She had only two choices: she could either kill the baby or kill herself. To kill the baby she would have to find some medicine woman who would give her a potion of crushed berries. Many in the village had used the remedy, which worked sometimes but more often the baby was born deformed. What was she going to do with a deformed baby? It would only add to her problems and certainly would be no replacement for Kamala. No, no, she could not do that. Maybe she should kill herself. She deliberated about what would be the best way — drown in the Ganga or hang herself. She was not crying anymore. Her racing mind considered different ways to end her life. Looking up at the ceiling, she saw the wooden rafters that ran along the length of the room and she had her answer. She would hang herself from the ceiling above her bed, an appropriate location, the perfect repentance for her sins, ending her life right above the scene of her crime. She tied two saris together and then standing on the bed threw one end over the rafter. Securing the knot, she tugged on it to test its strength. It would have to do. She stood at the edge of her bed and placed the noose around her neck. Her mind was a blank. She had exhausted every emotion. Now all she wanted was to be united with Kamala. She closed her eyes and thought of her darling child as she stepped off the edge of the bed.
The noose was tight around her neck and she couldn’t breathe. Lights exploded inside her brain and she felt the struggle as her windpipe closed. Her arms and legs flailed, her lungs begging for air and she became sharply aware of the flashes, the tightness and the loss of control. She wasn’t sure how long this went on until she felt something give. The noose around her neck loosened its death grip, allowing fresh oxygenated air to pour into her deprived lungs, even as she fell to the ground hitting her shoulder hard against the mud floor. She lay there sucking in the air, breathing in deep wheezy gasps, grappling with the realization that she was alive. She loosened the sari from around her sore neck and gazed up at the ceiling, wondering what had just happened. A few seconds passed before she realized that the rafter had broken, having rotted with age. She couldn’t believe it! She couldn’t live and she didn’t die either.
This was definitely a message from Banobibi, telling her that this was not her time to die. This was not her solution; her repentance must come through facing the consequences and raising this child. She curled into a fetal position, submitting completely to will of the divine Mother, silent tears pouring out of her dazed eyes.
CHAPTER 55 – MAHADEVAN
RANGPUR – SEPTEMBER, 1935
Mahadevan kept reading the letter over and over again. He was a little peeved to say the least. He had been expecting a transfer to a big city like Calcutta or Delhi, so this transfer order back to Sylhet was disappointing. He had done an excellent job in Rangpur, was definitely in line for a promotion and was thunderstruck with this lateral move. The farther he was away from Calcutta, the longer it would take him to climb the ladder. ‘Out of sight out of mind’ was a pertinent axiom when it came to Civil Service transfers.
The previous month had brought many important changes for the country. The second Government of India Act of 1935 had been passed in the British Parliament, resulting in many administrative changes in India. Some lands which had originally belonged to Burma were transferred into the state of Assam, which was where Sylhet was located.
The whole administrative service had been abuzz with rumors flying around about possible amendments. There were long debates, both official and unofficial, in intellectual circles and much derision over the British pandering of Jinnah and his Muslim cause. As Mahadevan had expected, almost all of Jinnah’s recommendations had been accepted, testimony to the cunning policy of Divide and Rule. The new Act also held special provisions for the unconquered princely states to accede to the Federation with representation in the Government. Instead of presenting a cohesive front, each state was furthering its own petty interests. Of course this angered the Nationalists, who saw this Act as another instrument to further demolish the unity and integrity of the nation. But these situations were peripheral to the news of his own transfer orders — an inopportune corollary of the Act itself.
He knew that Dharmu needed a change and a move to Calcutta would have been so welcome. Banu would have been there for moral support and Dharmu’s social life would have been much more colorful. More pertinently, his personal visibility would have increased, opening new avenues of growth in the service. But what was the point in talking about or thinking about what was not imminent? It only caused turmoil and disappointment, both of which disturbed his customary sanguinity; as a result, dismissing his thoughts seemed the best tactic. He would have to break the news to Dharmu and the children and he knew they would not be very happy. Sylhet lay east of Rangpur, which made it even farther away from home. The people there spoke either Assamese or Burmese, and Dharmu, who was already at her wits end with Bengali, would now have to deal with two new languages. She had made no attempt to learn either when they had been posted there earlier and Mahadevan had not insisted on anything at the time. The children were young then and Dharmu had spent most of her pregnancy in Sylhet before she left for Dindigul to have Kandu. But now the children were older and the question of their education bothered him. Still young, Kandu would benefit from private tutoring, but Vani was growing up and needed some formal education. He would have to think about some way of tutoring her on par with an education in the city.
Mahadevan had so many conflicting thoughts that he hardly noticed the ride home and soon the phaeton was pulling into the gate. Dharmu and Banu were sitting outside drinking their evening tea and he wondered if he could break the news in front of Banu. Dharmu had put on a little weight and her cheeks sported more color. Banu’s visit had definitely done her good. The recent episode over her drinking resulted in a poignant realization for Mahadevan; he saw that hard work and the office could only be a part of one’s life. The main purpose of a married man was to have harmony in his home and that could only come when husband and wife were intimate. Physical intimacy was a prerequisite for spiritual communication and the latter was crucial if any relationship was to endure and be fruitful. He had ignored that aspect of his life thus far and had immersed himself in his work, which, unfortunately, had resulted in this lateral move to Sylhet. If only he had invested as much energy in his marriage, there might have been greater gains and satisfaction from life. Maybe that would have prevented Dharmu from drinking. He could not get over how the intimate touch of a woman lifted his spirits and made him feel invincible. How much time had been lost and how much damage done he did not know. In hindsight, it irked him that this realization had not come sooner. The children sensed a difference in their relationship, resulting in a more positive and upbeat change in the atmosphere at home.
After drinking tea and scones in the verandah, Banu accompanied Kandu on his ritual watering of the plant and examined the burgeoning bud, participating wholeheartedly in his enthusiasm. Seeing that she was out of earshot, Mahadevan decided to quickly broach the topic before Banu returned, giving Dharmu some time to digest and accept the news before reacting. Banu’s presence would have made further debate on the topic improbable.
“Dharmu, I got my transfer orders.”
“Really? To Calcutta?”
“No, to Sylhet.” There he had done it. He told her.
“Sylhet? Why? Why not Calcutta?” Dharmu looked crestfallen.
“Good question, one that has been bothering me too, but Sylhet has just become part of the Indian dominion, so I will have to be there for at least the next two years.”
Dharmu’s heart sank. Two more years away from the comfort of civilization. But she had no more time to think, because Banu came back, saying something about Kandu and the plant but Dharmu didn’t quite hear anything.
“Yes,” said Mahadevan trying to behave as jolly and normal as he could. “He was very sad he missed the blooming the last time. You know he slunk out of his room at night and I found him sleeping here in the verandah in the morning.”
> “Well, he says it normally doesn’t bloom twice a year, so he won’t miss this one. He has his heart set on seeing it,” said Banu, indulgently looking at Kandu.
Mahadevan left the ladies and went in to freshen up. He knew Dharmu was sad but she would come around. Next week while Banu was still here to care for the children, he would take Dharmu to Assam for a visit. The area was in a beautiful part of the country, nestled in the hills with the River Surma nearby. Picturesque tea plantations dotted the landscape, and the climate was definitely much cooler and drier than Rangpur. Mahadevan wondered how two towns with such different climates could be geographically so close together. The children could learn horse riding, and maybe he would find good teachers there, since many ICS officers were being transferred there. Kandu ran in chattering nonstop just as he had changed into his lounge clothes. “Kandu,” Mahadevan finally got a word in edgewise, “we are going to move from Rangpur next month.”
Kandu raised both his arms up and shouted “Yay!” at the top of his voice. “Where are we going?” He added, bobbing up and down on his father’s lap, the conversation not meaning much to him.
“To a place called Sylhet,” said Mahadevan, wondering why he was telling the child anything. He wasn’t sure if Kandu understood much. Perhaps he was looking for some approval, some positive feedback from someone, even a child.
“Sylhet, what a silly name. Do you wear silly hats there?” And Kandu burst out laughing, loving his own joke, as he jumped off his father’s lap chanting “Silly het silly hat…Rukku…” He yelled, running out of the room to search for his sister.
As his voice faded away, Mahadevan smiled to himself. Children gave you so much more perspective in life. He had been overwhelmed at the thought of moving to this remote place, but Kandu found the name funny and he feared nothing.
Adults fashioned mental torment for themselves by creating fears and apprehension where none existed. They were merely imagined problems, arising from the fear of the unknown, from moving out of their comfort zone. Children were so much more real and practical because they functioned from the heart, living totally in the present. It amazed Mahadevan how much he was learning from them.
He sighed aloud. Everything was going to be fine. His career would take off, his children would be educated and his wife would be happy. Life was going to be beautiful. He knew it because he felt it in his heart. And for the first time in his adult life, he would follow his heart.
Epilogue:
The Lotus
blooms
OCTOBER 11TH, 1935
Rajam felt her belly hardening and she tried to move into a more relaxed position, but no matter which way she turned she was still uncomfortable. Finally, unable to sleep, she sat up and to her surprise her stomach softened. Thinking that this was a better position to sleep in, she piled up a few pillows behind her and settled back in a half seated position and closed her eyes. She could not have been dozing for more than fifteen minutes when she felt her belly hardening again. The pressure on her bladder had built up this past week and when Chithi felt her stomach, she confirmed that the baby’s head had fixed
… whatever that meant. She got up slowly and went to the bathroom for the fourth time this night, hoping that the relief from emptying her bladder might ease the hardness. Rajam hated using the bathroom at night. She had to take a lantern and there were so many cockroaches creeping around at night that it made her jittery.
It was not daybreak yet and everyone was asleep. Chithi was sleeping in the open thinnai with Kunju’s six little children next to her. Rajam peeped into Amma’s room and from the doorway could hear her gentle snoring. She was sleeping by herself, as Appa was still not back from Bangalore. Kunju’s husband, Panchu, had died a fortnight ago and Appa was with Kunju completing the ceremonies, after which he would bring her back to Chidambaram. Rajam felt the tears well up in her eyes as she thought about Kunju being a widow. Would they have cut her hair and made her wear a white sari like Chithi? She hoped not. Her father did not believe in those rituals and had protested when Chithi lost her husband. But unfortunately, he was young at the time and did not have much say in such matters. Besides, he was totally outnumbered and forced to keep his counsel to himself. But Kunju was his daughter, and Rajam was sure that he would never allow the priests to perform all those cruel rituals reserved for widows. Poor Kunju … she was so young … why did she have to face widowhood now? Rajam felt like weeping but suddenly a sharp pain gripped her lower back. She bit her lip to prevent herself from crying out and in a few seconds the pain had subsided. She breathed in deeply, filling her deprived lungs. Kamu must have pushed against some already squished organ, something that happened once too often nowadays.
It was so different being pregnant. All of her insides felt squashed, and she could not eat much at one sitting, throwing her digestion completely off track. A constant burning sensation in her upper stomach, especially at night, and her inability to move her bowels regularly made her feel even more bloated. Right now she was so huge that she probably measured the same vertically and horizontally. ‘A round ball,’ she thought to herself and giggled, half asleep. She must have dozed off because the next thing she knew Chithi was calling to wake her up. Rajam stirred and unwillingly crawled out of bed. Every act was so complex now, even sitting and sleeping had become a painful chore. She couldn’t wait for the birth of the baby, her darling Kamu. When, oh when would the pains start?
She didn’t have to wait long. The first pain began in earnest during her bath, a strong contraction hardening her stomach and radiating to her back. She gasped out loud and held the wall for support, staggered by the sheer force of the pain. Unable to stand any longer, she hastily wrapped the sari around her wet body and stumbled out of the bath area, calling for her mother and Chithi. She was halfway across the courtyard, when to her horror, she felt herself urinating. She gaped dumbstruck at the hot fluid gushing down her legs. She couldn’t believe she had lost control. It was odd, because she had just used the toilet and felt no pressure, no urgency to go. Chithi heard her, and recognizing the panic in her voice, walked briskly towards her just in time to see her standing, her feet wide apart, in a pool of pinkish fluid. Her waters had burst. It was time to prepare for delivery.
“Mangalam,” she yelled. “Come quickly, it’s time. I told you that the baby would come around Krishnapaksha.”
Rajam stared at her vacantly, unable to fathom what just happened. “Chithi …” she began, her voice rising up into a crescendo as another contraction commenced, choking her words back. Chithi herded her into the front room, the official childbearing room. Then she lay her down on the bed and carefully removed the last of her bangles.
Partha had returned home from school a while ago, and the house was quiet without the usual sound of women chattering away in the kitchen. Nagamma had become reticent and spoke only when spoken to. It felt oppressive and crowded with so many of them packed into two rooms and Partha enjoyed the brief reprieve, soaking in the feeling of space on the small open terrace. His eyes fell on the Brahmakamalam. Rajam had insisted that he move the plant to the new house and water it regularly. He had done the first but omitted the second. Thank goodness for the rain. Guiltily he ran down to get a pot of water. When he poured the water on the droopy leaves, he noticed the bud. The full purplish bud was frothing at the tip, ready to burst into bloom. Inadvertently Partha found himself smiling. The plant was going to bloom. Rajam had been desolate the last time when she missed it blooming. Well, today he would stay up and watch it bloom. He would enjoy telling her one more tale of what she missed by staying away from him.
Velandi stared at her face, an empty manic look in his eyes as he looked at her but didn’t actually register her presence. Every time she appeared before him, her face would morph into Muniamma’s and he would cry out in anguish. He never wanted to remarry but the village elders had persuaded him to get a woman to care for his little ones. In his heart was a special place reserved only for Muniam
ma and no one could replace her. He was like a madman working mechanically, not bathing, barely eating, his hair unruly and his eyes red in anguish. Sindhuri, his wife of two months, was an adolescent herself, scrawny and restrained, terrified of making a wrong move. His nightmares jerked her into a fearful awakened state at night, and his agonized expression during the day tormented her, leaving her puzzled, constantly wondering what she had done wrong. He could not embrace Sindhuri into his life. It was too soon. Hardly aware of her terrified presence, he wandered off to the banks of the river to the spot where he had cremated the remains of Muniamma. He had no money to pay the Chandala for wood at the burning ghat to burn her body, so he and Nandu painstakingly collected branches and twigs from the forest floor and cremated her on the banks of the river. He had sat by the dying embers, watching the eerie glow through the tortuous night, almost in a trance. Then, when the heat of the fire had abated, he collected the ashes and bits of bone and immersed them in the river, his final act of service to his wife. As he sat down, he remembered the scene so clearly; it was almost as if it were taking place in the present moment: the ashes and bone fragments floating, hovering on the surface of the water only for a moment before mingling and dissolving into the running current, taking her last worldly remains back to its source.
When the Lotus Blooms Page 37