“Why not? Thatha and Appanshayal Thatha will take care of me.”
“And what will I do all year without you? Who will hug me when I get home from work?”
Kandu thought for a while. His father had a valid point. He loved being with his parents but he also loved being with his grandparents. This was tough.
“How about six months here and six months there?”
“Kandu, it’s only a question of spending a few more months there. Then we will move to Delhi or Calcutta and you will have a lot of fun. You can go to a regular school and have friends.”
“Really? Are we going to go? Oh my God, I have to tell Rukku. Rukku …” and Kandu ran off to inform his mother and sisters about their impending move.
“Kandu, don’t tell anyone. We aren’t moving … yet.” But Kandu was out of earshot.
Mahadevan looked up at the overcast sky, which meant the sun would not mercilessly beat down on them. It seemed to be the perfect day for an outing.
“Appa, what do you say we go to Cape Comorin? The weather looks good.”
Nilakantan looked up at him over his eyeglasses. “I am ready. Get everyone together and let’s go.”
In a short while, Nilakantan, Mahadevan, Dharmu and the children were on their way to Cape Comorin in the blue Baby Austin. On the way they stopped at the Suchindram temple. Nilakantan always made it a point of stopping there whenever he passed through the area because of its uniqueness. It had a lingam representing the Hindu trinity: Shiva, Vishnu and Brahma, the only one of its kind. In the outer corridor was a huge statue of the Monkey God, Hanuman. After a short visit, they headed towards the beach.
When they reached the shoreline in Cape Comorin, the sun was still thankfully hidden behind a cloud cover. Mahadevan sat at the water’s edge and watched his father swim along the shoreline. Nilakantan was a powerful swimmer and was fond of saying that one day he would swim across to the Vivekananda Rock, which lay a mile across the ocean. But today was not that day because the waves were high from the monsoons. The grey and frothy sea had a strong undercurrent and Dharmu clutched the children, not allowing them to venture too far into the water.
They sat on the water’s edge and stared at the ocean. Paati had packed a delicious lunch, including tamarind rice and yoghurt rice, which they devoured as they watched the waves crashing against the shore. Kandu looked across at the rock in the middle of the sea.
“Daddy, what is that rock?”
“That is a special rock. They call it the Vivekananda Rock. Many years ago a young man came here to this very part of the shore from Bengal. He had wandered all over the country and reached the southernmost tip of the subcontinent. His mind was racing with a million unanswered questions, just like yours always is. To calm himself, he jumped into these waters and started swimming and didn’t stop till he reached that rock. His name was Narendranath Dutta, and he was a religious man in search of truth. He sat on this rock and meditated for three days and three nights.”
“How did he do it? Ommm…” said Kandu sitting cross legged with his eyes closed and his hands in the classic gyanamudra and the girls followed suit.
“Yes just like that. He meditated looking at the whole of India. At the end of three days he woke up and found enlightenment and a new vision for India.”
“Daddy, you use too many big words. Kandu is only five,” Vani interjected.
“I’m sorry. It means he realized what he had to do to make Indians awaken and become free.”
“You mean he was a freedom fighter?”
“No, Kandu, not free as in free from British rule but free in their minds, knowing what the path to truth was.” That was an even more complicated explanation. Kandu was smart but not that smart.
Kandu didn’t understand most of it and busied himself making a sandcastle. He built a huge mound with a moat around it. After making his fiftieth visit to the sea and emptying the contents into the moat only to watch it disappear into the sand, he gave up.
“This is a stupid moat,” he declared. The family was dozing on the sand when the rain came in from the sea. The droplets were large and painful, stinging their skin and they scrambled to get cover, making their way to the car. By the time they left town, all three children were asleep. It was their last evening there. Just before dinner, Appanshayal came to the house looking for his great- grandson. “Kandu, where are you? I have something for you. Hurry up Kandu, come here if you want a present.”
From nowhere Kandu appeared. “Present? What present? English chocolates?”
“Nothing that sweet but something magical,” said Appanshayal as he led the way to his outhouse. Kandu trotted behind him, following him as he went into the garden at the back of the house and squatted next to a plant.
“Appanshayal Thatha, where is my present?”
“Here, this is what I want to give you,” was the reply as Appanshayal lifted out a pot containing a plant with strange droopy leaves.
“A plant? My present is a plant?” queried Kandu, with a crestfallen look as he gazed at the strange plant with thin floppy leaves.
“This plant is dying, Thatha; it has no flowers.”
“No, Kandu. This is a very special plant that grows only in the hills of Mansarovar in the Himalayas. You don’t get this plant anywhere else in the world.”
“Really? So how did you get it?”
“I brought it back when I returned from my pilgrimage.”
“It looks pretty sad.”
“Its leaves are drooping with the heat of the midday sun, but notice how the leaves grow out of other leaves. Have you ever seen that before?”
“Oh my! That is so strange; the stem has no purpose. I mean the leaves are not sprouting from the stems.”
“That’s why I called it magical. This is a special plant called the Brahmakamalam — the Lotus of Brahma. Very few people have this plant, and you are going to be one of the few exclusive owners. The magic of this plant is that it only blooms once, sometimes twice a year and that too just for a few hours. If you miss that, then you have to wait for a long time before it blooms again. Not only that, this blooming will mean something special for you. It will tell your fortune.”
Kandu looked at the plant with renewed interest. A fortune telling plant was much more exciting. “How will I know when it is going to bloom?”
“A pinkish colored bud will appear from the leaves. Watch it carefully when that happens. It will bloom only for a few hours in the late evening.”
Kandu looked at the plant once again. A magic plant with leaves growing from leaves and flowers growing from leaves. This was incredible.
Brahmakamalam, the exotic Himalayan beauty, is called by many names — the Fragrant Queen of the Night, the Golden Heart and the Star of Bethlehem. A plant, which by a whim of nature grows only in the Himalayas, the abode of the God Shiva, around Mount Kailash and in the verdant valleys of Mansarovar. Ancient Hindu texts refer to this flower as being special to Shiva, although the word Brahmakamalam translates to the Lotus of Brahma. Perhaps this was the golden lotus on which Brahma was seated as he emerged from the navel of Vishnu to create the universe. So incomparable is this flower that it symbolizes every aspect of creation, expressing itself in the world we live in as a tribute to the creator. It creates from within itself in a design so complete that it overloads the beholder with emotion, sensation and passion — a lotus that includes aspects of Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva within its physical form. A unique plant, the likes of which is not found in any other part of the world, a flower which some say, belongs to the sunflower family, while others swear is an epiphyte, a cactus, or a lotus.
The first impression is deceptive, as its long drooping leaves look like any common foliage. But its magic lies in the leaves and flowers growing out of the leaves themselves and not from the stem. It has been seen in full bloom in spring and winter, and those who have the honor of seeing the Brahmakamalam flower, never forget the experience. At first a limp pinkish bud appears and for a whil
e nothing happens, then all of a sudden, mirroring the miracle of life, it unravels in white splendor. The outer petals are thin and pointed, revealing within its folds a round petalled mound that uncannily resembles a Shiva lingam. Over this mound are white stamens tipped with yellow, resembling the hood of a cobra suggesting Adishesha, the hooded serpent associated with Vishnu.
Once a year it spreads elation and joy as it opens its face in the delicate moonlight for humans to admire. It blossoms only once and on occasions, twice a year, only for three or four hours, after which the petals wilt and fall to the ground. While the plant is in full bloom, its consummate fragrance is unparalleled, defying description, leaving the privileged gasping at its magnificence.
Now, Kandu was the proud owner of this rare bloom, a magical flower that would bring tidings of fortune and happiness, of the birth of joy and hope that would give meaning to his life, rejuvenation that would fill his cup of happiness to the brim.
But he knew nothing about that. Not yet, anyway.
Part XIII
Rajam
CHAPTER 36 – RAJAM
VIZHUPURAM – DECEMBER, 1934
For two days she cried. No matter what anyone said, the sadness was so overwhelming, it flowed through her veins and out of every cell and every pore till it reached her tear ducts, where with an uncontrollable outpouring of gloom and despondency, it finally left her grief stricken body. She wept so much that her eyes felt sore and it hurt even to blink. She had not eaten all day and could barely sleep. When she did, her dreams were filled with visions, bright and colorful, which then merged into nondescript shapes of grey, rolling over the earth till they fell off a steep precipice, jerking her into wakeful consciousness. So deep rooted was this melancholy, it seeped into her subconscious, presenting itself in images so disturbing that reality was preferable, no matter how painful.
It did not matter that it was the month of Maargazhi, special to lovers, when the air had a sprightly, fresh nip to it. Rajam was alone, forced to be apart from her own love, left to disseminate all these distorted images that merged from semi-sleep into awareness, making it difficult for her to tell dreams from reality. She could not accept that after so much prayer and so much faith, God had forsaken her. The cramps in her belly intensified and she cried aloud in a mournful wail, piercing the silence of the cool December air and alarming Partha, who was sitting on the terrace enjoying the moonlight. He ran down the stairs to the back room where Rajam had been confined for the past two days. Outside her room, her breakfast, lunch and dinner lay untouched.
“Rajam, please don’t cry. I know you are sad. So am I but crying will make things worse.” Partha understood her torment. He knew how she longed to have a child and how much faith she had put into that last meeting with the saint. She was making herself ill and it hurt him deeply to watch her suffering and be unable to alleviate it.
“Go away. I don’t want to talk to anyone, not even you.”
“Please Rajam, why are you angry with me? What did I do?”
“You did not fill my belly.”
Partha eyed the untouched food. “Here, eat,” he said with a smile on his face, handing the plate to her through the open door. “At least fill your belly with food.”
But Rajam was in no mood for jokes. “Nooooo…” she screamed. “Go away. I never want to talk to you.”
“Rajam, please don’t behave like this. Everyone is concerned you haven’t eaten. If you don’t eat, then I will have to come in and feed you.”
“No, don’t lie to me. Everyone is only concerned that once again I have no child in my belly,” and the wailing began afresh. Her self-pity was dragging her into despair. Partha knew somehow he had to make her eat and smile again. But he did not know where to begin.
“That too, but you have to keep your strength up. If you don’t eat, then you will fall sick and then even if God willed it, you would not have the strength to hold a baby in your belly.”
“Then your mother will be happy. She can tell everyone how she has a sickly daughter-in-law with a withered womb.” In between a fresh bout of tears she declared, “That’s all I am. A sick, barren, useless daughter-in-law.”
“No, Rajam, you are not useless or barren and if you eat you won’t be sick either.” Even though it was taboo, Partha picked up the plate and walked into the forbidden room, much to Rajam’s horror.
“Noo… Don’t touch me; you will be polluted.” Rajam truly believed when you were menstruating, you emitted negative energy, which spoiled food, turned milk sour and certainly resulted in indelible, unpardonable, pollution on humans.
“Polluted my foot! I don’t care.” Partha came up to her and held her close, her cheek against his chest and they stayed linked together for a while. Partha gently wiped the tears from her eyes and ran his hand over her hair till her body was quiet and the shivering stopped.
After meeting Sankaracharya in Chidambaram, Rajam was sure the miracle of pregnancy would take place. She watered the sacred sandalwood, the holy Meru he gave her every single day, resting assured she would not get her next period. But now her faith was shattered. In spite of everything, she was not pregnant. When the cramps woke her two days ago, she was numb in disbelief. Getting her period did not merely shake her devotion but planted seeds of despondency. The tears were already in her eyes as she walked dejectedly to the back room. Nagamma saw her entering and was quick with a gibe about her empty bleeding womb; and that set Rajam off. She could not stop crying. For two whole days she sobbed till she was empty and frozen. She had not eaten any food or drunk any water but the tears had their own secret reservoir of fluid that needed no replenishment. Other than that one sarcastic innuendo, no one had said anything to her, yet she felt victimized and was punishing herself for a crime she was not responsible for.
Partha mixed the cold rice, sambar and vegetables into a little ball and put it into her mouth, opening his own involuntarily as he did this. He wanted to heat the food for her but didn’t know how and certainly did not want anyone to know where he was. Men were not supposed to involve themselves in any matters pertaining to the kitchen.
As she chewed down on the food, the saliva came painfully streaming into Rajam’s mouth, a reaction caused by her body’s aching need for nourishment. She swallowed three more mouthfuls, all the time playing with her toes, not looking at Partha in the face. “I feel better,” she said, turning towards him, opening her mouth for the next mouthful and when she noticed Partha opening his mouth at the same time, burst out laughing.
“What?” Partha said, surprised at the sudden turn of emotions.
“You opened your mouth.”
“I did? Well, it’s a good thing. At least it made you laugh.”
When Partha left, she was definitely feeling better with food in her stomach and no more sounds of crying emanated from the room.
At night, just before they retired, Sushila came to her with the evening meal. “Rajam,” she said softly, “come, eat. I have two dosas for you and a glass of buttermilk.” She slid the plate in but was not so adept with the glass and a little buttermilk spilled on the floor. “Have you stopped crying? I’m so glad. Even Nagamma was looking worried. Can you believe that?”
Rajam certainly couldn’t. “You are just saying that to cheer me up. I know what everyone is thinking.”
“Rajam, why do you torment yourself? Have faith and you will become pregnant.”
“It’s easy for you to say. Do you know how bad I feel that I have not given Partha a child yet, after being married for so long?”
“But waiting for it always makes it take longer and just so much more painful. It’s like waiting for a pot of water to boil. It always seems to take twice the amount of time when you stare at the pot. Just relax and let it happen.”
“No, Sushila, I really don’t think it will happen. I will never conceive a child.”
“Shush Rajam; don’t even say that. The Devas passing by will say ‘asthu asthu’ — (So be it), and then your fat
e will be sealed. You are still so young. Seventeen is hardly the age when you stop trying and give up totally. Come on, keep your spirits up; everything happens in good time.”
“I know, but every month I wait and nothing happens. I feel that God has forsaken me.”
“Never lose faith, Rajam. Just knowing you will have a child will make it happen. Sankaracharya said you would have a child. He does not waste his words. If he said it, then it will happen.”
“But see. I’m here languishing in this room. It didn’t happen.”
“Maybe not right now, but it will soon. Think of what happened to me, Rajam. I lost the baby in the seventh month of my pregnancy. Which is worse? Not getting pregnant or losing a baby before it is born?”
Rajam felt ashamed. She had been so self-absorbed, not even pausing to think of Sushila’s plight. “Oh, Sushila, forgive me. I have only been thinking of my own situation. I know your plight is worse than mine. I’m so sorry for behaving so badly.”
“Don’t fight your destiny, just have faith. If you are so highly strung, it will prevent you from getting pregnant. And I’ll tell you another trick: after you do it, don’t get up immediately. Lie down for an hour at least.”
“Is it? But what about bathing?”
“That can wait for an hour. My friend told me that getting up immediately and washing yourself is a sure way of avoiding pregnancy. So I guess lying down will improve your chances. What do you say?”
That was useful to know. It had been so ingrained into her that sex was polluting and you had to bathe immediately, she had done so without questioning, like all the zillion other things she did. No one ever questioned the elders. If you were told to do something, you just did it unfailingly. Even if one were to question anything, no one had an answer because everyone did what their parents told them to. All of these rituals and practices must have had some justification once upon a time but over generations they had somehow lost the original validation. There were so many of them she could think of off the top of her head: lighting lamps at sunset, washing the front yard with cow manure, washing after sex. She could think of one for every waking minute of the day. So many practices that defined the culture they lived in. They were blindly followed but rebelling against them would raise eyebrows and cause a stir in the family; and Rajam was unwilling to take that risk. The practices and rituals lingered and endured over centuries, remaining almost identical perhaps to the time when they were first prescribed. Only men had the leeway to fine tune these, just like her father did in his household. No one really questioned him because he decided what went on in his house. But as a woman, she could never refuse to do anything that had been the practice in her household or her husband’s household. It was not her place to question why and the thought of doing so never ever entered her mind.
When the Lotus Blooms Page 27