by Gracy
7.
Appachan came home from the market with a big sack full of condiments. Placing it on the porch seating, he called out loudly, ‘Hey, Mary Magdalene! Come out! I saw your Christ today.’
In the blazing afternoon, the house went dark and silent.
‘Didn’t you hear me?’
With a roar, Appachan sprinted into the house. He yanked Ammachi by her hair and dragged her out to the front yard. Drawing a circle on the ground, he shoved her in it. ‘Stay there the whole day. Let’s see if he comes to rescue you!’
Grandpa stood frozen on the porch. Lifting up the sack, Appachan took it to the kitchen. Grandma faced him with a reproach, ‘You’re drunk, aren’t you?’
Appachan hissed, ‘So what? It’s not your dowry I’m drinking!’
With a twisted smile, the mother faced the son: ‘Didn’t your father use every penny from my dowry to fight the case? In compensation, I made him sign the property in my name. Then to which account does the income from that property go?’
Appachan admitted failure, grunting, ‘Oh! Don’t dilly-dally, go and get that beef from the packet.’
Appachan came out to sit on the porch and lit a beedi. Then the Little Devil began to cry. Grandpa became flustered. ‘Son! The baby’s crying.’
Dragging deeply on the beedi and pushing out the smoke, Appachan sneered, ‘Who knows if it’s mine? I am sure only of my the eldest!’
He sharpened his moustache to needlepoints. His smile too.
‘The first proof lies in that mole itself! And my light eyes!’ Appachan guffawed, ‘Ho! Ho, ha!’
Grandpa’s face became pallid. Suddenly, the skies began to pour. When the rain drenched Ammachi’s full breasts and stomach, revealing them to plain sight, Grandpa retreated into the house. The Little Devil had become breathless from crying, and Grandpa carried him on his shoulders, walking up and down the room.
Dripping with water, Ammachi turned into the salt pillar of Grandpa’s stories. Peering outside every now and then, Grandpa stroked his chest.
She stood watching curiously, waiting for Ammachi to melt down completely. First, Ammachi’s head melted. Then the hands, the big breasts, the stomach, the hips, and finally, the legs. Suddenly, she was reminded of the story about the one who was scorched in a fire of husks. Some sins occur when things go awry. Recollecting that Grandpa had told her that some sins occur when heads fall, she ran inside. She purified the darkness in Grandpa’s heart. The sins that faltered on their feet had now lost their heads too!
8.
Grandma came out and helped Ammachi on to the porch. Ammachi’s body stood frozen and refused to bend. Grandma took her to the kitchen. She crammed the stove with firewood to warm her up. When her body parts began to thaw and relax one by one, Ammachi moved closer to the stove and sat down on the floor. Grandma forced her to hold a bowl of hot coffee in her hand. After she finished sipping it, Grandma placed the Little Devil in Ammachi’s lap. When she saw that Ammachi still wasn’t moving, Grandma lifted her blouse. The enraged nipples leapt out and the Little Devil fell upon them, suckling, hesitating every now and then. The Slender Loris curled up at her mother’s feet and fell asleep, her face streaked with tears.
Unblinking, the night stood guard over Ammachi. His ears attuned to the silence that rained incessantly, Grandpa dozed off. He was startled out of his sleep by the sound of floodwaters surging. As the night advanced, all the sights faded away from Sheba’s eyes. The doors of sleep opened wide for her. Then she rose higher and higher towards the boundaries of the sky.
When she realized that forty days and nights had passed, she opened the ark of sleep and looked down at the earth. The earth lay futile and empty; the floodwaters had retreated. She rubbed her eyes. She asked Grandpa, ‘Where’s Ammachi?’
In a low tone, Grandpa said, ‘Gone.’
‘The Slender Loris?’
‘Her too.’
Pressing her face to her knees, she carefully studied the geography of her fingers.
‘Will they come again?’
Grandpa sighed, ‘Where else would they go? But everyone has to become more tolerant.’
A wasteland began to grow in her eyes. Grandpa pulled her close and tried to make her eyes sprout a fresh leaf.
‘Where have all the songs of Princess Sheba gone?’
Her small face began to contract with pain. ‘Those were all silly songs, Grandpa. No more of that. I’m going to write stories now. Grandpa’s story. Grandma’s story. Appachan’s and Ammachi’s story. The Slender Loris’s and the Little Devil’s story. And my story too. Then, it will be everybody’s story!’
Seeing that she was deeply immersed in thought, Grandpa shook his head in assent.
‘Yes, yes. The earth will bloom again!’
(Panikkannu)
Notes
1 Kunti, married to king Pandu of Hastinapura, was the mother of Karna and the Pandava brothers – Yudhishthira, Bhima and Arjuna. Because of a curse, Pandu could not consummate the marriage, and Kunti made use of a boon the sage Durvasa had given her in her youth to bear children.
2 Traditional attire comprising of a set of two pieces of unbleached cloth – one to be wrapped like a mundu around the hips, and the other to be draped over the torso as a half-sari.
3 A flute-like instrument made from a gourd, which snake charmers use.
4 Winged termites which appear when rain is imminent.
5 An inevitable part of festivals and auspicious occasions, nirapara is a paddy-measuring vessel, filled to the brim with paddy grain or rice, and allowed to overflow to indicate abundance. Nilavilakku is a traditional lamp with cloth wicks lighted in Hindu homes at sundown as a daily ritual as well as on auspicious occasions.
6 Alstonia scholaris (blackboard tree or Indian devil tree) – variously known in Kerala as yakshippala, pala, daiva pala or ezhilam pala – is associated with malevolent spirits. The blooming of its fragrant white flowers in the night is believed to attract yakshis and ghosts.
7 A verse, the recital of which is believed to keep fear at bay, bestow courage and act as a shield against calamities.
8 ‘Drama is the culmination of poesy’. From Bharata’s Natyashastra.
9 Ritual art form of North Kerala performed in temple premises and sacred groves to propitiate gods.
10 The vernacular for fox.
11 Appan and Ammachi are commonly used terms for ‘father’ and ‘mother’, especially among Christians.
12 Echi, chechi and chettathi are common colloquial usages, appended to names to mean elder sister, or show respect for an older person.
13 Kothamkallu is a popular children’s game played with rounded pebbles. Kilithattu is a hopscotch-like game.
14 Siam weed.
15 An item of clothing worn wrapped around the waist and allowed to hang down loose to the ankle or feet, used by both men and women.
16 A loosely woven, thin bath towel commonly used in Kerala. Wrapped around the hip, it becomes a short mundu to wear while working in the fields. It can also be worn while bathing, and used for drying the hair and body after a bath. Draped over the shoulder, it can indicate respect and formality as well. It can be tied as a turban, or just worn over the shoulder as a cloth for wiping too. Bunched up and tied around the waist, it can show deference and obedience, and even servility.
17 Traditional pickle jars made of clay.
18 Traditional address in Tamil for ‘sir’ or ‘master’ (usually meant for men of upper caste or higher social status).
19 Rice gruel and a green gram side dish. A healthy, inexpensive and popular combination.
20 Traditionally, Chettys (from the Chettiar/Vaishya caste, originally from Tamil Nadu) are rich merchants, weavers and landowners.
21 Varasyar denotes a woman of the Ambalavasi (temple personnel) caste, hierarchically placed in an intermediate position right below the uppermost castes. Traditionally, they assist priests in temple-related chores, taking care of the floral requirements and daily ma
intenance of the temple.
22 Ravishingly beautiful sirens in Kerala folklore, reputed to waylay and lure men with an invitation to share a paan. Men who succumb to their carnal charms are taken to their palace, only to be found the next day as a pile of scattered nails and hair, and the palace transformed back into an unassuming crown of a palm tree.
23 The derogatory reference is to the Varasyars, whose traditional occupation was stringing flowers into garlands for the deity.
24 Koche, a common term of endearment used to mean ‘young child’, ‘young girl’, ‘young one’, etc.
25 A necklace worn by Hindu women to signify that they are married.
26 Kali – the Dark Mother of fearful appearance – is the mighty aspect of the goddess Durga. She is associated with empowerment.
27 Etta is a diminutive suffix of ettan/chettan (elder brother or older person) and used to address someone older than the speaker. It is added after proper names to indicate respect.
28 The four tactics or expedients – of conciliation, presenting gifts, coercion and punishment – practised to overcome or browbeat adversaries.
29 Sthirajeevi was the wise old minister of the kingdom of crows in ‘The War of Crows and Owls’ in the Panchatantra, whose clever tactic of infiltrating into the enemy kingdom of owls helped the relatively weaker crows to destroy them.
30 Shams ud-Din Iltutmish, the third ruler of the Slave Dynasty, founded the Delhi Sultanate in 1211, after defeating Aram Shah, the ineffective successor of Qutb al-Din Aibak.
31 Lucky red seeds, symbolic of childhood.
32 The ritual art form of theyyam (evolved from the Malayalam word ‘Daivam’ or God) is a ceremonial form of worship performed to propitiate gods, ancestors and local heroes. The spectacular performance incorporates dance, mime and music. Various theyyams are performed in shrines, temple grounds and ancestral houses in North Kerala. Chamundi is a fearsome aspect of the Devi, the divine Hindu mother-goddess, appeased with the blood from animal and human sacrifices, and ritual offerings of liquor. At the end of the fiery Theechamundi (‘thee’ meaning fire) theyyam, the Chamundi performer jumps into a heap of smouldering embers.
33 A sacred grove of dense vegetation found on temple premises or alongside tharavad houses on ancestral land, where deities are left in the open or in small shrines. Serpent’s kavus or snake groves, dedicated to Naga gods, often look like anthills.
34 Acacia intsia, a creeper that grows wild. Its bark is popularly used as a cleansing body scrub in Kerala.
35 Valyappan and Valyamma are respectful terms for one’s paternal uncle and aunt.
36 A member of the Malayali Brahmin community.
37 One of the Naga gods.
38 Bark cloth tree or sacking tree, used in medicines because of its mildly poisonous nature.
39 A member of the Pulluva caste, a lower caste associated with Naga worship and ritual singing to propitiate snake gods.
40 A traditional percussion instrument used in folk and tribal music.
41 Celestial beings famed for their enticing masculinity which could lure young girls to unions of passion and secret ‘gandharva marriages’.
42 In the Mahabharata, Panchali was the wife Arjuna won through his archer’s skills. When he brought her home, his mother, who was praying and didn’t turn around, asked him to share his ‘bounty’ with his four brothers as always. Thus, Panchali became the wife of the five Pandavas.
43 A beautiful, aromatic and very rare flower which Bhima adventurously brought for Panchali, when she expressed her desire for it.
44 ‘Elder One!’
45 A book of hymns celebrating the glory of the Devi, the benevolent mother goddess, chanted to ward off yakshis and malevolent spirits.
46 Kalliyankadu Neeli, the dreaded yakshi of Malayali folklore. The backstory says that she was a trusting young woman, brutally murdered and abandoned by her husband in the forest of Kalliyankadu, with only kalli plants (cacti and palms) as witness. Turning into a yakshi, she is supposed to have haunted the area, seducing and killing scores of men in vengeance after luring them with her famed beauty on the pretext of asking for some lime paste for paan.
47 Strychnos nux-vomica (devil’s nut or snakewood tree), famed for its bitter and poisonous nuts and leaves. The menace of yakshis was exorcized by nailing them on to a kanjira tree. If someone were to remove the nail, by accident or otherwise, the freed yakshi would regain her powers.
P.S.
Insights, Interviews & More …
Translator’s Note
Fathima E.V.
Gracy
In conversation with Fathima E.V.
Translator’s Note
FATHIMA E.V.
I am grateful to Mini Krishnan for letting me discover Gracy, whom I have grown to cherish both as a writer and a friend. Though we have never met in person, even the long sessions of reading and corrections conducted over lengthy phone calls often proved to be a joyous bonding that let us laugh over the most frustrating turns. But for Mini’s persistent wish to see Gracy’s stories published in English, and her understanding, dedication and meticulous editing, the translation would not have taken off. I am delighted that, finally, the stories of this seminal voice among the second-generation Malayalam women writers are going to be read by a wider audience.
This selection from Gracyude Kathakal, written over three decades, is arranged chronologically to highlight the scope, range and evolution of Gracy’s fictional trajectory. Gracy has carved a niche for herself in the Malayalam literary sphere, with stories defined by a feminist point of view and by writing the body. Her short stories, which vary from no more than half a page to novelette-sized lengths, draw the reader into the world of men and women caught in quagmires of desire, lust, jealousy and vengeance that are often carried beyond the world of the living.
Among her peers, Gracy’s writing is distinguished by her uncompromising feminist positions and perspectives, for which she has faced much controversy and hostile reception, with her writing often becoming a site of contention. Her stories are marked by their open celebration of sexuality and female desire, and a scorn of oppressive familial structures that legitimize regressive gender and power relations, as much as by their deadpan humour and astringent criticism of Malayali hypocrisies – both male and female. Gracy enjoys a distinct status among the modern women writers of Kerala who opened up a new ethos, idiom, politics, and a discrete perspective in writing, asserting their place in the patriarchal and polemical literary public sphere in the state. The staunch feminist framework of her early stories was reason enough to get her writing aligned with ‘Pennezhuthu’ (Women’s Writing) which mapped a feminist turn in Malayalam literature from the late eighties and through the nineties. Pennezhuthu, a term coined by K. Satchidanandan, is informed by a shared preoccupation with a woman’s perspective, agency, sensibility, a distinct ‘maternal’ language, and a concern with writing the body and gender in Malayalam, which brought greater visibility in the literary and political space for women writers.
Following the avenues opened up by pioneering women writers like Lalithambika Antharjanam, K. Saraswathi Amma, Rajalakshmi, compelling fictions from Madhavikutty, Sara Joseph, Gracy, Chandramathi and others brought prestige and critical attention to women’s writing. Working on the precincts of Pennezhuthu, they received critical attention and brickbats in equal measure. Subsequently, when Pennezhuthu was seen more as a limiting than an enabling term, inviting resistance more than empathy, many writers moved away from the confining inaccuracies of its paradigms. Though Gracy chose not to be circumscribed by the narrow precincts of Pennezhuthu, she did not shy away from engaging with its politics that clawed through male biases in the reception of women’s writing, even as it claimed a distinct and visible space for women’s self-expression and empowerment. Though her stories abound with women who challenge and transgress social boundaries, like many of her characters she preferred to walk alone, maintaining a conscious distance from collectives a
nd feminist activism on the ground, unlike many of her contemporaries like Sarah Joseph, Chandramathi, etc., who saw writing also as a conduit for cultural and political intervention. The critique of patriarchal modes of thinking, initiated self-consciously by the Pennezhuthu writers, continues as a shared legacy in contemporary women’s writing.
Gracy’s writing is perhaps yet to receive the critical attention and credit it deserves, subsumed as it has been by existing studies that almost exclusively focus on its exploration of female sexuality. With ten collections of short stories (the first five of which were compiled into Gracyude Kathakal), one edited volume called Ezhu Penkathakal, a children’s novel, three memoirs and a short autobiography to her credit, her stature as one of the significant second-generation women writers in Malayalam is intact. She continues to write provocative fiction, never veering away from her central concerns. However, a new demography of characters have crept into her recent stories which respond to social malaises like acid attacks and the marginal lives of migrant workers who have become an integral part of Kerala, especially in and around Aluva, where Gracy used to live until recently.
The selection of stories in this volume is from the collected short stories in Gracyude Kathakal, and was published earlier in short collections as Padiyirangippoya Parvathi, Narakavaathil, Randu Swapna Darshikal, Braanthan Pookkal, Panikkannu, and so on. They were written over a period of thirty years, with long breaks in between, necessitated by familial pressures. Gracy has been the recipient of prestigious honours, including the Lalithambika Antharjanam Award (1995), the Thoppil Ravi Award (1997), the Katha Prize for Best Malayalam Short Story (1998) and the Kerala Sahitya Akademi Award (2000).
Her signature style moves effortlessly from passionate prose, emotional exuberance, exquisite lyricism, Bible-infused idioms, class dialects, and a humour veering from the sardonic to the bitingly caustic. The seeming distance and indifference that run through the narration, is often used as a launchpad to deliver her potent punch of self-deprecatory confessionals, bitter denouncements, bizarre monologues, surreal responses to stultifying pitfalls in life, and frequent interventions from the netherworld. However, the distinctive edge of Gracy’s narratives lie in their devastating ability to strip away the social pretentions and accoutrements we wear with ‘natural’ ease, and the uncanny directness with which they plumb the dark alleyways of human desires and drives. Gracy’s enduring concerns range from preoccupations with the dead and their afterlife (as in the ghostly world of ‘The Secrets of the Earth’ and ‘Outdoor Sights’), Biblical inversion (‘The Parable of the Sower’ and ‘Body and Blood’), minds spinning out of control, children caught in the crossfire of adult problems, to local lore with their larger-than-life characters. Her prose is consummate and poignant when she writes about the failures and ecstasies of love, as well as passionate desires and vengeances.