Baby Doll

by Gracy

  Because of the demands of marital life, followed by the languor of pregnancy and the responsibilities that motherhood entailed, life hardly gave me a chance to find out what was happening to Parvathi. Still, before long, I paid her a visit. More beautiful than ever, she astonished me. Having forgotten all that had happened earlier, she was keen to tell me a new tale. I was disappointed that she did not even bother to ask me about my baby. I was only a listener. I reminded myself that all these years I had been nothing more than a mere willing ear. That she had never tried to know anything about me was a realization that lodged itself like a thorn inside me.

  But Parvathi was absorbed in the throes of rendering her latest tale.

  A distant cousin – a young man, barely over twenty – had apparently become a daily visitor at her house, his visits coinciding with the time when she would return after dropping off her daughter at school. Eventually, the young man became generous, singing hymns to her beauty. Once, he even embraced her from behind and kissed her. When Parvathi continued telling the story with a self-congratulatory smile on her lips, my mind suddenly detached itself. Muttering some excuse, I stood up slowly. Perhaps seeing my pallor, she reached for me, as if she had freshly woken from a dream. But by then, I had stepped outside.

  And from my heart, Parvathi was stepping out forever.

  (Padiyirangippoya Parvathi)

  5

  Arundhathi’s Dreams

  Arundhathi’s eyes were gazing upwards where not a single star was winking in the sky. Perhaps it could also be that Arundhathi was oblivious to their presence. She was floating like a wisp of cotton in an emptiness that could yank one up from the roots.

  It was then that Arundhathi was startled by a knock on the door. She swayed slightly and wafted down like a leaf freshly detached from a plant. Darkness had invaded the room completely. Arundhathi switched on the lights. Looking through the peephole in the door, she made sure that it was Ananthan. As soon as he entered, Ananthan flung down the bag and flopped on the sofa. For a moment, Arundhathi stood looking at Ananthan, sprawled on the sofa, his eyes shut, arms crossed behind his head, legs splayed wide. In her dry eyes, a flame of hope flared. Arundhathi asked, ‘Did you meet him?’

  Forcing his eyes open to look at her, Ananthan asked wearily, ‘Whom?’

  Arundhathi stared at his face in utter disbelief. As if regaining his memory, Ananthan nodded. His face became heavy with shadows, his voice grew forlorn, ‘No, Arundhathi, there’s no one on earth like that.’

  A jolt shot through Arundhathi. Her eyes bulged out in amazement. Unable to bear that gaze, he got up and walked into the bathroom.

  When Ananthan came out after his bath, Arundhathi was standing in the same position. Her eyes were closed, as if in deep agony. A solitary pearl of a tear shone in the corner of her left eye. Hugging her cold body close to his, Ananthan began gently, ‘Look, Arundhathi…’

  Without opening her eyes, Arundhathi murmured, ‘But, Maggie said…’

  Ananthan stopped her, his irritation visible, ‘Won’t you stop it, Arundhathi? Your head is full of Maggie’s idiotic tales. You don’t believe what I say, do you? Who am I to you?’

  Arundhathi opened her eyes abruptly. She was seeing a new Ananthan.

  Then, with laboured steps, she walked to the kitchen and served his meal wordlessly. Ananthan pulled out a chair.

  Arundhathi’s mind was filled with the tales Maggie had told her. Maggie was her only friend at the convent. She was the one who told her that dreams, too, had meanings. Apparently, there was a Joseph, in some faraway place, who could interpret dreams. He could read even the strangest dreams and provide precise interpretations. Lifting her head a little and with her eyes half shut, Maggie had spoken like a sleepwalker, ‘All dreams have meanings, Arundhathi. Surely Joseph’s heirs would be somewhere on this earth.’

  Arundhathi thought it strange that Ananthan, roaming with his bag full of tablets, could not locate someone of that tribe. Perhaps Ananthan became indifferent to all her dreams when he entered the world of medicines.

  Ananthan lifted his head only after his hunger had abated a little. Arundhati was still looking into her plate. Patting her on her shoulder, Ananthan urged softly, ‘Eat your food.’

  Arundhathi broke off a piece of her chapatti and pushed it into her mouth. Ananthan continued, as if to himself, ‘When I return after wandering around, you’re always like this … What sort of life is this, Arundhathi?’

  Her voice quavering and breaking, Arundhathi blamed herself, ‘That’s true. But who else is there for me…’

  With a drawn smile, Ananthan tried to pacify her, ‘We are still young, Arundhathi. It’s not yet time to lose hope. Didn’t the doctor say that there’s nothing wrong with both of us?’

  Arundhathi felt like laughing out loud, but was scared that she might not be able to stop.

  Ananthan got up, rinsed his hands and lit a cigarette. After walking the length of two or three yards, he flopped back on the sofa again.

  When she was washing up, Arundhathi suddenly remembered her home. Earlier, she used to drive away the memories that would sneak in through the gaps between such moments. But now she let them waft in, seized with a sense of loss. At first, those reminiscences were like a trickling streamlet flowing under her feet. Gradually, the flow quickened.

  The house used to be on the banks of paddy fields that spread beyond what the eye could see. With her face pressed against the window grille, it was possible to spend any stretch of time watching the green waves swaying in the wind – until Amma or sister brought her back to reality. Green had always animated Arundhathi’s spirits. She recalled standing in the stone-paved bathroom, lost in thought, her head dripping with the water poured from a big vessel filled to the brim. When she returned from her bath, she would find her sister still sleeping, the sheet pulled over her head. Arundhathi used to love walking through the raised bunds criss-crossing the fields, and to climb the steps to the temple atop the hill on the opposite side. Often, she stopped to marvel at the tiny, nameless flowers blooming on either side of the narrow ridge. She would smile at little birds that darted like arrows, chirping cheerfully. By the time she began climbing the stone steps to the temple, Amma would have caught up with her. Her forefinger on her nose, Amma would exclaim in surprise, ‘What time did you set off, my Arundhathi?’

  Smiling guilelessly, Arundhathi would start counting the stone steps. Arundhathi was not a very good student and her father was not at all keen on sending her to college. But she was not one to give up easily either. Finally, her father gave in.

  It was in her second year at college that she met Ananthan. She was trying to walk away from the mayhem on campus when she was startled by an unexpected voice, ‘What have you lost, Arundhathi?’

  When she turned around, taken aback at someone calling her by name, she saw a smiling young man whom she had never seen before. He introduced himself, ‘I’m Ananthan.’

  For some reason, Arundhathi took to him immediately. With a slight smile, she even teased, ‘That is, Lord Vishnu’s thousand-tongued snake…’

  Ananthan smiled broadly.

  ‘It’s the same Ananthan. But isn’t it Arundhathi who is all tongue now?’

  Arundhathi laughed and fell in step with Ananthan. After that, she never turned back. When she walked out of her house with Ananthan, who was from a lower caste, the doors closed behind her forever.

  And now, the colourless days in this tiny flat in this busy city…

  ‘What are you doing there, Arundhathi?’

  Arundhathi’s veins of recollections were sliced by the irritation in Ananthan’s voice. She walked to the bedroom. Hugging her in bed, Ananthan said, ‘Joseph’s heirs are now psychiatrists, Arundhathi. We’ll meet them one day. Maybe one of them can interpret your dreams.’

  Arundhathi had never taken to them. She recalled sadly that, all said and done, no one could accept another soul wholeheartedly. But before she could say anything, Ananthan’s lips p
ressed on the curve of her smooth, conch-like neck.

  Afterwards, when she was shipwrecked on some shore, she lamented about seeds that refused to sprout.

  Ananthan had fallen asleep. In the dim light, his face seemed baby-like in its innocence. Her heart was moved by an agony that knew no source. Turning off the light, she stared into the darkness. Arundhathi was afraid to sleep. She was sure that her dreams would suffocate her if she did.

  Arundhathi’s dreams had begun to terrify her these days. Her dreams always began with her finding herself seated on a rock, enveloped by dark green foliage. Suddenly, an unfamiliar, wild smell would begin to entice her. At that point, invariably, an elephant, dark as midnight, would rush towards her from the vegetation. The jolt always impelled Arundhathi to flee. The forest blocking her, and stuck amidst thorny bushes, a scream would escape Arundhathi as the elephant hurtled towards her. When her eyes flew open, she could hardly accept it as a nightmare. Ananthan would hold her body, trembling with fear, taking her into his arms and caressing her tenderly. He would remind her that it was only a dream. Feeling a bit more secure, Arundhathi would close her eyes again.

  Over time, somewhere, somehow, she had lost that security. So, Arundhathi tried to keep away from the denseness of the green in her dreams. Still, the elephant hounded her. Its trunk came searching for her through the reeds in the bamboo forest where she sought refuge. When the moist, slimy tip of the trunk touched her, she wailed aloud. But Ananthan did not float up from the depths of his sleep.

  Later on, she began to walk through deserted lands. Even then, the elephant was always behind her. When it compressed its body and trunk to roll faster through the sand and chase her, Arundhathi’s legs refused to move forward and she slipped tiredly into the sand. The elephant’s leg landed flat on Arundhathi’s chest. She jumped up from her sleep, struggling for breath.

  Robbed of a refuge on land, Arundhathi walked on the skies. But by then, the elephant had grown a mammoth pair of wings.

  In desperation, Arundhathi yearned to escape both sleep and dreams. But however hard she tried, in the wee hours of night, sleep pulled her eyelids down and glued them together. She tried to shoo sleep away, struggling to keep her eyelids apart. Even so, Arundhathi could hardly help sliding into sleep.

  (Arundhathiyude Swapnangal)

  6

  Cat

  I know that you will find what I am about to tell you hard to believe. Agreed, it is not right to introduce hypotheses at the beginning. But you know quite well that it is not possible for a man to always think and behave in a logical and reasoned manner. Anyway, I will describe the events from the beginning.

  Like most alliances, this too had come through a marriage broker. The discussions had reached a point wherein it was understood that the union could be solemnized as soon as the suitor met the girl in person and liked her. I went to see the girl, taking my childhood friend with me. Because he was already married, I thought he would be more knowledgeable in these things than me.

  While I stood talking to the girl’s father and brother, she served the tea. My friend nudged me to look closely. With a slight smile, I looked up at her face and a flash of lightning went through me. Catlike eyes, shiny as pale pebbles found on riverbeds! Her eyes were alert, like those of a cat that has seen a rat. A sudden distress washed over me. Uncertain about what to do next, I stood up. ‘Sit down!’ my friend hissed. Soaked in sweat, I sat down again.

  I watched with alarm when everyone left the stage, leaving us both alone. When my friend also stood up, I touched his forearm with my cold fingers. Perhaps sensing something was wrong, he sat down again. Looking kindly at me, he took over the stage. She laughed aloud at his jokes. Listening to those bells pealing, I glanced through the corner of my eyes. She was laughing non-stop, her chin raised and eyes shut. She had only two wide strokes instead of eyes. The tender throat, throbbing with blue veins, was a great temptation. But scared that her face would come back to its usual state and that her feline eyes would land on me like javelins, I turned away.

  On our way back, my friend’s advice was to go ahead with the marriage without a second thought. As there were only two girls, half the property was ensured, besides a decent job. The girl was very smart as well. These were the plus points that he listed. With a shudder, I told him about her eyes. My friend waved it aside lightly: ‘Eyes! Granted, her eyes are rather catlike.’ But he insisted that even they added to her beauty. I held both his hands and started, my voice atremble, ‘My friend, for me … really, those eyes … scare me…’

  He lost his temper. ‘Hey, you were always like this, man. How you used to shiver under the yakshippala6 tree at the mouth of the valley of Shoolam hill which was shrouded in darkness even in broad daylight! How you used to bolt ahead, chanting ‘Arjunan, Phalgunan’7 to keep your fear at bay, leaving me all alone! I thought you’d got over it. As a man, even if you don’t have anything much, you should at least have some courage,’ he panted. Then he cursed himself: ‘What’s the point of telling you all this? I should blame myself for having accompanied you. Count me out the next time.’

  Gently, I placed my hands on his shoulders. My tears had frozen in my voice: ‘Wasn’t it because you are my dear friend that I brought you along? I thought I could freely discuss anything with you. Who else can I share my doubts with?’ He fell for that. Then he started advising me seriously: ‘Hey, this is life, friend! You’ll have to face many things. You should be a bit more practical.’ With that, he lapsed into silence. I too was caught up in the currents of some memory.

  Anyway, it just needs to be said that the wedding did take place. And after that, my misery began.

  I was sure from the start that she was no ordinary girl. To tell the truth, it was to avoid facing her cat-eyes that I switched off the lights on our first night. But with her loud laugh, she teased me: ‘Greedy!’

  I felt mortified. Stung, I turned away from her and lay on the edge of my side of the bed. I shut my eyes even against the shards of moonlight that strayed into the room. With her bell-like laughter, she forced me to turn around. Lying prone, with her hands cupping her face, she said with a razor-sharp smile, ‘I was only joking.’ Noticing that her eyes were shining wildly, even in the dark, I began to sweat. I felt like she would jump on her prey any moment now. A scream stuck in my throat. However, when she rested her head on my shoulder and began to say certain things about life in a gentle voice, the fire in my chest began to die down. When slim fingers began to search for something through my hair, my heartbeat came back to normal. Somehow, I slid into a stupor.

  However, her eyes continued to distress me whenever we came face to face. At night, their intensity incapacitated me. Palpitating, I tried to go to bed before her, citing some excuse or the other. But on the seventh day, she hit back. Clad in a see-through dress, she tried to tempt me. She must have been provoked when I shut my eyes to block all sights. The long and short of it was that she fell on me with a growl. Biting, scratching and pinching, she made love to me. Demonical love, like a cat. When everything was over, I lost consciousness.

  For her convenience, we rented a house in the city. After that, all my affairs went awry. In matters of food, there were major changes. What she served were easy-to-cook dishes. Soon, I began to get bored with them. She spent all her free time reading poetry and critical reviews. On her plump lips, poetry bloomed forever. Once, she took leave from work to attend a poetry-reading session, as a listener. She told me that her soul was layered with poetic material, and that her greatest regret was that she could not prise out the verses and polish them. It was very difficult for me to accept all that. So, she forced me to read a lot. It was extremely tedious for me because I had read nothing other than The Kerala State Rules, the official handbook for administration in government offices, since the time I landed my job. She would become impatient in the mornings when, after finishing my black tea, I would light a cigarette and enter the pages of the newspaper, scanning every line before I reach
ed the last page: ‘Don’t waste your time giving such garbage more time than it deserves! Why don’t you understand that these people, who sit like street vendors exhibiting their wares, such as murders, rapes, robbery, are directly or indirectly responsible for provoking such atrocities? And the phrases they use only strip our language naked.’

  I was enraged. I asked her frankly why she had married someone like me. With a sigh, she revealed the bitter truth. Apparently, her horoscope had not matched with anyone else’s. Not that she believed in all that. But either the suitors, or their parents or kin, would swear by it. Her question was, what could a hapless girl like her do? Smiling self-deprecatingly, she continued, ‘Of course, I could have remained unmarried. But I didn’t feel like challenging nature.’

  Suddenly, she fell silent. Her cat-eyes dimmed.

  One night, I was woken up by the cries and screeches of cats fighting outside, and I was taken aback to not find her in bed. I clearly heard the sound of someone panting in the front yard. Scared to go out, I pressed my face to the window grille and peered into the darkness. Slowly, her figure, lying on her back on the heap of sand in the yard, became clearer. I swear I saw a huge black-and-white cat jump away from her body and disappear. I was stunned. It was after a long wait that she came back into the room. Her clothes were dishevelled. Her body was soaked in sweat. Her hair lay scattered on her shoulders. She reeked of cats. Without even bothering to look at me, she collapsed on the bed and fell asleep. My sleep fled after that.

  Waiting for her to wake up, I retraced my footsteps again and again to cover the hours from midnight to dawn. I did not notice when she awoke. As she lay coldly with her eyes trained on the ceiling, I asked her, ‘Where were you last night?’ She ignored my question completely. Blood coursed into my arms. Hauling her up to seat her on the bed, I held her by the shoulders and shook her hard, repeating my question. She tried to laugh. But the colour had drained from her face. Her appearance distressed me. Making my voice as calm as I could, I asked, ‘What happened to you?’ She was silent for a moment. She wiped her face and neck, then said in a tired voice, ‘I am pregnant.’