she needed to wrap the baby and asked Kunju for instructions.

  “Just cover him with another thin blanket; he is not ready to use underwear.”

  “Kunju how do you teach the child to use the toilet?” Rajam was curious, never having paid any attention when her nephews and nieces visited.

  “Why? Isn’t it a little early to learn all of this?” Rajam looked crestfallen. Kunju was at once ashamed she’d referred to what she knew affected Rajam so deeply. Recently Rajam had become hyper-sensitive about her failure to conceive, so Kunju immediately continued with her explanation to cover up the awkward pause in the conversation. “As the baby starts crawling, he pees all over the house till he is six or seven months. I do nothing to teach him anything then. When I step in a puddle I merely mop up.”

  “Not the most hygienic clean up, considering that we Brahmins have millions of rules about pollution.” Rajam commented.

  “Like you said, a baby’s urine is not dirty, Rajam
. Anyway, after that you have to take him to the toilet every time he wakes up from a nap, and in six months he will be fully trained.”

  Kunju looked at Rajam and her eyes glossed over. She knew that Rajam really wanted a baby of her own, and she closed her eyes saying a quick prayer for that to happen speedily.

  “Rajam, next Deepavali when we meet, both of us will have children.”

  “I should put sugar in your mouth for those wonderful words, although you really don’t need anymore. May they be true.” Kunju put her arms around Rajam and the two of them stood in a close embrace for a long time. Mangalam watched from the open doorway, not wanting to spoil the moment but she was anxious to get going. “Come on girls,” she interrupted. “Let us send Partha off with the men and begin all the Deepavali preparations.”

  Rajam loved Deepavali and the brightness it brought to the mood in the house. Preparations began in earnest for almost a month before the festival. Deepavali was treated like the new year, though the actual Tamil New Year was in April. Everyone got new clothes and sometimes jewelry if they could afford it. For Rajam, the best part of the festival was making different varieties of sweets and savories. Every year, Mangalam hired a Brahmin cook who came with his family and stayed with them for three days to prepare all these delicious sweets. The day of Deepavali was particularly festive; visiting friends and relatives to wish them a prosperous and happy year ahead. Everyone dressed in their finest, carrying with them gifts of homemade sweets.

  Leaving the baby in Parvathi’s care, Mangalam took the two girls to the goldsmith’s house. The goldsmith was from Rajasthan but spoke perfect Tamil. His family had been the official jeweler for the Rajas of Thanjavur for generations. As many people bought jewelry around this time of year, his reception room was crowded with women. Customers chose patterns from brass replicas and then ordered the same to be made in gold or with precious stones. Designs tended to be traditional and there were not too many varieties to choose from. The previous week, Mangalam had placed an order for bangles for both girls and a small gold chain for the new baby, and today was merely stopping to collect it. All transactions were based on trust and the jeweler handed over the goods to her without asking for payment, saying he would receive it from Inspector Saar later.

  The next stop was for saris. The shop had saris stocked from floor to ceiling and salesmen brought bundles of silk saris for different customers, who were comfortably reclining against soft velvet cushions making their choices. The best part was they were always offered a hot cup of decoction coffee, which somehow was tastier than the same coffee prepared at home. The choices were mind boggling. Rajam chose an Aarani silk sari in a shot deep purple with a pink border, and both Mangalam and Kunju chose Kanjeevaram silks in different shades of blue.

  The last stop for the evening was the firecracker store. Firecrackers arrived a week earlier from Sivakasi, a village in South India, which specialized in making them. After their morning bath on Deepavali, family members would light fireworks to frighten away evil spirits. Mangalam never allowed the girls anything other than sparklers, so the loud bursting bombs were reserved for the men. Deepavali was two days away and Mangalam had completed most of the preparations for the event.

  When Deepavali finally arrived, the entire household awoke at four o’clock in the morning. Everybody assembled in front of the family altar, where new clothes were laid out: Kunju and her husband Panchu, Rajam and Partha, Mangalam and Swaminathan, and of course the brood of children, including the new baby. After they prayed together, Swaminathan as head of the family put a drop of warm oil on each person’s head and blessed them by putting kumkumam on their forehead. After that, he handed them their new clothes. Rajam received her sari and her father hugged her tight. “May all your wishes come true,” he said, his eyes glistening with tears. He knew how much she wanted a child and prayed fervently for that happy event to take place.

  After the ceremony, the women gave the children a hot oil massage and then oiled their own bodies with warm gingelly oil. The children were all bathed together, something they looked forward to every year. Parvathi Chithi already had hot water boiling in a huge cauldron at the back of the house, and the children stood in an assembly line. First Kunju rubbed shikakai on their heads and bodies to remove excess oil and then the child went to Chithi, who washed the shikakai off. Then off to Rajam, who rubbed turmeric paste all over their bodies to soften and bleach the skin. Then back to Chithi for a final wash down. Finally they were all done and dressed in their new clothes with their heads toweled dry. After the women finished bathing, the men followed suit. By five in the morning, everyone had taken their Ganga Snaanam, the bath they had just taken, symbolic of a purifying dip in the holy river Ganga. Then it would be time to meet friends and relatives, and they would enquire of each other, “Ganga Snaanam aacha?” Only none of them had actually taken a holy bath in the river Ganga.

  Once they bathed, the fireworks began. The sky was soon dotted with rockets and you could hear the sputter of firecrackers from all over the city. After breakfast, the family went to the temple to pray to the Lord for a happy and prosperous year. As they entered through the grand portal, Rajam looked up to see the towering gopuram. The outer courtyard was filled with people visiting the sanctums of other deities. This temple had been built during the Great Age of the Chola Dynasty. It is said that the King Rajaraja envisioned this temple in his dream and built the monument to match the massive dimensions of his vision. After passing the impressive sixteen feet high Nandi statue, they entered the main temple. Rajam closed her eyes and prayed, “Oh Nandi the bull, holy vehicle of Lord Shiva, please allow the Lord to hear my prayers.”

  The inner sanctum sanctorum was crowded with people peering at the Shiva lingam, perhaps the biggest lingam in any temple in India. Rajam would have been appalled if she only knew what she was worshipping, considering her bashfulness about sex. Shiva was never worshipped in his true form and was usually represented by the phallic symbol, the lingam, glorifying his part in the creation of the Universe along with his consort Shakti. Rajam just prayed with tremendous faith, never bothering to enquire too much.

  Something was causing a commotion and the crowd in the inner sanctum was pushed back. From a distance Rajam could tell they were making way for some important person to arrive. Being short, she could not see who it was. In a few minutes, she saw groups of Brahmins entering through the main gopuram behind her. These priests or Deekshathars were distinguishable by the unique way they combed their hair: the kudumi or bun on their head was tied in such a way that it fell across the forehead. The priests belonged to a particular clan and only officiated in special functions like openings of temples or large fire sacrifices-yagnas. Following them was a young man in saffron robes carrying a stick in his hand. On seeing him, the crowd abandoned the temple god and ran towards him.

  This unassuming man was none other than the famous Sankaracharya, Chandrasekhara Saraswathi. He was the head of the Sankara Madham, the order established by the great saint, Adi Sankara, in the 6th century B.C. when the Kanchi Madham was established. Sankara revived Vedantha, the ancient Vedic religion which the British later renamed Hinduism. Chandrasekhara Saraswathi was the sixty-eighth in an unbroken line of Acharyas. He had come to Chidambaram to open a new Sankara Madham. In fact, Inspector Swaminathan had moved to Chidambaram because of the Sankaracharya’s plans. The opening of the Madham would take place later that week, and this visit to the temple was unscheduled. Swaminathan had a battalion of constables accompanying the saint at all times to control the crowds that gathered to get his blessings or just a darshanam. But the crowds were never rowdy. Their reverence for His position and status was evident in the orderly manner in which they assembled on either side, creating a corridor for him to walk through to the sanctum sanctorum, everyone bowing down, prostrating themselves before him, elated to get to see him, to obtain a rare darshanam.

  Sankaracharya was a Sanyasi, an order of monks who had renounced the mate
rial world. He ate one meal a day and carried a stick and a small pot with him at all times, symbols of his renunciation. His predecessor, who had recognized his evolved soul, inducted him into the order at the age of thirteen. Most of his time was spent in prayer and meditation. He resided close to the temple at Kanchipuram near Madras, where he spent his time devoted to the main Goddess in the temple, Kamakshi, the consort of Shiva; hence, the order was known as Kanchi Kamakoti Peetham.

  Rajam was a little nervous when she saw his saffron robes and she partially hid behind Partha, peeping to get a glimpse of the great saint. Swaminathan knew Sankaracharya well, as they were distantly related, and had arranged for a private darshanam the following day for Rajam and Partha. The family went back into the temple, hoping to see the saint up close but there were too many people milling around him. Besides, the children had little interest in such matters and were getting restless.

  Rajam was happy to return home, as were the children. She wanted to spend as much time with her family as possible. Since it was a holiday, Swaminathan was sitting outside on the thinnai talking with his sons-in-law, greeting and chatting with passersby from time to time.

  Kunju needed to attend to her new born and Rajam was more than happy to take charge of the older children while her mother and Chithi finished cooking. Rajam took out a huge bag of dried red tamarind seeds her mother had saved and carried with her to Chidambaram. She still remembered collecting the seeds with Kunju as children from their garden in Vizhupuram. She took out a handful and sat the children down to play ‘Othaya Rettaiya’ — ones or twos. The rules were simple. You grabbed a handful of seeds and then the others had to guess if they were odd or even numbers; the one who guessed correctly took the seeds. The one with the most seeds won. In a half hour, the boys got bored and ran away, so she had to think of something new to keep them occupied. They played tag and blind man’s bluff, followed by Palaangozhi and Dayakattam, tirelessly until dinner time. Rajam was grateful for the reprieve, as she had exhausted her repertoire of games. The evening meal complete, they prepared for sleep.