Poonachi was unable to grasp what was going on around her. When she saw her kids being loaded on to a cart, she was distraught; she ran crying towards them. The kids, too, called out feebly to her. With the kids crying from above and Poonachi bleating from below, there was a huge din in the front yard.
‘Your daughter says she wants to come to my house, ayah. Why don’t you let her?’ the stranger said.
‘If I let my daughter go, where will I go and beg for milk?’ the old woman retorted.
‘Just for that reason, you can’t keep her at home forever, can you? Being female, she is destined to leave for another home someday,’ the man said.
A smooth talker, the old woman thought, but she would not cede the argument. ‘She is actually a daughter-in-law who has entered my home, a lady who has come to expand my family,’ she said, brimming with pride.
She held on to the rope around Poonachi’s neck. Even as the kids kept wailing, the cart started on its way. Poonachi tried pulling at her rope. The old woman brought her to the hut and tied her to a pole. ‘Why are you making so much noise? I am also alone here after marrying off my daughter. When a child comes of age, she flies away. We shouldn’t worry about it.’
The old woman spoke to Poonachi for a long time. But Poonachi passed the night in a pool of tears. Her family, which had filled the front yard, had vanished without a trace. She had offered her udder and squirted blood for six or seven months to raise them, but what was the use? Not a single kid was left for her to look at. Why did such things happen only to her?
When the kids were around, she had felt sometimes that she might be better off without them. But that stemmed from a feeling of helplessness. For the past few months, being with the kids had become her whole world. There was finally some meaning to her existence. Now it had all come crashing down. Unable to bear her loss, Poonachi cried out. She believed that her cries would reach the ears of her kids, far away in the buffalo cart.
After that day, the old woman didn’t say anything at all to Poonachi. She neither scolded her nor tried to discipline her. She preferred to let Poonachi cry her heart out. She would calm down eventually.
The old man was elated. He had a lot of money in his hands. He could spend more than he had foreseen on gifts for his daughter’s family. He contemplated some repairs on his tiny parcel of land with the money left.
But first, he had to inform the authorities about the sale of the kids and get the transaction recorded. He decided to take a ride on the buffalo cart with the stranger and his servants. On the way, they chatted a little. Not only were the female kids capable of delivering seven kids at one time, but the buck kids from this line might also be virile enough to father seven kids. The old man understood that this was the buyer’s expectation. The buyer’s plan was to mate each buck with different females and see whether seven kids would be born in a litter. Let him try it. A man with money can do whatever he wants.
On his way back home after all the work was done, he happened to pass a jeweller’s house. For many years, his old wife had been asking him for flower-shaped studs for her ears and a gold chain. He couldn’t afford to buy them for her when she was young. But the money newly brought in by Poonachi’s kids inspired an extravagance that he had lacked so far. He went into the shop and bought the studs and a gold chain for his wife, along with gold bangles for his daughter, necklaces for his granddaughters and a gold waist-string for his grandson. He still had some money left. In all these years of hard labour, he had never come by so much. He was moved to consider building a temple for Bakasuran.
The old woman was thrilled when she saw the jewellery that her husband had purchased. She tried on the ear-studs and necklace, feeling shy as a bride. She thought of them as gifts from Poonachi and caressed her that night with great affection. The old couple was so overwhelmed by their own good fortune that they were unable to sleep. Grief-stricken at having lost all her kids at one stroke, Poonachi couldn’t sleep either.
21
THE JOURNEY WAS nothing like it had been the previous year. There were only four goats left in the herd: Kalli, her two kids and Poonachi. The old man had tied a rope around the necks of the two kids as well. So the couple had to walk holding two ropes each, one in either hand. They never let the goats wander. Even while grazing them, they stood guard on either side. Only after tethering the goats in a spot where plenty of feed was available, did they eat their meals and lie down to rest.
During that journey, the old couple was pleased to discover yet another use for their black goat.
Poonachi had been suckling her kids regularly before they were sold. Now they washed her udder with water every morning and evening, prepared her teats and squeezed milk from them. Poonachi yielded a sombu of milk each time. Only then did they realise that she was of a high milk-yielding breed. Until now, they had never had an occasion to milk her. The old woman had only remembered that Poonachi never had enough milk for her kids. She realised with a start that Poonachi had regularly suckled seven kids.
The couple sold the goat’s milk at villages along the way. When this was not possible, they drank a little each and quenched their hunger. The old man had never come across milk that tasted so good, like it had been boiled with jaggery. He forced his wife, who was highly averse to milk, to drink some. Once the food they had carried with them for the journey got over, it was Poonachi’s milk that calmed their hunger along the way. They thought now that Poonachi was indeed a miracle.
Poonachi found the journey extremely dull. It had been highly enjoyable last year. There had been no rope around her neck then. Now there was a long rope tied to a tethering peg at the other end. She could move only as far as the rope permitted her. If she attempted to stray beyond, the rope would immediately pull her back. When there was nobody else around, she tried to bite and mangle the rope with her teeth and get rid of it. But this proved impossible. The old man had twisted and braided agave fibre with his own hands to make the rope. It would only snap if hacked at with a sickle. By the time it wore out and broke on its own, he would have made a new rope.
All the love the couple showed her had shrunk to the length of this rope, Poonachi thought. When the old woman found it difficult to look after the kids, she had freely abused Poonachi. She had called her an evil wretch and a devil. When she got some money from selling the kids, she changed instantly. Now she was carrying all her jewellery in a waist pouch kept hidden under her sari. The couple, who never used to be afraid of thieves, moved about with great caution, in constant fear of being robbed. As soon as she had drunk Poonachi’s milk, the old woman would coo fondly to her: ‘You are the deity of our clan, Mesayya himself.’ Poonachi was wise to all her ways, but what could she do except walk in obedience to the pull of the rope?
All this time, Poonachi never ran short of memories of Poovan. She knew there was no chance of him being alive. By now they would have sold him for meat. Or they would have castrated him and turned him into an inert lump. Who could possibly take his place in her heart? She would have to spend her days in the void of his absence. Neither the route nor her thoughts were pleasant. Poonachi felt a deep loathing for everything.
Meanwhile, during their halt at a village on the way, a villager recognised the old man and asked him, ‘Isn’t this the wonder-goat that delivered seven kids in a litter?’ The old man nodded.
Immediately the man went over to Poonachi, touched her all over and bent down to examine her udder, treating her like an object on display. He also informed the old man that he planned to go into the village and bring a few more people to see the wonder-animal. The old man was immediately struck by an idea. ‘There is a charge for touching and looking at the wonder-goat that has delivered seven kids in a litter,’ he announced. Accordingly, he started collecting money from visitors. Most of them preferred to gawk at the animal from a distance. He charged a penny each from people who wanted to touch her. But the amount collected was far below his expectation. Poonachi thought the arrangement was
good for her. Otherwise, many more would have come and touched her constantly, and taken the life out of her.
In the next few villages, the old man made the same announcement and charged the visitors. The money came in handy for incidental expenses. ‘No matter how much you give to this heart, it will never be enough,’ the old woman said. ‘Correct,’ her husband agreed with a laugh.
Contrary to Poonachi’s fears, Poovan was still alive. They hadn’t castrated him either. His body had bloated and his face looked aged beyond his years. The round face was still the same, but showed faint signs of fatigue. His skin colour had brightened and dazzled the eye. The mole on his face had shrunk to the size of a speck. His horns were long and straight. Porumi was missing, though. They must have sold her or tethered her in a different stall. Poonachi didn’t know.
There was a distance of ten feet between Poovan and Poonachi. Nevertheless, she was able to observe him closely. Poonachi’s arrival had brought him great joy. At first, he kept glancing at her again and again. Poonachi wondered whether he had failed to recognise her. ‘Has my appearance changed all that much?’ she thought, scrutinising herself. It was true, perhaps. The last time she came here, she was a little girl who hadn’t even come of age. Now she was a nanny goat who had birthed seven kids in a litter, brought them up and lost them all at once. She was weary from having experienced all the sorrows of this world. Could it be that she looked old and worn out? She cried out in an attempt to identify herself. Though her looks had changed, Poovan recognised Poonachi by her voice. It felt to him, in that moment, as though everything he had lost so far had been restored.
Once they had recognised each other, they forgot about the rope around their neck and tugged at it. Poonachi took a long step forward and extended her head. Poovan stuck his head out too and brought his face closer to hers. Their mouths touched each other. Poonachi heard his breathing clearly. Had there been no rope, she would have rested her head on his neck, cried her heart out and eased her pain. When his mouth grazed her puckered lips, she was in raptures, recalling his kisses from the past. ‘Why are these goats pulling so hard that the rope might break?’ someone said and struck Poonachi on her face. Poovan, too, received a blow. Poonachi stepped back immediately within the bounds of her rope.
Later that morning, they went to the pasture. All the goats of the household grazed together. Both Poonachi and Poovan had a rope that bound their neck and forelegs together. But there was no impediment to their being together. They grazed beside each other all day. Just as he had done the previous year, Poovan pointed her to all the good foliage. Don’t we have these plants in our village or is it just that I don’t know because there is no one to show me where to find them? Poonachi wondered. Though his neck and forelegs were tied, Poovan lifted a foreleg, raised his head and led her to various spots. While relaxing, they lay down together, their bodies touching. Poonachi felt as if she had told him the whole story of the past year and he had understood it completely.
‘I never thought you would be alive,’ Poonachi said.
‘I didn’t think I would stay alive myself. Death can come to a buck kid at any time. We die for meat. We die for sacrifice. I live for moments like these, when I get to be with you, even if only by chance,’ Poovan said.
Poonachi replied, ‘Do you think a female has it any better? It’s better to die than to go through the ordeal of birthing and bringing up kids. I’ve seen you now. I am not worried about dying anymore.’
They talked about all kinds of things. At dusk, the goatherd drove them back. Though she didn’t want to go home, she trudged along reluctantly since Poovan was with her. Seeing the goats go past, the old woman asked her daughter, ‘Kannu, do you remember that Porumi we left behind with you? Why is she missing?’
The daughter spoke to her mother in a low whisper: ‘Don’t ask. My husband’s sister came visiting. It seems she told my husband that there was no goat in her house, so he told her she could take one from here. The kid was pregnant and looking very well. I tried protesting that she was a gift from my mother’s house. “Don’t we need to give my sister a gift from her mother’s house,” he said and laughed. Where could I go and cry about it?’
Seeing her daughter in tears, the old woman consoled her and said that such things happened in every household; she must let go of her anger and forget about it.
Porumi’s absence made Poonachi very happy. Then it occurred to her that Poovan may have got Porumi pregnant, and she felt dejected. But then, how could she expect that Poovan had remained celibate all these months? It wasn’t right, she told herself.
That night, they inadvertently tethered Poonachi and Poovan next to each other. Poonachi felt a profound change in her body. It was the same kind of agony she had experienced a few days after she had parted from Poovan last year. He, too, came alive to the new odour that emanated from her. He approached her in a mood of exultation. There was not the slightest sound from her; no calling out, no cries of agony. He was right next to her, and she gave herself completely to him. Poovan was overjoyed. Poonachi felt him entering her inch by inch. She felt an intense desire to hold him tight and retain him inside her.
Poonachi wished the night would never end. Poovan did all he could to fulfil her desire. He helped her learn the secrets of her own body. He also put her in touch with the novelties of his own. It was a long time before they lay down to rest and even then, sleep eluded them. Poovan kept caressing Poonachi with his tongue and Poonachi reciprocated his affection. Finally they closed their eyes and sank into a deep slumber.
That was when strange noises erupted nearby. All the goats woke up in fright. There were still several hours to go until dawn. Only Poonachi and Poovan slept on, unknowing.
They came carrying a lamp and woke up Poovan. They undid his tether and dragged him away. Poonachi could only cry helplessly. Recognising that their lives could be in danger, all the goats started bleating. In that confusion, Poovan heard Poonachi’s cry. His answering call fell on her ears. What was he saying? Was he telling her, I’ll be back soon, don’t worry?
No, his voice was laced with the enormous sorrow of parting. His sad cry reached her across the chasm of darkness that lay between them. Where were they taking him at this hour of the night? Did they not like that he was spending so much time with her? Why did people who had nothing to do with them get to decide who should interact with whom and who should stay with whom? Poonachi couldn’t go back to sleep. She stood transfixed, looking in the direction Poovan had gone.
Poovan came back in the morning as a lifeless carcass. They had crammed his body into a basket and carried him home. Poonachi saw it only when they tossed it on top of the thatched roof above the front yard. His head was missing. It was lying inside the basket, perhaps.
Poonachi turned her face away. Poovan, who had been alive at night, was a dead body now. Was that the same body that had lured her so powerfully and entered her? How had it happened? They had taken a vow to sacrifice him to Mesagaran. When the festival came to an end, they slaughtered him.
Poonachi sensed from the sounds she heard that his body was being suspended on a hook and skinned. It was a sorrow that surpassed all previous sorrows. She stood still, crying. Sometimes she felt that it was not Poovan’s body that hung there: he had become one with her, so how could he still have a body of his own? Now, she was the one who had to look after him. She would protect the one inside her, not allow any damage to his person. He had stayed alive the whole year only so that he could enter her as he had done last night. Once that duty was fulfilled, he left. She was happy that this Mesagaran had permitted them at least that much.
They didn’t let the goats go out for grazing the whole day. They tethered them near the fodder pile. Poonachi stood all night gazing at the spot where Poovan had been. She didn’t consume even a mouthful of feed. A raw odour entered her nostrils, of Poovan’s body being burnt and charred. She inhaled as much as she could of it and held it inside her.
The next tw
o days went by in the same way. Resolving that she must live in order to keep the Poovan inside her alive, Poonachi started nibbling at the fodder. At dawn the following day, the old couple started on their journey home, with Poonachi, Kalli and her kids in tow.
The old woman’s daughter told her affectionately, ‘You should give me a female kid from Poonachi’s next litter. I’ll look after her somehow and keep her with me. You shouldn’t give me this or that excuse, Amma.’
‘I would happily leave Poonachi with you right now. But let us defer that kind of trouble at least for a while, there’s no need for it. I’ll keep a kid for you and give it to you when we come next. How can I not give you one?’
The old woman said many things to appease her daughter before she left. As she was leaving, Poonachi had a feeling that Poovan was calling her from behind. She turned instantly and called back in reply. Her call dashed against the neem tree in the front yard and echoed back to her.
22
BY THE TIME the old woman found out that Poonachi was pregnant, she was already two months gone. There was a distinct change in the quantity and quality of her milk and her body had acquired an extra sheen. As the dry matted hair on her skin fell away, new hair sprouted and covered her body.
It was a long time since the old couple had last talked to each other at night. ‘How did this Poonachi get pregnant behind our backs? By what miracle can a doe get pregnant without a buck?’ the old woman said.
The old man tried to think through various possibilities. Was there ever a doe that came to heat and didn’t cry loud enough to summon the whole village? But Poonachi had showed no signs of being in heat. Not a single mating call had been heard. Had she got pregnant on her own? There was no indication that she had become intimate with a buck in the pasture.
Finally the old man guessed the truth: ‘She must have got pregnant in our daughter’s house when we were there for the festival. Remember, we were so busy we didn’t even look at our goats for a whole week.’
The Story of a Goat Page 11