With a mocking curl of his lip, Chembankunju asked, ‘What’s to know? What new thing will you tell me now? Chembankunju gives a toss for Chembankunju knows he has the sea in front of him and the sky above him!’
He continued, ‘I have nothing to lose. Everything is over. I am not going to listen to anyone, so please don’t get me wrong. I have no intention of obeying anyone. Tell me … Why should I? Only the man burdened by money need fear his every step!’
The Shore Master threatened him, ‘Don’t mess with us!’
Even before the Shore Master finished speaking, Chembankunju spoke up, his body trembling in indignation, ‘Quiet! If you want to keep your dignity, stay silent…’
No one had ever spoken to the Shore Master in that manner. And that too in the presence of the whole fishing community. He wasn’t just insulting a man; he was insulting the entire community.
What was Chembankunju thinking of? Was he mad? Wasn’t he thinking of what was to come? No one understood a thing.
Chembankunju walked away without saying another word.
The Shore Master was insulted. The rest of the people stood there looking at each other’s faces. Papikunju followed Chembankunju.
All that Panchami had hoped for was ruined. She stood watching Papikunju follow Chembankunju.
Chembankunju didn’t ask Papikunju to go away.
Nineteen
The next day Panchami went missing. Where was she? The poor child had run away to escape her lot, the women said. She had been chased away, they added.
All the women there had a certain respect for Papikunju now. She didn’t betray Chembankunju. Would any other woman have done that? Papikunju was a decent sort. There was nothing to be surprised about that. She had once been a noble and valorous man’s woman. So that was how she would be.
Everyone waited to see what would happen to Chembankunju who had insulted the Shore Master. How was he going to bear the Shore Master’s wrath? Who was to know what form that displeasure would take? Not just that. The two boats would end up being Ousep’s. How would he live then? There was no way he could go to work in the sea.
Meanwhile, away from all this commotion and gossip, another life was falling apart on that shore. A life with no purpose and yet there wouldn’t be a Neerkunnath without its presence.
Pareekutty! Neerkunnath had many boats, shacks, fishermen, fisherwomen, and then there was Pareekutty. He too was part of that shore. Once in a while he would sit on a boat hauled up on the sands and sing. After its many renderings the song had acquired a particular tune. A style and tune that were his. No one else sang that song as he did. Had he, that son of the sea, ever thought his verses would take this form? Pareekutty had made it his. With him that style and tune would cease to be. No one else could sing it as he did.
Pareekutty’s shack fell apart. It crumbled into dust. On that shore there had been other shacks; and some that had been ruined. The ruined shack owners were never seen again. But he continued to live on this shore. Didn’t he have another place to go to? Perhaps not.
In the twilight, he would be seen walking on that shore with a downcast face. As if he was searching for something lost among the grains of sand. Wasn’t that the truth? A life was lost in the sand. It had to be sought for and found.
Once or twice he had been the subject of discussion. Each time there had been rumours about his having enticed and seduced Karuthamma! But it would also die quickly. So many shack owners had seduced so many women; and then left these shores, until even the gossip came to nothing. No one took it very seriously. No one really knew the gravitas of that relationship. Could a Muslim shack owner be in love with a fisher girl? No one said love couldn’t happen. But it had never happened before. That’s the fact.
Hence no one had heard about the shattering of that love.
Even today when the boats drew to the shore, Pareekutty would go there. He would watch the trade. He would eke a living out of brokering some deals. That was how he lived.
He would go and stand by Chembankunju’s hauled-up boats and gaze at it. Perhaps he did that when memories kindled within him. Perhaps he was reminiscing about the history of those boats. Once, as he was standing there, Chembankunju came there unexpectedly. He didn’t see Chembankunju approaching.
Pareekutty hadn’t met Chembankunju in a long time. Whenever he saw Chembankunju in the distance, he would take a detour. What was the nature of his crime? Yes, Pareekutty had actually perpetuated a crime against Chembankunju!
When Chembankunju suddenly drew close to him, Pareekutty was dismayed. The man who stood before him was neither the Chembankunju of yesteryear nor was he Chembankunju’s ghost. In one glance he could make out that something was amiss with Chembankunju. And did Chembankunju too see the Pareekutty that he once knew?
A moment was spent sizing up each other.
Chembankunju flung a question at Pareekutty, ‘How much money do I owe you?’
Pareekutty had never bothered to keep track of accounts. He didn’t know. He had no idea.
Chembankunju asked, ‘How much?’
Pareekutty didn’t know what to answer back. He had nothing to receive; neither did Chembankunju owe him anything. There was so much to be said. But he was afraid of saying it. He was as tongue-tied as a borrower. The creditor in him was strangled to silence.
What was the real nature of that give and take? Pareekutty was in love with Karuthamma and Karuthamma had loved him in turn. That was the truth. And that love was without a blemish. The deal with Chembankunju and Chakki had been brokered in the days when that love was blossoming. Even then, as he lent the money, he had said he didn’t want it back! So had he meant to have her parents obliged to him to facilitate the smooth progress of that love? To blind them with cash? Bribing them to get the girl! But that couldn’t be. Pareekutty had never sought to entice or seduce Karuthamma; he hadn’t even tried to. So shouldn’t he have asked for the money back when another man made her his and took her away? When a job couldn’t be done, doesn’t one take back the bribe? Did he give the money because she asked him to? In which case, it wasn’t given in secret.
For lack of that money, he had been ruined. Not just ruined, but completely penurious for he only had the clothes on his back. His house and land were no longer his. Nothing was left in Pareekutty’s life. There was neither a purpose nor a goal. Couldn’t he start a shack in a small manner? Make something of his life again? If for nothing else but to keep him going till death. Karuthamma would never be his. He should forget that episode in his life. Faced with harsh experiences and impediments in life, men changed, became different. But even today he was that hapless lover.
Chembankunju undid a pouch from his waist. He asked again, ‘How much is it, boy?’
There was no answer. Pareekutty stood there guilt-ridden. Chembankunju continued, ‘I thought you were a good sort. But you, you … are not.’
But what sin had Pareekutty committed? Had he deceived Karuthamma? Had he created impediments to stop her wedding? Had he trespassed into her marital life and made trouble there? What had he done?
He had fallen in love. He hadn’t chosen to. Not to bring trouble to her family or her. He was born a man and so fell in love with a woman. And even then he had walked away from her life. But he still stood there as if he had transgressed. Chembankunju said, ‘You gave me the money then only because of my daughter, isn’t that right?’
‘No,’ the reply rolled up his throat. But it wasn’t spoken. Shouldn’t Pareekutty have refuted Chembankunju’s accusation with a ‘no’? He didn’t do that. Chembankunju said, ‘The moment I asked for it, you swept up everything and gave it to me. Without any hesitation. I thought you did that because you were naïve. But that wasn’t so. You had an ulterior motive.’
Chembankunju undid the pouch and began counting out the money. Suddenly he asked, ‘Do you know the implication of your crime?’
Pareekutty was still as a statue. Sans any emotion, sans any thought. Chembankunju’s eyes we
re moist. ‘You don’t know; you really don’t know … but how would you? You are a demon.’
Pareekutty didn’t speak.
‘You wrecked a family. Ruined it. Turned my life into nothing. Do you know how many lives you have destroyed?’
It’s time to take a look at that family’s history. From the time when in their quest to acquire a boat and nets Chakki took a basketful of fish to the east to as it was now. If one were to look at that history as a whole, doesn’t that accusation carry some bearing?
Chembankunju’s voice quivered as he spoke, ‘My Karuthamma who like Chakki had played and frolicked on this shore … you ruined her. It began since then … isn’t that what this is all about?’
That was true indeed. If Pareekutty wasn’t in love with Karuthamma, none of this would have transpired. In normal course, a fisher family with a purpose would have made some progress on that shore. But a destiny as Chembankunju had hoped for would have remained a mere illusion. For Chembankunju was a brawny fisherman who tussled with natural forces constantly and was a man whose life was dictated by the norms of that community. What did Chembankunju have now? Neither a wife nor children; and the boats he had worked for relentlessly were gone. No nets, nothing was left … even his special relationship had fallen apart. When all of it was counted, there were five hundred ninety-five rupees left. That was all he had after a lifetime of Chakki’s and his efforts. And an old debt remained.
Like an evil worm, Pareekutty had bored and wriggled into the annals of that family’s history. A flame had been lit to make it shrivel in its path. So wasn’t it right for Chembankunju to question him? If Pareekutty was a man with some humanity, he ought to curse that day when he first came to this shore as a little boy clinging to his father’s hand. That day Chembankunju’s family too came under the evil influence of Saturn … but on that day the girl who came to pick the small fry fallen off the boats had looked at him without blinking. He had asked her for a small pink shell she had picked. ‘Will you give it to me?’
She gave him the shell. But didn’t she give her heart too with the shell?
But he was not responsible for all this. Pareekutty hadn’t insinuated himself into the family wanting to do so. He had stepped into the inner rhythm of that family unknowingly. He could be accused of many things. And Pareekutty might stand as befitting one accused. But who was to know his truth? And how could he let anyone know? Only one person knew it – Karuthamma. But did even she accept it? When she saw him, thought of him, wasn’t she struck by anxiety? He had turned into an object of fear for her. Pareekutty. That was he.
Chembankunju said, ‘I only have one liability left. Your debt. The money you gave me to seduce my daughter and ruin me … Here!’
He stretched out the money.
Pareekutty stood frozen. Chembankunju said again, ‘Here … here take it!’
‘Hmm,’ a grunt.
It was a grave command. Pareekutty stretched out his hand mechanically. Chembankunju put the money into his hand.
‘This is all there is. I don’t know what I owe you. That only my Chakki knew. If it is less, there is nothing I can do.’
Chembankunju began walking.
Pareekutty stood there for long, clutching the money. He was dazed and confused.
What did he need money for? What need for money for someone who lived off what he made every day? How much money had he lost? Just money? He had lost his very life itself. He had money for the day’s food. So when life stretched ahead, wasn’t this sizable sum of money a huge thing? An old debt was being paid back.
Pareekutty looked at his hand. He was clutching the money. The ends of the notes were fluttering in the breeze. What did he need the money for? Had he ever considered it would be his? So how could it be his? So whose was it then?
Hearing loud laughter, Pareekutty trembled and turned. A little away, the boat that Chembankunju had bought from Kandankoran was hauled up to rest on two logs on the sand. It had been there for several days now. For many many days now its stern was inclined upwards. As if the stern was staring at the sea, at something beyond the horizon. Something was beckoning it from there. The sea and the outer seas were old friends. Not just that, wasn’t it too part of the ocean. Shouldn’t it live on the ocean? It was built for the ocean. For days now, it has been longing to race into the sea. All it needed was one touch, and it would ride the waves, cutting and slicing through the water. And through currents and streams it would weave its way into the deep seas.
How long am I to sit on this shore? Look at me, my body is cracked and broken by the piercing rays of the sun. Won’t you let me into the delightful depths of that brine? It seemed to say.
The wind that rose from the water might cool it a bit. That was Pallikunnath Kandankoran’s boat. It was Chembankunju’s boat. The boat with the biggest catch; an elegant boat; a boat that flew like a bird.
The other end of it was slanted into a heap as if to say it was going.
It was from that side of the boat that the piercing laughter had risen. It was a cold, mirthless laugh. Chembankunju was laughing.
The sisters embraced each other. Neither of them knew how long they stood there. The two of them were crying. Karuthamma had left defying her father and seeing her mother sink onto her deathbed. She had carried with her for a long distance the echoes of her little sister’s plaintive ‘e-che-chi!’ That call had resounded in Karuthamma’s ears many times again. Since then so much had happened. Amma had died. A stepmother had come … and finally now the sisters met.
Panchami whose plans had collapsed had headed straight to Trikunnapuzha. Where else could she go? Panchami’s arrival was unexpected. Palani stood gazing at the weeping sisters locked in an embrace. The baby in his arms gurgled and laughed. It was prattling. The baby seemed to be enjoying the sight too.
Palani asked, ‘Who is this now? Panchami? How did you come here?’
Before Panchami could reply, Karuthamma took the baby. It leapt into Panchami’s arms from hers. Karuthamma said, ‘This is my baby’s aunt!’
Panchami covered the baby with kisses. She had been dreaming of it all this while. Palani didn’t ask anything about Neerkunnath. He had nothing to ask about that place. What ties did he have with it? Nothing at all.
Karuthamma had much to talk and discover about. And Panchami too had much to say. Palani didn’t care about who or what Karuthamma was curious about; in fact he hated the very thought. He didn’t even like the mention of ‘Neerkunnath!’ Perhaps he didn’t dislike Panchami. A simple little girl. Why should he dislike her? She was blameless. But where was she coming from? And whose news did she bring with her? Palani wasn’t seeing the orphaned Panchami. What he saw was a black shadow enter his house that would turn Karuthamma’s thoughts towards everything that was repugnant to him. What would Karuthamma remember when she saw Panchami who had come from Neerkunnath? What would she ask? Whom would she enquire about?
Palani wasn’t enthusiastic. Once again a black shadow fell upon that house. There was an unhappiness. The baby’s prattle alone lit up with an occasional flash the grey mass of gloom in that house. That baby never cried; it never had to. But now the baby began crying. Then Panchami would say, ‘Echechi, don’t make the baby cry!’
She would pick the baby up and try to comfort it. The baby liked this ‘little mother’.
Nothing could be asked or spoken. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath. Everything had to be heard or said away from Palani’s hearing. And that moment couldn’t be found.
Palani was perhaps curious to know what she would ask about. It was quite possible. And if so, how could you blame Palani? He was a husband and a father. Karuthamma had sworn and made promises. Nevertheless, her heart had once been someone else’s. What certainty did he have that the Muslim didn’t live there even now in some secret place? Even if that wasn’t the case, it was only natural that a husband, any committed husband, would suspect his wife. What would Karuthamma ask about Pareekutty?
Lik
e never before Karuthamma was annoyed by just about everything. Palani too was irritable. They were always on the brink of a quarrel.
Something was stifling the two of them. The clutch of a discomfiture.
Once Panchami began hesitantly, ‘You are a tough one…’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘You didn’t ask about Achan once?’
Karuthamma said, ‘Quiet! He’ll hear us!’
Palani said he was leaving early that evening to put the fishing lines out. That was a relief. He baited the fishing lines. She cooked the meal early. At dusk, the mother and child watched him set out to sea in his boat. The little child lifted its little hand and waved. That was customary. The father sitting in the boat too would bid farewell with a wave of his arm. But that evening it didn’t happen. The boat raced to the west. He was paddling it further and further away. The baby cried.
The sisters were alone at home.
Panchami began talking. The loving mother’s death, how she was entrusted into Nallapennu’s care, how Amma gave her permission to Achan to wed another woman – all of it was told.
‘And echechi, one day Pareekutty boss came to see Ammachi.’
Karuthamma changed the subject. Her heart was thudding. Panchami asked, ‘Why? Don’t you want to hear what happened?’
Pretending not to hear that question, Karuthamma asked, ‘Why wasn’t I told when Ammachi died?’
‘Everyone said we shouldn’t.’
‘Everyone?’
‘Yes. Everyone said that echechi was bad! You were so hard-hearted. But then you never had much love; you are a hard woman!’
Then she talked about the stepmother. When that story came up, she had an important matter to disclose. ‘Our boat and nets are all gone! It was mortgaged to Ousepachan. And that money stepmother gave her son.’
Then she recounted the rest of what had happened. Their boats and nets were lost! Karuthamma saw in her mind her father standing on the stern and the boat racing ahead through the waves like a bird. Her parents had worked all their lives for it. She had loved that boat too. Before Palani’s boat, it had been the boat she had pointed out to and said, ‘Our boat!’ Now it was someone else’s. She had nothing more to do with it. Again Karuthamma cried.
Chemmeen Page 19