‘Paatti, an old woman, carries thousands of rupees in her little waist purse,’ said Seerayi. ‘You are a man. And you are crying about keeping seven hundred rupees on you!’
Thorattu Paatti added, ‘I don’t have any money. I lent those fifty rupees I had here and there over the years, and I have added some five or ten more to it. That is all. One of these days, when they bury me, I don’t want people to say, “That old hag had absolutely nothing.’’’
‘Family and all that won’t work out for me, aaya,’ said Nallayyan. ‘I am a free bird. I find food and water on the go and I figure out life on a day-to-day basis. If nothing at all works out, perhaps I could leave this world like Kali did. I made it very clear to my brothers yesterday. I said to them, “I am now used to carrying the alms bowl. I can do that even here in our own village. I have no shame about it. But I am thinking about how it would reflect on you two. Also, there are people willing to take my fields on lease. It needs to be watered every three days. And each time, it will irrigate about four sections of land. It is red soil. So whatever you sow will grow. There is also a house and the cattle shed. A full family can move in. What do you say? I suggest you two split the lease and keep the harvest. I don’t need any produce from the fields. Just give me cash. I don’t want to lease it out to strangers. But you should give me the money at the beginning of the year. Do this, and I will write this land over to you in my will.” They have said they will think about it. The youngest brother wants me to lease it out entirely to him. He was the one who sent his wife to me. But I am somewhat scared of dealing with him. And if I do, then I should have witnesses from the village present. The only thing is that the villagers will then ask why we are involving them only now and how come we did not consult them earlier.’
Listening to all of this made Ponna very sad. Never before had Nallayyan spoken in this manner. He always engaged in happy banter. But then again, no one’s life stays on the same course. Something or other comes up and steers us in a different direction. It is not up to us to decide our paths. Suddenly, Ponna realized that Nallayyan had made several references to food. So she asked him, ‘Maama, have you eaten?’
He said, ‘Oh, Ponna, no, I have not eaten anything. I thought I could eat something here. But just as I arrived, I saw you and your mother-in-law finishing your dinner and washing your hands. And I didn’t want to saddle a very pregnant woman with additional chores, so I kept quiet. But unmindful of our convictions, the stomach makes its need felt. You somehow figured that out. If you have some water-soaked rice, please give that to me. I will try to quieten my stomach for a while.’
‘You are a strange fellow!’ said Seerayi. ‘If you had told me you were hungry, I’d have given you something to eat.’
Ponna walked out of the hut, laughing, and said, ‘You could not even ask us for food. So how were you planning to beg for food from strangers?’
Nallayyan laughed and said, ‘It is easier to ask strangers.’
Instead of giving him water-soaked leftovers to eat, Ponna mixed some ragi flour with water and onions and chillies, and made spicy dosais for him. This was no big task for her. She also made one for Thorattu Paatti, who praised Ponna: ‘I don’t know how you learnt to cook so well. The brinjal you cooked the other day was so fragrant. And now this dosai, it is so tasty, Ponna. Someone has to make bangles to adorn your precious hands.’
But Paatti realized the mistake of her remark when Ponna replied, ‘No more bangles for my hands, no chains for my neck, no earrings for these ears . . . But I appreciate the sentiment, aaya.’
Immediately, Thorattu Paatti tried to salvage the situation by saying, ‘It does not matter if you can’t wear any of that. Don’t worry. Even women who get to wear all these things still have to leave this world naked when they go.’
Nallayyan, meanwhile, ate with relish. ‘Ragi flour is perfect for dosai. So much better than making a pap from it.’ Ponna made another dosai for him, this time sweetening it with whatever karuppatti was left from their dinner earlier. It was very satisfying to feed him. And it looked like a full stomach had also made him happy, as was evident from the buoyant lilt in his speech. ‘Let me come and stay here in this barnyard and eat what you feed me,’ he said. ‘I will bequeath my property to Ponna. What do you say, sister-in-law?’
‘Do that!’ encouraged Thorattu Patti. ‘This way you will also be ensured a place to live.’
But Seerayi said, ‘I don’t think such an arrangement will work out, Nallayyan.’
Ponna felt that there was a tentative desire in Seerayi’s tone. She sat down on a stone and spoke to him. ‘Uncle,’ she began, ‘we don’t need any inheritance. If we work hard in these fields, we can make enough to feed two more families. Already, people in the village have all sorts of things to say about us. If we accept your money, they will have even more fodder to be nasty. They will easily say that I was your mistress and that was why my husband killed himself. I know that you were very fond of my husband, but do the others know that? We have to adjust to the village’s norms. If those norms require me to stand in front of everyone and declare that this child in my womb is indeed my husband’s, then I have to do that. What else can any of us do? We have nowhere else to go. Besides, we are womenfolk. We can’t fight with your brothers. Even you are afraid of them and are hiding here and there. If they come to hack us to death, are we strong enough to fight them off? If we accept your money, it will destroy our peace. How long can we live on without peace, tell me? Visit us once in a while. We will cook and feed you whatever we can. Even stay a while with us. But let us not talk about money and inheritance. I am already enduring the misery of having lost my husband. I don’t need to add to that suffering, do I, Maama?’
There was a pause as the roaring wind pushing the portia tree ceased.
THIRTY
On the first Thursday of the month of Thaii, early in the morning, Ponna gave birth to a boy. No one had any doubts that it was Kali himself who was born as this child. Every known relative visited to see the baby. And they all said the child resembled Kali. But for a month after giving birth, Ponna could not stop weeping. She was unable to discern what it was that made her cry—whether it was because the baby was a boy while she wanted a girl, or because she was afraid that this male child might also end up having his life cut short. Ponna was still weak from the childbirth. Seerayi always asked her to go to bed early each night. Seerayi and Vallayi did all the work—carrying the baby, bathing him, massaging him with oil and so on. They also did their best to help Ponna gain strength, by making all sorts of nutritious things for her to eat and drink.
Ponna had struggled a lot during the labour and delivery. Vengayi had earlier told her that it would be a little difficult. But there was nothing ‘little’ about it. A slight pain had started the day before, but Ponna did not realize it was the onset of labour. She had earlier had this kind of sharp pain in the hip and her lower abdomen sometimes in the morning, and they always went away after a short while. So she assumed it was a similar sort of pain she was experiencing. But it only kept increasing in severity. By midday, when she could not bear it any longer, she told Vallayi about the pain. After asking Ponna to describe the pain, Vallayi told her with certainty that it had to do with labour. As the pain kept mounting, Ponna began to feel a little scared, and she sent Vengayi to fetch the midwife. Seerayi asked the farmhand from the adjacent fields to go to Adaiyur. By the time the midwife got all her things ready and came over, it was past dusk. Until then, Ponna kept asking when the midwife would arrive, as if she thought that once the midwife got there, she would take over the pain from her.
When Thangayi, the midwife, arrived, she did not seem to be in any hurry. She felt Ponna’s stomach and said that the child would be born by morning. Ponna was shocked to hear that. She had thought that once Thangayi showed up, the birth would take place right away. Now she was terrified thinking she had to bear this excruciating pain all night long. Vengayi left, saying she would go home and retur
n soon. Seerayi went to tie up the cattle in the shed. Thangayi said, ‘Ponna, don’t worry. Since this is your first child, there will be some pain. But enduring this pain will not be as hard as you fear. You have survived all kinds of struggles and heartbreaks. What can this pain possibly do to you? Remember, this is the good kind of pain. It will lead to good things.’ She told Ponna not to eat anything until the delivery. She also advised her to make sure to defecate beforehand.
She gave Ponna a karuppatti concoction to drink. She had brought a lot of things in a box. But she did not take any of it out just yet. Then she too left for the night, and it was only Ponna and Vallayi. Ponna felt like everyone had abandoned her. Before she went to the outback to shit, she went to the Karunchaami shrine. But she was not able to pray at leisure. Holding on to her aching hip, she prayed, ‘Please make it all go well.’ She could not think of anything else to say.
When she returned home, she drank a little of the karuppatti concoction and lay down on the cot. But she could not stay in that position for more than a few seconds. She sat up, turned to the other side and lay down, but this was not any better either. She got up and walked outside the hut. As she sat down on the rock there, she started crying.
Looking at her crying, Vallayi said, laughing, ‘You can cry, but it is still you who have to give birth.’
Ponna replied angrily, ‘How can you laugh when I am crying?’
Her mother said, ‘If you can’t bear even this pain, how are you going to manage? You are yet to have contractions. Once that happens, the child will be born soon. That will feel like your entire hip is breaking apart. You will have to endure that.’
Now slowly, one by one, several people landed up. Soon there was quite a crowd gathered in the barnyard. The midwife too returned. She gave Ponna some medicinal brew in a pitcher and asked her to drink up the entire thing. It was bitter and pungent, but Ponna hoped that drinking that would decrease her agony or perhaps increase the pain and let it all be over and done with soon. She drank it up in one gulp, but nothing happened. Some of the people who had showed up started dispersing, saying to each other, ‘Looks like the child will be born only in the morning.’ Those who stayed back chatted and laughed among themselves. Some lay down here and there. Ponna was irritated by all this. The midwife would ask her about the pain now and then. But then she too went to sleep.
Ponna couldn’t tell what time it was when she dozed off. Nor could she say how long she might have slept. She felt both rested and yet not. Very early in the morning, Thangayi gave her another dose of the medicinal brew. By the time the black drongo birds started making their ruckus at dawn in the palm trees, Ponna’s pain intensified. Unable to bear the agony, she screamed, ‘Ayyo! Ayyo!’ The midwife said to her, ‘Don’t say “Ayyo!” Say “Saami!” Say god’s name.’ Once the contractions started and her water broke, the midwife asked her to lie down and then told her to push. Ponna held her breath and pushed hard. Thangayi pressed on her abdomen firmly. But these measures were not enough. So the midwife asked for a thick rope to be brought and suspended from the central beam on the ceiling. Muthu came in to do this task, and he walked away without even turning to look at Ponna. Two or three women held Ponna and helped her off the cot. Then they brought her to where the rope was and asked her to hold on to it. Ponna kept her feet apart, knelt down and held on to the ends of the rope. It felt to her like the rope was hanging from the portia tree.
She closed her eyes, pulled against the rope and pushed hard. Just one push—and she felt her breath ending and something giving way in her stomach. Then she fainted, vaguely hearing someone say, ‘It is a boy.’
Later, when she came to, she saw everyone wandering about happily. She heard her sister-in-law’s voice: ‘This boy is exactly like his father, Ponna. So utterly dark.’ Ponna did not have the strength for a good cry; she just managed to whimper. Her sister-in-law showed her the baby, but Ponna did not take a good look. Even later, Ponna did not look at the child properly.
For a month afterwards, her mother and mother-in-law did everything for the baby. Ponna slowly started eating properly. She was able to walk on her own to the outfields to relieve herself. Her mother told her that it was a month since the child was born and so that was the day they would show a lamp to the child. Vallayi was busy preparing things for this occasion. She poured into a large earthen lamp the fresh castor oil they had got made by sending castor seeds to the oil press. Then she put in a thick wick and placed the lamp on its wooden base. Seerayi came into the hut. Ponna was sitting on the cot.
Positioning the lamp in such a way that the child would be able to see the flame from the cot, Vallayi lit the lamp. As the wick slowly caught the flame, a yellowish glow pervaded the entire room. Seerayi gently tapped on the baby’s cheeks, trying to get him to open his eyes, and said, ‘Look here, dear one.’ The baby slowly opened its eyes, and then blinked, adjusting to the glare of the light. Then it looked in wonder at the dancing flame. That was the first wondrous thing in the world the child laid its eyes on: that flame. The two women talked to the baby for a little while and then went away to prepare things to ritually ward off the evil eye.
Ponna saw the movement of the flame and the movements of the baby’s eyes. She suddenly felt very eager to look at the child properly. The baby’s eyes slid back and forth between her face and the flame. She happily ran her hands over the baby’s unruly hair and its dark body. She felt a rush of love and fondness for her son that she had not felt until then. She massaged the baby’s legs, placed its little hands on her cheeks. She looked at the baby’s penis; it looked like another finger. She said, ‘Little penis!’ and kissed her fingers after they had touched the baby’s penis. The baby now kicked its legs and burbled something to her. Ponna started cooing and playing with the baby. She gently touched its belly, and placed her face close to the baby’s.
The baby looked up in wide-eyed wonder at her face growing bigger as she brought it nearer, and then becoming smaller again as she pulled back. After she did that four or five times continuously, the baby laughed. It opened its mouth wide in a gurgling laugh. Ponna was delighted. As she reached out with her fingers to touch the baby’s lips, she heard a voice say, ‘Tell me if this is a big mouth.’
Did the baby just say that?
She looked at the baby’s face, and suddenly she recollected that face and that voice. That face that she had met on the eighteenth day of the festival. The face that had asked her, ‘Do I have a big mouth?’
That face that was buried deep in Ponna’s mind.
THIRTY-ONE
He had spotted Ponna as she stood alone in the midst of the swirling crowds. Then she too spotted him.
He gave her a name of his own: Selvi. She did not need a name for him. There had been a massive crowd on that festival day; various acts and performances were being staged on the streets. When they saw the two of them together, many people whistled and hooted at them. Ponna kept her head lowered as she walked. He held her hand and led her away from the crowd very quickly. They both walked in the glow of the moonlight that was dispelling the darkness all around the temple rock. Now he had his arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him. She regarded his embrace as his way of helping her get rid of her fear. She huddled closer to him.
His appearance and physique were very much like Kali’s. Around his waist, he wore a veshti folded twice over itself. On his bare chest, he just had a towel draped around his neck. And a big piece of cloth covered his head. Ponna thought that this was perhaps his way of concealing his true identity. Kali too wore his veshti in two layers whenever he went out. And a towel over his chest. Sometimes he would take that towel and wear it over his head. When it brushed against her like this, Kali’s body too was hard like a granite rock. She shook her head to get Kali out of her mind. This man was not Kali. Why was she projecting Kali’s image on to him? This was a different man. This was the god himself who had come to take her someplace else. Hesitantly, she placed her hand on his waist. He p
ulled that hand closer and positioned it firmly. Where was he taking her? She was not able to recognize that road. There were a few people walking down that road, but it was mostly quiet and secluded, with nothing but moonlight illuminating it.
Suddenly, he turned and walked towards the rock. At least, that was how it appeared to her. She did not know there was a pathway there. There were only rocks there, she had thought. He took her there. He climbed up on the rock with the easy agility of a goat. Sometimes, he let her walk with him, and at other times, when the path became precariously uneven, he gently lifted her and helped her across. It looked like they had climbed a quarter of the hill. There was a large rock standing upright over there, and behind this feature, the rock was as flat as a floor. They could only see the moon above. There was no one else. He removed the cloth he had tied over his head. It was neither a towel nor a dhoti, it was of the size of a dupatta. He spread it on the ground, sat down on it and invited her to sit down too. As she sat down, he pulled her against his chest. She yielded to him, tempted to encircle her hands around his back. And his hands held hers and gently guided her in an embrace.
The moon travelled across the sky, spreading joy over the world. Not a spot of cloud dotted the vastness above. With nothing to block its path, the moon gloriously shone across the heavens and over the earth. The land that drank the moon’s sweet rays lay about in a drunken stupor. A sprawling expanse of intoxication.
Then he asked her, ‘Did you come seeking a child?’
A Lonely Harvest Page 18