Now, on another night, Seerayi started by saying, ‘Akka . . . why did we have to discuss that wretched business that night? If we had not started that, the two of them would have lived happily despite everything. Not only have we so unfairly lost a life now, we also have to keep watch over her day and night.’
Vallayi said, ‘Her father too accuses me of the same thing. He even taunts, “If women get together and run the affairs of the family, could it ever go right?” These men won’t do anything themselves, and they won’t let us do anything either. We only wanted to do a good thing. Did it have to meet this fate? I can’t stand to see Muthu’s suffering, Seera. My daughter-in-law is saying, “It looks like you will manage to destroy my family too.’’’
‘Akka, I explained it all very patiently to Kali. I told him that there were several people in the village who had done this. He didn’t register any of it. Did I anticipate that he would act this way? What kind of mentality is that? What is it that Ponna has that no other woman has? He thought that Ponna should be his exclusively. There are women who quietly meet other men in the maize and millet fields, going there on the pretext of cutting grass. And later, they just wash themselves with a pitcher of water under a tap and quietly come back. We didn’t ask Ponna to do anything of that sort, did we? All we asked him was to send her just once for this godly work, but it upset him so much. We should have done it without consulting him at all. But even then, there was no way of predicting what this stupid girl would tell him. She is in no way second to him,’ Seerayi said, venting out her anger.
‘That’s not it, Seera,’ said Vallayi. ‘We shouldn’t have let these two constantly be all over each other all the time. There are couples who beget children even before they start talking to each other properly. And they get to touch each other only under the cover of night! But these two? Were they like that? No. On that day of the festival, I did all I could to keep the two of them from talking to each other. But your son had planted a portia tree there, just like the one he had planted here. They lay under it, he saying sweet things to her, and she smiling at him. So dramatic! If we let them, they’d have had sex right then and there. And it was midday! That’s where things went wrong. He did not want anyone else to have her. Even if it was going to be only once, he felt too much pride in letting his wife do it. What do you think, Seerayi?’
‘You are absolutely right, akka. Apparently, in my mother’s day, if you married a man and became a part of his family, you were expected to sleep with all the men in the house. My father used to call his father “anna”, elder brother. I would wonder why he addressed his own father as an elder brother—so one day I asked him about this. He smiled and said, “Both of us have the same father.” I was very young then. I could not understand it. It was only later, when I was a bit mature, that my grandmother explained it to me. She was ten years older than my grandfather. When my grandfather was five or six years old, they married my grandmother to him; she was fifteen. They were cross cousins—her mother was his father’s sister. They had made this arrangement because they wanted to keep things within the same kin group. Apparently, the fifteen-year-old wife would walk around carrying her husband on her hip. At night, the boy would go sleep next to his mother. So what did my grandmother do? My grandfather’s father would take her to bed with him.’
‘Now things have changed,’ said Vallayi, ‘and are more civilized apparently. Our men crop their hair like white men, and even go to watch movies. That’s what has led to all this nonsense. When these two visited our place once, the brothers-in-law arranged to go to the cinema in a bullock cart. They took their wives too! That too for the second show! They returned only at midnight. The next day, Ponna narrated the movie to me. The husband apparently beats up the wife because he doubts her character, and goes and shacks up with a prostitute. And the wife stays patient and tries to prove that she is a chaste woman. Have you heard such a story anywhere!’
‘What the woman should have done,’ said Seerayi, ‘is, she should have said to him, “You went to the prostitute. And you thought I will sit around here staring at the roof?” And she should have whacked him around with a broomstick. Perhaps it was seeing all these stupid movies that made him so proud. Listen to this. You should have heard my grandmother talk about it laughingly. She’d say, “I was a little scared of my father-in-law, but how could I not go to him when he asked me to. He’d hold me close to his chest as if I was a little bird. I can’t complain. He treated me well.” My father was her first son. My grandfather was the father of that son only in name. After all, he was only six or seven years old at the time. Rather, my grandfather’s father was the one who was actually my father’s father . . . Those were such different times. Now people would laugh at us if we told them these stories. I asked my grandmother, “So when did you finally get to be with your husband?” She said laughing, “What could a boy who couldn’t even hold his penis and pee properly do with me? It was I who taught him things once he was thirteen or fourteen years old.” Grandmother died first. Grandfather lived much longer. I asked him too one day, “Thatha, I have heard that it was Paatti who taught you everything. Is that true?” He laughed, “Oh yes. Your grandmother was no ordinary woman. From eating to peeing to shitting, she was the one who taught me everything.”’
Vallayi found it difficult to hold back her laughter at Seerayi’s story. But she had to, because Ponna might be offended that the two old women were laughing and enjoying themselves in a house of mourning. So they spoke in low voices.
‘In those days,’ said Seerayi, ‘people were guileless. They thought it was all right to do this—it was only once, after all. But things have changed today. You know Maachaami in our village? You know—that house beside that bald rock? Yes, that man. That man was conceived with god’s help, you know. His father had no qualms telling everyone about it. He’d say, “Dey! All your children are born of humans. Mine is from God.” Would anyone dare to say anything bad about god? There are men who beget ten children and pay no attention to any of them. They also call themselves men!’
Seerayi spat sharply, and then continued. ‘Sadly, these two weren’t like that. They fit together so well—like mortar and pestle. He’d wake up and leave from here in the middle of the night and come back home. And she’d be waiting for him there listlessly. If she went over to your place, he was unable to bear her absence for even a day. He’d follow her soon after. They had so much fun here in this enclosure! I never discouraged them, because I felt that they were young and should do as they pleased. But one night I happened to come by this place and ended up seeing them in an indelicate condition. I completely stopped coming here since then. All I did was subtly tell Ponna to be conscious of the people nearby. She is such an unpredictable one. She did not say anything to me back then. But later one day she tells me, “Why don’t you tell your son that?” I just said, “How can a mother go and tell her son something like that? Just be careful.”’
‘Nobody stopped them from living like that,’ said Vallayi. ‘Let them. See now, it feels like he has just died, but it has been two months. What did he take with him? This body either burns in fire or goes into the ground and gets eaten by worms. That’s all it is. Why did he have to kill himself for this? If husbands had to die for their wives’ faults, very many husbands would have had to die. If wives had to die for their husbands’ mistakes, very many wives would have had to die. Why talk of others? How did you manage to live after your husband died, Seera?’
Realizing that Vallayi was casting a bait, Seera said, ‘Why talk about all that now? I have lost my husband, I have lost my son—and here I am, good for nothing. I pray to god that if I am destined to have another birth, let him make me a crow or a sparrow. Human life is no small misery. Does any crow speak ill of another crow? Why are humans like this? Anyway, akka, why don’t you catch a wink? I will go and take a look at the cows.’
Seerayi rose from the cot. They spent each night just like this, finding something or other to talk
about. In this way, they managed to keep one eye on Ponna while also sharing things with each other.
As they exchanged these stories, so many of their own sorrows dissolved and vanished without a trace.
SEVEN
When Ponna woke up, it took her a little while to find her bearings. Vallayi, who had been lovingly watching her sleep, said, ‘Ponna, are you up? If you want, sleep a little longer.’ That was what Ponna’s father used to say when she was a little girl. He wouldn’t let anyone wake her up early. He’d say, ‘You really get proper sleep only when you are a child. Let her sleep.’ As soon as she’d hear him say that, she’d go back to sleep. Even now, she looked around confused for a few seconds and then lay down again. But she didn’t sleep. She was now awake, but she just lay there, eyes closed. After a while she rose, went outside the hut and splashed water on her face.
She looked up at the sky. The sun had begun to slide down in the west. In panic, she asked her mother, ‘Has Brother arrived?’
Vallayi said, ‘He will be here soon. Do you want to drink the leftovers?’
Ponna nodded. When she went to the temple festival, she had been wearing a silk sari. It was a pale sandal-coloured one dotted with little floral patterns. Kali had bought her that sari. It was her favourite. She wore it very fondly. When she walked wearing that sari, a string of kanakambaram flowers on her head, she looked like a bride. Vallayi thought that she should cast out the evil eye as soon as Ponna returned. That was the sari that Ponna wore last. Now, looking at her in white, it felt like this was not the same Ponna. Sighing at this thought, Vallayi brought Ponna some watery pap in a bowl. After drinking that, Ponna rushed back to the field. Neither of the older women objected. Even if they did, Ponna was not going to listen. Also, if she worked there for a little while, she might sleep well at night just like she had slept that afternoon.
In the field, Ponna hitched up her sari conveniently, picked up the spade and started setting right the water channel. She was wearing a new white sari. If it got stained by the red dust of the soil, it would be very hard to wash it clean. She just alternated between the two saris she had been given during the rites. Seerayi thought that perhaps if she gave Ponna a few old saris, she could wear them while working in the field, but she was hesitant to bring that up with Ponna. Wearing a white sari took some getting used to. All stains stood out clearly on it, and they wouldn’t go no matter how many times you washed it. They’d have to give it to the washerwoman and have the stains removed by steaming. But if they did this even a few times, the fabric would be ruined.
Seerayi had separate sets of saris to wear for working in the field and for housework. There were always two clean and fresh ones lying about in the basket. She’d don them only if she was going out somewhere. And as soon as she returned, she would wash them, hang them to dry in the shade, fold them up and put them back as before in the basket. When she went out to work in the field, she wrapped either a torn piece of dhoti or a towel over her sari. She couldn’t be as carefree as the women who wore coloured saris. Had she been so, she’d have to buy four new saris every year. And even that may not be enough. It would be a good idea now to ask anyone who went to the market to bring saris cut out of the rough, plain fabric. That would be the best thing to wear for work in the fields. Seerayi could not bear to look at the dirt from the water channel staining Ponna’s sari. But she controlled herself from saying anything right then. She said to Vallayi, ‘You keep an eye on her. I will take these sheep for a graze.’ Then she proceeded to herd the sheep in front of her.
If she didn’t control herself and just said what she felt like saying, people might think, ‘She is more concerned about the sari getting stained than the fact that her son has died.’ It is true that sometimes the mind valued certain things over actual people, as if those things would last us a lifetime. Even if Ponna did not react immediately, she’d surely take it to heart and bring it up another day. Whenever such a thing happened, Seerayi was left wonderstruck at how Ponna managed to remember all these things.
Four or five years ago, for instance, Ponna wore a new sari for the Pongal festival. Seerayi had asked, ‘Is that sari from your parents?’ Ponna just hmmed in reply. Some three or four months later, when they were talking about something else entirely, Ponna asked, ‘That day, you asked me if the sari was from my parents. Did you ask that because you thought my parents don’t have the money to gift me a sari or because you thought your son doesn’t have the wherewithal to get me one?’
Stung, Seerayi replied haughtily, ‘Oh my! Why do I care if it came from your parents or if your husband gifted it to you! All I need is a little piece of cloth to cover myself. I just asked casually. If I ask you anything again about whatever you wear, just smack me with that torn slipper.’
And Ponna retorted, ‘Have I ever hit you with a slipper? Looks like that’s the kind of thing you tell others about me. Once while sweeping the floor, it was you who flung the slipper at me as if by mistake. I would never do such a thing.’
Seerayi had, in fact, once wrapped one of Kali’s old and torn slippers in a cloth and kept it in a corner. But since that was lying in the way while she swept the floor, she had picked it up and absent-mindedly flung it aside. However, the slipper had hit Ponna, who had been sitting on the raised porch, her legs dangling. Ponna had stored that moment away in her mind, only to later spring it on Seerayi, catching her unawares. It was precisely because of this habit of Ponna’s that Seerayi had learnt to be careful about what she said to her.
Ponna worked as vigorously as a male worker in setting the water channel right. Since it had rained recently, grass covered the channel. It was not a very long channel—it only stretched about the length of one measure of land. But it looked like she’d cut more than one bundle of grass from it. As Ponna cut clumps of grass, Vallayi shook them free of sand and set the grass aside. There was no calmness in Ponna as she worked on the water channel; rather, she was fuelled by rage. Vallayi feared that Ponna might cut herself on the foot.
Muthu came as promised and went straight to the enclosure. It had been months since they had drawn water from the well using the bullocks. He brought the ropes needed for the job and dropped them in the drain channel. He did not say a word. Vallayi observed that he was not drunk. She said to Ponna softly, ‘Your brother is here. He is now getting the picotah ready, see.’ Ponna lifted her head to see the lever that would draw the water. The water channel was close to the brinjal patch. Kali had built the channel in such a way that as soon as it was flooded, the water flowed straight down to the brinjal bed. After removing all the grass, Ponna pressed down the soil to the sides, deepening the channel. She estimated that by the time Muthu drew water, she’d be done with this task.
Earlier that afternoon, Muthu was happy to hear from Vallayi that Ponna had sent for him herself. ‘Really? Ponna asked for me?’ he asked.
‘Yes, my boy,’ answered Vallayi. ‘You should have seen her that day. She was like a demoness. I don’t know what’s going to come out of all this,’ and described to Muthu what had happened in the brinjal patch the day before. ‘“Go fetch my brother right this minute,” she said. She almost pushed me out right then to go home and get you.’
Muthu was amazed that she even called him her elder brother any more. He had thought she would sever all communication with him. After fixing the pulleys, he tied the water basket to the rope. The basket had been hanging from the palai tree. A squirrel had built its nest inside the basket. He picked up the nest gently and gazed at it. The squirrel had not had any little ones yet. He gently placed the nest in a nook on the tree where two branches met. He then fetched the bulls and secured them to the picotah.
The soil in the drain had hardened. When they drew water regularly, the soil was soft and ashen-looking. But now that they had not drawn any water for two months, it had hardened but it looked like they could still rake it and sow seeds. Muthu made the bulls walk up and down a few times without lifting the water in the basket. When t
he soil in the drain softened a bit, he drew just half a bucket of water first. Once the water dropped into the sluice, he stopped the bulls for a bit, rushed to the sluice and made sure the water stayed in by strengthening the edges with more soil. Then he took some water from this pit in a little pot and poured it down the channel. After he did that twice, the channel looked ready to handle more water. Thereafter, he cleared the bunds he had made in the sluice and let the water run. He then looked into the well. The water level was quite high. Groundwater had swelled after the rains. It had all stayed collected there since no one had drawn any water. There must have been at least twenty buckets of water in there. The brinjal bed needed only five or six. The bulls cooperated well and helped Muthu draw out the water.
After walking ahead of the bulls a little and lowering the basket into the well, he pressed on the rope twice. He could sense the rope moving, the basket tilting and getting filled with water. Then he pressed on the pulling rope and made the bulls move along. Once they walked half the distance into the channel, he quickly leapt and sat on the pulling rope. Now the bulls felt the weight balanced between the front and the back. The filled-up basket rose up and reached the sluice. As soon as he tugged at the tilting rope, the water flowed down. Seerayi came running with a pot. Before the water flowed out of the sluice and drained into the channel, she quickly dipped her pot into it and collected some water. Then as soon as the water started flowing out into the channel, she used the little pot to fill the tub nearby with water. If the tub was regularly replenished in this way, they’d have enough water for later. It was not an easy job drawing water from this well. If any of them tried to do the job alone, they would have barely managed to draw two pots of water. Their hands would have been very sore after that.
A Lonely Harvest Page 5