She went closer, gently caressed his head, and said, ‘My little god, please don’t think of it that way. We did it for your own good. You are still a child, you don’t know what is good and what is bad for you. It is my job to do the right thing. And that’s what I did.’
TWO
‘My dear boy,’ pleaded Seerayi, ‘whatever it is, let us talk about it. Don’t even think about killing yourself.’ And she looked at the portia tree and the rope hanging from it. ‘We cannot have this tree here any more. It has become Yaman to the very person who planted and nurtured it. Bring me the axe, let’s chop it down right away!’ She stood up in a rage. ‘This tree has asked for a sacrifice. Let us sacrifice the tree itself.’
Kali stopped sobbing. ‘We humans do all sorts of things. How can the poor tree be blamed for that? Besides, although it wouldn’t take long to chop down this tree, just think about how many years it takes to grow one.’
‘So you have one sense of fairness for trees and another for people? This earth and the time I have spent on it—both have borne witness to all that I have endured as a single mother raising you. But here you were, trying to end that life I nurtured, and you would have done it in a matter of minutes. Tell me, if you die today, will you be able to replace yourself? Bring me a little boy to raise?’ Seerayi spoke in anger, but even as she said these words, she realized this was perhaps not the best time to reason with him. So she said, ‘All right. We don’t have to cut down the entire tree, but let us at least chop off this branch. Come.’ She pulled him by the hand. He fetched the sickle, climbed the tree a bit unsteadily and started chopping down the branch. It was quite a robust one. He thought he might use it to fashion a bow or to make a picotah. But he was also surprised that even at such a moment his mind dwelled on matters of land and farming.
Seerayi untied the cows and oxen from the shade of the tree and took them out, all the while checking if people were up and about. She could see that there were a few people already walking along the common path outside, but she knew that no visitors would come by so early in the morning. The big branch fell down with a loud noise. The place from where it had been chopped off looked like a wide wailing mouth. Kali threw down the sickle and calmly climbed down the tree. At any other time, he might have just jumped down, but right then he was not in the frame of mind to do that. As he sat down on the cot, he felt overwhelmed by a sudden exhaustion and the need to sleep. His body ached and demanded that he lay right there and sleep for several hours.
Meanwhile, no one had cleared the cattle floor of all the dung. The chickens were now scattering the dung all over the place, looking for food to peck on. Seerayi made some sounds, attracting their attention. They all came to her. She was ready with some corn to feed them. As the chickens came closer, she dropped some corn in the gap between her feet. The roosters beat the others to it—they came running and started to peck at the seeds of corn. Then all the rest joined in and soon it was a large crowd of chickens around Seerayi. When they least expected it, Seerayi swiftly reached down and grabbed a rooster firmly with both her hands.
The rooster struggled to set itself free. The other chickens scattered away at this commotion but soon they were cautiously inching back towards the corn. The rooster persisted in its struggle with Seerayi. It was part of a big brood of chickens. A young rooster. Seerayi reached for a small rope from the ground and tied it around the rooster’s legs. Then she tied the other end of the rope to a pole on the side of the hut. The rooster was still trying to free itself and reach for its food.
Seerayi then picked up the pot she had filled with water just a little while ago. The water was cold. She called out to Kali just as he was getting ready to lie down on the cot. He walked up to her when, without warning, she poured all the water from the pot over his head. ‘What is this, Amma!’ Kali muttered. Then he removed his veshti and stood in his loincloth. That one pot of water didn’t feel enough for him. He picked up the wide-mouthed pot that was nearby and emptied that water over himself too. Meanwhile, Seerayi brought a dry loincloth for him to change into. He changed into it and wiped himself with the towel she gave him. With the same towel, he also dried his hair, which had come undone and now fell over his upper back.
Whether it was from last night’s drinking or from sheer exhaustion, he couldn’t tell, but he felt sleep overtaking him. Seerayi, however, did not let him fall asleep. There was one thing she still needed him to do. She asked him to untie the rooster and make an offering of it under the tree. She held the rooster’s head firmly to make sure it didn’t scream while he chopped off the head.
‘All right,’ she then said. ‘You go and sleep well. Don’t start thinking about anything. I will wake you up once I have finished cooking. I will take care of the cattle.’
Kali’s hair was still wet. So he let it stay untied and lay down on the cot inside the hut. He thought, ‘It looks like that small creature had to die so that a big creature could live. Who knows when the lord of death comes for whom?’ He then fell into a deep sleep.
Even though Seerayi could not fully guess what might have transpired during Kali’s trip out of town the day before, she was certain of one thing: Kali now knew everything. She felt that it was goddess Koolithaayi who had sent her to the barnyard at just the right moment. Seerayi let all the blood from the rooster drain out under the portia tree. She spoke to the tree: ‘Is this enough blood for you? Did we let you grow and thrive here all these years so that you can take one of our lives? You must end it all with this offering, all right?’ Then she carried the rooster’s body and head and put them in a basket. Covering the basket with palm fronds, she placed it inside the shed. She looked at Kali sleeping peacefully on the cot, and was overcome with great sadness. ‘You might have been dead and lying on the bier by now,’ she said. She felt that it might comfort her to cry and sing out loud. But she stopped herself because she knew this was not the right time. She just mumbled to herself, ‘This is the time for you to lie on cots that have legs. It is not yet time for you to lie on a legless bier.’
She then walked to a corner of the barnyard. Gathering five or six palm fronds drying there, she placed them together. She then tried to untie the rope from the felled branch. The knot had hardened. It made all her sadness well up again. She cried, mumbling, ‘There is the field, there is the hearth, and there is the woman you married. What reason do you have to tie a rope and make a noose?’ She fetched the sickle and cut at the knot, tugging it free of the branch at last. As she held one end of it, it hung straight down from her hand, with the noose dangling at the other end. For a second, she felt as though her own neck had been caught in that noose. She shook her head to get that image out of her mind.
Then she dropped the rope on the fronds she had laid down together on the ground. She worked in an agitated manner, consumed in the frenzy and excitement that came with the realization that she had just managed to stop someone from dying. She then tried to drag the branch away, but it was large and expansive, covering the ground in a wide arc. She was unable move it. But she didn’t want to leave it lying there. When she looked out towards the fields, she saw the oxen tethered there. She fetched them and tied the branch to the ropes on their necks in such a way that it lay between them. Then as she raised her voice to make them move, the oxen walked ahead, dragging the branch along.
The end of that thick and long branch was covered in leaves and stalks. It looked like there might be some difficulty getting it through the barnyard’s gate, but the oxen had no difficulty at all; they dragged it away with great ease. Once they had taken it away to the stretch of wasteland away from the fields and the barnyard, she brought the oxen back and secured them in their place again. Then she picked up the basket in which she had placed the rooster’s body and head and walked to the fields. There was a hoe hanging from a branch of the palai tree near the well. With that, she dug a pit about three feet deep right next to the tree, and buried the rooster in it. She then ran back to the barnyard. Kali was still sleeping soundly.
Seerayi still had a lot of work to finish. She remembered all the tasks. Cow dung lay scattered about on the floor of the cattle enclosure. The sheep were bleating. There was no water in the large earthen pot. But first she fed the chickens again and caught another fowl. A nice robust hen, heavy and firm. It too was destined to die today. Holding it by its feet, she slammed its head against the slab in front of the shed. The hen died with just one croak. Seerayi then carried it to the spot where she had laid the palm fronds and the rope. She started plucking the chicken. Its body was still warm. That—as well as the fact that the hen was tender because it was poised to lay eggs soon—made it easier for her to pluck off the feathers. She only tore away the big feathers. The small ones would be consumed by the fire. She then set fire to the fronds. They caught fire first, and then the rope too. She held the chicken in the fire. The rope didn’t burn easily. It smoked, resisted the flame. She made sure the fronds burnt well. And when the fire grew stronger, that rope which might have taken away Kali’s life caught fire at last and burnt, hissing and sizzling like a raging snake.
THREE
As Seerayi went about completing all the chores in the barnyard, she kept an eye on Kali. He slumbered like he had not done so in ages. Her plan was to cook the chicken and some saaru before waking him up. All the ingredients she needed for cooking were in the shed—right there in the barnyard. They had cooked there in the past. There was also an old, large grinding stone she could use. This was good, because she did not want to leave Kali alone and go all the way to her house in the village quarters to do the cooking. She had not even imagined that he would go to the extent of wanting to kill himself. She had thought that he might be a little difficult initially but would eventually calm down. Seerayi had been instrumental in sending Ponna to the big temple festival.
The Karattur festival lasted three months. People would start preparing for it as soon as the month of Maasi began. All the shops and entertainments that sprang up around the festival would stay on till Panguni or even Chithirai. But the actual festival lasted only for twenty-two days. And for most people, the twenty-third day would be the day of feasting and meat-eating. The most important days were the day the deity came down from the hillock and the day the deity was taken back up. An incredible crowd gathered to get a glimpse of the deity. The night the deity returned to the hillock was the most significant event of the festival.
People usually started coming in on the morning of that day, on foot and on bullock carts from various villages and towns—it would look like an army marching. En route to the place were small makeshift stalls providing free drinking water for everyone. All the fields surrounding the village lay fallow and unused during that period. Even if there had been some rains, the farmers would stop with some superficial ploughing and let the fields be. All the bullock carts that came to the village for the festival were parked in these fields. On that one day, no one squabbled over ownership or encroachment of land. In fact, there were so many bullocks in the fields that one would wonder if this was a fair selling oxen. Visitors brought large parcels of food with them. But even if they didn’t, there were stalls in the festival grounds they could eat from. Some people brought hens and roosters with them to make an offering for another deity, Poochisaami, the next day. They would complete the offering, cook and eat the fowl, and only then lock their bullocks back to their carts. Several cultural performances and entertainments were staged in all the eight streets of the village. Flaming torches and lanterns would transform the festival grounds, as though brightening the night into day. The usually untrodden, dusty streets would come alive with the pattering feet of the passing crowds. There were four ponds in the village. The women of the village would fetch water from these ponds and sprinkle them on the streets to keep the ground cool and the dust settled.
This was a time for people to come together and rejoice. Toddy and arrack were sold in the outskirts of the festival area. Shops selling puttu and various snacks enticed people with their fragrances. Policemen constantly patrolled the streets. Despite that, at the pinnacle of the celebrations, all rules and norms were shattered when the torches were dimmed. Only the night bore witness to itself. Darkness fell like a veil over all faces. Only the full moon did its best to cast some light, show some support. It was during these nocturnal celebrations that the primal urges in all men would surface.
At first, Kali was under pressure to marry and bring home a second wife. The fact that he and Ponna hadn’t had a child for twelve years was a source of much grief. But since Kali refused to marry again, it was Seerayi who spoke to him about this festival and suggested they send Ponna there. He did not, however, consent to that either. His heart simply could not accept it. The mere broaching of this topic had been enough to shatter Kali’s peace of mind. He constantly thought about it and felt conflicted. He was not willing to send Ponna to the festival. Besides, he was not sure he could accept as his own a child given by some unknown man. He thought that if such a thing were to ever happen, Ponna was sure to lose all respect for him. He was also afraid that everyone would take that as confirmation of Kali’s impotence. He tormented himself, agonizing over all these questions. Things dragged on in this way for two years. But finally this year they had decided to send Ponna to the festival without Kali’s knowledge. His brother-in-law took him to a grove far away, where he got him drunk on toddy and arrack. And they tricked Ponna into thinking she had Kali’s permission to go to the festival. But when Kali found out about it later that night, he rushed back to the barnyard, feeling betrayed by everyone.
He could not bring himself to accept that Ponna had been with another man that night. Their lives were entwined inextricably. He could not bear the idea of another man leaving his smell over Ponna’s body. Her body was linked to his forever. It had taken his fragrances upon itself for twelve years. No one could prise their two bodies apart. He felt that every inch of her body belonged to him. It would be a blemish if her body were to be stained by the scent of any other man. And Kali said to himself firmly that once that body was tainted, he wouldn’t touch it. If it was true that all men were gods on that night, then let that god enter Kali’s body too. If it was a true god, it ought to help Ponna conceive through Kali. Why was the deity refusing to inhabit him?
He had heard before that several of the children in the village had been born this way. But he didn’t believe any of that. It was possible that people did these things in the olden days. But that didn’t mean they had to continue doing those things, did it? There must have been a time when a younger brother had access to his older brother’s wife, or an older brother thought of his younger brother’s wife as his. But would people accept such a thing today? When Nallayyan Uncle was claiming his share of inheritance—which his brothers coveted—he had offered, ‘Let my sisters-in-law supply me with milk. I will give them my share of the property.’ But did they accept the proposal? In the olden days, people lived in large families. Not any more. These days, families were together until the last son got married. After that, they went their own separate ways, chased off just like a crow sends away its chicks to fend for themselves. Certain things might have been acceptable in those days. But that did not mean they had to be acceptable now. Times had changed.
At weddings, there is a ritual in which the bride’s maternal uncle carries her on his shoulder and brings her to the wedding altar. But recently, at a wedding that took place in Kullur, the bridegroom had said, ‘I cannot bear the sight of some other man touching and lifting my wife. Let us not do that.’ Apparently, the maternal uncle went away in a huff. Well, let him! Was the wedding important or the uncle? Kali too felt similarly about Ponna, that she was his alone. So he felt utterly let-down that Ponna had gone to the festival despite his objection. In a bid to punish her for the rest of her life, he had thrown a rope on the portia tree and made a noose.
That night, neither Kali nor Ponna got any sleep. Even Seerayi could not sleep. She had stayed in the barnyard until the full
moon was overhead. Then she fed the cows and oxen again and, thinking that it would now be safe to leave the barnyard unattended, went to her house in the village to catch a wink.
Seerayi’s lips had kept muttering all night long, ‘Devaatha, please show my daughter-in-law a way out of this misery.’ She lay down on the cot in her house, but she did not sleep; she only kept tossing and turning. It had occurred to her that she might as well have stayed in the barnyard. She was concerned about her daughter-in-law that night, but she failed to think of her son. Perhaps that was what was unacceptable to god. She had no idea that Kali had returned to the barnyard. Thinking that he was still away at his father-in-law’s, Seerayi woke up very early the next morning and walked back to the barnyard. She had to feed the cattle and clear out all the dung. If Kali was in town, she wouldn’t have to do any of these chores. But it was only when she walked into the barnyard that she saw Kali preparing to hang himself from the portia tree.
Today, as she kept going about her chores, her mind was always on Kali. She had managed to stop him from suicide once. For some people, that put an end to that line of thought. But there are others whose will to die grows stronger and stronger—and that suicidal impulse would seek out another such opportunity. That was why she kept a close watch over Kali. Looking at him sleep now no one would guess such a thing had transpired only that morning. She had finished boiling rice and cooking some chicken in a thick gravy, and now sat wondering if he would wake up anytime soon. Earlier, when she went to fetch the cattle from the pasture, she ran into Kaaraan. She sent a message with him to Ponna’s family in Adaiyur—that Kali was back, and that since he had to take care of the cows and oxen here, he would stay put and that they would offer a chicken and make their own feast here in the barnyard, and that Ponna could stay at her parents’ home for a few days more and not rush back. When she offered him eight annas for this job, he took the money and set about happily. He anticipated that when he conveyed the news at Ponna’s parents’ home, they might give him eight annas more or even a rupee. Also, even though he would get to eat lamb at his own house, he might still get to eat chicken at Ponna’s.
Trial by Silence Page 2