Just like she said she would, Ponna sat in the shade of the palai tree. The day’s task was to make a sand bed right next to the brinjal patch and plant chilli in one quarter of that bed and ragi in half of it. Vengayi worked with a spade. It looked like there had been a plant bed there earlier. So she worked within that. Ponna marvelled at how tirelessly Vengayi dug the sand out. She was not distracted by anything and just kept at her work. Once she had finished digging and built the raised bed, Ponna called out to her and asked her to go drink some water in the barnyard and also bring some for her. Vengayi complied, and brought a pitcher of water on her return. She did not tell Ponna that Vallayi had teasingly asked her, ‘Did your landlady send you for something?’ Ponna sent Vengayi again to the barnyard, this time to bring some dried cow dung. It took Vengayi a little longer to return. Since Vallayi was alone in the barnyard, she was bored and had caught hold of Vengayi for a chat.
Vengayi crumbled the dried cow dung, spread it on the sand bed and made sure it mixed well with the soil. Then Ponna asked her to sow the chilli and ragi seeds with just enough space for the saplings to grow well. Vengayi said, ‘For good luck, perhaps you could sow some seeds with your own hands.’
That set off a lament from Ponna. ‘But look at me, I am draped in white now. From now on, they will say it is unlucky to start a day looking at my face. They will turn away if they see me coming down the street. They will say I should not take part in auspicious functions. Do you think they will include me in anything from now on? No. Earlier, they pushed me away because I was childless. Now even though I have a child on the way, they will shun me because I am a widow. Look what my life has become, Venga. I cannot take the lead and take part in anything any more. He has left me in this state.’
Vengayi said, ‘Saami, people say that women in white are like the goddess. Please think of that. You are pregnant now. If you sow the seeds with your own hands, they will be blessed and will grow well.’
‘That is as far as respect for this white sari will go,’ Ponna replied, ‘and not any further. Just like that deity stays confined to the temple, I will be made to limit my movements to the barnyard. As it is, women are restricted mostly to the house and the front yard. But now, I don’t have even that. I can’t even go stand at the gate . . . You plant it yourself, Venga. It will grow well. You have given birth to three children.’
Vengayi started sowing the seeds, saying with sadness, ‘What is there in a sari? You could just wear a coloured sari. In our community, they don’t insist on these things any more.’
‘You people even get married after you are widowed,’ replied Ponna. ‘You even say that women can marry however many times they want, just like men do. But look at my situation here. I am required to go stand in front of a lot of people and declare that this child growing in my womb is indeed my husband’s. I am expected to do this in front of men who wander as they please—just like dogs that would lick even what’s thrown in the trash. And these are the men who will deal out justice. Do you have any such thing in your community? Tell me.’ It had been months since Ponna had spoken like this. Somehow, she felt the urge to speak to Vengayi.
‘In our community,’ said Vengayi, ‘they say a woman should not stay widowed. My mother’s younger sister’s son got married just last month. His father had died some five or six years ago. She was a widow all these years and lived by herself. What was she going to do with a husband at that age? But they said she needed a husband to take part in all the wedding rituals for her son. So my father put a pottu on her forehead and married her. In front of several witnesses at a temple, he took vermilion in his hands and marked her forehead with it. That was the wedding. Then my father and she performed all the wedding rituals for her son. This is how we poor people do things. It is people like you who are concerned about so many things.’
Ponna was pleasantly surprised that Vengayi was so talkative. When she had first seen Vengayi the year before at the ragi harvest, she had given the impression that she was a quiet worker. But even now, Vengayi’s hands kept working without a break. Ponna sighed. ‘It is not as if we are well-to-do people. All we have is this land. That is all. What else do these people have? Fucking nothing! But they have a ton of pride for sure.’ Her words came out in anger. Vengayi was a little taken aback and also unsure if Ponna’s anger was directed at her or at the world in general. She wondered if she had said anything that might have hurt Ponna. But Ponna cleared up these confusions when she soon resumed the conversation casually. She came closer to observe Vengayi sowing the seeds, and said, ‘You are really good at your work. Now all that remains to be done is to water this bed. My brother will be here soon. I will ask him to lock the bullocks to the picotah and draw water.’
Vengayi replied, ‘Why go to all that trouble for this little patch? All it needs is some five or six pots of water.’
Ponna said, ‘But who will do it? I can’t do it in this state. I’d ask you to help, but my mother and mother-in-law will definitely object. We can do it the usual way.’
Ponna saw that the brinjal plants had some tender new shoots. She had previously asked Muthu to plough and ready those sections of the field where they intended to transfer the chilli and ragi saplings once the seeds sprouted and grew. When Muthu and Sengaan arrived for that task, they could also draw water and irrigate this patch. All the squares of land where they had sown maize looked dusty now. There was a long, narrow piece of land beyond, and Ponna had asked them not to sow anything there. This land bordered the common pathway beyond the fence. She thought this might be a good place to let the cattle graze and to keep them tethered during the day. Vengayi brought a few dried coconut fronds that were lying under the coconut tree, and laid them over the bed in which she had sowed the seeds today. If the sun fell directly on the bed, the soil might dry and wilt, and the seeds may not sprout. Observing Vengayi as she went about her tasks responsibly, often taking the initiative to go the extra mile without being asked to, Ponna felt convinced about Vengayi’s work ethic. This also enhanced her confidence in the possibility of running this farm with Vengayi’s assistance alone.
On their walk back to the barnyard, Ponna said, ‘Venga, please don’t address me as “saami”. Nor as “lady”. Just call me “Ponnu”. That will do.’
‘But people might find that objectionable, Ponnu,’ Vengayi said and laughed.
Ponna too joined in Vengayi’s merriment, laughing and saying, ‘“Ponnu” is respectful enough. No one will say anything.’
Ponna had laughed quite a bit that day.
TWENTY-ONE
They were counting the days to the meeting. When you are anxious about something, the days leading up to it, the days of preparing for it, become far more important than the actual day of reckoning. Those days are full of anxiety, pain, sorrow, anticipation, fear and so on. And they cause much excitement too. But nothing really helps us get past those days. The greatest consolation is that they do eventually come to pass. People spend that time in various ways. Seerayi, for one, had become convinced that her entire family’s chances to see better days depended on the outcome of the meeting. Ponna’s plan was simply to take charge of the farm work. As for Vallayi, she was eager to be done with the village meeting—and also the stipulated period of mourning—so that she could finally head back to her own village. She had been feeling more confident about leaving now that Vengayi was here to help. Perhaps Vallayi could come once every two or three days and stay over for the night. She might also cook food and bring some along.
The village meeting had to go smoothly. Seerayi could focus on nothing but counting down the days. On Tuesday night, she said to no one in particular, ‘Wednesday, Thursday. Two days left.’
‘And what happens after that?’ came a voice from outside. ‘You go and join your son in heaven?’
The dog did not bark at the visitor. Sensing that it was Nallayyan Uncle who was arriving, Seerayi said teasingly, ‘Looks like I did not shut the gate properly. Some dog is walking i
n. Go shut it properly, akka,’ as if she were addressing Vallayi.
Nallayyan walked in, ready with his rejoinder. ‘No one can chase this dog away. It will go when it chooses to.’
He lay down on one of the cots, but Seerayi continued to tease him: ‘Looks like my brother-in-law is very tired. Must be all the children he has to take care of. So much work!’
Nallayyan had never married. He had two younger brothers. He had taken his portion of inheritance and lived on his own. He roamed around as he pleased, often returning to the village after a week or even a month. Sometimes he brought some woman with him; he usually sent her away after a while. He did not care at all about what the village or the family had to say. Nallayyan was a paternal kinsman—and Kali was his agnate. He had always been very fond of Kali. He would come and stay in the barnyard every now and then when Kali had been around. And he was always one to chat away happily. Spending time with him invariably had the effect of lightening one’s worries. Ponna loved listening to him. She now stepped out of the hut and welcomed him.
‘My dear daughter-in-law,’ he said. ‘Looks like Kali has given you a child, but he was not lucky enough to stay and enjoy this blessing.’
She stood silently.
‘Some people are like that,’ continued Nallayyan. ‘They don’t know when to live and when to die. They die when they are supposed to live. And when it’s time to die, they weep, seeking to hold on to life. We should neither be afraid to live nor die. Each ought to be given the time it is due . . . I have tried to tell him these things so many times. It looks like my words never reached beyond his ears. He never took them to heart. All right, he did not have to listen to me—but couldn’t he think for himself either?’
As she stood listening to him, Ponna could not hold back her tears. This man knew everything about her husband. Kali used to say that talking to Nallayyan Uncle comforted him. He would say, ‘I want to live like my uncle, my chithappa. But I am unable to. It takes a different mental attitude to live like him.’ Ponna pressed the end of her sari to her mouth, trying hard to control her sobs.
‘Don’t cry, my girl,’ comforted Nallayyan. ‘What will crying accomplish? It is not going to bring him back, is it? We should live happily in the little time that we are here. What can we do about someone who does not understand what happiness is and chooses to go away. We can’t hold him back. I was here that day. I am a man who sees quite a bit of the world, but even I could not bear the sorrow of his death. That was when it occurred to me that perhaps I had considered him my own son. I did not cry that much even when my parents died. I cried so much for this stupid dog. Everyone was fond of him. There was no one who did not like Kali. Everyone in the village knows how much you loved him. And your mother-in-law? He was her entire world. What about your brother? He rolled on the floor, sobbing and wailing, “I only wanted what was best for you! Why did you do this?” That was the first time I ever saw a man bawling like that. How many men get such a loving brother-in-law? Who else? Your parents, Ponna? Did they not like him? Or me? Or anyone in the village? Everyone liked Kali. But he did not know how much everyone liked him. Life is all about living with people we like, living for people we like. Why care about what the village says—the people out there who do not matter at all. The village has a stinking mouth that reeks of shit even when it is opened to yawn. It’s even worse when that mouth is opened to speak. Why should we become victims of that? Anyway, he has given you a child. That is a small blessing. Raise this child and be happy. Give us a boy. I will bequeath my wealth to this boy, this grandson of mine.’
Ponna spoke softly, ‘I want a girl child, Uncle. If it is a boy, he wouldn’t think twice about deserting a woman in this manner, leaving her to suffer alone.’
He replied, ‘It doesn’t matter if it is a boy or a girl. The thing is, in our communities, a girl child has to endure a lot. It is a little easier on the boys. That’s what I’d really meant. A boy has claims over not just this house and these fields, but the entire world, really. He can go wherever he wants, whenever he chooses. Ask your mother-in-law if she could control Kali’s movements. Here, men are able to do what they want wherever they are. That is not the case with women. They have to stay tied to a particular place. They can’t even let their eyes wander. When we tie a rope muzzle on a calf, it can’t do much. It’s the same thing with people. A man can even marry another woman if his wife dies. Or he can just keep a woman. Or go to them when he pleases. But look at your plight. They have given you a white sari. I think we should appeal to the white man and have this practice of the white sari banned. Your lot now is to wear this sari and just stay confined to this place. Can you marry another man? Will you ever have the courage to do that? A woman’s life involves sacrificing everything and staying within very narrow bounds. That is why I asked you to give birth to a boy. So that the child could have some happiness. But if it is a girl child that you want, so be it.’
Seerayi spoke now. ‘It is going to be an only child. We need it to be a boy for this line to last. If it is a girl, she will eventually have to go to another family.’
Vallayi agreed. ‘Yes. And once you marry off your daughter, your worries still don’t end. Look at us now. If it is a boy, he can just live where he is.’
‘Sister-in-law,’ said Nallayyan, ‘is it only a man who ensures the continuation of a family line? A woman does not? And what is this family and lineage anyway? Do crows have a lineage? Do sparrows have a lineage? Why do men alone need a lineage, an heir and all that? All the lives that are born in the world are the same. We are born, we live, we die. That is all there is to it. All right, let me ask you this, sister-in-law. You speak about the importance of the family line. What was your father’s name?’
‘You know his name,’ said Seerayi. ‘My father’s name was Sonaan.’
‘And what was your grandfather’s name?’
‘My grandfather. Of course, I know his name. He was alive until I was an adolescent. His name was Marappan or something.’
‘All right. What was your great-grandfather’s name?’
‘Who remembers their great-grandfather’s name? Why are you asking me all this now? It is hard enough to remember what happened yesterday.’
‘You can’t even recollect your paternal great-grandfather’s name,’ reasoned Nallayyan. ‘That’s what will happen to your name too. Think about it. Do you think your great-grandson will know your name? Lineage, it seems!’
‘Ah!’ exclaimed Seerayi. ‘Can I ever win an argument with you? We are merely taking the path that people have laid out over the ages. But you refuse to follow that path! You insist you will make a new one.’
Nallayyan turned to speak to Vallayi too. He said, ‘If it is a girl, she can wear new saris. She can visit her parents for a few days, stay with them. She will cook chicken and puttu for you. And when we die, the girl will come to sit near our heads and cry for us. A boy, on the other hand, will stand outside and quietly shed tears into his towel.’
Seerayi sighed. ‘It sounds good when you put it like that. But that’s not how everyone thinks, is it? We are just trying to fit in.’
‘Anyway,’ said Nallayyan decisively, ‘let’s not talk about that any more. I hear that you have called for a meeting to make an announcement to the village. I hear you have been inviting everyone. How come you haven’t invited me?’
Seerayi explained, ‘I did go to your house to invite you. You weren’t there. I spoke to the worker boy. He said he did not know where you had gone and when you would come back.’
‘So,’ he asked, ‘did all the wives in the village conceive their children only with their respective husbands? Can they prove that to the entire village?’
‘If they leave it up to you, you will declare that all the women in the village are whores.’
‘All right, then. Tell me, are they all chaste wives?’
‘I am not saying anything. Who cares what other women do!’
‘All of you talk about how I have not mar
ried and have no children. But if you really count, there are some five or six children in this very village who are born to me, do you know?’ He laughed.
Seerayi retorted, ‘Oh, then divide your wealth among them.’
‘I am ready to do that, but their mothers don’t agree. What can I do?’
‘Oh, brother-in-law! What are you trying to say? How can we go against the village norms and continue to live here!’
‘All right,’ he said. ‘Don’t fret. I too will come to the meeting. If they see me there, the men will hesitate to speak. And if they do, I will handle it.’
‘Sure, do come,’ said Seerayi, before proceeding to elaborate on her worries. ‘But speak carefully. Otherwise, they will speak ill of you too. Already, people are saying all sorts of spiteful things, as if they saw everything with their own eyes. All I want is to go inform people at this meeting that the child is Kali’s and just be done with it so that we can get on with our lives!’
Nallayyan said calmly, ‘The people of this village are scared of me. I will make use of that fact. You wait and see what I do.’
‘All right,’ said Seerayi. ‘Tell me this. We have not seen you in a long time. Where did you go?’
Nallayyan Uncle was an expert at narrating anecdotes from his wanderings. Ponna sat down on the stone, eager to listen to his stories.
The breeze that moved the portia tree was gentle.
TWENTY-TWO
‘I am now scared for my life, sister-in-law,’ whispered Nallayyan Uncle fearfully. ‘Even when I am back in the village, I work in the fields during the day and run away somewhere else for the night. Tonight, I plan to stay right here. Whenever I came here while Kali was alive, I used to wonder if I would ever have a place like this. But what is the use of simply desiring something? Who can work and make a place like Kali did? It is sad that he did not get to live and enjoy this for long. But even now, even when he is not here any more, this place is still protecting me. There are three men looking for me. They want to kill me. Even if I spend a single night at my place, they will definitely kill me.’
A Lonely Harvest Page 13