With a hand on her head, the old woman moaned: ‘Mesayya, we came to the festival only because we have faith in you. If you inflict such big losses on us, how will we poor folk survive?’ Both parties decided that they would not take the matter to the government or the courts. Once they reached home, the kid’s number would be presented at the government office and it would be recorded that he had caught a disease and died during their journey to another village. The old man would arrange this.
They brought Uzhumban’s body to the shade. There was a big swelling on the spot where the stone had struck his head. Otherwise, not even a small bruise was found on his body. Through open lids, Uzhumban’s eyes stared fixedly ahead. Was it a sin to have craved for a mouthful of groundnut stalk? Should he have paid for it with his life? All the goats stood together, on one side. Oothan’s legs were still shaking. He had seen the end of life from up close. How would he ever forget Uzhumban, who had been his constant companion all this while? Stunned, Oothan moved closer to his mother. Later, the entire herd of goats stood watching as Uzhumban’s carcass was cut, hacked and divided into portions. If the villagers were to do the same to all the goats standing there, what could they do to stop it? Out of his severed head, Uzhumban’s eyes stared at them for a very long time. Unable to look at those eyes or look away, Poonachi stood still, feeling a great emptiness within. As she watched one who had always run with them being reduced gradually to a few portions of meat, she asked herself seriously, Why should I live anymore?
The villagers offered a portion of Uzhumban’s meat to the old couple. The old woman refused, saying she was dead against taking it. The villagers collected money for the portions and gave it to the couple.
They spent the night in the pyol of the local temple. Many locals came by to greet them and inquire after their welfare. The old man retired early and went to sleep. Sniffling now and again, the old woman repeated their story tirelessly to anyone who asked. ‘Such a pity that the creature was fated to die this way,’ she lamented frequently. The story of how Poonachi had got lost kept getting into the conversation too. Several old women from the village met and talked to her, and offered consolation.
Those who had bought the meat and cooked it told her, ‘I’ll bring you a little. Will you eat?’
‘I brought him up like a baby,’ the old woman said. ‘Do I have the devil’s heart that I would consume my own child?’
Even then, some people persisted.
‘What’s the big problem, ayah? Don’t we eat animals that we sacrifice to God? Think of it that way,’ they said.
‘When we offer a sacrifice, God takes the life and gives us the refuse. But our kid is alive in every bit of this meat. How can a mother have the heart to eat her own son?’ asked the old woman.
They listened to her and agreed.
‘Pity the person who suffered the loss, but it’s no gain for the one who got the meat,’ another old woman said.
15
ON THE FIFTEENTH night after their return from the pilgrimage, Poonachi attained puberty. Throughout those fifteen days, she had only Poovan on her mind. Uzhumban’s frozen eyes would appear too, every now and then.
‘The difficulties of the dead leave along with them, those of the living are here to stay,’ the old woman said often. The thought kept recurring in Poonachi’s mind too. Had they not gone on the pilgrimage, they wouldn’t be in this trouble now. But it was only because they had travelled that she had got to explore the forest and spend at least a few happy days with Poovan. The moonlit tableau of the wild boars cavorting in the pond was etched in her mind. Every time she closed her eyes, the scene would unfold. What a miracle, she thought to herself.
The two kisses planted by Poovan lingered on her mouth. She thought about it all the time, and her happiness playing with Poovan. She imagined him flying through the air and leaping over her. There were so many moments she could recall with pleasure. Why then did the mind always blow up and despair over sad events? Each time she thought of the happy times, her mind would be filled with joy. To everyone’s surprise, she would jump and run around in the pasture.
Oothan asked her once in anger: ‘Are you even a little sad that Uzhumban is dead?’
‘Is he going to wake from the dead if I worry about him? Of course we must remember him. But if we think about him all the time, how are we to live?’ Poonachi asked him in return, feeling rather proud of her own profundity.
Now Oothan went everywhere with her. He wasn’t very refined. When they were playing, he would suddenly rub his snout against her. She didn’t like it one bit, and her thoughts would fly to Poovan. Although Oothan had his eye on Poonachi, she thought of him only as a playmate.
Then, one night, Poonachi sensed a vast change come over her body. She felt acute pain in her lower abdomen. A while later, something seemed to slide out of her stomach and ooze from her vagina. All at once, her heart was filled with Poovan and she moaned without realising it. To the old woman, it sounded like a cry induced by a pleasurable pain, and it made no sense to her. Despite her familiarity with the mating calls of numberless goats, she thought of Poonachi as an infant who had yet to be weaned. Even the affection Poonachi had developed for Poovan was construed by her as friendship between playmates.
‘I don’t know what has happened to her. Let me light the lamp and check. Get up and come with me,’ she called to her husband for help.
The old man had grasped the nature of Poonachi’s call. ‘All she wants is a mate. As you grow older, you seem to understand less and less,’ he said.
‘Really? The kid needs a mate, does she?’ Laughing, the old woman went over to Poonachi. Her fingers found the sticky fluid oozing from her vagina. Poonachi’s body was covered in gooseflesh; she felt cold. She yearned for the old woman to touch her more intimately. Looking at the way she stood there, crouched, the old woman said, ‘Ah, yes, it’s happened early.’
That whole night the couple’s conversation revolved around what they should do to mate Poonachi and where they should take her. ‘There’s a buck in our daughter’s house, but what’s the use? Even if people are willing to help you out, they need to be close by,’ the old woman said in an aggrieved tone.
Poonachi listened to her with keen interest but understood quite quickly that meeting Poovan would be next to impossible. She wondered what it would be like if Poovan was with her just now.
‘We have Oothan, but he is so small he can’t even reach a creeper yet. Do you think a buck might come to the pasture?’ the old woman asked.
‘Do you want her mated right away? Let’s wait for one more season. The kid’s hips aren’t strong enough yet,’ the old man said.
‘Hmm. She’ll start calling out again before a week goes by. We can’t possibly live here listening to that noise all the time. Try to find a buck from somewhere,’ the old woman said.
After a great deal of discussion, they identified a neighbouring village where it was possible to hire the mating services of a buck for a fee.
Early the next morning, the old man caught hold of Poonachi and took her there. She ran swiftly along with him. She was dying to see Poovan. If not Poovan, she would get someone like him. What would this new one be like? Would he have a round face, like a cat? Or a gaunt face with sunken cheeks? Would he plant kisses on her like Poovan had? Would he amuse and entertain her? Her imagination ran wild as she followed the old man.
They reached the place before dawn. Goats loitered inside a large enclosure. Poonachi was surprised to find that just like for sheep, there was a pen for goats too. A youthful looking fellow arrived and opened the enclosure.
‘Why, thatha! The kid looks like an insect. Can she withstand this?’
‘She may be small like an insect and feeble too, but for the pleasure of mating she will withstand anything,’ the old man replied.
The young man opened the enclosure and led out an old ram. Exhaustion from having impregnated countless nanny goats was etched on his face. His body was huge. Displa
ying a complete lack of interest, he came over and stood near Poonachi. She turned her face away, disgusted. With her eyes closed, she trembled. A moment later, she felt a big load being mounted on her back. Unable to bear the weight, she collapsed to the ground in less than a second. Semen spurted uselessly from the ram’s penis.
‘Why did you let go of her, thatha?’ the young man said.
‘Hey, bring a young buck if you have one. The kid is very young, isn’t she?’
‘You are the one who said that she would withstand anything. Now you want a young buck? Where do I go to find one? I thought you were experienced and listened to you. Look at him now, he has wasted his semen. All right, I’ll let another buck have a go, but you have to pay for two, is that clear?’ the young man said.
‘Sure, I’ll pay for four. Even if she can withstand a lot, everything should have a limit, right? This one is such an ancient ram,’ the old man laughed.
To replace the ancient ram, they brought one that was merely old. The goat was so tall that when he came over, only his legs were visible. ‘Put her in a brace and hold on,’ the young man said.
The old man pushed Poonachi inside a brace made of logs tied on both sides and a wooden barrier in front to prevent the animal from moving forward. There was a plank laid inside. After lifting Poonachi on to the plank, the old man drew a rope through the barrier in front and fastened it around her neck so she couldn’t move. Then he stood behind her, lifted her tail up and held her body firmly in place. The young man released the ram. For a second, Poonachi felt as if a hot rod had been inserted into her stomach and pulled out immediately; that was all. It was enough to make her feel small and humiliated. After paying the young man, the old man walked home with Poonachi in tow.
Poonachi was disgusted with the whole world. What was the connection between a faceless old ram and her body? It was beyond her understanding. Did the joy of mating amount to no more than this? It would have been the same even with Poovan. Why was I born into this world? Poonachi wondered, for the first time in her life.
When she roamed the pasture with the other goats, Oothan caught the scent of her heat and followed behind. A few other bucks rubbed against her as well. She didn’t lift her tail for any of them. She was tempted to do Oothan a favour. But it would take some time for the bruise from the morning to heal; she didn’t need another at this time.
Poor Oothan. If she allowed him today, tomorrow he might end up in the same condition as Kaduvayan. She walked on with a subdued heart and body, listlessly picking at the feed and drinking water. She doubted whether she could recall a single happy moment anymore. If she had mated with Poovan, it would have been a happy event. Why was she deprived of it then? Why hadn’t she come of age when she was still in Poovan’s village? It felt strange to think that a dried-up old goat had invaded her body. Chcha, it was no good brooding over it. Poonachi shook her head to free herself of the memory and tried to divert her attention to other matters.
16
THE OLD WOMAN was keeping a steady eye on Poonachi. In a month, Poonachi’s udder had sagged a little lower. The matted hair on her skin fell away and she looked more fecund.
‘The kid must be pregnant,’ she told her husband.
Poonachi noticed many changes in her body. She began to feel as though she was carrying a big load in her stomach. She was ravenously hungry all the time. The old woman gave her plenty to eat, and Poonachi kept eating. The food she had been given when she was a kid – water in which oilcake had been soaked overnight – was offered to her again. The old woman gathered tender shoots and leaves from all over and brought them home for Poonachi.
When she returned home from the pasture, Poonachi would rush to find out what novel delicacy the old woman had brought for her. The old woman had kept aside a separate basket for Poonachi. One day, Poonachi found in it a pile of unripe babul fruit, evergreen and shiny as pearls. On another day she found a heap of lemongrass. Foliage from gulmohur trees, hill mango leaves and wild cockscomb plants – Poonachi enjoyed them all. No one knew when and where the old woman went to collect these things. Poonachi thrived, consuming everything that came her way,
The rains that year were nothing to speak about. There was a light drizzle now and again, a mere sprinkle in the front yard. During the season, it rained a little over a couple of days. There would be no shortage of drinking water, but farming operations were disrupted. Farmers planted their crop based on the availability of water, harvested whatever came up, and got by on it.
The old woman took care of Poonachi like her own child. She hadn’t paid so much attention even to her daughter when she came home for her first delivery. Solely to meet their commitment of looking after Poonachi, the old man took Kaduvayan and Peethan to the market fair and sold them. The hut and the front yard now wore a deserted look.
Soon after this, Kalli became pregnant. Oothan was castrated. Now there were only four of them left. No one played about. There was no leaping and jumping around. It seemed as if time lay inert, like oilcake. There was no chance that Kaduvayan and Peethan would be still alive. The old man said he had sold them to a butcher. In their daughter’s house, Porumi would most likely be pregnant by now. Was Poovan still there? He may have mated with Porumi. After being so affectionate and loving with Poonachi, would Poovan do that? But then, despite loving Poovan, she’d had to lift her tail for an old ram, hadn’t she? How could Porumi be the lesser mate? She was the same age as Poovan. But for some reason, he had been more loving towards Poonachi. That was all.
It was a good opportunity for Oothan. He was the only kid still suckling at Semmi’s udder. The old woman didn’t let him drink all the milk, though. When she untied him in the morning, he would go quickly to Semmi, grab her udder and suckle. Once her teats were flowing with milk, the old woman would drag Oothan away and tie him up. She would then milk Semmi two or three times until her vessel was full. Oothan’s chance to feed came while grazing in the pasture. There he would suckle whenever he pleased. Standing with her legs apart and eyes closed, Semmi would suckle him while she slowly chewed the cud.
But she didn’t always tolerate Oothan’s butting of her udder. She would kick him in the face and move away. At any rate, Oothan suckled at least three or four times during the day, even if he was not allowed to suckle at night.
The old woman gave a small quantity of goat milk to her husband every day. A girl turned up daily from a remote farm to buy the rest. From her brief conversations with the girl, the old woman gathered that someone in her house was ailing and goat milk was part of the cure. It brought in some extra money for the old woman.
Right from the beginning of the fourth month of her pregnancy, Poonachi could barely do anything. Walking for a few minutes made her gasp for breath. She had to lie down and rest every so often. She couldn’t stand and graze for long. Just getting to the pasture required enormous effort. Seeing her difficulties, the old man told his wife, ‘Let her graze somewhere close by.’ It had rained a few days earlier and grass had sprouted everywhere. But the fresh blades tasted bitter. She couldn’t eat more than a couple of mouthfuls.
The old woman began to take Poonachi to a nearby field and tether her at the edge. She would keep the rope short to make sure that the standing crop was beyond her reach. Poonachi would graze as far as she could reach and then lie down. The old woman would check on her every now and then. Sometimes she would bring rice water and make Poonachi drink it. Water in which cooked millet had been soaked was very tasty. If that came Poonachi’s way, she would drink till she was about to burst. Water from brown millet was also a favourite. Finger millet, though, tasted insipid and bland.
‘You always want something tasty, don’t you? If you are so picky when you are pregnant, what will happen to your kids?’ The old woman rebuked her fondly with a tap on the cheek. She imagined that she was actually ministering to her daughter.
The old woman had noted the date on which Poonachi was mated with the old ram. It was her job to recite th
e calculation every night to the old man. ‘Eight and seven days are fifteen. Two fifteens are thirty. Four thirties are one hundred and twenty. It’s been a hundred and twenty days now,’ she said one day. Fifteen days more, and Poonachi would be ready to deliver, they concluded.
One night the old woman asked her husband, ‘Bakasuran told you she would have seven kids in a litter. Is that really true? From the size of her belly, it looks like there are three. When both her hips are swollen, I can see three heads.’
‘That’s what he claimed. I’ve never seen a goat deliver seven kids in a litter. I’ve seen them birth four or five, sure. Like you said, this one is set for three. Raising three kids is a fair job, don’t you think?’
‘Yes. Let me ask you something that’s been bothering me all these years. And please tell me the truth without getting angry,’ the old woman said.
‘Why should I lie to you? Ask me anything,’ the old man said cheerfully.
‘Did Bakasuran really give you this kid? Or did you see her lying near a bush and bring her home?’ the old woman said.
‘Go on, woman! You never believe me. And it’s not like you’re going to trust me now, when our time is nearly up. But I’ll tell you anyway. So, listen. It was the hour of sunset. In the distance, I saw a shadow moving. It looked like a tall, robust tree. As the sun goes down, shadows get longer, don’t they? I thought this shadow was like that. As it came slowly towards me, I narrowed my eyes and looked. The man was very tall, almost one-half the height of a palm tree. If you had seen him, you would have thought he was an ogre and peed down your leg.’
Poonachi’s mind was full of questions as she listened to him recount the story. How did I come into Bakasuran’s hands? Where is my mother? Where do these demons live? Will I ever see my mother? I wasn’t so big, was I, that Bakasuran couldn’t take care of me? But who knows what hardships he faced.
The Story of a Goat Page 8