Girl in a million

by Anitha Padanattil

  My books were put up inside a lone glass-fronted bookcase. Proud and shining in their new covers, I dusted them once in a while and admired my precious collection. Enthusiasm levels, however, dipped soon after and feeble efforts at a later stage to continue with the said practice had been abandoned. Mustering one’s energy for something significant was fine. Something as exciting as the hopscotch games played during childhood. It was not to be wasted for something as trivial as dusting of books, however valuable they were deemed to be.

  Now for the hopscotch games that turned us into the fiercest of warriors. How we hopped away on the sand! Cousins engaged in mock fights, shrill voices and all. Battle lines were blurry, drawn with fingertips that were thin and stumpy on shifting sand. I remembered the fingers sheathed in vivacity.

  Once the game paced on, the level of fierceness increased. It became a race; a race to be finished… a race that had to be won. When I sensed defeat, I often fell. Faked the fall. I had mastered the art of hitting the sand after a pre-calculated jump.

  I remembered the sand in the mouth. The nose snorts that burnt through and bought a fierce round of hacking coughs and tearing up of the eyes. The blurry lines would be grudgingly cleared and a fresh round would be declared the next day. But boy, the fall and the subsequent discomfort were worth the sacrifice.

  Memories of the taste of the sand, acid-sour, bitter and gritty laced with saliva rose up. There had to be a way. I needed another Kurinji to jog me out of the current rut. God forgive me, but what was to be done?

  *

  The Beginning of the Avalanche

  Days flew by. Broad hints were passed. Money was scarce. Even Murugan’s loyalty was beginning to be put to the test. A neighboring conglomerate had offered a good price for the plot of land on which stood the clinic. There was no value for achievers who had decided to dedicate their lives for the betterment of society. Snide remarks by outsiders about income spent towards higher education that later entailed in swatting of flies and rehashing of dreams were made day in and out.

  Where was this ‘so-called’ exalted position in society that an aspiring doctor was to occupy, lamented my mother. “Koteeswari - I hate the word! An illiterate god-man for one, would have had a hundred thousand minions waiting to offer blind obeisance,” she harangued in anger.

  “Do observe the mindset of the common folk. Money down the drain for such vagaries, but justified nevertheless. A few rupees towards consultation that too discounted, by the doctor with-the-golden-hand, and everyone turns up their noses,” her tirade continued.

  A mother’s love for her own could turn reverence for the Holiest of the Holy into dispassion should circumstances color events, I realized. This was especially true if her progeny was being unfairly targeted for no reason other than the unknown entity named fate, forcing one’s hand. Suppressing my amusement, I nodded in agreement.

  It was then… suddenly, that something stirred. And, churned.

  Thinking of the wait in a long queue under the blazing sun.

  That throng.

  The lemon. Snug within my palm.

  The twinkling eyes, mischievous smile.

  The Wise One beckoned.

  Murugan was quickly dispatched to the studio to get two framed 16.5 X 11.7 inches pictures within the shortest time frame possible. He was to personally hand over the items to me.

  It was late evening when he arrived. One of the images was hung adjacent to the name board outside the clinic and the other, within my room. On the wall, high up and facing the patients. Decorated with a single garland of fresh roses and the familiar face wreathed in that mischievous smile!

  The trickle started followed by the throng. Queues that were a mile long necessitated the handout of numbered coupons. The doctor that was blessed by the Wise One was here, in their midst. None had known until the picture was put up.

  Everything and everyone was now looked upon with reverence. The doctor, her father, the stethoscope, her writing pad, the consultation room, the bookcase with the books, just about the entire structure with its occupants seemed to take on an extra halo that symbolized benevolent grace. The clinic by itself turned into an iconic landmark of the area. Men, women, and children sometimes, cattle came to visit the lady who was blessed by the One while she was still a girl.

  When enquired by curious members of the throng as to whether she was the favored one, a slight smile would grace her features and thus satisfy the seekers. Father favored this mode of reply as well. It seemed to work.

  And the mischievous smile graced the premise for a few more years. Until, experience took the upper hand. For the renowned, introductions weren’t a necessity. The contribution of the Wise One helped spear the drum roll. The photo on the wall lost its significance after a period of time.

  *

  Core Z’s gotten a whiff. Whiff of what’s brewing. What cannot be undone now would be the news spreading across group members. Thanks to instant messaging, everyone would know for sure.

  Ah well, there’s only one sane thing Sagarika’s got to do. Check into the palliative care unit. Manu wouldn’t approve of care at home. Too many memories lasted there anyway. The unit was our last dream project completed as a group. Surrounded by my core (handpicked) team and all the others, I’m sure I could manage. After all, what better way to check on the system than by being a part of it?

  I could fill in the feedback form with suggestions for improvement and areas that needed more work. After all, the charitable concern needs to take care of the people who need love and care the most. Especially the ones without families. Here, we would be their rock, their mainstay. Making it easier for them to let go - leave with a sense of relief and without painful emotions dwelling within their hearts.

  I want to get that feel. And know that what I set out to do, I did right. Chandru will take care of the rest.

  Manu… my Manu is waiting to hold my hands. I need to ride an absurdly heavy Atlas bicycle again. Feel the breeze fan my face, laugh so hard that my stomach jiggles. Fall over and get up, smiling at the pain.

  Marge – soul twin,

  Shruthi – our Buddha with the punch, and,

  Ratnalakshmi K.B. – of the space within my heart…, this vulnerable goof wants the Zenana all over again. What’s life without a few arguments anyway?

  I smile in anticipation and wait for them to arrive.

  And what of Velan, you might wonder.

  In life, learning experiences comes with a price.

  I consider that chapter to be a valuable lesson learnt.

  I was blessed with so much more.

  It was just a lesson. Only that.

  *

  PART II

  Murugan

  (Reminiscences)

  (As translated from Thamizh to English)

  The village I belong to –Gramayur is twenty-five kilometers away from Oothukudi. I was a small time farmer and worked diligently on my small plot of land. Plants that flowered were what I focused upon. Fragrant jasmine during the summer and orange kanagambaram also called firecracker flowers, during the cooler season. The entire stretch of land was used for the cultivation of flowers and so I had a thorough working knowledge of most of the flowering species of the native kind and, all the necessities required for increasing productivity. The soil was deemed most suitable for this purpose since generations.

  Most of the farmers had their plots handed down by their fathers and almost all had availed of loans from the richest man of the town, the Zamindar14. Thus the entire harvest from the lands went directly to the Pannayar15 who deducted payment from the interest accrued on the principal amount. The vicious cycle ensured that most farmers struggled under mounds of debt. Other unfortunate members had their lands forcibly taken away as their forefathers had already mortgaged the plots for paltry sums to get their families going.

  Rather than succumbing to misery and ending of lives as was the only solution most farmers and their families resorted to, I left home in search of a way t
o sustain my hunger-wracked family. Lacking an education, penniless and severely undernourished, I begged and hiked my way from Gramayur12 to the town of Oothukudi.

  Landing the job of watchman at the Silver Flower Higher Secondary School was to me, the Goddess-sent safety net. It was the year 1986 and being paid a minimal amount of 250 rupees, kept my family afloat for quite some time.

  It was around this time that the antics of the four friends caught my attention. Having the wife and two children back in the village, I quickly developed an affection for the girls, most notably for my ‘Sagu paapaa’ 9. She was my little one.

  Lively conversations between us soon led to a deep friendship resulting in several visits to her home after which, I took over the task of bringing into life their garden, which soon blossomed. Under my direction, a tiny vegetable garden at the back was also developed. Additionally, Sagu began to train me in Spoken English. Rudimentary phrases such as, “Good morning Sir/Madam. How are you?” or, “Sir/Madam is not in office. Could you please come again?” on behalf of an extremely busy staff member ensured my popularity among the management personnel. The effect of the usage of these standard phrases in situations that called for a specific response resulted in ludicrous situations at times. For example, when a parent approached me for directions towards the washroom, the reply, “Madam is not in office. Could you please come again?” would confound them. After several futile attempts at gaining a grip on the language, I gave up. I detested being laughed at. The local language that I spoke fluently was sufficient enough to convey what needed to be conveyed.

  It was after the fourth summer that the cyclone hit the coast of Tamil Nadu. Fearing for my family’s safety, I hastened to Gramayur and was hence unaware of the situation that had toppled Sagu paapaa’s small world.

  Upon my return and after several visitations to her home with my anxiousness on the rise, I made the decision to visit Malayapuram by bus and discover what became of the family. Something akin to dread kept tugging at my insides as I prayed to Goddess Maariyamman17 to protect the one I cared most about, throughout the journey. On getting down at the main terminal, I made general enquiries at the local phone booth-cum-tea shop, refreshed myself at the pay-and-use washroom and then climbed into a jeepney that was packed with travelers. It was apparent that the Malayapuram house and its inhabitants were well known and directions to reach there were immediately supplied by the locals. It was clear from their demeanor that nothing was amiss and I felt relieved.

  The walk from the main road to the house was pleasant and I admired the greenery and lush foliage that dotted the wayside. I reached the massive gates and was struck at the grandeur of the sight. Here was a house that was majestic and towering. It stood slightly elevated and was surrounded by luxuriant fruit bearing trees. Massive bougainvilleas lined the driveway interspersed with hibiscus shrubs that bloomed in profusion. Also to be seen were my favorite, the jasmine growing wildly next to the roses. A tulsi (basil) plant stood on a mounted platform in the front yard right before the steps leading to the carved wooden door.

  As I approached the entrance, I became aware of a peculiar stillness. The sound of a dog barking from someplace close could be heard. I went up the steps and rang the doorbell waiting to see a familiar face smile and run towards me. After several minutes, the house help, Prema, unbolted the door. The grave face inspected me for a few seconds and indicated that I was to wait.

  My first view of Sagupaapaa’s Ammumma was not a pleasing one. Ammumma looked frail and weak. She was supported by the house help and stumbled towards the nearest chair. Her gray hair stood up in wisps all around her face and she directed her gaze at me. Understanding who I was and the purpose of my visit, Ammumma broke down. Prema had also gathered into a heap and crouched by her feet in distress.

  From Prema, I gradually pieced together the gruesome incident that had befallen the family. I wailed and cried for the little one. “Where was the perpetrator? The one who does not deserve to live?” I angrily demanded. I wanted to strangle him with my bare hands. Such was my rage at the cruelty he had meted out to an unsuspecting, innocent soul. I couldn’t bear the thought of Sagu paapaa being hurt. I had never seen her breakdown or cry at the slightest incident. Her impish grin would be wiped away now and a black wave engulfed my heart. As I continued to question Prema, I was informed that his body was found floating in the unused pond the very next day. What had happened to him, how he met his end, no one knew. None at the house cared either. But Sagu and her family had left, leaving Ammumma all alone. Their whereabouts were unknown and Ammumma was slowly sinking, succumbing to her grief.

  And so, I left the house that I had just admired. All I wanted was to reach the school. Agony and despair assailed my soul. I had reached the end of my search. The three girls and their families had to be told. I would wait. Wait for Sagupaapaa’s call. She would call. My heart said that she would. Of that I was sure.

  *

  It was in the year 2000 that I got the call I had been waiting for. Ten long years was the length of the wait. I was weeding the vegetable patch after school dispersal when the postman hand-delivered the postcard. There was a single line written in Thamizh on it with an address. I packed my bags the very next day and bid adieu to the school after informing all the Sirs and Madams I had known throughout my time in school, of my decision. There was no hesitation or qualms at letting go of the only job I had ever known.

  My Sagu paapaa needed me. The little one wanted to see me.

  *

  The initial year was an exacting one. The family’s financial capabilities had been stretched to the limit. Periya aiyya16, Sagu paapaa’s father, was penniless, having sold all his possessions that included his ancestral land, to build the clinic for his daughter on the Ravirajapuram12 plot. But the locals knew that the young Doctor was inexperienced. Under a misguided understanding that the family was extremely well off, criticisms abounded and personal visits were hence hardly made or encouraged. The family’s ostracization was complete.

  I was not expected to lend my hand for long but the family had not understood me well. My love for them preceded any sense of obligation or gratitude. I had prayed to Amma Maariyamman to bring back paapaa to my life, so that I could make amends. My Goddess was watching. She would set things right. My little one would be the one to watch out for. Litanies of her achievement would spread far and wide. I would not move from this place until I watched that happen with my own eyes.

  Penury leads to desperation. I had seen it ages ago, in Gramayur. We were at the brink of it again. We subsisted on rice gruel and the few scraps that I managed to coax out of the lifeless earth. Each day that passed seemed more harrowing than the previous one.

  One night I dreamt that Maariyamman was smiling at me. Smiling at Sagu paapaa as well. It was sometime in the afternoon the next day that Amma’s loud lamentations seemed to startle Saguma10 and then stupefy her for a while. As I cycled to the studio to get a postcard-sized picture enlarged, I was left wondering at the change in her behavior. We hung the pictures as per her direction and settled for the night.

  The next day brought in the tremendous change that I had prayed for. My Maariyamman; my Devi had signaled in the avalanche. We were going to be on our toes forever! My Sagupaapaa was now Dr. S. How regal that sounded! I would be a witness to the change that was coming. It made me feel very proud and satisfied.

  *

  It was in the year 2006, during the monsoon period that Manaiyya16 was brought to us. His professional details had reached Periyaaiyya16 and a meeting was arranged. Manaiyya was running an organization up in the north and seemed to be a very important person. I learnt from Saguma that he was also her childhood friend. From personal experience, Manaiyya seemed to be a humble man. Very down to earth and simple at heart.

  The expansion of the clinic to the hospital that you are seeing today is solely due to the pioneering vision and dedication of Manaiyya and his team. Doctoramma16 (Saguma) and Manaiyya were quite close.
I have noted this about her, that unnerving instinct. The people that she chose to have around her, stayed loyal that was of the unswerving kind. Look at her childhood friends. Look at me. To this day, we look up to her. She’s blessed. That is what it is.

  I remained associated with the organization up until 2015. My wife has been long gone. I feel the pain in my bones now. Old age I think. Although I still continue to supervise the gardeners and the workers here, it’s time for me to shift to Gramayur and stay with my children and their families. They are well settled now. Thanks to Manaiyya, who has taken good care of them, all I require for now is to spend the rest of my days with my grandchildren and have my ashes scattered near the vicinity of the temple of Goddess Maariyamman.

  *

  It is June 2017 and I’m back in the room I’d lived in for over fourteen years. I’ve heard the news and, it’s not good. Wild horses won’t drag me away from here this time and if this one time I need to defeat that something which is darker, the one that spells the end of everything, I would do that gladly. Give up my soul in exchange for a life more precious.

  Manaiyya’s leaving has left Saguma heartbroken, I know, but that does not signify the end of everything. Her next bout with greatness ought to begin. I have seen it happen before and just this once, before I go, I wish for it to happen again. Crawling on all fours, if I could help it. For that, Maathae (Divine mother), I need to see you smile at my Saguma once again. Consider it my last wish.

  *

  Manavlal Yadav