Chemmeen

by T. S. Translated by Nair, Anita Pillai

  Achuthan spoke in disgust, ‘Say something, will you? Why are you putting us through this?’

  Then he accused Palani, ‘Look, we came here on your behalf and now seem to have got everyone’s back up.’

  Chembankunju waited eagerly to see what would trip off Palani’s tongue. Palani was a simple man. He wouldn’t be so heartless. Besides, it was only a matter of taking her there. He thought the whole world as his home. Chembankunju thought that Palani would send the others off and stay behind.

  Achuthan spoke again, ‘Say something, will you?’

  Palani looked at Achuthan’s face. Then at everyone else’s face. He could find nothing to help him decide. Nevertheless, a phrase fell off his tongue, ‘I want to take the girl with me. Now.’

  Chembankunju was startled. It was unexpected. He hadn’t expected Palani to be so blunt. Chembankunju beat his chest and cried, ‘Son, look at the plight of that woman and then make up your mind.’

  He should have added, ‘Weren’t you also born of a woman!’ But Chembankunju didn’t say it.

  Was Palani moved by the plea? It was hard to know. All he did was look at Achuthan’s face again. But there was no advice on offer. But Palani sensed that Achuthan thought the girl must go with them.

  Palani reiterated, ‘I want to take the girl with me.’

  A little later his mind began functioning. He put forward a few reasons for wanting to do as he had said. He was a man with neither a home nor a family. But it was to have a home of his own that he had wed. He wanted to start his life. So he couldn’t accept this business of getting married and leaving his bride behind. He had many things to accomplish. And none of it could wait.

  ‘So I need my bride to go with me.’

  That Palani was able to say as much was amazing in itself. And it seemed a firm decision. Palani felt that his friends were pleased with his decision. But no one noticed how it affected Chembankunju. Chembankunju wept and pleaded in a manner that would have touched anyone’s heart. ‘Son, this is a father speaking. A father who brought up a child. One day you too will be a father.’

  Palani was unmoved. Perhaps if Achuthan and the others had agreed, he would have accepted Chembankunju’s plea.

  The Shore Master’s heart melted. Anyone would have felt the same. Achuthan’s too, perhaps. But he wouldn’t reveal it. The Shore Master was annoyed. He said, ‘This was bound to happen! He didn’t grow up in a family. He doesn’t know what it means to have a father or mother. You learn about love and tenderness from your home. How will an orphan from the seashore know any of this?’

  A little later, the Shore Master told Chembankunju, ‘You are to blame for choosing such a vagrant as your daughter’s husband.’

  Chembankunju didn’t agree with him. But in his mind he was already beginning to doubt his decision. Chembankunju hadn’t realized that Palani could be so heartless. Chembankunju too felt that the Shore Master was right in his reading – Palani was such a brute because he hadn’t been reared in a family. What would he be like in the future? Perhaps Chembankunju was already – on the very day of the wedding – beginning to regret his choice. Palani had no love in him. It was obvious even this early.

  Achuthan who seemed to have comprehended the situation thought of a solution, ‘Palani, why do you have to be cursed and slandered? It’s the girl who must go with you. Ask her what she thinks. Let her decide!’

  Chembankunju was relieved. Palani too must have felt the same. The Shore Master too approved of that suggestion. He said, ‘That’s right. Let her decide. Call her…’

  Chembankunju called out for Karuthamma. She was seated at her mother’s side. With a face wet with tears, she came to the doorway. The Shore Master himself asked her, ‘Girl, do you want to leave your mother in this state and go? Or, are you staying behind? There isn’t anyone here to even light the hearth for your father.’

  He paused and then continued, ‘After the wedding, it is customary to go with the groom. But you have to decide…’

  What could Karuthamma say? She didn’t have the strength to make up her mind. She had already bid farewell to this land. She thought of the future with trepidation. She had been waiting to flee this place. The day had arrived. But her mother had fallen ill and there was no one to tend to her father’s needs either. All of it demanded she stay back but … She burst into tears. She couldn’t speak.

  Everyone waited to hear her response. The Shore Master said, ‘The poor child! What can she say? But she still has to speak. It is up to her now!’

  She went to her mother, laid her face against her mother’s and sobbed. Chakki too must have wept. She muttered to her mother.

  ‘What did you ask, daughter?’

  She couldn’t speak then. A little later, she sobbed, ‘I … I … am not going, Ammachi!’

  Chakki spoke up suddenly, ‘My daughter, you mustn’t say that. My daughter must go. If you don’t…’

  The woman couldn’t complete the thought. Chakki knew what would happen if Karuthamma didn’t leave. Karuthamma too feared the same. The mother could see that horrific scene play before her eyes.

  Chakki didn’t mind being left like this. With not a soul around to offer her a drop of water. But she couldn’t have her daughter ruined. Chakki too wanted her to leave at the very earliest. She must go. She must go. ‘My daughter, go tell them that you want to go.’

  Chakki prised Karuthamma away from her body. She insisted, then admonished her with clenched teeth, ‘You can’t leave that Muslim boy, isn’t that it?’

  Karuthamma summoned courage from deep within. She went to the door and said, ‘I would like to go.’

  Once again the mother and daughter locked in an embrace. Their hearts were breaking.

  Karuthamma fell prostrate at Chembankunju’s feet and clutched at it. He shook her off and turned away. She lay there for a long while and then rose. Her mother blessed her. ‘Heed my words,’ her mother advised.

  Palani went to take his leave of Chembankunju. But the latter wouldn’t speak. This wasn’t a grief-stricken Chembankunju. He wasn’t weeping any more. He had transformed. His face was red and swollen. He had turned into a deity of fury.

  The group of men walked in front. She followed behind. Chakki propped herself up on her elbow to see her daughter leave. Suddenly she collapsed. Nallapennu, with tears in her eyes, held Chakki’s head up.

  Grinding his teeth, Chembankunju roared, ‘She isn’t my daughter!’

  A sobbing Panchami called out, ‘Chechi!’

  Nallapennu and Kalikunju stayed with Chakki.

  Karuthamma walked into her future. Who knew what it would be like? Had she really escaped danger and temptation?

  No one prayed for her. Neither did she. Perhaps Pareekutty had said a prayer for her.

  And so Karuthamma left her familiar shores.

  Would that song echo on that shore again? Who knows? But there wouldn’t be anyone to hear it.

  Part Two

  Eleven

  Even the sea here seemed strange. The water a different hue. It wasn’t a quiet sea here. Beneath the waves lay a capricious undercurrent that would churn the sea up into a swirl causing treacherous whirlpools. The sands too were coloured differently.

  Several people came to see the new bride. Karuthamma didn’t know how to introduce herself or how she was to be with them. Everyone scrutinized her carefully. Karuthamma flinched.

  But she knew that she had to leave a good impression on them. How was she to do that?

  At the crack of dawn Palani went to sea. It was the sardine season. Karuthamma was the mistress of a house. She had many things to do.

  All there was in that house was a pot, an open-mouthed pan and a ladle. That was all! There were so many things necessary to turn it into a home. Some rice, chillies and salt had been procured and kept in a basket. Palani hadn’t ever lived in a home of his own before marriage. And there wasn’t anyone in his life to tell him what was needed in a home. She would have to do all of it on her own. />
  Karuthamma boiled the rice and strained the water away. She made a theeyal with shallots. She borrowed the pots and pans for it from the next-door neighbour. She went across to use their grinding stone as well.

  The old woman in the northern house said, ‘We have entrusted a young man to you. You are responsible now!’

  All that she had heard at Neerkunnath shore was echoed here as well. Everywhere any new bride would hear the same. Or, was it being told only to her? She felt that everyone looked at her suspiciously. Did they know her secret?

  The women there huddled around and speculated about the new bride. They had enough material for that. She was the daughter of a netsman with two boats of his own. So why would someone like that marry her off to a man with no kith or kin?

  One woman said, ‘Maybe the father doesn’t have boats and nets of his own!’

  Kochakki didn’t think so. Her children’s father had gone to Neerkunnath during the big catch. He knew all about him. ‘He has boats and nets; money, lots of money!’

  Vavakunju asked, ‘So why then did they give her to this fellow?’

  Kochakki demanded, ‘What’s wrong with him?’

  Kotha had a suspicion. ‘I think there’s something wrong with the girl!’

  It seemed as if Kotha knew something. Everyone was curious. What did she mean? they demanded.

  Kotha ventured, ‘The girl must be a slut … they must have got rid of her from that shore!’

  The old woman put her hand on her bosom and trembled in fright. ‘So is she going to ruin our shore?’

  Everyone began asking probing questions of Kotha. But she didn’t reveal anything more.

  Once Karuthamma had cooked rice and curry, her job was done. Nevertheless, the women were still hovering around. She felt everyone treated her as if she were a strange creature.

  All of them had heard of Chakki’s pathetic state too. Would any daughter leave when her mother was as ill? Wasn’t a mother more important than a husband? This made them wonder even more about Karuthamma.

  By noon, Karuthamma had turned into a choice piece of gossip. In each home, she was the topic of discussion: she was a slut. A vile creature they had got rid of by any means. In which case … wasn’t that a problem?

  Karuthamma thought of her mother. She wondered how her mother was. Had she done right in leaving her mother in that state? Her father had cast her off for good. Her father’s words echoed in her ears: ‘She isn’t my daughter.’

  Karuthamma knew Chembankunju well enough. He would never ever accept her as his daughter again. Karuthamma felt that hers had been an act of bravado and little else. Would any daughter have behaved like her? No, it wasn’t possible. They must all be blaming her at her home shore, cursing her too. But her mother had blessed her. It was with her consent that she left home.

  Her mother had to put up with so much. That was what it meant to be a mother. Her father would blame her mother for not having anyone around to even boil him a cup of water. All of that her mother would tolerate. And she would endure even more for her sake. But her father would never ever forgive her.

  Karuthamma considered her future. She once had a father and mother. Her father was a hard-working man who made his money. There was a certain security to her life. Her desires and needs, even if they were limited, were all fulfilled. She had never known want. And she had disdained all of that security to come here. Into a new life; into a new world. What would it be like?

  Would she be fed? Would there be enough to clothe her? She had never known hunger. Who knew what lay ahead? Who could be sure? Would she be able to open her heart and laugh? Would she be able to breathe right? All of it was uncertain, precarious…

  She used to be loved.

  The man she had come away with: Would he love her? That was a big question indeed. She knew nothing about him.

  Despite her mother’s pathetic condition, he had been almost inhumanly adamant about leaving. What kind of a man would he be? If he hadn’t insisted on taking his bride away, there would have been none of this trouble. Two days would have sufficed. So how was she to earn his love and affection? And how was she to make those feelings endure? It was quite possible that he would be as heartless again. How could she keep this love without any impediments?

  She had no one but him. He was all she had. His likes and dislikes would be the basis of her life. And she knew nothing about his likes and dislikes.

  Karuthamma could endure any hardship. All she wanted to be was one of those countless fisherwomen who lived their lives out willing to put up with anything and everything. She didn’t want anything significant happening in her life. All she wanted was to be an ordinary fisherwoman to the end. But would that be possible? That was what Karuthamma feared. A voice in her head told her that she would never be that. A thought that had begun a long time ago. Events that didn’t happen in other people’s lives happened in hers. And there might be many more such occurrences. They would twist her life into unforeseen tangles. She had always been haunted by that thought. A thought that had now taken concrete shape.

  If only Palani would love her. She desired that. But could she expect it of him? That was her fear.

  All women desired their husband’s love. But do even one of them have an inkling of what love is? Karuthamma had known love. The pangs of love. Which was why she feared whether she would know love again.

  She felt that Palani was incapable of love. So what was the point in her leaving her home? Hadn’t it been a dangerous act? But if she had continued to live there, it would have been an even more hazardous proposition.

  When it turned noon, Palani came home from the sea. She carefully served him his rice and curry. It was the first time she was doing so. Would he like her curry, she wondered. Would he be content with the meal? She wasn’t certain. Palani began eating. He ate with relish which was a relief. She stood by the kitchen door. She spoke standing there. But she didn’t say: ‘Please love me. I will love you back.’

  ‘There wasn’t a pan to make another curry.’

  ‘There may be grit in the rice.’

  She didn’t have a vessel to clean the rice. There was just one ladle. The theeyal she had made wasn’t all that good. She had borrowed a skillet from a neighbouring house. She had done her grinding there as well. She stopped with that. Then again, ‘We must buy pots and pans and many things.’

  ‘Yes, we will. But not all of it at the same time.’

  ‘No, that’s not necessary. Just a few things at a time.’

  He had finished eating what she had served him first. She served him more rice. Even though Palani said he had enough, she served him one more ladle of rice. That was how it should be. She knew that.

  He said, ‘There’s too much rice here.’

  ‘So what? You can leave behind what you don’t want.’

  A little later, she summoned courage to ask, ‘The theeyal isn’t good, right? I don’t think you were satisfied with the meal.’

  ‘The theeyal was delicious. Didn’t you see how much rice I ate?’

  ‘Is this a lot? Oh my goodness…’

  ‘I don’t usually eat as much.’

  The coy smile of a new wife. Karuthamma said, ‘You must eat much more and more. Or I will have to feed you myself.’

  Palani too smiled. It was an eager smile. She felt something akin to solace settle on her much bruised heart. He was a gentle man, willing enough to listen to her. More than anything else, there was a certain glint in his gaze. Wasn’t that enough to start with?

  She served herself some rice in the same plate and began eating. He washed his hands. Palani lit a beedi, entered the kitchen and went to sit by her.

  ‘Let me serve you.’

  She didn’t speak. She felt her heart bloom as rays of love caressed that bud.

  ‘Look at this. You have hardly eaten.’

  ‘I am full.’

  He peered into the pot. ‘Isn’t there any rice left?’

  ‘There is enough. But I
am full.’

  ‘That’s not enough.’ Palani served a ladle of rice into her plate. Enough. Enough. Karuthamma gestured. But she did eat what had been served to her.

  Karuthamma was beginning life as a married woman. Not as a lover but as a housewife.

  And Palani had become the master of a house as well. After lunch, when she had washed the dishes, he asked, ‘What are the things you would like me to buy? Tell me!’

  ‘Do you have the money to buy everything?’

  He opened a pouch at his waist and counted the money. He had only four rupees. He gave her an account of money earned and spent that day. The catch was poor. He paid off quite a bit of the money he had borrowed for the wedding. This was all that was left.

  Karuthamma asked, ‘So what’s your share?’

  ‘Fifty!’

  ‘It’s sixty on our shore.’

  Karuthamma continued, ‘You must ask for your share based on how it is in neighbouring shores…’

  Palani tossed back a careless ‘That’s how it is here!’

  She narrated to him how Chembankunju rallied the men together on their shore and increased the share to sixty.

  Palani said, ‘Nothing like that has ever happened here.’

  He asked her again about the things needed for their home.

  Karuthamma asked, ‘Are you going now to buy it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Karuthamma said, ‘Why don’t you rest a bit? You don’t have to go out now. You’ve just come back from the sea. Everyone will accuse me of having chased you out to buy pots and pans. Rest a bit and then go!’

  Palani seemed to accept her advice. He rolled out a mat and lay on it. Then he called, ‘Karuthamma!’

  Perhaps she too had been waiting for that call. She went to him. Palani said, ‘Come here.’

  She went to his side shyly. It was possible that she was beginning to feel secure. She would do her best to be a good wife. He gathered her into a tight embrace with his muscular arms. Her eyelids drooped, her breath stuck in her throat, she sank against him almost faint.

  She had loved a man once. And once she too had been loved by a man. But she had never been touched by a man. Perhaps she had craved for it. But Karuthamma wouldn’t break the rules. She was a married woman now. With the right due to him, a man held her close to his body. She submitted obediently. Even if she had loved one man, a man’s touch, the submission to a man, the rapture of that breathlessness, all of it came from another man. She was his now. Her body was just for him. She had kept it unsullied until then for him. And she would keep it chaste for him.