The common path that ran by the field was a long one. It started in the village and went past so many people’s fields to who knew where. It perhaps went all the way to other villages. Maybe, it ended at the hillock in Mavoor. Ponna suddenly felt that she should walk along that pathway one day. ‘Where does this path lead, Venga?’ she asked.
‘It lies stretched out like a cobra, Ponnu,’ she answered. ‘I have not walked a great distance on it. But it has to end somewhere, doesn’t it?’
Ponna asked her, with the excitement of a child, ‘Shall we take that path to the end one day?’
‘Why not?’ said Vengayi. ‘Let us pack some food and leave at dawn one day. And let us walk until dusk. I don’t think the path could be longer than that. Then, if we find some village where the path ends, we could spend the night there and come back in the morning.’
Ponna liked that plan. She really wanted to go along that path to see where it led. It was wide enough for carts to travel on. In the sowing season, carts constantly moved up and down that path. And then once again in the harvest season. On either side, it had short trees and bushes. If she looked along that path, she might find innumerable rocks. But she asked Vengayi to look, cautioning her to stay close to the path and not venture into the bushes. She also told her to pick only those rocks that she could carry.
When they were done with their work in the field, they walked over to the path to pick out more rocks. There could be scorpions or centipedes underneath, so they were careful to always roll the rocks over first. If there was nothing under it, they would claim that rock. But if they found any creature nestled below, they would let it run away before taking away the rock. Once, when they rolled over a particular rock, the red scorpion that lived under it got crushed to death. The baby scorpions that had been in its belly scattered and ran everywhere. There must have been about twenty of them.
‘Oh no,’ lamented Vengayi, ‘the scorpion died.’
‘Baby scorpions always come out tearing open their mother’s belly,’ said Ponna. ‘Some creatures die once they propagate their species. The scorpion too is like that. So don’t worry. Look how there are ten to twenty baby scorpions now. Out of these, at least five or six will survive.’
And so the two of them continued gathering the rocks along the path. After a while, it looked like they might have also collected enough rocks for the new storage shed they planned to build. Ponna even considered the idea of building a wall for that shed too.
It also occurred to her that Kali had been just like that red scorpion—dying as it gave birth to its offspring.
TWENTY-SIX
Once the period of mourning was over, Ponna became even more active.
She paid attention to every single change in her body, hoping that she would soon regain control over it. Now and then, she would touch and feel her belly. She’d press down a little with her hand but would soon release it, worrying it might hurt the foetus. She had been told that she would be able to sense its movements only after the fifth month. She was very eager to experience that moment, to know how it felt. As of now, she just found everything new and a source of wonderment. Even Vengayi noticed this new sense of excitement in Ponna. The day the period of mourning ended, Ponna’s mother and mother-in-law cleaned and mopped the house thoroughly. Her brother, Muthu, and her father went to the hill temple. Initially, they wondered if they should invite some of the kinsmen to go along with them, but that would have meant going personally to call on all the seventeen families of kinsmen—and so Ponna decided against it and asked just Muthu and her father to go to the temple.
However, since they were not supposed to go in twos, it was decided that Muthu’s son would also accompany them. They first offered prayers at the foot of the hillock, then went up and made offerings there as well. Once they climbed down, they also stopped at the temple at the base and made offerings there. The womenfolk went only to the village temple, where they had given money to the priests to conduct an abhisekam, a ritual bath, for the deity. They made sweet pongal for the goddess and offered it along with coconuts and fruits, making sure they gave enough to please the deity. Ponna had fervently prayed, ‘I want my husband to be with me always. Please don’t send him away. I want him to be happy. I want every little thing I do to make him happy. Please make sure he does not suffer.’
The very next day, Muthu fetched a man to help them build walls for the hut in the barnyard. Looking at the stones piled up, the man remarked, ‘It looks as though there are enough stones here to build an entire house!’ They decided to build a proper wall, using both stones and sand. Muthu suggested that they build the new shed first and then perhaps turn it into living quarters. But Ponna did not agree. It was this hut in the barnyard that had been Kali’s space. So, she said, this was where she would live. Everyone tried pointing out that Kali had spent time in the entire barnyard, so why not build a new hut and live there instead, but Ponna refused to agree. Muthu did not want to pressure her, but he was still determined to build the new shed well, with sturdy walls and a thatched roof good enough for them to live in. He also asked the worker to divide the space into two and then construct a separating wall inside. He said that if they built the new structure first, they could move all their things into it for safekeeping during the rainy season which would be starting soon. Ponna had the final say in all these decisions.
Seerayi usually had suggestions to offer. But seeing Ponna’s firmness in her decisions, she remarked, ‘This is all yours from now on. Your work, your responsibility, your fields, your house. You do what you want. I just need to while away the rest of the years that are left with me.’ So she did not interfere in how things got done.
Even after the construction of the walls began, Ponna continued to go looking for stones with Vengayi. It made her happy to venture out and traverse that path. She also went to the southern corner of the fields, where she had ceremoniously placed a rock over Kali’s buried ashes, and just stood there solemnly. Then, one day, she asked for some stones to be brought to that spot. The palai sapling she had planted there had grown a little. She cleared the spot around the plant and arranged the stones in a circle, making a little bed for the plant. Then she placed a flat stone in front of the rock, which for her had become a sacred rock.
Seerayi wondered what Ponna was up to in the fields for quite so long. After two days spent in speculation, she went over to the spot to see for herself. Looking at what Ponna had done, she sat down and started crying. ‘It is not in our custom to plant a rock in someone’s memory,’ she said, raising her voice in anguish. ‘Please don’t start new practices and bring ruin to this family!’
Ponna said, ‘Atthai, this is a temple for Kooli.’
‘You are not supposed to have a temple for the goddess Kooli in the fields, my girl,’ said Seerayi. ‘She is a fiery one, she will destroy everything.’
‘This is for Kooliyappan, Atthai,’ Ponna clarified.
‘Kooliyamma or Kooliyappan, it doesn’t matter—they are both aspects of the same goddess. Please listen to me. Don’t do this. People only have Karunchaami in their fields. And our fields did not have even that. Apparently, we had a deity a long time ago; but when the lands were divided among people, that portion when to someone else. I have heard that even after that, our family still went to that other plot of land to make pongal offerings for the deity, but after some family feuds, that practice too came to an end. Since then, we have had no deities here. Why are you starting something new now?’
‘This is Kaattu Karunchaami, Atthai,’ answered Ponna immediately. ‘All other fields have one. Kali used to say that we needed to have one too. We couldn’t do it when he was alive. So I am doing it now.’
‘In our community,’ said Vengayi, ‘we have the practice of planting a rock in memory of a dead person. Every year, when we celebrate Pongal, we make offerings for these shrines. Those who are dead are the same as gods, aren’t they?’
And that was that. From then on, Ponna told everyone
it was a shrine for Kaattu Karunchaami, the deity protecting the fields, that only he could ensure good crops, that they should light a lamp for him there every day, and that in the month of Thaii, they should offer pongal and sacrifice a rooster to the god. To some, she even said that the deity had come in her dream and said, ‘If there is no temple for me, how can I keep an eye on the crops? Build me a shrine, light a lamp.’ Sometimes, she remarked that the reason for all their misfortunes was the fact that they did not build a shrine for Karunchaami as soon as the lands had been divided. And those people who had already built their own Karunchaami shrines after they inherited separate fields tended to agree with her.
After the period of mourning was over, Vallayi had left for her village. Now it was Ponna who mostly did the cooking. One day, Seerayi brought the sheep back from grazing, shut them up in the enclosure and went all the way to Vallayi’s village to speak to her. ‘It is true that she is a know-it-all,’ she said, ‘but this is too much. There are times when she seems to be doing fine, but at other times, she acts like a possessed woman. I don’t know how to deal with this.’
The next day, Vallayi came over, making it seem like a casual visit. After looking at the new shrine, she asked Ponna about it. And Ponna gave her a story, like the ones she had been telling everyone else. It was only ten days ago that they had sowed ragi and planted chillies. Ponna now told Vallayi that all the ragi they had planted had gone pale and withered and so she had prayed to Karunchaami, who had then appeared in her dream and said, ‘You have not given even a little space for me in your fields, have you? Since back when your husband was alive, I have been wandering as the wind, struggling to find a little dwelling space for myself here. Find me a resting spot. I will make sure your ragi grows lush and healthy.’
Vallayi did not say anything in response. In fact, when she saw the shrine, Vallayi felt it was a good thing. There was a shrine to Karunchaami in everyone’s field, so what was there to lose by offering him a little space in a corner here? And if Ponna thought of it as a memorial for Kali, that was all right too. So she said to Seerayi, ‘Don’t worry, Seerayi. Let it be. She thinks of her husband as a god. It is rare to come across such women these days, isn’t it? We both know of women who did not wait for long after their husbands died before shifting their attentions to other men. And here we have someone who worships her husband. It is a good thing. Let her be. Remember in what state she was before this. We thought she too might end her life on the portia tree. She has come a long way since. She takes care of all the farming work responsibly. You don’t worry about anything. Just do your work and try to be at peace.’
Ponna sent word to her brother through her mother, asking him to bring a lamp cage. And so he brought her one the next time he visited her in order to irrigate the ragi and the chillies. The potters in Kannur had made varieties of lamp cages that year. Many people were in the habit of making pongal offerings for Karunchaami in the month of Aippasi. At that time, they would replace the old lamp cages with new ones. You could buy a new cage in exchange for two measures of kambu millets. The one Muthu brought had been painted in ochre and had white stripes over it. With its raised and pointy top, it looked beautiful. Ponna placed it next to Karunchaami. Muthu was astounded when he looked at the shrine. She had laid flat stones and made a proper floor for it. He felt that once the palai plant grew into a tree, this would be an incredible spot. He stood in front of the deity and prayed, ‘Ayya, saami, please forgive me if I have done you wrong. Please don’t punish me for what I did unknowingly. Come and inhabit this spot. Let Ponna give birth to the child and live well. Next year, I will offer you a sheep.’ He also told Ponna what he had promised the deity.
Muthu had still not gathered the courage to look Ponna in the eye when he spoke to her. He spoke to her as if he was addressing Seerayi. But hearing of Muthu’s entreaty to Karunchaami made Ponna very happy. The same day, she asked Seerayi, Muthu and Vengayi to come to the shrine for a special ceremony. She lit an earthen lamp with castor oil and prayed to Karunchaami. She asked the others to pray too. She also lit some camphor on the flat stone she had placed right in front of the deity. When all of them returned to the barnyard that night after this prayer, they felt contented.
Ponna felt a new excitement, as though all her happiness had now finally been restored.
TWENTY-SEVEN
The brinjal plants had grown big and fully taken over the bed on which they had been planted. Good, big vegetables. Each brinjal was the size of a cat’s head. Ponna cooked them in a variety of ways. One day, she cooked them with coconut, adding just a little water. She used four brinjals for that dish. They were bright green, and they retained their colour even after being cooked. Ponna and Seerayi had enough to eat for all three meals that day. Another day, Ponna mashed the brinjals with some tomatoes, and added some ghee which gave the meal an exquisite fragrance. Yet another day, it was brinjal roasted over the fire and reduced to its essence. Then there was brinjal ground into a paste and cooked with some tamarind. And brinjal with thuvarai lentils. And brinjal with black-eyed peas. They had brinjal every day, but cooked in such a way that they never got tired of it. It was only now that Seerayi was getting to see Ponna’s cooking skills. She was no longer surprised at how enchanted Kali had been with Ponna.
There were so many brinjals that Vengayi could take two home every day. Ponna also sent some to her parents. Seerayi plucked the rest of them, sold them at the Tuesday market and bought other household things with that money. Ponna went and spoke to each brinjal plant every day. If she saw even a single wilting leaf on any of those plants, she immediately plucked it away and buried it in the sand. If she saw any insects or worms on the plant, she crushed them to death. Aphids preyed on the underside of the leaves. She had to be watchful of those. She wrapped the ashes from the firewood stove in a cloth, and sprinkled the ash over the brinjal bed, making sure it fell not only on top but also under the leaves. The brinjal bed was irrigated well, since the water from the intermittent rains had collected in the dug-out channel.
The chilli plants too thrived, with flowers and new fruits growing lush all over. Some of the chilli peppers had also ripened a little. They harvested the ripe ones and spread them to dry on a little rock out in the field. Seerayi estimated that they would harvest at least twenty measures of chilli peppers. If they dried them in the sun and then stored them in lidded baskets, they could sell them for a good price at the markets in the months of Chithirai and Vaigasi. That was Ponna’s plan too. She was able to spot the chillies as they ripened. The ragi too had grown well and filled out the entire field. They would be able to harvest the sheaves soon. And since it was growing on only one enclosed field, they wouldn’t need to hire extra help. Ponna could do the work with help from Seerayi and Vengayi. But they would have to make sure the rains of the Karthikai month did not wreck the harvest.
Both huts would be built by then, so they could store the harvest inside if need be. They could also cut the ragi stalks. But they would have to be dried before threshing. So it would be all right if they let the stalks stand for ten or fifteen days before harvesting them. They could do the reaping in the month of Margazhi. If they do that at the beginning of the month, they could use one of the beds to plant onions. And they could also plant some pumpkin and cucumber since they wouldn’t need much water. Using the moisture in the soil, they’d grow and spread out. And after Margazhi, they could harvest maize. Ponna’s plan was to get all of this done without hiring extra labour. If they did all of this properly, they wouldn’t have much work to do after the month of Thaii. They’d only have to look after the cattle and the sheep.
As per Ponna’s calculation, the child would be born sometime at the end of Margazhi or the beginning of Thaii. These days, she was able to feel the baby kicking inside her. In those moments, if she stood hunching, she felt the baby’s movements comforting. From the force of the kicks, she wondered if it was a boy. Kali would want to be born as a boy. But why? Why not as a girl? Ponn
a really wanted a girl. Seerayi said that there was some curse that no girl child would be born in this family, and so firmly believed that it was going to be a boy. But Ponna prayed that a girl should be born, if only to put an end to that curse. Why should it be the fate of this family to have only male children who live short lives? ‘Let it be a girl child and a new lineage that thrives in these fields,’ she wished.
One morning early in the month of Karthikai, Ponna’s family arrived in a bullock cart. It was a complete surprise for Ponna. Her brother, Muthu, had come just a few days before that and drawn water from the well to irrigate the fields. Usually, he never sent Sengaan for these tasks, but rather came over himself to do the needful. This way, he had a chance to see Ponna regularly. He’d keep his gaze on the portia tree or on Seerayi while asking after Ponna’s health. Ponna found this amusing, but she never replied to these queries herself. Only Seerayi did. Muthu was a loving brother, that was why he was suffering this way. He’d go spend a little time at the Karunchaami shrine. He’d pray there, sit for a while. He took that as a chance to talk to Kali.
Both huts had had their walls built by then, and Muthu had made sure their roofs were properly thatched. Over these roofs, he had ragi sheaves spread close and tied tight. This way, the roof would stand for ten years. Kali had kept aside a pile of unthreshed ragi sheaves. The cattle wouldn’t munch on them. Muthu also had a similar pile back home. He had used both these piles on the thatched roof. The new shed was quite big, and Seerayi had started using that space a lot. Doors had been fixed for both huts. But at night, Seerayi still slept outside the hut where Ponna slept.
A Lonely Harvest Page 16