Rectitude (Aram) by Jeya Mohan

                                                         

Jeya Mohan

This is an English Translation of "Aram", a short Story written by Jeya Mohan. To read Rectitude short story in Tamil : http://www.jeyamohan.in/ . This is 5th English Translation in the Classic Tamil Short Stories Series. Translated from Tamil by  K. Saravanan. 

The person who was standing at the entrance said to me “Please come in…he is there”. I didn’t know who he was. I just greeted him with ‘Vanakkam’ and removed my sandals. He picked up my sandals in his hands. “If you leave them outside, dogs would take them away sir…he reasoned, told me “Please go inside. 

The Pre-noon sunlight was seen falling across the central yard situated just beyond the veranda fostered with broader stones, like a white drape.  On the other side, there was a room that looked similar to the long veranda. The elderly man was sitting on a low-lying swing chair in that room. A brass betel leaves casket was on his lap and he was peeling off areca nuts with areca nut cutter. With his spectacle sitting on his nose just below its usual place, his face carried a deep attention of playing children.

The one who invited was coming behind me, informed him “Writer Jeya Mohan has come”. He had to articulate my name several times aloud quaking the air around there. The elderly man looked up and said, “Please come…Please come”. As he signalled the inviter to bring a chair, the inviter brought a tin chair, stretched it out and placed it near him. “He is Saminathan…retired teacher”…he told. I greeted him with ‘Vanakkam’ once again. “He is very close to Janaki Raman” the elderly man said. He asked me to sit. His smile showed that he had not yet recognized me. 

While sitting on the chair, one of its legs got stuck in the dent on the cement floor and lurched a bit. I moved it aside without getting up and sat. There were a lot of holes in the bamboo planks that were lying underneath the thatch interwoven with the beams. A dark beetle came out from one of the holes, revolved with the sound of a Tambura. His areca nut cutter was peeling off areca nuts smoothly with an ease of experience gained over the years. He collected areca nut peels that were falling like crushed rice pieces and kept in a small box.

When he asked me whether I was staying at my native place, I could understand what he had assumed. I replied with a smile “I am in Nagercoil”. Once I noticed that he was watching my lips, I wrote ‘Nagercoil, Jeya Mohan’ at the edge of Dina Malar lying on the hands of the easy chair. He caught hold of my hands with gleaming eyes. “I am happy….I am so happy. It is a big honour for me”, he uttered.  I wrote back it was a honour only for me. He nodded his head with a smile.

“Did you meet Ravi Subramaniyam?”

 “Yet to meet him” I replied.

 “Dei Saminathu, bring that…that thing…see how he is blinking”

 He understood what he meant and took out a collection of short stories, gave it to me.

 “Paavai has published it. He is a very good guy. He has given the royalty amount in advance. See…lots of medical expenses. I have to give them money anyway. Right?”  

 I smiled at him and said “he could have given it to them directly”. He burst into laughter. It seemed that he needed no ears but only eyes to understand jokes.

 When he was chewing betel leaves, a smile kept blooming across his face. “Isn’t betel an intoxication? Is it?,I asked. He nodded his head and said “there ought to be an affinity among betel leaves, lime and areca nuts. Like Raaga, Thaala and Bhava. Even for God, there is a role in it. It has to be present.” “Like a good poem”, I said.  “Why? Can’t it be said like a good indulgence? You may say so. I have not yet become that aged.” he laughed. “What is the third aspect in it? It is only Raaga and Thaala”. He nodded his head in denial and said, “The third one is also there. It is place. Has any love poem ever been written without mentioning the place? he asked.

Saminathan went out, brought coffee in a jar from the shop at the corner. He poured it half a glass for me and half a glass for the elderly man. “Has it become cold?” he asked. I said, “yes..a little bit”. “I like drinking coffee when it gets cold. When drinking it hot, only its heat is felt. It becomes void of its sweetness and aroma. Can we relish the beauty of a women when she is running fast? What do you say?” he asked. “, We can enjoy the beauty of a horse only when it runs”. I retorted.

He again smiled at it telling “It is alright anyway. Only poetry has the answers for everything. As a rule, I should not drink coffee. But the desire does not leave me, though. That is why I drink half a glass at times”. “This half a glass becomes four or five times”, Saminathan intervened. “You get lost!!”, he endearingly admonished him. I kept the coffee tumbler aside and asked him, “What about royalty in those days?” “Royalty? It was a bad word at that time. Wasn’t it?, he sneered.

 “I came to understand that you had lived your life by writing alone”, I said. “I didn’t live. I just existed. I kept on writing. All I lived was only up to thirty-three years. I never ventured out without having at least hundred rupees in hand. Ten guys used to be with me all the time. All were well trained in Music and concerts. We used to talk day and night. There would be Kumbakonam Seeval betel leaves at hand and a very good quality degree coffee in a jar. They would keep on filling in the food box with Pakkoda, Murukku and Seedai every time it got emptied. At the dusk, we used to go to the river side. Then, singing session sitting on sand!. Some discourse on literature in between!. What sort of literature was it? Only just a gossip. Mouni used to come there very frequently. It would be possible to match his gossiping skills only when a writer was born anew. Is it not Saminathu?” 

“If someone is afraid of gossiping, he has to take birth like him” Saminathan told. The elderly man burst into laughter, hitting his thighs.  He then turned towards me and said, “This guy knows about the affairs of Janaki Raman. But he won’t tell”. “Kumbakonam, in those days was different altogether. It was the town where Music and literature were flowing. Many famous persons are only from this town. Do you know that?”. I gave him a smile. “However, along with it came cheating, deceit and all. If they start with their loose tongue with betel leaves stuffed in mouth and contorted lips, even Lord Shiva would divorce his wife Umaiyaal for sure.”

I could notice that he was getting ready for another round of betel leaves. This time he opened the Betel Seeval packet.

“what are you looking at? Here everything is only seeval. One heavy intake of betel leaves for every four or five times of intake of Seeval….what I was talking about?”

“Talk at the riverside…”

“Yes…leaving that place, we would have Adai at Rayar Club. Or else Poori. Then coffee made of cow milk. We used to take coffee even at midnight. There would always be a concert at any temple. No matter where you were standing, you could hear Nathaswaram. Almost like a wandering group that was let loose. There were four or five looms running. Embroidery…it came from Nagpur in North. It was very good quality embroidery. Other weavers did not know how to weave it properly. If we made it, Goddess Mahalakshmi would blossom in embroidery”.

He was silent, with areca nuts stuffed aside in his mouth. With heave of sigh he said, “All were gone. Handloom machines came in the North. Fake embroidery came into existence. Quality embroidery means weaving Silk thread fused with Gold and Silver. Now everything has become imitations. All business came down just like a crumbling temporary shed. After paying off all debts, I was left with nothing in my hand. I had four children. I didn’t know any other profession. I didn’t know any other persons either. You can very well conclude that I was standing on the street. Is that right da?”

“Yes…na” Saminathan acceded.

“We would have died that day itself had this mother fucker not been around. He used to bring rice or wheat and keep it at my place without my knowledge. I am immensely indebted to this dog…How could I repay?! Next birth is there any way. I will take birth as a good breed of bull in his cow shed and pull the cart he drives till my neck breaks. Is that ok da?” asked the elderly man. Saminathan turned his face other side. His throat moved up and down. It appeared that he was about to weep.

“I started my writing career around that time. Whatever the form it was! It was all about writing anyway. Wasn’t it? That was the only thing I knew. If I had taken birth as a girl, I would have opted for prostitution as my profession. Since I was born as writer, I could do only that. Publishing industry was also started and became a hot business around that time. After independence, schools and colleges were opened in every town during fifties. Government libraries also came into existence. The Chettiar community which came from Burma with lots of wealth entered publishing business. All were relatives to each other. Related to each other either as Uncle or Brother in law! My publisher was in Trichy. They were two brothers. Their name was Meyyappan Brothers. Even in Pudhumai Pithan stories, a reference about them could be found. They had published a book by collaborating with their relatives in Chennai. What was the name of the story Saminathu?”

“Truth and Contemplations” (Nijamum Ninaippum)”, Saminathan replied immediately. “Yes…one says that instead of doing book business, one could do snake gourd business. The elder fellow says, ‘You fool! Snake gourd will get rotten’. Just see the deep-rooted differences of opinions in the matters of book publishing between brothers. He spat out in the spittoon and told, “However, I would say they were good people in general. They started their business in Trichy and were successfully running it. Other than money, nothing could enter their mind. Pure business people. It should be like that anyway. Being like that alone will help one sustain here. Or else, he would also close down his business and come to street like us. Every life has been created by God to do its designated tasks. Isn’t it da?”

 

“Yes…na” Saminathan agreed. “If said correctly, only this fellow took me there. They told, ‘So you are writing books!!…We will pay you for every page’. If someone had given money and asked to suck their genitals, I would have sat to do that. My condition was so pathetic like that. I said ok. It was agreed that specified amount would be given as wage for every page written. There was nothing called royalty. Writing alone was not enough. I had to go to the press to do proof reading as well. There was a considerable demand for adopted stories. Topics like Suspense, love, terror and all were in great demand. Someone called Methavi used to write a lot about these topics. Elder Chettiar asked me, “Oi, can you write like Methavi?”. “I, Myself, am a Methavi” (extra-ordinarily gifted, jack of all trade), I replied. He could not understand what I said. But he was type of a person who could understand at a level that a writer was necessarily eccentric.

“During my young age, I had read many of your novels. One man goes to London for studies to become a Barrister. A very handsome man and a very ugly man were always together there…”

He dismissed it nonchalantly. “see…you read something and regurgitate with different stuff…is it that difficult or what? I used to complete two novels per month”

“Two?”

 “Then what? Sometimes I used to complete three four novels”

 “What would they give?” 

  “The agreement was about payment per page. But in practice, they would give whatever that came over their mind. From ten rupees to thirty rupees…You wouldn’t even get it in one go. In case if you asked them, they would give one rupee or Eight anas and make entries in the big ledger. Pudhumai Pithan has written about these Big ledger entries in his stories.”

 Getting stunned, I asked him, “Just thirty rupees!!…was it for the complete novel?”

 “Yes…We did not have any right beyond it. We had to give our acceptance in writing”, he said.

 “Just a while go, you have mentioned about a novel. For that, the wage was twenty rupees.”

 “Even then, it was insufficient. Wasn’t it?”

 “Of course…even a peon used to get a salary of hundred rupees per month. But I would get beleaguered to earn even thirty rupees for a month. Everything is written here”…he drew a line on his forehead.

 “Those books are still in the market. Don’t they?” I said.

 “They have been in the market for the last thirty-five years. Its value could have crossed twenty rupees”.

 “Didn’t they give any money?”

Saminathan smiled and said, “It is a good story anyway…that man has been telling that only he reared him up with proper food”. A moment later, he told “There is big story behind it. Is it not na? Tell that story”

 “What is the use of telling it”, the elderly person said.

 “See…he is a present generation writer. Let him know about it. What is wrong in it? Please tell that?”

 The elderly man once again started another round of chewing betel leaves. He could not peel off the areca nut as he was shivering. The areca nut dropped from his hand and fell in the yard. He opened the Seeval Packet. He was silent for a moment, with his head bent downwards. I was sitting in such a state of mind where I wanted to say it was alright and he might tell that later.

Heaving a big sigh, the elderly man said “I told you that earlier. Haven’t I? There was a great demand for school books. Congress party formed the government. They demanded that there must be booklets on freedom fighters in every school. Then there was demand for the life histories of scientists, historical figures like King Ashoka, Akbar and others. They had agreed to publish hundred books….but there was no one to write…They summoned me and asked how many books I could write….a day before that day, there was a big fight in the family. My life was moving on miserably with just curd rice and pickle. Individual family. Condition was such that I had to stitch the rice bags to cover my body. Torn Dhoti, Torn shirt….I was having a Khaki over-coat. You may consider Lord Krishna had come in the form of coat to save my honour. The argument resumed after dinner. My wife chided me how we could make arrangements for our girl child if the condition remained same like that…..I kept on writing without paying attention…she snatched it from my hands angrily and threw it away. I got up, frenzied and gave a tight slap on her cheek. I went out of the house and was sitting in front of Bhoodha Nathar temple throughout the icy night. When Chettiyar asked me that question that morning, it just came spontaneously through my tongue…I told him that I would write all the hundred books.

I wondered, “All the hundred!”

The elderly man laughed, “If a dog chases you, what is wrong in running? Yes…all hundred books. Per book fifty rupees. For hundred books, five thousand rupees. Chettiyar got bewildered and asked “are you playing? Ain’t you?”. “No…I can write all hundred books”, I told him. They know about my speed of writing. Will you be able to give all the books in a year?”, they asked. “Certainly…”, I replied. 

“It means one book in three days!!”, I wondered.  

“I just wrote…Now, it looks incredible for me. I have to write a letter to my son. It has been seven days now. I wrote four lines in an inland letter and kept as such. But that time, I wrote as if I was under the spell of some deity. I used to write throughout the night. Sometimes I used to complete even hundred pages in a day. Hand would pain and become immobile. Next day morning, the exterior of palm would have swollen like a soft Vada. In such condition, my son and daughter used to write as I dictated. I used to submit one book per three days. Going to the press in the morning to do proof reading and then a brief siesta… Then walking straight towards library to pick up a source book for the next book and sitting for writing after a coffee. Reading and writing would take place simultaneously. Sometime I used to get up only in the dawn.

“Nothing wrong in mentioning this…Let me suppose that I completed all in a year…When the last book comes out, the third edition of the first book is under sale…”

“I have read all those books…Even now, they have published new..” I said.

“Yes…It keeps coming out anyway. Doesn’t it?”, he chuckled.

“Nonetheless, we have done everything as much as possible for our children as a tutor. With a heave of sigh, he told, “I have stopped writing stories. Literature has lost itself somewhere. I am not meeting anyone. By chance, if Karichan Kunju happens to see me, he would shout, “hei…mother fucker! Stop!”. If he stood at the distance, I would escape telling I had some work. If he was near, he would catch hold of my shirt collar and abuse me with all explicit expletives. He was lucky anyway. Wasn’t he? Just for yelling out alphabets, his monthly salary directly comes to his house. He could talk about literature…But for me…everything is gone. Now, two novels and five six stories are ready. Somebody must read it. I guess he would.”

Saminathan intervened as if he has memorized these lines, “Pudhumai Pithan has already explained this. Only when there is darkness, light can be seen. Isn’t it? Will the light not be there or what? Till then we need to wait. The elderly man gave a smile. I have not seen such a heavy smile filled with misery ever in my life. Saminathan concluded, “How long do we have to wait? Is there any necessity for us to be alive when the light comes?”. I thought that it was a “letter” by Pudhumai Pithan.

“You may carry on…still you have not come to the main point”, Saminathan insisted.

 “What is the need of telling all those things? When the dead body gets burnt, everything gets burnt along with it including lust, enmity and all…There is no meaning for all these things in life da”

 “No…na. He must know this”, Saminathan reiterated.

 The elderly man looked at me, smiled and said “This man is different type. For such people, the door would open on its own. If not, he would break it open. Horoscopes of some people are like that.”

There was a silence once again. Other than the amount I received at times, I kept all the balance amount only with them. If I had it in my hands, I would have spent it for Puja and Naivedyam (ghee anoints) in the name of Goddess Indigent Lakshmi. After whatever I received, the balance amount of three thousand rupees was with the Chettiyar. Having that money in mind, I had arranged marriage for my daughter. I went to Chettiyar with the Tambulam Plate. I told him about the auspicious event and requested to give that amount. He started yelling, “Three Thousand!! What the heck!  Are you in your senses? Three Thousand for writing books!!”, Initially I thought he was playing prank. After that, I could understand he was speaking his mind. Till then, he was accustomed with only giving five or ten rupees. He could not digest the idea of giving three Thousand rupees to a writer at once.”

“But he has sold hundred books. Hasn’t he?”

“Yes…he had developed his shop double and triple with the profit from that money. A big house in Trichy was already built. He had purchased land at his native place. But all those things did not attract is attention. Did they?” He kept on telling that he had a debt of one lakh rupees. It was a debt he borrowed to expand his business. He printed all the books in different colours like Palm Sugar moulds and kept them in stacks in his Go-down. All were money. But in business, the capital would always remain a debt anyway. He could see only that. He could not see anything which he earned out of that money. “Don’t ever talk about three Thousand. If you like, I will give you seven hundred rupees”, he told. “Sami…please don’t hit my stomach” I begged him. All at once, tears started swelled up in my eyes. “Master, please don’t spoil the life of my daughter”, telling this I bent down beneath the table and held his legs. He shook his legs and yelled at me savagely, “Do you think I am a fool? Do you expect me to give that amount if you hold my legs? It is the amount which I earned four anas by five anas with my hard work. What the heck did you write? You just read four books and reproduced the same. For that, you demand four thousand!! Is the task of writing a colossal one like plucking hair or what? Even school children write throughout the day. Mind that your rice boiled only because of my money. Ungrateful dog! It was my mistake that I believed you as a human being”

“A crowd assembled there. Someone said, “It is just what the master says. Is it not? No matter what it could be, he was his God who had provided him food for seven years. His brother also came there at that time. He also scolded me. I started screaming at them hysterically. “You are amassing wealth by cheating me. You will never prosper ever in your life”. Suddenly, he hit me. The people nearby caught hold of him. “Get lost! You curse me after eating my salt. Do you?”, the elder one shouted. I was standing in the middle of the road. Became immobile. It was evening. I didn’t know where to go. How to go home? All the arrangements were on full swing. I needed money. Gold Jewellery and Sarees were to be purchased. Advance amount for making temporary shed to be given….I stood there still. After dusk, I went to the master and prostrated in front of him and cried. They pushed me out, “Poda…poda”

“At eight, they shut down the shop. I was standing there throughout the night. How I was standing! Why I was standing! I could understand nothing. I heard a shallow sound in my ears. That sound had become a very serious issue later. Leave it anyway. You must have read Saththangal (Sounds)”. I said, “Yes…”. He didn’t say anything for a while. That silence seems to be as heavy as black stone. He continued with a sigh, “When he came in the morning to open the shop, I was still sitting there in veranda. Tears started sliding down my cheeks after seeing him. I could only fold my hands. Not even a single word came out. I felt as if sand had got struck in my throat pit. He was staring at me for some time. A look as if he was repulsively looking at faeces…He opened the shop and went inside. He was sitting by the cash box for a while. I didn’t know what had happened, he came out and abused me, “You mother fucker! Are you eating rice and faeces? Are you a human being? Are you born to one man? I knew. If they start using expletives, our skin would peel off. I begged him with tears in my eyes, “I don’t have any other means other than dying”. He threw out a rupee coin at my face and screamed, “Go and die! You dog! Take it and get some poison”.

“I was sitting there immobile as if being under the spell of something. Deeply contemplating something, I started walking fast. I reached Chettiyar’s house. It was about ten in the morning. The Periya Achi (Senior Aunt), the wife of the elder one was sitting in the Veranda and was feeding idli to a neighbour’s child. I went to her, folded my hands and stood in front of her.  “How everything else bard?” she asked. She didn’t know anything much. She could only read word by word. That was it. I explained everything with my hands folded. I went to her just to explain everything to her so that she could explain it to Chettiyar. But when I was narrating my ordeal, from somewhere some sort of rapid anxiety came over!...As if the whole body was under fire! As if all my limps were writhing like flames! When I uttered “I am a blessed soul by Goddess Saraswati”. A divinely possession came upon me. The tenor of my voice went up…Even today, I still wonder at the things I did after that, how I did them all. ‘Will you and your children be able to live peacefully after hitting me in my stomach? If you are able to live peacefully, it means Saraswati is none but a whore’, telling this, I took out a pen and wrote a Venba, glued it with Idli, pasted it on the door of her house and came back.”

“As I walked, the speed got slowed down. I could not walk further. It was more than a day since I ate. But if I thought about food, I felt disgusting. Then I walked straight, sold my old wrist watch and had liquor as much as my breath could take. I didn’t know when I came home and where I slept. I understood my wife had tried jumping into the well. Since it was day time and people were moving around, they caught her. I was lying like a dead body. Unknown persons were trying to wake me up. Abused me. Some kicked me with their legs.  But all seemed to me as if I was watching everything that were happening above by burying myself inside the Kaveri River bed. It appeared that I was dead. When I thought I was dead, what a peaceful thought it was. I lost all my weight. How it would be when a debt of one lakh rupees that had been haunting for forty years was paid off in a single day!. It was like that…the peace was such that…Like air…like sponge…Only at that time, I could hear a sound in my ear…Like someone kept on telling my name. Just that my own mother calling me softly…At that time, I could realize how beautiful death was. Now I am not afraid of death. I am waiting for it with grace.”

“What was that Venba?” I asked. I could guess what it was. “It was Aram. (Rectitude)…there was a custom like that. Wasn’t it? Truly speaking, I just forgot it after I had heard about it.  Karichan Kunju and I have discussed prosody a bit. Otherwise, I am not well versed in even in Tamil. That was the first and last poem I ever wrote. I could not remember that verse. I have been trying to forget if for the last twenty five years. However, the last two lines of that verse are still in my memory. “Chetti kulamaruththu semmannin medaakki etti ezhuga vendraram (By perishing the lineage of Chettiyar, piling it up in the red sand, let the virtue be raised!)

 “Then what happened?” I asked impatiently.

“I came to know about what happened only after I was told about it. Achi left everything as it was, with loosened locks and crumbled saree, went to the shop, stood in front of it. She told Chettiyar to settle all the amount of the poet immediately without leaving a penny remaining. Even a thought about that makes me shudder now. How she could be looking? In earlier days, one Achi burnt the whole of Madurai. Was it she? All such people were in same mould! Weren’t they? Chettiyar was shivering and promised her, ‘I will give him his money…I will give it by tomorrow’. ‘No…You have to give today itself…You must give now itself. Only after you give it, I’ll get up’, telling this she moved and sat on the tar road. She was very dark in complexion. Fully endowed figure. She was a size of four persons. A thick layer of turmeric on face. A vermillion of quarter size of an ana that looked burning on forehead. The sacred thread that had been jeweled magnificently was fully occupying her neck like Fry wood buds sprouting itself with its fullness. She was looking like Goddess Amman herself descended on at the Tri-junction. Wasn’t she? No one could speak a single word. She would bite the throat pit and drink the blood!!…Chetti got up and ran. There was no sufficient money in the bank….he ran out for borrowing…He fell on the foot of his known people…He could collect the amount only by evening. Till then she was sitting at the middle of the road like a statue made of black stone with her eyes closed. The Chithirai month’s summer was harsh like fire. It was a good Agni Natchathiram. The bitumen road was just melting. Chetti arranged a taxi, came to my house. I was just lying like a dead body. Wasn’t I? He emptied all the money he brought at the feet of my wife and implored her, ‘Mother…please tell your husband not to destroy my family. The light of my lineage is now sitting on the road. Here is all his money with interest’. He ran back by the same car. He went straight to her, tied his towel in his waist and begged her, ‘Goddess of my family! Please get up. Whatever I had to do, I have done it’, he cried. Four persons lifted her, I guess. People told that when she was lifted, the burnt skin and flesh got stuck and came along with her saree”.

I was able to visualize that scene clearly in many folds. He was sitting as if he had gone to that era. Someone passed by selling ‘Kolam powder’ outside. I could not even figure out for a while where actually I was.

The elder man continued, “Marriage took place perfectly. Chettiyar and his brother had sent one sovereign gold ring. After ten days, Achi asked them to invite me. I went there. I went there thinking of falling on her feet. My mind started changing its course towards a different direction from the day my daughter’s marriage was over. I kept pondering over why I got unduly angry. My mind kept on saying that demanding the whole money from a person who was running his business on debt was actually wrong.

“Once I entered the house, Achi came near and stood by me with her hands folded. She politely said, ‘Dear poet! You should sing a verse to bless my family. Whatever the mistake we have committed, you must forgive it. It is said that Goddess Lakshmi may come and go. But Goddess Sarawati will open her eyes once in after seven births. You are a magnificent soul. You shed tears standing at my house yard. Let your word save us from that sin from getting it into our family.’ “What a word it was! Like the way one counts gold coins carefully! Like a pearl circlet!  We used to write four or five times even to complete a paragraph. Don’t we? Even then, it is incomplete. What does blessing of Goddess Saraswati Mean? If you have fire in your mind, she would come and sit anyway. Wouldn’t she? That was only her destiny. Other things are just immaterial…... What was I talking? My hand and legs were worn-out. My tongue went inside. I was sitting on the chair with my head looking down. I could not see her. I was watching her feet. There was a ring on her toe! There was a beauty in it. It was the beauty that dwells with the women who stay at home. Who said rectitude is something meant only for people who rule the country? Righteousness dwells at home man!!… People praise chaste woman for a sound reason. Don’t they? At once, a verse came over my mind. I wrote eight verses spontaneously. I gave it to Achi. She held it in her hands and touched her eyes with it.”

 “What was surprising is that I could remember only the first two lines of the first verse. ‘metti oli sithara meyyaallaam pon viriya chetti kula vilakku seitha thavam’  (The light from her toe ring gets scattered, the gold gets scattered throughout her body, the good deed done by the light of Chetti family). That was it. I have tried remembering the remaining lines many times. It is alright. It was all about I could do. Remaining was the play of Goddess Saraswati, I had thought. She asked me to sit inside her house on silk spread and served food on a silver plate with her own hands. She gave me a small Thamabalam Plate with a gold coin and five hundred rupees. She called upon her children to seek my blessings. When I came out, I could realize that it was not me I had been. I was dead once and came alive again. That day I realized what was meant by a ‘Word’. It was Arjuna’ bow…When holding it, it would be one. When shooting, it would be hundred. When it hit, it would be thousand….Is that right Saminathu?”

 “People consider righteousness supreme with a strong logic. Don’t they?” he said.

“Even Elango says that Rectitude can become the God of Death”. The elderly man was looking at Saminathan as if the latter was a new person. Then he muttered as if he was talking to himself, “Yes…it was rectitude that prevailed. But it was with that lady anyway”.

 

                                                                     ***End***

Translated from Tamil by Saravanan. K  

Source: www.jeyamohan.in