The man in Terylene shirt and eight cubits long Dhoti (Terylene Shirtum Ettu Muzha Vettiyum Anintha Manithar) by G.Nagarajan

 

*This is an English Translation of “Terylene Shirtum Ettu Muzha Vettiyum Anintha Anintha Manithar”, a short story written by G. Nagarajan. Translated from Tamil by K. Saravanan. This 34^th English Translation in the Classic Tamil Short Stories Series.

G Naga Rajan 

   

The brothel agent warned her not to keep the door opened and stand at the threshold as he received a reliable information that there might be a police raid. ‘There is no information about Kamala who ran away from the brothel home a month ago. Sarasa, who had gone home for Onam hasn’t returned yet.’ After closing the outer door, Deivanai, sitting alone on mattress on the cot under tube light in the room adjacent to the outer veranda, was sulking at it.

Thoughtful about something, she climbed up the steps in the outer veranda, reached upstairs, and switched the light on. That room had some more comforts than the one downstairs. Paintings from other countries decorated its walls. One very big cot made in Chettinadu ¹ with a mattress laid on it, that could accommodate two persons was kept near the wall. That room, normally used only for the ‘night bookings’ was lying empty for the last one month without any clients. Kamala had the luck to garner some ‘night bookings’. Deivanai lifted the mattress on the cot slightly, and took out a long half an inch thick binding rope lying beneath the mattress. It was the rope used by her mother to bind her beddings when she had left her town. Standing in the middle of the room, she pulled it at different places as if she examined its strength, and looked up at the ceiling of the room. An iron ring was hanging in the beam. It was located just directly above the cot’s edge, but an inch away from it. ‘Is it possible to reach the ring with the rope by standing on the cot?’ She couldn’t see the ring clearly as the upper part of mercury lamp hanging in the middle was covered with a curved tin sheet. She went down in haste, brought a long bamboo stick used for drying clothes. She climbed on to the bed, and examined whether she could insert the end of the rope into the ring. That time, the sound of knocking on the door was heard downstairs. Leaving the rope and stick on the cot itself, she ran downstairs. Before opening the outer door, she stood, hesitant for a second as she felt that no one had actually knocked at the door. She could hear only the sound of Poongavanam’s house door opening. She looked through the gap in the door to see if anyone was standing outside. She felt that no one was standing there. Deivanai went upstairs.

She resumed her attempt to insert the rope inside the ring again with the help of the stick. Her shoulders started aching. Her forehead started sweating, sweat flowed down, erased the Javvadhu vermilion on forehead and flowed down further. An idea came over her mind. She dropped the stick and rope on the floor immediately and ran downstairs. She found out a half feet long rusted nail near the window in the back yard. She came again upstairs with the nail. She tied the end of rope in the middle of the nail. As she forcefully tightened it, the rope cut her palm, injured it. Unable to bear its pain, she spat her saliva on it and gently blew air on it. Standing on the cot, she again tried to insert the nail into the ring with the help of stick. As the nail was not fixed properly at the tip of stick it fell onto the ground repeatedly. She rested for a minute, and set right the shiver in her hands. Again resumed her attempt to insert the nail into the iron ring. Half of the nail could enter the ring, but yet the knot in the rope obstructed the remaining half from entering fully. The weight of the rope also prevented the nail from entering the iron ring. The rope was lengthy. Deivanai felt that the rope shouldn’t be that long. ‘Where she could get a knife to cut off the rope to the required length, she reflected.  There was no knife at home. Blade? That was also not available’. Deivanai remembered an Arival manai ² lying in the kitchen. She jumped down, ran downstairs and brought the Arival Manai. She stood at the edge of the cot, planned to shorten the rope deftly, by measuring out the distance between her neck and the iron ring, and fixing an approximate point on the rope where the noose had to be made. As her luck would have it, the Arival Manai was relatively sharp, she didn’t have much problem in cutting the rope. Deivanai had yet another idea. She parted the tip of the stick a bit with Arival Manai. Now, she was able to raise the stick above, with the rope not falling down as it was tightly wedged at the tip of the stick. After successfully inserting the nail into the iron ring, she made the rope hanging perpendicularly as the nail was pressing across the iron ring. Standing on the edge of the cot, she tried to make a noose big enough for her head to enter with a knot at the tip of rope. She couldn’t make both noose and knot. She wasn’t experienced in these kinds of affairs. After a couple of failures, she was successful in making a noose with a knot. That time, she heard someone was knocking on the door downstairs. Deivanai halted all her attempts for a second. The sound from below became louder. “There is no such urgency for all these now”, she reflected, ran downstairs, wiped her face with the hem of her saree, adjusted her dress and opened the outer door.

The brothel agent and a new person were standing outside.

“Why this much time to open the door?” asked the brothel agent.

“I was upstairs” Deivanai replied.

“I told you to switch the lights off and lock the door. Didn’t I? Who asked you to go upstairs? As the brothel agent entered the house, the other person too entered along with him.

“Umm…switch the light on” the brothel agent told her, as he entered the house. Deivanai switched the light on in the outer veranda. The person who had come along with the brothel agent looked very tall. His hair was styled, incompletely, like Bhagavathar’s ³, and he was wearing a Terylene shirt and eight cubit long dhoti. Unlike other usual visitors who used to stare at her, he was glancing through the outer veranda and the room adjacent to it. “Is everything alright sir?” the brothel agent looked at him, asked.

He entered the room adjacent to the outer veranda, examined the walls closely in the tube light, and told,” Not bad. You have kept everything neat and clean”

“Here everything is very clean” the brothel agent told, threw out a sly smile. “Let me take leave, then”

“The amount?” asked the new comer.

“I will collect it from the doctor” The brothel agent replied and left.

The visitor closed the outer door and switched the light off in the outer veranda, came to her. Deivanai greeted him and entered the room lit by tube light, adjacent to the outer veranda. She directly went to the bed and sat there. He came near to her, stood hesitantly.

“You may sit down here” she remarked.

“No…There is a chair in the outer veranda. Isn’t it? Please bring it here” he told her. She smiled.

“I am habituated with sitting on easy chair comfortably” he explained.

Many visitors had flirted with her sitting on that reclining cane chair. She went, brought that cane chair and put it in front of him. He sat on it. She sat on the cot again. Both of them were looking at each other.

“You look beautiful” he told her. She smiled at him.

“Please pull your saree down a bit” he told her. She laughed again. “I am not kidding. Pull your saree down a bit so that it does not cover your breasts fully”.

She obliged.

“Sit straight”

She sneered again.

“Please sit straight” he told as if he was pleading her.

“Are you going to photograph me? She laughed.

“Yes…you may think so” he retorted.

She adjusted her saree and hair as if she was sitting in front of an artiste. He looked at her intently for a while, relished her beauty, found her pose inappropriate, and told her, “You don’t offer good view in sitting. Please lie down”

“But you are sitting there…doing nothing. Aren’t you?” she told without smiling.

“I have come here just to sit and watch you. Haven’t I?” he replied. She lay down, smiling. She folded her one hand, buttressed her head with it, and lay there looking at him, yet smiling. He kept looking at her.

“Don’t you have an urge to do?” she asked him.

“Yes I do have…a lot”

“Then why this distance?”

“That is why I keep staring at you”

“Is just a stare enough for you?” she smiled.

“I can touch to feel you as well”

“But you haven’t touched me yet. Have you?”

“If I touch you, you won’t keep quiet. Will you?”

She laughed. “I won’t be naughty. You may touch me, if you like”

The sound of knocking on the door was heard from below. She had trouble getting up as if she couldn’t do it on her own. The visitor got up, calmly, went to the door and opened it. It was the brothel agent who had knocked on the door.

Before the brothel agent asked him something, the visitor took out something from his pocket and gave it to him.

“No…No…Keep it with you. I will collect everything from the doctor. Doctor has arrived at the shop. He asked me whether you had come” the brothel agent told him.

“Do tell him that I will be there in a short while”

The brothel agent leaves. The visitor locks the door.

“Atrocious!” exasperated, he sat on the cane chair. 

“What is that?” she asked him, getting down from the cot, came near, stood beside him.

“These kinds of time calculations” as he was telling her, she hugged him, placed kisses on his cheeks and kissed his lips in haste.

“It is alright. You better sleep now” he told her.

“What are you doing then?” she enquired. Lay on the bed.

“I am just sitting here” He replied.

“I don’t mean that. I am asking about your profession.”

“Taking birth, growing up and then dying. This is my profession”

Getting down from the cot, she tries to hug him. But he remains reclined on the chair. Having failed in her attempts, she goes back to the cot and falls on it.

“I feel thirsty” Deivanai tells him.

He switches the light on in the outer veranda, brings water from a pot in the corner, and gives it to her. When she drinks it, part of it doesn’t go inside her mouth, spills over and wets her breasts instead.  

As he is standing, tells her, “Good bye”

“When will you come next? As she is enquiring him, he takes out five rupees coin from his pocket, gives it to her. She receives it, touches it with her eyes and keeps safely under the pillow. He then opens the door and leaves.

At three ‘O clock, the brothel agent came to the house. She was very much eager to ask him about the visitor. But the brothel agent didn’t like her show any interest on any particular visitor. So, on the very outset, she informed him, “That man gave me five rupees.” 

“Which man? asked the brothel agent.

“That man…the one you brought first. That one”

“Who did I bring first? I came here only once today”

“You brought him here at half past seven or so. Haven’t you? You don’t remember that? Do you?”

“What? At half past seven! When I left Subbu’s house, it was already nine.”

“Did you go to Subbu’s house today?”

“Yes…merry making till I spent twenty rupees. The Head Constable warned me not to venture out till nine on the street today. So I stayed at Subbu’s house till nine”

“If then, you didn’t bring that Terylene shirt man. Did you? I understood that a doctor also came with him. And you took that ‘doccutor’ to some other house. Didn’t you?”

“Doctor! Who is that Doccutor? Are you out of your senses? Or have you been dreaming by keeping the door opened?”

“No…I don’t. I was sitting upstairs keeping the door closed. I came down only when you had knocked it.”

The brothel agent blinked clueless. She continued.

“He had a long hair. He was wearing a blue colour Terylene shirt and eight cubit long dhoti. But he never touched me.” Deivanai laughed when she told this.

“You…whore…stop your blather. When I came to the street, it was already nine ‘O clock. I brought only one guy. It was that Sayabu. Who did I bring before that?”

“Let us see who is actually blabbering, whether it is you or I? Quipping, she turned the pillow over to show him the five rupees coin that she received from the visitor. Nothing was found under the pillow. Deivanai shuddered. She got nervous, and turned the whole pillow over. Nothing was found. She searched for it under the mattress and inside the pillow covers. She toppled the pillow covers upside down holding its two ends with her hands. The pillow fell on the ground. She groped inside the cover. Searched the floor. That five rupees coin was not found. The brothel agent was standing clueless.

“It shouldn’t have gone anywhere. It must be somewhere around here”. Deivanai was still hopeful.

“Which one” the brothel agent asked her.

“That five rupees given by the Terylene shirt man.

“You had dreamt. Hadn’t you? The brothel agent laughed.

“It is you who will forget everything under intoxication” Deivanai retorted, still searching the missing five rupees coin.

“Probably it may be in the room upstairs” Deivanai climbed up the steps, went upstairs. The rope that she had left hanging from the iron ring with all her efforts and the noose that added beauty to it at its tip, got her astounded in the mercury lamp light which she didn’t switch off.

***End***

Notes:

1. Chettinadu: The region in southern Tamil Nadu known for its exquisite cuisine and architecture.

2.   Arival Manai: A curved cleaver with its sharp edge facing the user, fitted on a wooden frame held down by legs, used for cutting vegetables in olden days. Even now, it is used in many Indian villages.

3.     Bhagavathar: It refers to famous film Actor Thygaraja Bhagavathar.  His iconic hair style was a sort of craze among youths in those days.

Translated from Tamil by K. Saravanan

Source: G. Nagarajan’s Short story “Terylene shirtum Ettu Muzha Vettiyum Anintha Manithar” 

The Phonograph that fell silent (Isaikkatha Isaithattu) by Thangar Bachan

*This is an English Translation of “Isaikkatha Isaithattu”, a short story written by Thangar Bachan, a famous Tamil film maker. Translated from Tamil to English by K. Saravanan. This is 33^rd English Translation in the Classic Tamil Short stories Series. 

Thangar Bachan

    

Kodipavunu had come to her mother’s house. As the village she settled down after her marriage was nearby, she would reach her mother’s home within half an hour from the very moment she made her mind up, carrying her one child on her waist and holding the other in hand, going past the lake bund, entering the hill locks, walking through the streams and passing through the cremation ground. 

While going past the cremation ground, an ineffaceable fear would sit in her mind. But now, her legs too tottered each time, instead. Despite that, she was unable to opt for different route other than this.  

She couldn’t take her child to the doctor as it had already become dark when Kodipavunu arrived in her mother’s home. Her elder daughter had diarrhoea and was suffering from stomach ache all through the night without sleep.

As the very first task in the dawn, Kodipavunu took her child to Control’s mother. Actually she should be addressed as ‘Aranganathan’s mother’. But no one called her so.

Since it was raining incessantly previous night, water was found stagnated in pools where ever one stepped on. Unable to find food, the chickhens were standing, curling their bodies, unable to flap their wet feathers. Both mother and daughter reached her house, holding a winnow each above their heads in place of an umbrella.    

Control’s mother had kept some utensils on the floor where the rain water was falling inside the house seeping through the tiles. The sound of every drop of rain water seeping through the ceiling falling down in the utensils reminded her of her son. Not bothered to replace the utensils filled with water she was lying in a corner of the house with her body curled inwards. She got up on seeing Kodipavunu and sat.  It was a sort of solace for her as she met her younger brother’s daughter for the first time after a long interval.

When she stepped into the house, she couldn’t remain indifferent to the thoughts about her ‘Mama’ control. The suffocation that had filled in the house started filling in her heart too. Her aunt, Thailammai, stroked her back reassuringly.

The field of medicine has solution for every petty thing under the sun. But, there was no known medicine for this intussusception. Whoever suffered from this derangement of intestines in the village, they had to come only to Thailammai. Within five minutes the treatment would be over. Even those who were suffering from stomach ache for up to four days with diarrhoea would be able to start eating their next meals.  

While playing the child got her intestines invaginated.  Kodipavunu brought water in a small brass bowl, kept aside, and grabbed her child’s hands tightly, not allowing it move. Dipping her fingers in the water, Thailammai kept tapping the intestinal area in child’s abdomen gently with her wet fingers uniformly from top to bottom. The child was writhing in pain. 

It was raining consistently. Some old phonographs were found inserted covering the gaps in tiles in the roof so as to prevent rain water from seeping through those gaps. Kodipavunu noticed those old phonographs lying in sun light and rain which were once played incessantly those days. Many of the phonographs were found broken; and the gaps in the roof were found filled with those broken pieces of phonographs. On seeing them, she couldn’t help thinking about Control.

Thailammai brought up her only son, Aranaganthan, who had lost his father at his very young age with a lot of pampering. Even during the admission into the first grade, he entered the school with a pompous fanfare. Control’s maternal uncle Rajamanikkam arranged that fanfare with Nagaswaram and Dhavil, insisting the musicians compete with each other and giving prizes, at times, to them.

When he went to the senior school located just opposite to the junior school for his sixth grade, he was stubborn that he wouldn’t enter the school without the same fanfare. Rajamanikkam didn’t fail in his duties that time too in fulfilling his desires. He took his daughter Kodipavunu along with him to the senior school with much of fanfare. Since he couldn’t pass in his fifth grade for two years, he had to study in the same class with Kodipavunu who was two years younger to him.

While taking group photograph in the fifth class he was adamant that he would stand only next to her and stood beside her too. Be it the Golden beetle laying eggs in the match box or making a hand fan with palm tree leaves or catching fish in the stream or ripening mango or custard fruit in a pot with neem leaves, he used to give them first only to Kodipavunu. In addition to this, his maternal uncle’s frequent cajoleries ‘Mapla…Mapla’ (colloquial term for Son-in-Law) made him nurture a strong belief that Kodipavunu would be married only to him. He wouldn’t allow her to play with anyone in the school. To him, Kodipavunu appeared as a stunningly beautiful damsel.

When he was in his seventh grade, the science teacher formed different teams by grouping the students. Control and Kodipavunu were in the same team. The fantasy and happiness he experienced due to her presence in his team increased his interest in attending the school regularly. When it was announced that both of them together should plant a sapling, nurture it till they reach their eleventh grade till it became a tree, he dug a pit immediately in five minutes which would have otherwise taken at least half an hour time. The teacher announced “Here is the sapling for the next team of Aranganathan and Kodipavunu” and gave them a Portia tree sapling. When both of them received it together, Kodipavunu couldn’t tolerate when she saw his sixth finger brushing her fingers. The very thought of nurturing a tree along with him made her repugnant. Controlling her anguish, she planted the Portia sapling in the pit. While closing the pit with sand, she saw his sixth finger with a shrunken nail dangling. She took her hands out of the pit at once, and got up. Control, who was till then fantasising her, pulled her hands towards him. Unable to bear this, she shouted at him, “Remove your hands”. Even though no one had noticed her scolding, Control was completely heart-broken.

It was simply unbearable for him to see Kodipavunu refusing everything he gave now and hating him instead, who otherwise accepted the gifts which he used to give her with love in earlier occasions. That day too, they were watching a movie sitting on floor in the village talkies, he bought ‘Murukku’ for her with love. When he passed it on to the other side to her where women were sitting, the same agony of rejection again.

“Why are you after my life? I am going to kill myself just because of you”- she yelled at him in front of every one. Even at that time, Control didn’t take that insult to his heart as he considered her very important in his life. 

As the time passed with all its vagaries, Rajamanikkam, her father too disliked Control the way Kodipavunu disliked him. He didn’t like to call him as his son-in-law who had packed up all his education with eighth grade. Rajamanikkam thought that his daughter was his first priority. He warned Control that he shouldn’t meet his daughter anymore. It became a big issue for Control that the woman he was supposed to own had decided to move away from him. He told everything to his mother and wept.

When they celebrated a pompous ‘yellow water pouring ceremony’ after she attained puberty, as a maternal uncle Control was not invited. He didn’t pay heed to his mother’s words that he shouldn’t go to the place where he was not respected. To compete with loud speakers engaged there, he purchased a loud speaker for himself and tied it on to a canopy post, and increased its volume to its maximum. A tug of war started between the loud speaker operator engaged by Rajamanikkam and Control. In the ear-splitting noise of those two loud speakers, they couldn’t look after the affairs of the ceremony properly. Unable to withstand this tussle, Rajamanikkam’s operator ran away even without demanding the charges of his loud speaker. It was extremely embarrassing for Kodipavunu to come to dais to attend the ceremony. Control repeatedly played a song in the loud speaker. “Ennai vittaal Yaarumilla kanmaniye unnai kaiyanaikka…unnai vittaal veroruththi ennamillai naan kathalikka” (There is no one else other than me to embrace you…There is no one else other than you for me to fall in love with). It was at that time the movie with that song had been released. But to everyone’s dismay, he didn’t play that song fully…only those first two lines…he played it repeatedly with repeated pause. No one dared to ask him. If anyone dared, he would pick up fights with them. Everyone knew that convincing him was just impossible. Control also expected someone to come forward to ask him.

Kodipavunu, sitting on the podium, didn’t even turn her face towards the direction he was sitting. He kept on staring at her. He presumed that he was singing those two lines of the song by himself. She also felt that it was he who was shouting into her ears.  

For how long would he be able to sustain this gimmicks? He also got tired soon. Once Kodipavunu went inside the house after the ceremony, he paused the loud speaker for a while and went to loo. He came back and prepared to play that song once again. But the phonograph was not there. Missing. He kept on searching, searching it everywhere and finally worn out without finding it. He stood vexed on whom he should show his anger. Notwithstanding the pride he was holding till then, he pushed the people on his way aside, entered the house straight away and searched Kodipavunu’s room.

This action of Control looked funny for those who were sitting in a circle, and giving Thamboolam to the attendees of the ceremony. If they laughed it out loud and showed their mirth out, they knew what would happen to them next and hence hushed their mirth up among themselves.

Finally he entered the deity room. Kodipavunu and her sister alone were sitting in that room. She didn’t get up on seeing him. The women who were watching all his enactments till then, were now eagerly waiting in the front yard to watch the drama that was waiting to be unfolded. Control was burning with anger. He was walking towards her as if he was going to smack her down and then retreated and then again doing the same like a bull attached with Kamalai (a traditional system used in wells to take water. Bulls will be used to pull the water basket from below), yelling at her, “What the heck you and your parents think of me? You blokes planned to conduct this ceremony without inviting me? Didn’t you? Now you have seen what song I played and how I played it. Haven’t you? This is what I am. If your father hides my phonograph, do you think that I will leave this matter as such? I have one more song with me. See …. Here it is. See. Now have you understood everything? Haven’t you?  

She despised to even look at his face. She felt his behaviour as an affront. Standing at the very close proximity, Control felt that she looked very beautiful. Her appearance in sari for the first time induced his desire to speak to her more.

Rajamanikkam, who was till then sitting at the back yard entrance watching all, lost his patience. Kodipavunu’s mother came on his way, obstructed him. But he seemed to have lost his control. As soon as he encountered Rajamanikkam face to face, all his anger dwindled soon and changed to pleading. “Mama…why didn’t you invite me for this ceremony? You too hate me. Don’t you? Just for your sake, I am leaving now without making fuss out here”

After that, somehow Control was settled down. He was waiting for the eleventh grade to be completed. Kodipavunu got the first mark in the school that year. Control came to know that Kodipavunu’s parents were looking for a bridegroom for her. He didn’t like to plead anyone anymore. “You don’t need a girl who doesn’t love you. I will find a girl more beautiful than her and get her married to you” his mother tried to convince him with all her might. But, he was very firm in his decision that it was only Kodipavunu who he loved so much could become his wife.    

He went to the printing press, gave the details as much as he knew and came back home with wedding invitation cards in hands. His mother, Thailammai was awestruck seeing his stubbornness. Control was immensely happy and proud to see his name and her name printed on the wedding invitation card. He dreamt that he was living with her.

Upon knowing all these developments, Rajamanikkam got the shock of his life. He knew very well what would happen if he raised his voice against control. He tried every means and tricks with him to convince him; he even begged him, holding his hands. All the relatives were called upon, and it was unanimously decided that the marriage could be solemnised on the fixed day if both of their horoscopes matched with each other. Without knowing how to counter this argument, Control accepted this offer.

Kodipavunu didn’t come out. She kept on crying seeing the weeding cards. Whenever his thoughts came over her mind, it was yet another incident, other than his six fingers, that never went out of her mind, continued to haunt her and increased her hatred for him.

It was a holiday. Kodipavunu was studying in seventh grade. She was on her way to the field where her father was ploughing the land, carrying food for him. Ear-splitting chirping of birds. They were flying around the fully grown pearl millet field waiting for harvest, pecking the grains from each straw every second. When Kodipavunu was walking through the pearl millet stalks grown to the height of humans, singing a movie song, she stood stunned at seeing a scene at a curve of a ridge. She couldn’t turn her eyes aside. With his usual assumption that no one would be coming by that way, Control was sitting along the ridge of the field and defecating in open. On seeing her, he too got astonished, not knowing how to respond to that situation, he was sitting immobile. Since Kodipavunu didn’t like to go back on seeing this, she turned her face away from him on the other side and went past him. Control, blinking, visibly shocked, got up holding his half trouser with his one hand.       

This incident which had got deeply imprinted in her mind, made her develop a sort of repugnance and strong dislike for him.

Control declared categorically that even a drop of water wouldn’t go into his throat till he came to know about the result of horoscope scrutiny. An astrologer was called upon and the horoscopes were examined at his house entrance itself in front of villagers. The astrologer announced firmly that he would die if he tied nuptial knots with Kodipavunu. Control’s mother pleaded her brother and brought a different astrologer. Control was not ready to accept it. As he thought that the new astrologer too wouldn’t speak in his favour, he himself went to Vadalur and brought an astrologer. The new chap also recited the same of what the previous astrologer had told.

Control wasn’t the same as he used to be before. He avoided meeting fellow villagers. Stopped working in his field too. Even his regular visits to Cuddalore and Panruti for watching movies also stopped. He kept himself indoor.

That night, Rajamanikkam came there along with his wife with Thamboolam plate in his hands. He gave it to his sister. All what he could do was just crying on seeing her. Control didn’t look at them till they left. He kept looking at the ground, hanging his head down. Rajamanikkam couldn’t come out with anything that could convince him. He just told him if he had waited for another three or four years, he would get him married to his younger daughter.

The car had come from the bridegroom’s house to give send off to the bride. They called Thailammai also for sending the bride off. Every instance that occurred there got Control lose his mental balance. He climbed on to the loft, took out the pesticide kept in a sack for sprinkling on cashew trees. He came down after drinking it.

Since he knew that Kodipavunu would leave the village only after paying respects at the temple, he went to the village temple and lay down there. Within a short while, his limbs started convulsing. He yelled “Kodipavunu….Kodipavunu…” The villagers took him to the Naduveerapattu hospital despite his vehement resistance.

On hearing the news, Kodipavunu was totally heart broken, and cried inconsolably thinking about Control who loved her more than his life. She wanted to visit the hospital as it was on the way to bride groom’s house. But her relatives didn’t allow her. When the car approached the hospital, she yelled at everyone to stop the car. Paying no heed to anyone’s words, she ran into the hospital in her bridal attire. Control was kept lain nude on a cot, as an effort to save his life. On seeing him, Kodipavunu wept more. Even in that condition, Control was mumbling, “let me die…let me die”, staring at Kodipavunu in his semi-conscious state. Unable to bear this scene, Thailammai and Rajamanikkam assuaged Kodipavunu, took her to the house.

During her visits to her mother’s house, Kodipavunu didn’t go to Control’s house. Even when her mother showed him a child, telling him that it was Kodipavunu’s child, he didn’t like to show affection towards it. Brazen faced, he just took out some auxiliary items related to loud speakers he bought recently, cleaned them. He had gained an expertise of driving bicycle carrying Welcome Board, Standing Light wooden poles, and tube lights together. As he didn’t like to work in the fields, he had made arranging lighting and sound system for marriage and functions alike as full time profession for himself.      

His unshaven beard and moustache on his face for four years, indeed, terrorised the children who happened to see him. The villagers from nearby village had given him a contract to play songs at Kodukkan Palayam Mariyammam Temple during the whole month of Margazhi and finalised it with symbolic gesture of giving advance money and areca nut. He would leave for work at half past four in the evening with Ragi Dosai made by his mother for his dinner. From half past five in the evening to eight in the night he would play devotional songs and sleep in the temple. He would get up at half past four in the morning and play the songs till eight. After returning home by bicycle, he would sleep throughout the day. He knew that Kodipavunu was living in that village. All through those thirty days, Kodipavunu was listening to all songs played by him. She could very well ask him to come to her home to sleep instead of sleeping in the temple. But didn’t call him as she knew that he wouldn’t listen to her.

Since it was Friday, she had come to the temple along with her children. It was painful for her to see the unidentifiably unkempt appearance of Control. He was sitting, holding his hands across, with a blank look at the wall. She wanted to talk to him by any means; but couldn’t. The phonograph which Control lost during the ‘Yellow Water Pouring Ceremony' was now in the hands of Kodipavunu. She threw it out to his side when no one noticed, kept it on the wooden plank and went back.

The absence of phonograph that had been troubling her for such a long time had actually troubled her more now.

…

Thailammai asked Kodipavunu’s daughter to jump down from the veranda thrice. The rain didn’t stop as yet. Kodipavunu was watching those phonographs that fell silent, found imprisoned amidst the tiles above. It was the house where she should have lived. She was unable to leave Thailammai. While leaving, she took out fifty paise coin from her younger daughter and gave it to her aunt. It was a symbolic amount Thailammai used to charge customarily for the treatment she gave. She refused it telling that she treated none other than her grand-daughter.

The clouds that formed somewhere became water droplets, fell onto the ground, losing its original colour and merged with everything on its way. The reddish rain water mixed up with the red sand was running down without knowing where it was actually flowing.

Now, Kodipavunu didn’t hold the winnow above her head. She drenched in the rain. Her two daughters, holding a winnow each above their head were walking behind their mother, enjoying the rain.

The manner in which he got the stolen phonograph back and the place from where he had found it raised a lot of questions in Control’s mind. In a while, he got the answer too. It gave him a sort of boundless ecstasy. He thought that his life was meaningful. On the very next day, he shaved off his beard and looked like a new bridegroom. No one could figure out the reason for his behaviour. Thailammai was in eleventh heaven to see the change in her son. He didn’t come to eat food even after she called him. He just closed the door of his room, played the same song again and again, and kept listening to it.

At one point of time, he felt that happiness and sorrows were all just illusions. Happiness disappeared from him. They brought him dead, laid him outside, after he killed himself by hanging in the same room where he wanted to live. No one could understand the reason for his happiness and sorrows. In the letter with spelling errors found in his room, he had written that all his properties should be given to Kodipavunu’s daughters and that phonograph should be handed over to Kodipavunu.

Whenever Kodipavunu remembers him, she takes out that phonograph that had fallen silent and looks at it blankly. She doesn’t have the courage to play it.

***End***   

Translated from Tamil by K. Saravanan

Source: Thangar Bachan’s short story “Isaikkatha Isaithattu”  

The Gift (Anbalippu) by Ku. Alagirisamy.

 

Ku. Alagirisamy

*This is an English translation of “Anbalippu”, a short story written by Ku. Alagirisamy. Translated from Tamil to English by Mr Shanmuga sundaram, a chennai based retired software professional. This is 32^ndEnglish Translation in the Classic Tamil Short Stories Series. 

… 

 As the next day was Sunday, I stayed up awake for long at night, reading. It would have been two o’clock on Saturday night when I went to bed. No matter how late I go to sleep, it still takes me about half an hour to fall asleep. So, I would have started sleeping only at half past two. While I was sleeping soundly, four or five hands came up on my back and began to pummel me hard. The noise caused by them was much greater than the pain caused by the blows. By the time I woke up from sleep, it was like an ant bite on the right side of my arm. 

"Uncle! You a sleepyhead!"

"It's half past seven."

"Wake up now or I will pinch you very hard"

"Let's bring some water and sprinkle on his face. You have to get up within two more minutes"

Thus, a chit chat of many voices together. In the middle of their talk, two or three persons joined in and laughed heartily.I woke up.

"Who is it? Um! Here I come. Disturbing my sleep"thus scowling I got up and sat down.Except for one boy, that is Sarangarajan, all the other children started laughing uproariously.

"Look at the clock, uncle! It's going to be eight o'clock! You are still sleeping" Chitra said and laughed. "Be that as it may, why did such an army march begin at dawn?" I asked.

"It is written in our textbook that it is bad for the health to stay awake late at night, uncle," said Sarangarajan, who had been silent till now.

"It's written like that in the textbook I read too! What to do?"I said to myself.But I did not say that to the boy Sarangan, but said, "I will go to bed early from tomorrow onwards. I will not stay up late".He was very happy… Because I accepted wholeheartedly what he said.

At the very next moment, everyone came together and asked, "What book did you bring?".

"Didn't bring any book!"

"Lie, lie, you are bluffing!"

"Honestly, I did not bring even a single book”.

"Yesterday you said you were going to bring books. Didn’t you?” 

"That was yesterday".

"Then why did you not bring it?"

"No books came. I would have brought them if they had come."

"Brinda! Uncle is lying; he would have brought and hidden them somewhere. Come. Let us search" said Chitra. 

That was it! A mayhem was unleashed in my room. Chaos everywhere. Chitra opened the drawers and threw out the large sheets of paper, scraps of paper and letters lying inside. She searched thoroughly. When she did not find any book in the table, she took the bunch of keys from it, opened the trunk and started searching.

Brinda and Sundararajan opened the bureau and threw the books around haphazardly.

Little Geeta, a small child, sitting on the floor, opened the pages of the scattered English books and staring at them inanely. 

Chitra took the laundry from the trunk and threw them out. My old diaries, the old letters that I had received, a couple of books - everything came together and landed in a jumble.

Brinda and Sundararajan who were searching the bureau, took down one by one the books stacked on the windowsill.

Sarangan was the only one who was sitting quietly with me. He would never be naughty; would not play with others. The other children were alike; he was different. He was the only boy who would behave with respect towards me.

When the books in the windowsill fell one by one, hearing the commotion and noise, my mother came running from the kitchen. She noticed that it was utter chaos everywhere.

"Hey, what is this? These kids are creating a ruckus and you are just looking on unperturbed" she said angrily to me.

"You go inside mom. This is our affair. Why are you leaving your work and coming here?" I said and laughed.

"It's so cute that an old guy like you are still playing with kids like a kid!" said mom and went inside. Halfway across, she stopped and asked loudly, "When are you going to have your bath?".

"I'll come in a couple of minutes", as I turned after calling back to my mother, a bunch of heavy books from the windowsill cascaded like a waterfall. An old Tamil dictionary fell apart into two pieces. Some of the heavier books fell on top of other books and the books that were caught underneath were bent, shattered, and twisted. All the children were shocked to see that the books had fallen down in one go. They looked back and forth at the books and me. The ones that fell down would be at least about sixty books. The shade of fear started spreading on the children's faces. They stared at my face, not blinking, fearing what I was going to say. Gita, a five-year-old girl got scared and looked at me seeing the fear on the faces of other children. I was deliberately silent. I stared at the books and the children. The silence continued. One minute, two minutes, three minutes… My silence was torture for them. Each of the children dared not even to breathe. Chitra's  face started sweating. Even the fearless Chitra was frightened. Sarangan who was sitting next to me moved four inches from me and sat up. He was scared to even touch me. Emboldened by his movement, Brinda said, "I'm going home."

"Brinda! Come here," I said without showing any emotion.

She came in as I said. I did not want to scare the children anymore.

I stood up. I went to the window on the other side of my room. I put my hand on the books there. The children's eyes were watching my every move with utmost attention. From the middle of the pile of books, I picked up the thirteen story books that were below the big books and returned. I sat on the bed and said with delight, "You have lost out. You searched all over for what you were looking for. Did you find them? Come on, come on." The children came back to life. They came running towards me. Sarangan sat close to my side. He sat leaning on my left arm. Chitra was angry with me for some reason. Was she angry because my prolonged silence had threatened them? Or was she ashamed that she was afraid and wanted to show that she was not afraid and wanted to hide her embarrassment by showing her anger? She climbed onto the bed, came up behind me and said quickly, "You lied that you didn't bring books. Um, don't lie anymore. Promise that you will not lie in future". She slapped me on my back with all the force she could muster, and admonished me “Please tell, please tell."

"Aw! Aw! I will not lie. I will not lie anymore!" I said in mock pain. The kids all laughed.

Sundararajan came and said "Saranga, move that way" and pushed him away and sat between me and him. He snatched up all the books in my hand and read the names of each one aloud quickly. After reading the title of the last book, he got up abruptly and walked out, saying, "These all are for me alone."

The children were getting ready to cry. The only one who was silent then was Sarangan.

I said, "Sundar! Look here. If you take these books and go, then I will not bring you books anymore."

He laughed mirthfully, came in and said "Poor uncle. He got scared!”.

I took the books in my hand and wrote in seven of them, "Gift to my beloved Chitra", put my signature and gave them to Chitra. On the remaining six books, I wrote "Gift to my beloved Sundararajan" and signed the same and gave them to Sundararajan.

Brinda and Devaki asked "For me?" simultaneously.

I said, "Get them from Chitra and Sundar and read them. This was what you were doing so far; do the same thing now too."

The two girls accepted what I said without any objection.

"I will complete reading all these seven books by noon. I will come back after I finish reading, uncle," Chitra said and left. Following her, everyone except Sarangan got up and went to their respective houses. Sarangan looked up at my face a couple of times. He said nothing. There was no expression on his face to indicate what he was thinking. I did not think there was any significance or meaning to his looking at me like that. I got up and picked up the books and clothes that were lying around and started putting them where they should be. I straightened the crumpled books. I put the heavy books on them to straighten them. Sarangan was helping me, without me asking for his help, while I was doing this work.

"After passing which grade can I read this book without difficulty?" Sarangan asked holding a book. In his voice, there was a suffocating shyness. Not only that, he looked frightened, and talked as if he had been hurt by a failed attempt.

"Saranga! You're a smart boy, I was never as smart as you at your age. Therefore, you will be able to read and understand it when you reach SSLC” I said with kindness.

The book he was holding in his hand was a volume of poetry by Walt Whitman.

"Then there are two more years," he said to himself. Then he took the book in his hand and put it on the windowsill, came and sat down.

My mother came there muttering something angrily. She said "Hey, how many times have I told you? The hot water has gone cold” and continued “Can you allow these unruly children to run around wildly like this? What kind of affection is this? I have never seen someone allowing such privileges for others’ kids… Go and take your bath. I will arrange the books."

"Mom! You don't know how to sort books by category. You go ahead, I'll be there in a minute."

"Stack the books today; they will come and trash them tomorrow; then stack them again. What other job do you have?", so saying she went to the kitchen.

I too went to have a bath in a short while. Sarangan walked along with me to the middle of the house. Then he turned around abruptly and said "I'll leave now and come back later" and left.

"Mom! Why are you getting angry with the kids!! Each of them is a treasure!" saying so, I went into the bathroom. I did not know whether my mother, who was struggling in the smoky kitchen, heard what I said.

Every child is a treasure indeed. I considered moving my house to Mambalam my blessing. Could I have met these treasures if I had not come here? It has been four years since I came here. My mother and I alone lived in my home. Our dwelling is in a portion of a large house. It was not until six months later that I became acquainted with these children. One day suddenly two children, Sundararajan and Chitra, visited. Then they started coming regularly. Within a few days, all of the formal manners and politeness were gone. We began to have a real affection. We used to sit together and read stories and magazines, tell stories and play chess - thus we spent our time. The editor-in-chief of the publishing house where I worked would give some of the books that came for writing reviews. I had plenty of books that came in for review like that. They were a good treat for the kids. Sundararajan and Chitra read all the books in a few days with enthusiasm. I could not meet their appetite for books with my supply of books that came for review. So, from time to time I would buy a few children's books and give it to them. So, every day when I went to the office, they would say, "Bring books today without forgetting". Returning home empty-handed in the evening would cause an uproar.

Sundararajan and Chitra were the children of the house next door; children from a rich family. Even though I call them children, Sundararajan was thirteen years old; Chitra was nine years old. The intelligence of these two, their charming looks and above all their excellent attitude - all these together fascinated me; I was captivated. The love I had for them was not something trivial. My heart longed to devise a new joy for them every day. Within a few weeks of their friendship, I became acquainted with the other children too. Brinda, Devaki, Geeta and Sarangarajan also started coming. Brinda and Devaki were of same age as Chitra and classmates of her. Geeta was Devaki's sister. Sarangarajan was a schoolmate of Sundararajan. Everyone's house was next to each other. Of these, Sarangan's family alone lived in a rented house. Other children were rich children with their own home.

I was affectionate equally with all of them. Probably because Sundararajan and Chitra were my first acquaintances, I had a bit more affection towards them. But I did not discriminate between one child and another in my speech or behaviour. I didn’t show any disparity in my love for them either. As I had mentioned earlier, the affection for Chitra and her brother was something more. But the kids loved me without any discrimination at all. There was no difference in their love. Every child thought of me as a friend born into this world only for himself or herself. Each considered me a great hope, a huge comfort and a good guide. The children considered me as an equal to them. The children did not put me on a pedestal, but came to join hands with me in a friendly manner. They played with me; they fought with me; they beat me; they rebuked me; they forgave me; they loved me.

Everyone in the world, when they see children, show their love and want to play with them. But their love is a mixture of playacting and pretense. They talk like a child, play like a child, treat the child as a toy and behave accordingly. But those innocent kids don't act like that; their love is not mixed with playacting. They really show their love. This fact struck a chord in my mind at some point. Since then, I did not treat them as children. I treated them as friends. I respected them as close companions. They and I became equal beings in the matter of affection. These were my only friends in Mambalam. My mother did not like me relating and playing with the children thus. A fifty-year-old mother would like to see her son as a householder with a wife and kids and not as one playing and contending with children as a child. Wouldn’t she?  

It would have been two weeks since the day I gave the thirteen books on that Sunday. Brinda was down with fever. I was not acquainted with her parents. So, I was diffident about going and checking on her.  But I was inquiring other children everyday "How is Brinda's health?". How would the children respond to it! They did not know whether the fever is increasing or decreasing. They only said, "Brinda is lying down all the time".

It must have been around eight o'clock at night one day. I was relaxing in the moonlight in the front yard in an easy chair, enjoying the cool air. I called Brinda's house servant who was walking down the street and asked, "How is Brinda? Has the fever come down?"

"No sir, it's getting worse day by day. She has not eaten anything. In these four days, the child has become very thin like a stick. She is moaning about you in her sleep," said the servant.

"Moaning about me!" I asked in surprise.

"Yes sir. Even last night she was saying something like 'Uncle Book', 'Uncle Book' and so on."

It shook me up. I felt sorry for not going to see the child earlier. I decided to ignore my inhibition and visit her next day morning without fail. I sent the servant off and lay down alone thinking of whatever came to my mind. In a little while I came to the point where I could not tolerate it anymore. That was it, I got up immediately, went inside, put on my shirt on and went to Brinda's house in a hurry. Her parents told me to come inside. Brinda was lying down. I sat in the chair next to her. Her eyes were closed.

"Brinda!" I called.

She opened her eyes and looked at me. There was no change in her face then. She closed hereyes once, opened them and stared at me intently. After looking like this for a minute, she cried loudly and suddenly "Uncle!"; She got up and sat down.

"Brinda! Lie down please" I said.

She did not listen. She got up and came by my side. She hugged me and buried her face on my shoulder. Her body was burning with fever. I patted her and had her lain on the bed.

"She has always been thinking about you." said Brinda's mother.

I could not say anything. I was speechless. I sat in silence. I sat next to her for about an hour and then started for home.

"Don't go. Stay here uncle!" Brinda kept saying stubbornly. I reassured her in various ways, saying, "I'll be back tomorrow morning." and then left.

As promised, I went there the next morning. I stayed there for a long time. She did not look like as if she was suffering from fever. She was able to talk to me normally. I told her it was time to go to my office, got up and came outside. While coming down the street, Sarangan was looking at me through the window of his house. From there, he called out, "Uncle." He ran down the street before I could look back.

"Come to our house," he said, clutching my hand.

"Why to your house?"

"You went to Brinda's house..."

"Brinda had a fever. So, I went to see her and left."

"No way, you should come to our house too. Yes."

"Saranga! I will come some other day. Please let go off my hand. It's time for me to go to the office."

He left my hand as I requested. He took one of the two gooseberries he had in his left hand and handed one to me saying "For you". I laughed. "No, keep it for yourself," I said. He forced me and gave it to me. He did not listen to anything I was saying. It was as if he was going to dismiss my friendship if I did not accept that gooseberry. So, I accepted it without saying anything. It left him with immense joy.

When I was leaving, he kept following me asking "When will you come to our house?"

I said "Next Sunday" just to pacify him.

"You must come".

"Yes".

He went home.

After that, whenever I went to Brinda's house, he kept reminding me "You must come on Sunday; you must certainly come".

It was rather a surprise that the Brinda got cured in three days. Her father told me that my regular visit to her house was the only medicine for her. It felt odd to hear him say that a child’s illness had been cured because I had visited her. I said, "Somehow she became alright, that's enough". Later, I thought what he said might be true.

Saturday was a holiday for the kids. All the children, including Brinda, came to my house. It was only two or three days after the New Year. I had bought two diaries for Sundararajan and Chitra as I had promised. I wrote "gift" on them as usual and handed them over to those two. The other kids didn’t ask me to give a diary for themselves. Every child knew that no matter how many books I brought, no matter what gifts I gave, I would give it only to Sundararajan and Chitra. These two only deserved such gifts, it was only fair to give to them was the consensus felt by all the children. May be because their friendship was the initial one, it had become customary for me to give books only to them with a special fondness. The other children got accustomed to this long-standing practice.

The two took the diaries and went to have their food. The others also left after the two left. But Sarangan didn’t go that day. He was still sitting even after everyone had gone. He said to me in a hushed whisper, "Uncle! Will you come to our house tomorrow? Tomorrow is Sunday."

"Okay Saranga, how many times do you have to say that? Can't I remember if you have said it once?" said I.

He got up and picked up Walt Whitman's collection of poems.

"Will you give me this book?" he asked earnestly. It was amusing to me. I smiled and said, "Why do you want this book? You will not be able to understand it now. Didn't I tell you that day? You can ask when you reach SSLC; I will give it then".

He did not listen to what I said. The thirteen-year-old boy was as stubborn as a five-year-old and insisted that he should be given the book.

I said, "Saranga! You do not understand. Please listen to me".Then I took the book from his hand and put it in the windowsill.

Sarangan's face turned pale with disappointment. He looked at me with a dry look. He got up without saying anything and went to the door. Thinking he was going home, I started my work. A couple of minutes later, suddenly a sobbing noise was heard. It was Sarangan who was crying. "Saranga! Why are you crying? Uh huh, don't cry dear" I said and got up and went next to him. But he did not wait until I went there, he stopped crying. He looked back at me and sighed. His stomach sank in and swelled abnormally. Then his face turned red like blood. I did not understand why all these were happening. I started to move towards him. He was too embarrassed to look at me. He ran in a single bound before I could go and grab his hand.

“Saranga!.... Saranga!”.

He ran away. The way he behaved that day was a mystery to me. He was never stubborn. He would be too shy to even speak to me. Why would such a guy be so adamant? Why did he cry like that? Who knows why he cried like that? It was as if my chest would explode if I did not follow him and ask the reason for his outcry. But I could not even go to his home. His parents, like other parents, were unfamiliar to me.

Pity! He cried with such longing, weeping as if humiliated. If the kids came to my room in the afternoon, I decided to send them to bring him. Sundararajan was the first to arrive at three o'clock. I sent him after Sarangan. Sundararajan came back and told me that Sarangan was sleeping. After that I stopped trying to summon him. I would see if he comes the next morning, otherwise I would go to his home. With this decision, I spent the rest of the evening with the other children.

It was only after eating and lying down at night that my mind started agonizing. The loneliness of not having anyone near me kept increasing my sorrow. How many sadness tinged thoughts in the soul; “Why did he cry? I never scolded or treated him badly! I treated him like the apple of my eye like all the other children. He asked for Walt Whitman's poetry collection. I said he would not understand and got the book back, would he have cried for that? He is an understanding kid. One who always accepts what I say without demurring. Such a boy could not have cried for taking the book back. It is unlikely that the act of my taking back the book would not have caused such a piteous weeping and mental anguish! Saranga! Why did you cry? Why did you cry?”.

Sunday.

I thought he would not come today because he didn’t come yesterday afternoon. The other kids did not care that this one star was hidden from our crowd which was like the Saptharishi (Big Dipper) star cluster. And, what was there for them to worry about? There was no justification for them to consider that his absence for a day was matter of concern. For me too, it would have been an unimportant thing, a normal event at other circumstances. But only I knew in what state he was when he left me and in what state he left me. Didn’t I?

It might have been ten o’ clock in the morning. Since it was Sunday, we postponed our lunch to one o'clock, my mother and I prepared and ate breakfast. Then I came to my room and sat down to read something. The mind, for some reason, was keen on reading that Walt Whitman's volume of poetry. When I took it in my hand and spread it, I could not see the verses; it was Sarangan who appeared before my eyes; only his tears and longing showed up. What a dilemma was this?He could have at least come here. Couldn’t he? I lay there, with regret, thinking that at least other children could have come here (Accepted).

After a while Brinda arrived. It was as if a blessed angel existed and walked into a destitute’s house.

"Come on Brinda! Change your name from Brinda to 'Priyadarshini' (one who is a lovable vision) which will suit you Brinda!" I said.

My ecstasy did not touch her soul. My words never reached her ears.

"Sundararajan and Chitra have gone to the cinema," said Brinda for no reason.

"Sarangan?" I asked eagerly.

"I did not see him" she said.

When I started to inquire about Sarangan further, Brinda's house servant came and called her out, saying "Mom is calling". Brinda immediately said, "I'm leaving" and left. After she left, I picked up the volume of poems and spread it out. Just then, Brinda came in a rush. She came and said "Sarangan is coming" and immediately ran towards her house.

My heart was pounding. I quickly hid the Walt Whitman's book. I was afraid that if he saw that, Sarangan would cry again like before.

Sarangan arrived.

"Saranga."

"Um."

"Why didn't you come so far? Why didn't you come yesterday?"

He did not respond, and his face did not reflect sadness or any other kind of deep emotion. Hewas quite happy. I thought it was a happy transformation.

"Shall we go to our house?"

"To your house?"

“Yeah. Didn't you say you were coming that day?"

"I said that not seriously, Saranga! Why to your house?"

"Whatever? You come," he said, grabbing my hand with both of his hands and pulling.

His request had become a problem for me. When I came back from Brinda's house that day, I saw his determination and said "I'll come on Sunday". I would not have said so if I had known that he would be so persistent about it. How could someone go to a stranger's home based on this boy's request? One needs a reason to go. Doesn’t he?  Brinda's illness was the reason I went to her house. Why go here? I had seen his father a thousand times on the streets and at the bus stand. Not once did we talk to each other. We had not even given a sign to show that we were acquainted with each other. So how could I go there?

Sarangan began to push too hard. He also began to rush me. For me it had become an annoyance. I was getting fed up and thought, 'He has been mute all these days, and today he is hassling me like this.'

"Come on uncle. You said you would come and now you are saying you would not come?" he pleaded.

"Saranga! You are a small child. How can I come based on your request? You do not understand all these nuances. Leave me alone" I said impatiently.

"Why do you say you will not come?", he stared at my face and asked yearningly.

"Why to your house?"

"Whatever, you must come definitely".

I pretended to be angry and said, "I cannot come. I have an urgent work. We will see to it some other day", and turned away my face. I started searching the table as if looking for a book.

Sarangan was quiet without saying anything.

A minute would have passed. I looked back at him once. As soon as I saw him, he too sighed once and asked in a falteringvoice "Will you not come?".

There was a sign on his face that if this last attempt of his was thwarted, he would start crying again. I did not like to see Sarangan cry again and again. 'Why should I treat this gem of a boy like this? Let me go and come back! Are they going to tell me not to come? What is the loss in going once to his house?" I thought quickly and decided. I said my concurrence before he could start shedding tears. 

“Saranga! Come! We will go to your house”.

We went holding each other’s hands. When he got to the entrance of the house, he left my hand and ran fast into the house. Then he came out and opened the room next to the entrance and said loudly with some agitation, "Come on, Come on." My reluctance and my reticence could not be measured. I went into that room with no other choice. The circumstances of the room made it easy to understand that Sarangan's parents were poor. I was sitting in a chair and flipping through his history book lying near. Sarangan ran inside the house. His father, coming in from outside, peeked into the room, looked at me, and said “Welcome” and went inside. His indifference in not asking about the occasion of my visit was like a regal treatment given to me. 

When Sarangan returned, he brought a plate of uppuma (a wheat-based dish) and a tumbler of coffee. I was startled; my breathing stopped.

"Aww! What's all this for? I just now had eaten?"

Not telling anything in his ecstatic frenzy, he grabbed my right hand and pulled it to the plate of uppuma. I thought that Sarangan was behaving in a childish manner, I must be bit stern with him in future. Just for today, I would have to take this bitter medicine thinking that there was no other choice, I started eating. The fear of what his parents would think of me who came as a guest on a child's invitation was giving me jitters every minute.

Finally, I finished eating. Sarangan went inside to put the plate and the tumbler.

'Why does this guy have so much of affection for me? His love is suffocating me! This is unbearable love! Unbearable innocence! The two together make me cringe. But I should not get angry with him. The distress he is giving me now is a measure of his love. Let him be satisfied even if it is upsetting to me for a day. Without any effort on my part if a being can get happiness and satisfaction, I should not prevent that at all. Trying to prevent it is inhuman', I thought, consoling myself.

Sarangan came out. He opened the drawer and took out a fountain pen. He came and stood behind my back instead of standing in front of me. As he stood there, he gently grabbed the history book I was holding, pulled it away and set it aside. Just as carefully as we take the rattle from the hand of a sleeping baby and remove of it, he disposed of it. I could see that he took out something from his trouser pocket with his right hand. He put it on the table in front of me.

It was a diary. A diary like the ones I had given as gifts to Sundararajan and Chitra; made by the same company; of the same colour. Then he put the pen in my hand and said "Write".

I did not understand anything. "What to write?" I asked.

“Write ‘Gift to my beloved Sarangan’”.

***End***

Translated by Mr Shanmuga Sundaram. 

Source: Ku. Alagirisamy’s short story “Anbalippu”