She said, ‘No, no, my Bossman, I want you to do well…’
Pareekutty wasn’t that simple-minded swain any more. He smiled. A mirthless smile. ‘I do well, Karuthamma?’
She understood the irony. He would never do well. Karuthamma couldn’t bear it any more. She walked away. Pareekutty stood there for a little more time and then left.
That night Chembankunju had an announcement to make. He was in high spirits. He whispered to Chakki, ‘Palani doesn’t want a dowry!’
Chakki couldn’t believe it. She said, ‘As if.’
‘Yes, of course! He says he’ll marry her without a dowry!’
Chakki looked at Chembankunju carefully. Chembankunju proclaimed, ‘I swear it is the truth. I swear it by the mother of the sea!’
Chakki demanded with a gleam in her eye, ‘Just because he says he doesn’t want a dowry, shouldn’t we give it to him?’
She challenged him to refute it.
If someone said he didn’t want any money, was there any obligation to pay it? Hence he was astounded at what Chakki was asking of him.
Chakki asked harshly, ‘You must have convinced that simpleton of a boy. Didn’t you?’
Chembankunju hastened to reply, ‘I didn’t say anything to him.’
Chakki had a serious question, ‘Why do people need money or wealth?’
‘Do I have any money of my own?’
‘This dowry is something we give our child.’
‘But what if he doesn’t want it?’
‘So whom are you making all this for? That’s what I want to know.’
Chakki spoke a great deal. To enjoy in one’s old age; to make a mattress and pillows; to bring a good-looking woman home – all this may suffice for him but there was so much more to be accomplished in life. Without bowing to Chembankunju’s dictatorial stance, Chakki said, ‘You wouldn’t have made all of this without me!’
Chembankunju tried to soothe her with a smile. ‘But I want the two of us to enjoy it all! The mattress is for you as well…’
Chakki hopped in rage. Her voice rose. Chembankunju began to worry that if this turned into a quarrel, all the secrets would be spilt for the neighbours to hear. He got up and left so that the argument would come to a natural stop.
Karuthamma arrived on the scene then.
‘I don’t want a dowry, Ammachi!’
‘How is that possible? It is not seemly for a girl to be married without a dowry. Don’t you need some money of your own?’
A moment later Karuthamma said, ‘But I don’t have a sister-in-law or a mother-in-law waiting there for me! Isn’t that the kind of set-up you are sending me to?’
Chakki felt those words stab at her throat. They were sending her to a home without a family!
‘But daughter, won’t people talk?’
‘Big deal!’
Karuthamma continued, ‘You can send me off any which way. But please pay off the Little Boss’s money.’
A little later, in a voice choked with emotion, Karuthamma said, ‘He is ruined. I can’t leave here seeing him ruined as he is. And if I go, he will die…’
Karuthamma spoke all that was in her heart. There was nothing left to say. But Chakki didn’t understand. If she had understood any of it, as a mother she would have had so much to ask of her daughter. Or perhaps Chakki had understood all of it! A woman, even if she is a mother, would understand her daughter’s love story. And then keep quiet about it.
‘Daughter, I will pay that loan off.’
‘But Achan won’t pay it!’
What should she do? Chakki asked her. Karuthamma suggested that Chakki steal from Chembankunju. There would be murder, if he discovered it. And Chakki didn’t have the gumption to get away with it.
Karuthamma asked, ‘Amma, are you afraid?’
She was. That was why she hadn’t done it before even though she had wanted to.
In the early days of the big catch season, there had been plenty of cash. In those days, if she had filched some, it would have been undiscovered. Karuthamma tried to bolster Chakki’s courage. Besides, Chakki fully understood how important it was to sort this out. And so when Chembankunju went out to sea at dawn, the mother and daughter opened his box and took some money out. They spent that day petrified. Chembankunju locked the day’s earnings away in his box. Unusually for her, Chakki wanted to know his share of the takings of the day. He said, ‘No one wants shrimp.’
‘But what did you get?’
‘Why do you want to know?’
Every day the mother and daughter secreted away a little cash.
One day, Chembankunju counted his money carefully. That day Chakki and Karuthamma held a searing coal in the pits of their stomachs – eating into their flesh, hurting, threatening to consume them any moment. When he locked his box up, they sighed in relief. Their crime was undiscovered.
The daughter asked the mother, ‘How much do we have?’
In all these days, they had been able to put aside only seventy rupees. And there was a large stock of dried fish as well. That would fetch about twenty rupees. Even if the amount was small, they decided to give it to Pareekutty.
Nine
The wedding was fixed. It didn’t require much planning or organizing. Palani didn’t have anyone to speak on his behalf. Or to vouch opinions. He mentioned it to the owner of the boat he worked for. Chembankunju went with Palani to make an offering of betel nut and leaves to the Shore Master of Palani’s shore. Chembankunju also made an offering to his Shore Master.
Now no one could find fault with him for not having got his daughter married off. He stood up straight and demanded of his wife, ‘Do you see this? Chembankunju got everything sorted out!’
Chakki retorted tartly, ‘But look at the boy! He has neither home nor family or anything to speak of. Wonderful!’
‘Shut up, you old broom! What do you know? He is a good worker. Look at his brawny body! There isn’t a young man like him anywhere around.’
Chakki couldn’t dismiss that. Instead, she laughed and said, ‘In which case, we can now go ahead and have a good time.’
‘I am going to have a good time. Enjoy myself like Pallikunnath Kandankoran.’
Chakki responded, ‘Shouldn’t you have paid that Muslim boy’s money first?’
As if it was an irritating thought, Chembankunju said, ‘Why is it that you always bring this up when we refer to Karuthamma’s marriage?’
Chakki was shaken. He had hit on the truth unknowingly.
Each time Karuthamma’s wedding was discussed, this thought hinged itself to the conversation. But Chakki had never expected Chembankunju to bring it up.
Chakki came up with an explanation, ‘Aren’t we going to frolic around like young lovers? I thought it would be best if we sorted that matter as well!’
There would be a way. Chembankunju hadn’t forgotten. One by one, he would fulfil his obligation depending on time and circumstances. He told his wife in all seriousness, ‘Listen, we don’t have boys of our own. What if we bring him into our home as ours?’
Chakki beamed. ‘But he is our eldest son!’
As if Chakki hadn’t really understood it, Chembankunju explained that Palani was all alone, so why shouldn’t they ask him to stay with them? They had two boats now. If Palani came in, it would be a fine thing. Chembankunju explained this at length to Chakki and asked her what she thought.
Chakki thought about it a bit. It was a good idea. It would fill the vacuum of not having a boy of their own. But Chakki had her doubts.
‘But would he agree?’
Chembankunju said, ‘Why won’t he?’
Chakki said, ‘Do you think any able fisherman will choose to leech on to his fisherwoman’s family?’
Chembankunju thought a while and replied, ‘I am sure he will be happy to do this. He is a gullible chap, a rather simple boy!’
‘That’s true!’ And then Chakki continued, ‘But when you married me, you wouldn’t even agree to spend two days in my home!’
‘I had my father and mother!’
Chakki wasn’t convinced that Palani would want to live there.
Karuthamma discovered her father’s plans. Chakki was perplexed by Karuthamma’s opposition. She turned to her daughter, ‘What a creature you are! The moment your wedding has been fixed, you have no need for your parents, is it? So what was the point in enduring all this hardship in bringing you up? Just a mere hint of this fisherman coming into your life, and suddenly you don’t want your mother and father any more! You are quite a girl!’
Chakki’s words pierced Karuthamma’s heart. She hadn’t expected such a response from her mother: Did they think that her opposition to their scheme was because she didn’t love her parents? She hadn’t even thought that there was any loss of face in her staying on in her parents’ home after her wedding. She would always be her mother’s daughter. Her mother was prepared to do anything for her. How could she bear to be separated from Panchami? The day she left this house – how was she to bear that moment?
And yet all Karuthamma wanted was to flee that shore, that land. Karuthamma was choked with emotion as she said, ‘Ammachi, I didn’t mean it like that! My Ammachi, please don’t speak like this. Whom do I have other than the two of you, my mother and father?’ She fell onto Chakki’s shoulders, weeping loudly. Her mother gathered her in her arms.
Chakki hadn’t really meant any of what she said. Neither had she thought Karuthamma would be so hurt. Karuthamma wept as if her heart would break. Chakki too wept.
Karuthamma said, ‘I … my … I don’t want to live on this shore any more. Or, shall we all leave together?’
Chakki asked in a voice full of love for this child of hers, ‘What are you saying, my child?’
Unable to bear the pain in her heart, Karuthamma said, ‘I … if I were to live on this shore…’
‘What is it, daughter?’
Karuthamma had something to say. Chakki thought her harsh words had wounded Karuthamma. But there was a bigger grief hidden in Karuthamma’s heart. But she hadn’t thought that it would be so intense.
Even as she wept Karuthamma spoke through clenched teeth, ‘If I continue to live here, this shore will be doomed! Doomed! Do you hear me?’
Chakki’s eyes filled up. ‘My daughter, you mustn’t speak like this!’
‘No, Ammachi, all I want is to go away from here! Only then is there hope for me. Whom else can I say this to but you, Ammachi?’
Karuthamma had no one else to bare her soul to. But even then how much could she reveal? Was it possible?
Even then Chakki persisted, ‘That Muslim boy has bewitched my child!’
Karuthamma denied it. It wasn’t bewitchment; no one had cast a spell on her. Karuthamma asked, ‘Has this shore ever seen a woman like this?’
‘What kind of woman, my child?’
‘Don’t you know, Ammachi?’
‘Oh my mother of the sea. My child is talking nonsense!’
‘I am not mad, Ammachi. I was asking you, have there been other women, another woman – like this?’
Karuthamma didn’t know how to explain what was in her heart. But she wanted to know about that woman. A fisherwoman who fell in love with a man from another community; a woman who, despite all her efforts, felt her love only grow rather than lessen; had there been such a woman on this shore? A woman whose every breathing moment was overwhelmed by that fiery love. Had that shore ever known such a love? What hope was there for a love between a fisherwoman and a man of another religion? Had the grains of sand of that shore heard such a lover’s song and sprung alive? What happened to that lover?
Could she ask her mother any of these?
Perhaps there once was a pair of heartbroken lovers who walked this shore. Unable to do anything but hide her inextinguishable love in her heart, had the woman allowed herself to become another man’s wife? Or perhaps, had she killed herself? Or perhaps, was there another way?
Karuthamma decided that only she must be as unfortunate. Only she must love a man like this. Even if there had been other love stories on this shore, only she could know such pain.
Chakki asked bewildered, ‘Did something happen, daughter?’
Karuthamma didn’t understand her mother’s query.
Chakki continued, ‘Girls of a certain age…’
Karuthamma dismissed Chakki’s hint with a matter-of-fact, ‘Ammachi, no, I am all right!’
There was courage in that claim.
Karuthamma had only one plea. That she be allowed to flee. An unknown dread had filled her. A monster with gaping jaws. She had to flee its dark shadow. And her mother agreed to help her escape. She would be sent away on the day of her wedding itself.
Karuthamma became the focus of attention amidst the women of the neighbourhood. They performed a ritual that went as far back as time. Once a wedding had been fixed, it was the duty of the neighbourhood women to instruct the bride on the religion of wifehood. If she were to make a mistake, the society would blame these good women, in fact.
Nallapennu told Karuthamma, ‘Daughter, we are entrusting a man to you. It isn’t as simple as what you think. We are not giving a girl to a man. On the contrary it is the other way round.’
Kalikunju had something else to say, ‘Our men live in a sea where the waves rise and fall, daughter!’
Kunjipennu warned her, ‘Daughter, women have hearts that are easily turned. So you have to be careful!’
And so all of them advised her. They had all in turn accepted such advice. And now they were only passing it on. That was their duty. None of them had ever been blamed for the misconduct of a woman who had been married from that shore. It was all advice that was untainted by envy.
Karuthamma listened to each word carefully. She was overwhelmed. But she still had a query of her own. The one she had meant to ask her mother. ‘Has it ever happened that a woman loved a man on this shore? And the man returned her love. But she married another man? Has anything like this ever happened on this shore?’
It was a question that resounded within her. Yet she didn’t dare ask: What was the story of that unfortunate woman?
Karuthamma thought that she saw the soul of that cursed woman with her unfulfilled longings wandering through the winds of the shore. Sometimes in solitary moments, she heard an incomprehensible story being narrated to her in an alien language. Once, the shore had known women like her. Women who turned into grieving creatures, living a life of sorrow. Those were the tales of loss the wind too told her. The sea’s heaving voiced the same. The grains of sand knew it too. There was more. The bones of these crones had crumbled to dust and were now part of the sands of the shore. They too must be trembling.
One day Karuthamma asked Nallapennu, ‘Auntie, has this shore ever had any woman who went astray?’
Yes, there had been so. Most unusual tales. One or two back in time. They didn’t go astray of their own choice. One of the old sea ditties told the story of one such woman. Her fall from grace caused the waves to rise as high as a mountain and climb onto the shore. Dangerous serpents foamed and frothed as they slithered on the sands. Sea monsters with cavernous mouths chased the boats to swallow them whole. It was an old story. Nallapennu sang a few stanzas of that ditty.
That was also a story of love. Perhaps in many years’ time, Karuthamma’s story too would be the subject of songs sung.
Nallapennu said, ‘This is the way of the shore.’
Karuthamma asked with great curiosity, ‘Even to this day?’
‘These days there is none of that strict code of purity. These days the men too have changed.’
People and customs change. But a daughter of the sea has to safeguard her virtue.
Little girls asked her, ‘Karuthamma chechi, are you going away?’
Karuthamma had important matters to tell those little girls. They mustn’t flit around these shores like dried leaves in the wind.
Karuthamma said her goodbyes. She was born there; grew up there; and now she bid farewell to
that place. But could she really forget that seashore?
What would the new shore be like? She had thought a great deal about it. Would the sun set there in a burst of golden light like it did here? Even when the sea was tossing and turning in a storm, it had a beauty of its own. She had never feared this sea. Even as it sang the song of that cursed woman, the winds of this shore knew only how to caress. Would that shore be the same? Would it?
What about the people there? Even if they were loving, this shore that had reared her had a certain tenderness. And it was this she was going away from.
She said her goodbyes one by one to everything familiar.
It was a moonlit night. The sea lay calm. There was a particular beauty to the moon. A song wafted in the air meshing with the moonlight.
Was that Pareekutty singing?
But it didn’t resound as his song in Karuthamma’s ears. Pareekutty the man didn’t exist any more. She was beckoned into a world of joy. This was the call of a seashore drenched in moonlight. It was the youthful call of her own longings. The music of the shore she was going away from. She had so many poignant memories of that shore!
The strains of that song entered her. Karuthamma sat up. An image of Pareekutty appeared before her. Was he, in fact, calling out to her? What else did he have as a consolation, as a reprieve, but that song? Not just that night but he would sing every night. He would continue to sing even after she left. He didn’t care if anyone listened to him or not.
Her mother was asleep. Her father was away. She knew the shore would be deserted. She felt something stir in her that made her want to open the door and step out. The singer’s heart hadn’t broken yet. But he sang as if he wanted it to shatter. For it was a song that evoked the past of that fallen woman who lived on this shore once!
These were the lines Nallapennu had sung to Karuthamma. She didn’t remember the words. But the very essence of that song, the pain and depth of the emotion moved her heart.
Had the woman too walked to the shore in a trance lured by a song? She too must have heard the call of the radiant moon that night … And, so one more woman followed her path.
The waves would rise high as hills. Sea monsters would rise above the waters with cavern-like gaping jaws. Venomous serpents would crawl on the shores.
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