Times were hard for Chembankunju. He was unable to go out to sea. And that was why the catch was poor, he told himself. And there had been yet another loss. He had to get a great deal of money from Khadar Boss for the fish he had sold him. One night Khadar took all the stock in his shack and fled. That loss was a great blow to Chembankunju. He decided to go back to sea once again. How long could he wait it out on the shore?
That day and for a few more days, Chembankunju was seen on the stern of his boat. But he was sitting there and not standing. The boat didn’t have the same speed any more. It no longer raced. The oarsmen rowed. But Chembankunju was unable to stand on the speeding stern any more. His legs trembled. He no longer had the courage to stand on that narrow plank anchored by only the grip of his big toe. So how would they be able to go forward?
It just might happen that Chembankunju and his boat would never again be able to race the other boats; or come back to shore with the greatest catch. This boat floated like the other boats. The sight of that leaping, racing boat might never again be seen by the people of that shore.
They turned the boat back even before it was time. The oarsmen wanted to know why.
‘Let us go back; this is enough for the day!’
Chembankunju had never ever been able to think ‘enough’! On the way back to the shore, Chembankunju stumbled on an oar and fell into the water. The oarsmen pulled him back into the boat. Thereafter, Chembankunju didn’t sit on the stern any more.
That day Chembankunju didn’t even haggle. He gave his catch away at a throwaway price. He went back home fatigued. It was the gait of a defeated man.
Had Chembankunju’s plans gone awry? Panchami was waiting for her father. She had cooked rice and made the curries he liked. From within, a weak voice fluttered, ‘Daughter, serve the food; it’s time for your father to come home.’
Panchami brought out the rice and curries. He stuffed his mouth, but with neither taste nor relish. He was just performing a deed called ‘eating lunch’. When he rose, a perplexed Panchami said, ‘Ammachi, father didn’t eat at all!’
Chembankunju washed his hands and went to Chakki. She looked at him carefully. Both their eyes became tearful. It was the first time in Chembankunju’s life that his eyes had teared up. Chakki said, ‘What is to be done? It’s fate!’
Chembankunju swallowed those tears. He didn’t allow even a drop to be shed. He still had that much of his will left. He asked, ‘Can’t you get up?’
‘I tried. What can I do?’
He stood there silent for a while and then asked, ‘What am I to do now?’
Had he already started considering a life without her? A life where she was no longer of any use? That sort of a life would be incomplete and had no future. What could Chakki say?
He sat on the cot beside Chakki. She felt as if her husband’s vigour and strength had drained away. Chembankunju described the accident at the sea. ‘My legs gave way!’
Chakki couldn’t think of her husband having an accident at sea. She hadn’t even imagined it ever. That too had happened now. And might happen again.
‘What am I to do, Chakki?’ A helpless Chembankunju asked. Who else could he ask this of? Who else had the right to answer this? She was the factor most responsible for a life of discipline. But she was laid up now. And with that the systems and discipline fell apart. Not just that, the light itself disappeared! The man huddled on the bed was a defeated one.
Chakki took his hand in hers, pressed it against her bosom and asked, ‘When I am gone, what will you do?’
Chembankunju started weeping. ‘Don’t say that. What will I do?’
The grip on his hand tightened. As her chest heaved, his hand was thrust off. And even as her eyes focused on him, a voice spoke, ‘You must marry again!’
She had said that! Chakki’s body quivered. The beat of her heart slowed.
Chakki continued to lie there looking at him. Chembankunju asked, ‘What did you say? Marry another woman?’
There was no answer.
She knew that it was essential to have a life partner. She was showing him the way. Chembankunju had never considered something like that.
‘Say something, Chakki.’
A film clouded Chakki’s eyes. Chembankunju was frightened. He shook her awake. ‘Chakki!’
All was still.
‘Have you gone?’
Chembankunju fell onto Chakki’s bosom. Her clasp on his hand was still fervent and tight.
Fourteen
Nallapennu consoled Panchami who wailed, ‘But I have no one now!’ Chakki had entrusted Panchami to Nallapennu. Instead of four, she had five children now, Nallapennu told her. But was that enough to comfort the bereaved?
Achakunju and the others prised Chembankunju away from Chakki’s body. There was so much to be done. The Shore Master was informed of the death. He arrived. That Karuthamma ought to be informed came up for discussion. Someone asked, ‘Shouldn’t someone go for the girl?’
The question rang through the grieving Chembankunju’s ears.
‘No!’ A roar.
Chembankunju claimed that it was Karuthamma who killed Chakki.
Everyone gathered there fell silent for a while. They were all perhaps thinking whether that decision was right or wrong. Or, perhaps they were waiting for the Shore Master to come to a resolution.
The Shore Master voiced his opinion.
‘She went away even though she saw her mother lie like a fallen tree. Well, she went away not wanting any part of this. Let her stay there!’
Everyone there thought of what had happened on the wedding day. What she had done had been heartless.
Only Panchami called for her chechi. Who else did she have but her sister? But who paid any attention to her?
The preparation for the funeral was complete.
Pareekutty, as befitting a man of another faith, skulked in the periphery. He was probably grieving for Karuthamma without whom the funeral was happening. But how could he intervene in what was their business?
She would be heartbroken! If they were to meet again, she would ask, ‘How could you have not let me know, my Bossman!’
Besides, would the woman who lay dead there ever forgive him?
Pareekutty felt as if he had much to do in this matter. But he wasn’t sure what it ought to be. He was Karuthamma’s brother; he had made her his sister. Now he had to do his brotherly duty.
That night he couldn’t sleep. At the dead of night, he sat up. Much later, he stepped out and locked up the shack. He walked. The sea breeze seemed to hum a strange tale. The waves too had something to say… Where are you going? To Trikunnapuzha? Why? To inform Karuthamma of Chakki’s death? But what right did he have to do that? And if someone were to question him about it, what answer did he have?
And when he found Karuthamma, what would he say to her? Questions that ought to have held back Pareekutty. But he continued to walk. He had a certain intrepidity. He was her brother. Her mother had made him her brother. But would she be his sister?
When Pareekutty had found Karuthamma, what would come of that rendezvous? Had Pareekutty considered that?
When dawn broke, Pareekutty reached Trikunnapuzha seashore. He saw a fisherman about to leave in his boat. Pareekutty asked him where Palani’s house was. During the big catch, this fisherman had been at Neerkunnath. He recognized Pareekutty.
‘Why are you looking for Palani, Little Boss?’
The question threw Pareekutty off kilter. Pareekutty replied, ‘Palani’s wife’s mother is dead.’
A piece of news for Kochunathan. He knew Chembankunju and Chakki. Kochunathan praised Chakki. Then he posed a dangerous question. ‘But why did the Little Boss have to come with the news of the death. Aren’t there any fisherfolk there?’
It was a question that Pareekutty had expected. And he had found an answer to placate himself. But he hadn’t expected a stranger to ask him this, or that he would have to answer it. Nevertheless, he replied, ‘They decided that
they were not going to inform Palani and his wife.’
Pareekutty narrated to him what had transpired after the death. But Kochunathan’s questions wouldn’t cease. ‘What was the need for you to come in the middle of the night, Little Boss?’
The only answer he had for that was to tell him how he had been anointed a brother. But if he were to tell that, he would have to rake up what lay beneath that. How could a Muslim man be the brother of a fisher girl? Why had the mother ordained him as a brother? Pareekutty fumbled for an answer. In the end he claimed that he had come moved by the utter heartlessness of what had happened. Who knows if Kochunathan believed it? He told him where Palani’s house was.
How was he to start talking to Karuthamma? Should he give her the news straight away? How would she understand?
All the boats were out at sea. Pareekutty stood in front of Palani’s house. That little house was silent.
Pareekutty’s tongue dried up. His throat was parched. For a while he stood like that. Without his knowing, a sound escaped his throat – Karuthamma. No one answered his call. He called again.
‘Who is that?’ A voice came from inside the house.
Pareekutty recognized Karuthamma’s voice.
‘It’s me, Karuthamma!’
‘Me? Who’s me?’
‘Can’t you make out who I am?’
‘Who?’
‘I … I … Pareekutty.’
Silence! It stretched. Dense.
‘I have something very important to tell you, Karuthamma!’
The voice from within the house cracked as it cried out, ‘Won’t you let me be in peace even when I have come away?’
A second later, she continued, ‘No, no, I am not going to open the door. I don’t want to see you.’
She was crying.
Words that pierced Pareekutty’s heart. It was true. She had gone away seeking refuge. But she had no peace even here. He wondered if he should return without saying a word. No, he wouldn’t do that. He would tell her the news even though she was inside the house. But how could he say something like this so abruptly? Pareekutty beseeched her again to open the door.
‘Don’t you know me, Karuthamma?’
She clenched her teeth in a fierce anger as she said, ‘I do!’
‘Why won’t you step out then?’
There was no reply to that. He said, ‘I am the same old Pareekutty. And I know that Karuthamma has a fisherman in her life now.’
Helplessly she said, ‘I can’t see you.’
He didn’t know how but Pareekutty felt courage grow in him. ‘You mustn’t say that. We will have to see each other again! We have to talk face to face!’
‘No, oh no, no … he’s gone out to sea! To a wind-tossed, stormy sea!’
More silence!
‘Karuthamma!’
As if fated to despair, she answered, ‘What?’
‘I am your brother!’
‘Brother?’
That deep bond of theirs had not been frittered away. Instead, it had now evolved into something else with a name. She knew the relief of the dying man who found something to clutch at. Pareekutty said, ‘Yes sister, your brother, you have a brother now!’
‘No.’
‘It’s your brother calling! Your mother said I ought to care for you like a sister.’
‘My mother?’
‘Yes. Open the door. Let me tell you…’
Karuthamma lit the lamp, opened the door and stepped out.
How was he to tell her that momentous news? But it emerged in its harshest form. ‘Karuthamma, Chakki is dead!’
Karuthamma wept loudly. By the time the neighbours arrived, Pareekutty had left. The neighbouring women tried to console her. They were disbelieving of the news. Even in that moment of deepest sorrow, she wouldn’t reveal to any of them how she had come to hear of the news. They said that she had dreamt it.
As it became light and much tears had been shed, she began to question herself about the logic of it all. She began to disbelieve the news herself. Couldn’t it be the treachery of a lovelorn lover? If her mother was dead, wouldn’t someone have come to inform her?
Her husband had gone out to sea. When he returned, food would have to be served. A sense of wifely duty pushed her into doing her household chores. As usual, she managed to cook some rice and curry. And waited for someone to come with the news any minute now.
Palani reached the shore earlier than usual. Karuthamma wailed, ‘My mother is dead!’
It didn’t seem as if he had heard. She saw a graveness on his face which she had never seen before. She wept. ‘I killed my mother.’
Without any trace of sympathy, he asked, ‘Who came here to tell you this?’
She faltered, unable to find an answer. He looked at her carefully. ‘That Little Boss.’
‘And where is he now?’
‘He said what he had to and left. I haven’t seen him since.’
Why was he so grim? Was it because Pareekutty had come? Or, was it because the announcement of the death hadn’t been made in the proper way?
Palani asked, ‘Did your father send that Muslim man?’
Karuthamma didn’t have an answer. Palani asked, ‘Don’t they have any fisher boys to send across?’
What could she say? Not just that. Was this the time to talk of norms and strictures? Palani had something on his mind. But she doesn’t know what. She had only one thing to say, ‘Let us go.’
‘Where?’
‘To Neerkunnath.’
He twisted his mouth into a smirk. It meant that he had no intention of going.
‘It’s my mother who’s dead.’
That didn’t seem to move Palani either. ‘She loved you like you were her son,’ Karuthamma said. Her mother was faultless. She was the one to blame. And it was because her mother insisted that she had come away with him. She said, ‘By the mother of the sea, when I hesitated, it was my Ammachi who said I should go. Let us go!’
She hugged his feet and cried. He stood there like a statue. It was Chakki who showed Palani what a mother could be. It was she who had died. Could that death have not touched Palani? Perhaps it might have. From deep within him, he said, ‘They pushed me back ashore.’
Karuthamma asked, ‘So that we could go to Neerkunnath?’
‘That’s what they said. But it isn’t that.’
‘Then?’
A second later Palani said, ‘Kochunathan chettan saw him come here. That Pappu’s been spreading vicious gossip all over the seashore. So … so …’
His voice choked. He swallowed and continued, ‘They have children. That’s why they sent me back.’
Karuthamma understood. So this too had come to pass. She had only one thing to ask of him. She asked him, ‘Do you doubt me?’
He didn’t know what to say.
‘After he came here with the news, where did that Muslim go hang himself?’
‘I didn’t see him.’
‘Why did he come here?’
It was the moment to reveal everything, just about everything. Could she tell him all without hiding a thing? She could. But she couldn’t find the words. Palani asked, ‘What did he say?’
‘That my mother’s dead.’
This was the moment that would determine this little family’s future.
At that point a story was spreading across the sea. That the old woman was dead was probably true. Everyone knew she was laid up. And that she might never rise from her bed was also known. But why did that Muslim man have to come bearing the news?
Kochunathan said, ‘He was anxious. I could see that.’
Pappu had much more to say. ‘That Muslim man and she would run around night and day on that Neerkunnath shore, I hear! In the night he would sing and she would step out and go to him. That’s why I raised such a ruckus at the wedding.’
Pappu was triumphant. But all of them were sad about one thing. Palani was a nice man. Such a pity that his wife turned out to be like this!
Someone asked, ‘So how do you take him on the boat with you?’
Everyone understood the implication of that query. Palani’s house was defiled! So if he was in the boat, an accident could take place.
Velayudhan bristled, ‘Who said his house is defiled?’
Aandi took sides with Velayudhan. He asked Kumaru, ‘Can you be completely sure? Who can actually claim that their house is totally pure?’
No one was willing to go that far. They had to believe their homes were untainted. For none of them had any accidents yet.
But there was a general suspicion: Hadn’t Palani dragged the boat to deep sea because something was on his mind?
Pappu’s stories were yet another irritant. Anyway they also opined that the girl was good.
Apart from Kumaru, everyone else made an effort to believe Palani’s home was untainted. Kumaru had a question; but who could answer it with clarity? ‘Do fisherfolk send Muslims to carry tidings of death? And why did he come at the crack of dawn?’
Suspicion all around. All of them sympathized with Palani.
Uncertainty continued at Palani’s home. Karuthamma beseeched that they go to see her mother’s dead body; to make that last plea of penitence. She spoke not with the right of a wife; but with the numb grief of a bereaved woman.
He wouldn’t speak.
She asked, ‘Do you trust me?’
He said, ‘I do, girl!’
But he wanted to know many things. That was clear from his assurance of faith in her. She was prepared to tell him whatever had to be said. She wouldn’t hide anything. But she had neither the strength nor the skill to speak the words. It was a big moment for Karuthamma. But Palani wouldn’t understand how important it was. It wasn’t just her mother’s death, Palani wouldn’t be able to fathom the significance of any mother’s death.
Karuthamma cried helplessly. She voiced a thought. That she be allowed to go by herself; she would return the same day. He didn’t give her a clear answer to that either. What if she defied her husband and went? But it would mean that she would never be able to return.
No, she wasn’t prepared for that. She was born a fisherwoman and would die one. That was her deceased mother’s desire.
Chemmeen Page 14