ATTENTION READERS: As a personal tribute to writer Pa. Singaram, English translation of his epic novel "Puyalile Oru Thoni" (புயலிலே ஒரு தோணி) is being published in serialized form in this blog.
Showing posts with label Pavannan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pavannan. Show all posts

Friday 20 October 2023

The Kitten (பூனைக்குட்டி) by Pavannan

Pavannan
Translated by Saravanan Karmegam    

Vaitheki took off the uniform the hospital had provided her, and put on a frock-a yellow flower design drawn in the backdrop of pale blue- brought from home by her mother. The frock which used to be skin-tight once, was now hanging loose on her body. Her mother avoided looking into her eyes as Vaitheki lifted her head up, and looked outside window staring at neem trees with a feigned indifference, and wiped the tears that welled up in her eyes with fingers. Her father went near to her, fixed the hooks on her back, combed her hair and fastened it with a clip. Vaitheki remembered those days when her parents used to be on their toes hurrying her up for school, each one of them standing on her both sides.

“What has my dear Vaitheki drawn today?” the senior doctor entered the room with a smile asking about her routine.

“Good morning doctor” Vaitheki smiled at him, displayed her buck teeth, moved towards the edge of the cot and sat. With a momentary grin on their face, her mother, father and grandfather paved him the way, moved aside. The scent of neem flowers came wafting through the windows that were kept opened. Vaitheki took out her drawing note book kept near pillow, and gave it to the doctor. The doctor flipped its pages prudently, keenly glanced through the picture she had drawn a day ago. It was a painting-a cot and three kittens sitting on it. She had named them Neela, Mala and Kala and written them under each kitten.

“Very nice…Very nice” the doctor told, examining the painting in different angles again and again. “It looks very beautiful, Vaitheki. Their whiskers and eyes… it seems as if they were real, sitting in front of me. If there is a competition in painting, you are the one who must be given the first prize” He patted on her shoulder. “Which one among these three kittens does my dear Vaitheki like most?” the doctor asked her with a grin on his face.

“I like all the three”- when she told this, her eyes were wide open, effervesced gracefully.        

He sat near to her, asked her to show her tongue, pressed her lower eye lids down, examined the eye balls and said, “My dear girl does not have any problem at all. She can go home happily”. He then turned to her father, and told him, “A wonderful improvement sir. I am really amazed to see her strong will power at this age of eight. I have seen children running away at the very mention of medicine. But children like her who take medicines very patiently without griping are very less. Vaitheki is a great child” he patted on her shoulder. Her mother tried to ask him something hesitatingly.

“No serious problem anymore ma…now you can well be confident…In case of any rare, extreme exigency, please do what I said” he calmed her down. He, then, turned to Vaitheki, and asked her sweetly, “what would you like to become after you complete your studies?” His fingers stroked her soft cheeks gently.

“I would like to become a doctor…doctor” Vaitheki replied with a smile.

“Hats off, Vaitheki! I appreciate your spirit. You can join as my assistant in my clinic. Can’t you?” he laughed. While laughing, his eyes were filled with tears. He removed his spectacles, wiped it as he went out.

As her father went out to pay off the hospital charges, mother collected the items kept in the room, and stuffed them into a box. Vaitheki showed her paintings to her grandfather sitting on her side, explained each one of them to him enthusiastically. Each painting had picture of a cat in one corner- Peeping cat, cat standing near the door, cat sleeping beneath the cot, cat hanging from the branch of a tree, cat licking the pool of water on the floor near a water bucket by the side of well- Vaitheki thought of asking her grandfather at once about her toy cats. She was confused with the different durations she had actually stayed in different hospitals. When she thought of asking about cats, thousands of questions - where they are now? Is anyone sleeping beside them? Has its colour, that did start getting faded, become alright?- hit her mind. At the very next moment, when she realized that the replies she would receive from anyone in this regard would never satisfy her, she brought the images of those sitting cats in her mind and delved into surreal thoughts. In the world of her fantasy, those cats were waiting, curling their bodies, looking up to her face, for her touch and caress.

Vaitheki grew up as a child who had been avoided methodically by other children during her formative years. Even the children of her relatives would move away from her, curling their lips in repugnance at seeing her. There were days, it was very usual even when the elders who, by mistake, happened to stand beside her used to display a fake smile on their face for a moment, and avoid her with a cursory touch and grin. The thick, curly hair streaking on her cheek, corner of her ears, hands and legs like a charcoal mark had made her stand aloof from other children. The changes occurred on the child’s body, who was otherwise looking normal with pale brown complexion and healthy growing child like any other children till the age of three, was something beyond the comprehension of medical knowledge. Within six months, it started spreading all over her body. There was not a single doctor left out in Pondicherry who hadn’t been consulted. All their suggestions and different medicines she took for months together yielded no result. When her parents stood helpless, one doctor gave them a slip of reference, suggesting consultation with the specialist doctors in Chennai.

After some months, they also declared that it was beyond their ability and advised her parents to go to Bangalore. Her father spent all his savings on medicines and multitude of consultations without even calculating how much it was. ‘My daughter who was once looking like a flower is now looking like a bush. I don’t know whose evil eyes have befallen on my daughter. O! Lord Muruga! Heal my daughter. In the month of coming Aadi 1, I will come to your abode, carrying a flower Kavadi 2’.  Her mother took refuge in the feet of God. Her father was stunned when the administration of a school at the corner of the street denied admission to her. Other schools in vicinity too were hesitant in giving admission to her the moment they saw her.

At the end of his tireless efforts, her father could admit her in a school with the recommendation of a pastor known to him. He had to shell out some thousands of rupees for the infrastructural developments of the school. Other girl children in the school didn’t talk to her. She was not permitted to participate in the games too. Initially she was shocked at the manner she was subjected to such a humiliating rejections. She was broken, depressed. Only at that juncture, her mind soon discovered the art of converting her loneliness into a close confidante.

She started drawing pictures in the note books given by her father - she would draw lines with various colours, circles, intersecting lines and thus drawing squares and elongate them randomly at her whims. In her paintings, animals without horns would have horns and those with horns would have no horns. In her painting note books the chickens were flying piercing through the sky, the birds were walking, hopping, tottering, the cows and goats were travelling in cars, human beings with tails on their back were crawling with four legs. Her mother couldn’t tolerate these fantasies represented in those pictures, looking askance at her with her teary eyes. Her father, quite a sympathetic man, understood the efforts of his child in diverting her mind, would move away without uttering anything, nodding his head in affirmation with a feel of satisfaction.    

In the school annual function in which her parents had participated, she won six trophies for the first time- stood First in total marks, full attendance, singing competition, Painting competition, Frog jump and running in jute bag competition- when the auditorium quaked with the claps of praise, her father with the teary eyes, held her hands into his tightly, pressed them lovingly. While returning from the beach on Sunday evening that week, her father stopped in the market, and asked her, “Anything you want, Vaitheki? We would like to present you a gift for the first prizes you have won.” She was unable to bear the shock of that sudden display of love. She looked at both of them unbelievingly, staring at them one after the other alternately. With her eyes wide open, she walked into the toy shop, moved ahead touching each toy with her fingers -Thalaiyatti pommai,electric train, soldier on a horse, baby elephant. If she stopped for a while, looking at something intently, her father would get curious and ask, “Do you need this one?”. Vaitheki went near to a toy kitten kept on a table in the corner, and pointed at it.

Thick curly hairs hanging all over its body, small cute rounded eyes and whisker looking like a bunch of grass- felt smoother while fondling it. Ear lobes folded, stiffened, sitting with its back bent forward prompting one to take it on their lap and snuggle it. She stood beside it, touched every part of it, wondered and immersed in its beauty. “It just looks like a real kitten…pa” she smiled at her father. Her mother’s face got gloomy without a tangible reason. Her father paid the required amount, bought it for her. Vaitheki slept that night, keeping that kitten beside her on the bed. She was awake for a long time, prepared a long list of names in her mind to name that kitten and then got them deleted. Without being able to finalise a name for it, she was lying on her bed, staring at the darkness outside through the window. Suddenly, the blue hue of the window curtain prompted her to finalise the name, “Neela” (Literally it means blue colour). Very next moment, the kitten got its name, Neela. She mumbled in its ears, “From this moment onwards, you are my best friend, Neela”. She gently kissed on its forehead and ear lobes. She felt a tickling sensation when its hairs brushed her nose. Caressing its leg, she smiled “You are four-legged cat; I am two-legged cat. Ain’t I?”

From next day, Vaitheki recited all the verses she had memorized to Neela. Tapping its toes, she would repeat the tables. ‘Look at this naughty look!’- The toy kitten accepted all the loving bouts of Vaitheki with its smile. She would find happiness in wearing garlands made of fallen cherry flowers found in the garden around its neck.  Coming from the school, she narrated different stories to Neela while her fingers still fondling Neela’s neck. Neela too would tell her stories into her ears- its stories of wander, hiding from one place to another, the stories of stealthily overturning the utensils to drink milk, and the stories of chasing rodents. Vaitheki slept that night peacefully under the warmth of those stories. Watching her activities, her mother became more and more morose. “Let her live in her own world” – with his single note, her father would keep her mother’s mouth shut. Her mother failed in her attempts in penetrating the layer of loneliness that Vaitheki had built for herself, to scoop her up, hug onto her, but in vain and stood depressed every day.            

She won six trophies in the next year too. Her father took her to the shop to purchase yet another gift for her. This time too, she selected a toy kitten for herself again. She named it Mala. She stood first in the subsequent years too. Seven trophies were announced for her. As she won six trophies consecutively for three years, seventh trophy was given to her as a special trophy. That time too, she asked for one more toy kitten. Before buying that, she had already finalised a name for it. The name was Kala. She had allotted the half of the space in her cot only for those toy kittens. Her aunt, who had come from Cuddalore saw her sleeping amidst the ‘kittens’ and passed a witty remark, with a smile, “If this goes like this, it would be difficult to differentiate the kitten from Vaitheki”

Before she could understand the causticity of those words she spoke, they had already driven knives into Vaitheki’s heart. She cried her heart out, inconsolably as if her heart was about to burst out. Her father, who had never been harsh with anyone, took her aunt in isolation, and rebuked her severely for her impetuosity. Vaitheki wondered, thinking about all these instances as if they had just happened a day ago. Her memories were rolling down just like pearls scattering around from a bundle thrown open.

“Shall we leave now?” her father held Vaitheki’s shoulder. Seeing the gown she was wearing, he said, “Isn’t the same gown we got from Hyderabad for her birthday?”. He looked at her mother for a moment. “Two years gone…it has passed just like that. Hasn’t it?” He heaved a sigh. Both of them picked up their bags in their hands, looked around the room once and came out. Vaitheki ran to an old man and a boy who were lying admitted in the adjacent room, said good bye to them, and came back. As her grandfather sat in the front seat near her father in the car, both Vaitheki and her mother occupied the rear seat. Her father drove the car in reverse, took it out from the parking bay, and came straight for moving forward. When the car rolled forward with a mild jerk, an uneasy feeling filled in the stomach. Only after the car started striding on the main road, leaving the entrance of the hospital, both their mind and body came to normalcy. Vaitheki started looking outside through the window after the car moved ahead for a short distance.

The buildings were looking like different types of wooden sticks inserted on a wet earth, and were standing frozen. The trees on the sides of the road had their branches spread towards the sky. Under their shadow, seen many push cart vendors. Looking at the movie posters pasted on the walls one after the other, she kept reading their names in her mind. Those different names of movies occupying her as a cluster, came out first mixed, and then hit her memory. Suddenly she called out to her father, and asked, “You told that we would go for watching a Sivaji4  movie once it hit the theatre. What about it now?”. Hearing it, her father felt his throat had got choked up for a second. Eyes were filled with tears. Without turning his face, he told, “It’s been out… ma. Next week we can watch it in the CD. Vaitheki saw her face reflected in the rear view mirror. Her eyes were sunken, cheeks looked hollow and facial bones were visible. She felt that her cheeks, hands and neck had become softer devoid of any tingling sensation which she used to feel earlier in her body whenever her curly hair brushed against her skin while fluttering in the wind. Even though she could feel that her body had turned normal like others, she was embarrassed to see that her complexion had turned into the hue of burnt wood.      

There was a big dent in her shoulder pits. Hands were looking like thin sticks. She was sad and her sadness penetrated her heart. The very next moment, she remembered the words the doctor spoke to her during consultation. She made those words heard aloud in her heart- ‘Vaitheki, you must not think about the past ever. There is nothing called yesterday. Only tomorrow henceforth’. As she repeated those words a couple of times as if she uttered them for others, her mind turned to the state of happiness.

It was just a mere serendipitous incident that a specialist doctor participated as a chief guest in a painting competition and he had requested Vaitheki’s parents to come to the school to discuss certain matters. His words, ‘this can be cured with laser treatment; that too within seven or eight months she can be fully cured’ gave them an enormous hope. “Even if her education takes a hit, let it be. We can send her to the school next year. But how long can we keep this child in this condition? No matter how much we need to spend on her. We have to treat her anyway” her mother begged her father. With the permission from the school, they managed obtaining leave. Once her father arranged a big amount as loan from the office in the very next week, her treatment started.

With the treatment given for six months uninterruptedly, her appearance changed completely, amazingly though. Not a single strand of hair was found on her body. But her dark complexion had got further darker, unbelievably darker. Dark shoulders, dark hands, dark neck, and dark cheeks. That night when she returned from the hospital, she stayed awake in the night, cuddled those kittens and cried silently. The room was filled in with the thickness of darkness. At that moment when the darkness, that had engulfed the entire world outside the window rose like an ocean and filled in the room, the kittens assuaged her, telling her, “aren’t we all dark in complexion?” Their tiny hands stretched forward tenderly and patted her back lovingly. Just to make her sleep, the eyes of the kittens started narrating stories. As their bent-back slowly getting straightened up, and the way they got metamorphosed themselves into small girl children with tiny braids, made her immeasurably happy. Those girl children crawled towards her, sat beside her.

They woke her up, led her to the garden. Leaning against the hay stack, they chit chatted, counted the stars in the dark sky, held their hands together, played, spun like spin top, ran as their braids flapped behind. They picked the flowers and made a garland out of it, put it around her neck, made her sit in a palanquin and carried her. The old songs they sang while carrying her in the palanquin resonated like lullaby. At one moment, they got her down, made her sit on a swing and moved it to and fro. They got her immersed in the experience of ecstasy of a bird flying around, swimming across the sky. Then they got down from the swing, and made her sit on a flying carpet and flew towards the clouds. The soft, icy clouds which she had never experienced. She couldn’t forget that wonderful experience of driving through them and coming out on the other side like an arrow. All her sorrows and pains that had been choking up her heart densely, vanished at once in the presence of their fun loving company. Getting tired of being ecstatic, Vaitheki fell in deep sleep without even knowing when she had fallen asleep.

Unlike before, her love for those kittens grew manifold from that day. During the day time, she was deeply absorbed in the dreams about the previous night. Next day too, once the darkness descended and every one fell asleep, those girl children came near to her rolling over from the corner of the cot. As they came close to her, they picked up her hands into theirs, caressed her cheeks and pinched it gently. They narrated stories and sang songs one after the other. Laughed. Jumped. Kissed. Low pitched murmurs were ringing around her all the time. One day, when her irritated mother asked her, bending down to pick up those kittens lying beside her, ‘What is this heck of nuisance of talking to yourself?’, she jumped on it, hugged it tightly, and refused to part with it. When her mother tried to snatch it away from her forcibly, she cried violently. “Hell with you! You are just incorrigible! He only brought them. Didn’t he? Let him take care of this nuisance.”-visibly annoyed, her mother moved away. Once her sobbing stopped, she stared playing with those kittens, twisting their earlobes, curling their whiskers, stroking their bodies and twisting their tails.

Vaitheki spread her wings, flew in the world of ecstasy which got her relieved of bitterness and fatigue. The girl children, holding her fingers, flew away in the emptiness of space in the direction prefixed by them, coaxing her also to come along with them. She loved that journey. The trees covered with darkness. Dark bushes. Cliffs. Dark clouds. Since she could join the school only in the next academic year, Vaitheki had to stay home. As her mother thought that she had to be fed with nutritious food and her words must be filled with mirth, she showered more love and affection upon her. She made Athirasam, Porivilangai balls, Murukku5- all that she used to love much. She would sit beside her, and comb her hair, making different patterns of coiffure. In order to drive away her shyness, she took her to the temples and markets along with her. Her father brought some old school books and asked her to read them. He brought drawing note books and paint boxes for her. Seeing her drawings, he cheered her up with his encouraging words every day.

All her times which she couldn’t spend with others closely, were actually spent with the cats. Vaitheki always loved to keep them on her lap, hugging them onto her chest, and cuddling all the time.  Without giving a damn to time, those girl children came out of those kittens whenever she thought about them. Putting their jaw on her shoulders, they murmured something into her ears. The stories and songs they narrated made her laugh heartily, clapping her hands, to an extent of filling her eyes with tears, choking up with laughter, followed by resultant coughing. Mother came running to her on hearing her coughing sound, stood there bemused watching her hearty laugh.

Mother’s arrival severed everything, and emptiness engulfed again. Her mother shook her, shouting, “What is this all? What is this?”. Without knowing what to reply, Vaitheki threw an empty stare at her. However, the subsequent events that occurred every day after that didn’t allow her mother to take the things for granted. Her mother became extremely worried, shed tears seeing her condition. Without knowing how to go about ahead of this situation, her father also got hugely confused. Mother insisted that doctors should be consulted immediately. Her father was literally broken at the very thought of admitting her into a hospital for further treatment. He stood for a long time near Vaitheki while she was sleeping in the dark, caressing her head tenderly. Her lips, parting slightly for every breath reminded baby fishes. Her childhood innocence was reflected on her softer cheeks. He was prompted with the feeling that by any means his child had to be cured. The intensity of this feeling increased many fold when her subdued voice was heard incessantly in that empty room.    

On one particular night, Vaitheki accepted the call of those girls who lured her to come out to watch the moon light. She slipped out of the bed, without making noise, and silently took off her shawl. She tiptoed, hit the cloth almirah accidentally, turned towards other side, and again hit the cloth lines used for drying. Steadied herself somehow, moved in the dark with blind assessment of direction, opened the door and when she entered the garden, the chilly wind of the night embraced her. The chirping of insects was resonating through all directions with an unusual sound that she hadn’t heard of before. She stood stunned at the beauty of stars scattered in the sky looking like dots in the kolam6  that had been left incomplete and forgotten. The children showed her the moon floating like a round plate in the sky. Vaitheki stood immersed in the beauty of its light. Moisture of dews. The light that lay spread across like milk. The fragrance of jasmine blossoming in the bushes. The icy wind bracing her chest. The girls were dancing, singing new lyrics. Vaitheki joined them and danced. She also started singing, in an unbridled ecstatic elation. While dancing in a circular motions, her legs hit a stone and fell down. As her head hit on a washing stone kept near the well, she fell unconscious.

When her mother came to the well for taking water in the morning, she saw her lying unconscious, came running to her, and scooped her up. She shook her violently, “Vaitheki…Vaitheki”. She lay speechless, immobile like a statue. Her father came there hearing the sound near the well, lifted her, laid her on the sofa and sprinkled water on her face. Vaitheki opened her eyes, still only half conscious, and couldn’t identify anyone around her. She mumbled the same moon song. Her hands rose up involuntarily as if someone was holding her hands. A streak of smile shone in her lips. Her father and mother stood completely transfixed, staring at the allurement of ecstasy and gravity of loneliness in her eyes shining concomitantly.

Their trips to the hospital continued again as usual. As the first one was not satisfactory, they went to another doctor. As he was also not efficient, they went to the third doctor. The third one approached the issue with a motherly tenderness. He treated her as if she were his own child.

The doctor had converted his clinic into a play court. The children and old people alike were playing freely there. The tenderness and care of the doctor were soothing for all of them. With his earnest efforts of six months, he pulled Vaitheki back from the severe mental stress she was suffering from. Vaitheki asked her father every day, “Father, will I be able to attend the school again? Will I get all those trophies again?”

“You will win them dear. If you don’t win them, who else will?” her father, teary eyed, hugged her onto his bosom. On reaching home, her grandfather got down from the car and opened the door of rear seat. “Get down slowly Vaitheki”, he called her out, guided her, holding her hands. Seeing a new bicycle kept near the entrance door window, she smiled, with her eyes wide open, “Aii…bicycle!” she exclaimed. “Yes dear girl…it is for you. It’s me, your grandpa, got it for you. Henceforth, you can practice driving with this bicycle” her grandfather stroked her head lovingly.

Once they entered the house, her father showed her a video game box he had bought for her. He taught her how to play the game in the television by connecting those twenty or thirty video game discs he got for her. She was very much excited to watch the game of a motor cycle rider escaping the bullets from the guns aimed at him. In ten minutes, her hands gained the expertise of operating the game box on their own. Everyone was trying to engage her in some conversation. In spite of it, it appeared that some enigmatic silence had occupied the ambience, as if sitting there permanently on a chair amidst that situation.

Hours later, Vaitheki went into her room. The items and dresses which were kept clean were found neatly placed in their respective places. Vaitheki stared at them one by one - Table, chairs, Television, toys, trophies, medals, cloths almirah, book racks, cot- once her eyes fell on the cot, she started searching for the kittens, reflexively. She threw her eyes all around the room, did a random quick search, visibly anxious that they might have been misplaced. Searched them in the loft. With a suspicion that they might have been put into a sack, bundled and kept under the cot, she bent down and searched there too. Nothing was found. Her chest rose up, heaved a sob.

Her body started sweating profusely, instinctively. As her tears welled up in her eyes, she bit her lips violently. As she was about to leave the room, sobbing, she saw the kittens stuffed beneath the  almirah where cloths were kept. She bent down inquiringly and pulled them out. She held them in her hands zealously. The kittens didn’t turn their faces towards her. Avoiding her eyes, they were looking at a different direction. They couldn’t feel the touch of Vaitheki’s fingers. There wasn’t even a sign of girls who used to come out of them. The thought of not being able to meet them anymore hit her consciousness deeply. She dropped those toy kittens blinking blankly with their big eyes, and sobbed inconsolably. Her father and mother came running to her, tense, on hearing the sound of her sob.

“What happened? What happened?” her mother’s question did not enter her mind. Due to incessant crying, her chest beat became faster. Her body was shivering. Tears were rolling down like flood from her eyes. Unable to understand the reason for her anxiety and shiver, her mother ran inside, opened a medicine box quickly, and took out a green colour tablet which the doctor had prescribed for emergency situations. She lay Vaitheki on her lap, and assuaged her, “Don’t cry my dear girl. Aren’t you my dearest one? Please open your mouth”, mother beseeched her and made her swallow one tablet. After placing a tight kiss on her forehead, her mother started narrating some entertaining stories. In seven or eight minutes, Vaitheki fell into an empty space of sleep where her mother's voice hadn’t been reachable. With their worried faces her father and mother were staring at her face, rather helplessly.

                                                                 ***Ended***

Notes:

1.      Aadi- a Tamil month

2.      Kavadi- A decorated wooden sticks bent in semi-circular form carried by devotees of Lord Murugan as a part of their worship.

3.      A toy made of plastic with the upper body of human being or an animal with the moderately heavy object (clay) under its seat to maintain a centre of gravity. If the head of toy is tilted on one side, it will come straight again due to gravity. This type of toys are known by the town from where they became famous, Thanjavur)

4.   Sivaji Ganesan- a popular actor in Tamil cinema

5.   Snacks prepared during special occasions in Tamil families.

6.  Kolam- Patterns drawn in the front yard of the houses with rice/ lime powder.      

Sunday 11 December 2022

On the edge of time (காலத்தின் விளிம்பில்) by Paavannan

Paavannan

Translated from the Tamil by Saravanan Karmegam

This is an English Translation of Tamil short story Kaalaththin Vilimbil written by Paavannan. This story has been translated with the permission of the author, Mr Pavannan.

***

The articles I started writing in an online weekly magazine "Poonthottam" didn’t attract much of attention in the beginning. The silence which seemed to have attested the fact that the serial would leave no impact even if I stopped writing was simply unbearable. The negligible amount of boredom that set in initially had grown into a bigger proportion, and became capable of choking up my breath and making me inactive. Other than the fact that I needed a space for penning down my words and the person who was running that website was none other than my friend, there were no plausible reasons which prompted me continue writing those serialised articles. The serial was being published for about ten weeks or so. From the pile of letters published by Poonthottam every week, I came to understand that not a single reader had ever written a word about the serial in any of those letters. This made me reflect deeply why those articles had failed to attract the attention of readers. This thought would extend to a point where no answer could be found and then gradually disappear.  

When I opened my email page to send the eleventh week’s article after its completion, I came to know that I had got an email. I tried guessing the reader with the help of single line address displayed on the screen. All the email addresses of my readers who write letters regularly flashed for a second in my mind and disappeared. I couldn’t find out who that reader was. Impelled by an inscrutable desire I opened the email. It was from Africa. The reader seemed to have been familiar with literature for many years. He had given some of his patchy opinions about the previous ten articles published in serials. Nevertheless, the mail was, in general, an encouraging one. I sent a reply thanking him for his letter. 

His name was Chandran. Our friendship had thus started with sharing of views thenceforth. Letter started coming from him every week without fail after my article was published. He had informed me that he was working in the orthopaedic section of a hospital in Africa. Every letter he wrote to me would carry an interesting anecdote he had experienced in his day to day life- In one of his letters he had written about a guitar playing young man admitted in the hospital with broken leg after he hit a tree due to skidding while travelling in his two wheeler. He had once given an account of a beggar who was sitting on the cement bench in a park, taking out the pieces of breads from his collection bag and eating it one by one blissfully. His description about his family and surroundings was like a painting drawn in words. The details he had given about the zoo near his house were in plenty. The names he had given to each cage of animals sounded bizarre- the cage of lion was ‘The home of thunderbolt’, the cage of leopard was ‘The house of a wizard who has renounced speed” and the cages of macaws were ‘The music temple of birds’.  

Chandran asked me once whether I was aware of an old age home called “Ashraya” in a village namely Hudi somewhere far away from Bangalore. I wasn’t aware of it at that time. I started enquiring my local friends about it. Most of them were not aware of such old age home. Only one among them told me that it was an old age home and was being run by some charitable service minded persons. He further added that two of his unmarried sisters used to visit that old age home every Sunday to meet the old age people living there to talk to them, attend to their needs and reassure them. I sent this information that night itself to Chandran. There was no communication after that about it for two months. One day he informed me, suddenly though, that his Periyamma1(Mother’s elder sister) had been admitted in the said old age home and requested me to pay a visit there to meet her on his behalf. A lengthy letter came from him when I was waiting for the day of my retirement. 

His letter began with a information of his getting a job in Africa twenty years ago. Only his mother was alive that time. First two years he lived alone in Africa, then came back to India and took his mother along with him. One of her sisters who she loved most was living in the village. It was a poor family of six children. Chandran looked after his Periyamma’s family as much as he could. He married an African woman and started his family life. In four years he became a father of two children. His mother, who was happily spending her time with her grandchildren, did not live long. She was infected with brain fever and died in the hospital. Meanwhile the condition of his Periyamma had got worse in India. All her six children were growing in six different directions. They just got all the money Chandran had sent rot in being overtly glutonous, sometimes half of it with the knowledge of their mother and the other half without her knowledge. The eldest son was a drunkard, knowing nothing other than drinking all the time. Her second son ruined every penny in whoring around. Her third and fourth sons were arrested in a theft case in the village, imprisoned, but managed to escape from the prison and roaming around somewhere near Mumbai. Her fifth son went to the army after his studies in school and then forgot his village. Her sixth son was working as a clerk with a lawyer. He befriended a woman working in a ready-made garment shop just opposite to his office and married her. Sooner he brought his wife into the house, the old Periyamma was shown the way to get out of the house. Heartbroken, his Periyamma penned down all her griefs in the form of a letter with the help of someone and sent it to Chandran. Chandran could empathize with her and her miseries as if it were his own mother’s. With his persistent efforts of searching in the internet, he could find out the address of Ashraya old age home at Hudi and completed all the admission formalities through his known friend. Now it had been one year since then. He was paying the monthly installments directly from his place. He was perturbed by the recent nightmares that started popping up unceasingly. Those nightmares started chasing him from the moment he compared the cages of animals in the zoo with the old age homes. He couldn’t bear the frowning stare of his Periyamma who came in the forms of different animals every time in his nightmare holding the iron rods, staring at him longingly. It wasn’t feasible to apply for leave either whenever he wanted. So, I had to pay a visit to the said old age home and talk a couple of words to his Periyamma on his behalf. This was the gist of the letter. 

Confirming the bus routes, I set out my journey to the old age home next Sunday. I had to change three buses. Near to the bus stop where I alighted at last, was there a lonely tea shop with the thatch made of palm leaves. I got a cigarette from there, lit it up and enquired about the old age home. The lady who owned the tea shop came out of the hut and pointed to a place which looked like a grove and said, ‘Yonder, it is that home” 

“Won’t the bus go there?” 

“This is the stop for going to that home. Every one would get down at this stop and then walk. You come from outside. Aren’t you?” 

I said teasingly “Yes”. 

“People come with their old ones, dump them here and leave in different directions. No matter it was simple porridge or gruel, life would be better off if they drink it together with their loved ones. I fail to understand why people run after money. The time has changed drastically for worse sir” 

“Are they looking after them well?”

“No complaints about the care that they get. But …you see…even the love and care given by hundreds of persons can’t come anywhere near to that of one given by own blood. Can it?” 

“Do you go there regularly?” 

“It is my husband who brings them milk packets in the morning. Do you have anyone there known to you? I am sorry I am talking without knowing even basic courtesy”

“I don’t have anyone there known to me. One person known to my acquaintance is staying there”

I smiled at her, putting out my cigarette and strode away with a good bye. Her accent of Tamil sounded like that of one spoken in Thiruvannamalai. I have had heard many such accented Tamil in the suburban areas of Bangalore. Sometimes when we are walking, desperately longing to hear a voice familiar to us, one such voice, purely coincidental though, would emerge from somewhere and would arrest our attention for a moment. 

Thickly grown small shrubs with yellow flowers were found here and there on both sides of the road. The birds whose names were not known were flying, playing in the branches of trees. Children were playing cricket in a piece of land that looked barren. At the end of the road, was there a board with an inscription “Ashraya”. A compound wall ran along with it. The bougain villaea was so thickly grown, blooming, covering the wall that it rendered the top of it invisible. Its branches had spread all over the area. I informed the security guards at the entrance of my visit and went in. It looked as if I had entered a big garden. The place was of full of different types of flowers blossoming in different colours. Two servants were found cleaning up, collecting the dead leaves fallen from the trees. Along the side of flower garden, was there a vast stretch of shiny grass beds looking like a green carpet. Round shaped cement benches were placed under a big sun shade. A beautiful peripheral wall. A simply yet elegantly constructed temple with idols. A Church. A prayer hall. Statues of an old lady and an old man walking with walking sticks led by a small boy holding their hands were found erected on the pedestal. There too, were beautiful plants decking around it. Along its side a circular shaped marble tank with artificially fit fountains in different heights and water was spraying from them. There was a small hall covered with glass with some tables. The hall was also covered with different plants and looked green. In the open space found at the back of it, there were more than fifty small houses constructed with precision. All houses were patterned on tiled houses. On the other side, there was a hospital. Crematorium was located somewhere on the campus with a very tall chimney as if it was erected with a view of touching the clouds. Adequate number of vehicle parking bays and comfortable walking paths branching out on its sides. I was walking slowly watching all these. I paid attention lately to the construction of buildings. All were constructed to the floor level with no steps and terrace. They seemed to have been constructed by keeping the condition of old age people in mind. The loneliness of that place evoked an indecipherable feeling in my heart. I could feel that an eerie fear precipitating somewhere deep into my heart. 

I went near to the "enquiry office" at the left side of fountains. The interior walls of the room were decked with beautiful photographs. Bookmark cards with shorter sentences were found inserted. When I turned my attention after playing with my loitering eyes over there, I faced the smile of a young woman sitting in front of a computer. Thinking that her smile resembled that one of those idols, I smiled back. I approached her and gave the details I had with me. 

“Thaiyal Nayaki, S-7”   

She read it aloud, rose from her seat and came out of the hall. She came along with me till the point where the row of huts began and guided me the route and direction towards which I had to walk before leaving. I started walking in the direction she showed me. All the houses were constructed with same design. Every house had a small front yard made of mosaic stones. A small sun shade and an easy chair under it. A small garden around it. The sun flowers were shining in the yellow sun light. 

My eyes looked at the window of a house, accidentally, and I could feel that two eyes were fixed upon me. As I got unduly shocked to see them, I saw them once again in the direction to clear my doubts whether they were indeed looking at me. Those eyes were transfixed, intently staring at me. I couldn’t look at that shrunk face and imploring eyes for long. I withdrew my attention instantly and looked at other houses. Truly, my palpitation had shot up. Two such eyes near every window. The longing sight raising from the dull, sunken eyes. I started walking fast, watchful of my way. I felt someone was calling me. I turned back, hesitantly only to see none. The woman who showed me the directions was also not visible. The houses were looking like mammoth engines unloaded from trucks. Surprisingly, I could see myself an element of fear creeping into my heart that I was unable to look at those windows. Very next moment, my senses came alive and chased that fear away. The most bizarre thing about that place was that not a small sound was heard around there. Even the sound of coughing was also absent. 

I went near to the house and pressed the doorbell. Every moment my senses expected the rustling of cloths and creaking of slippers as a result of movement inside the house. No such sounds were heard for some time. The moment I thought of pressing the bell once again the door opened suddenly. The appearance of the person who came out left me stunned for a moment. It looked as if a molten ball of flesh had developed its hands and legs. My heart started beating faster. 

“You are Thaiyal Nayaki. Aren’t you?”  

The dryness in my throat got me choked up from asking this question I wanted to ask. Only after my attempts of gathering up saliva and swallowing to moisten it, I could manage asking that question. She didn’t receive my question. Only her eyes moved, rather slowly. They looked at me intently as if scrutinizing me. I asked her once again, “You are Thaiyal Nayaki. Aren’t you?” She came closer to me, tilted her ears towards me and mumbled, “mm”. I had to ask my question once again. 

“It was my last son who had dropped me here. He didn’t come back to see me after that”

Speaking incoherently, she turned inside. As though I was afraid of following her in, I put it aside and went inside, following her. 

The house was very clean. The stench of Dettol was in the air. Natural scenery was found pasted on one side of the wall and picture of Lord Krishna with the flute in his mouth on the other. A window with grills just beyond it. Scenery from outside, cloud and waving branches of trees were seen like moving pictures. Bath room and toilet were on the other side. The cot was lying near the window. A table with medicines. A television at the corner of the room. I was astounded at realizing my body shudder. I couldn’t believe that a chillness was penetrating my abdomen, and getting frozen there. I stood transfixing my eyes at her. The face with shrunk skin. Hollowed cheeks. A long white hair had been tied into a bun. As my eyes grew familiar with hers, the fear that it instilled in me initially got melted. I felt that they exhibited nothing but bewilderment and restiveness. The body attesting the unmistakable signs of senility. The white hair on the edge of her ear lobes and forehead was fluttering in the wind. Suddenly she pointed her finger at me and asked, “Who are you?” 

“I am…friend of your sister’s son, Chandran. Chandran….do you know Chandran?” 

I spoke it a bit louder. I was surprised at seeing her living in a world where my sounds were unable to reach. She moistened her lips as she was sitting on the cot. Both the upper and lower lips were seen inwardly curled. The wrinkles which appeared like lines were found extended up to lips, leaving strong imprints there in it.

“Tell me if there is any use of getting six male children? It is generally seen that children in this world will look after their parents once they are grown up. But all those I got had gone just opposite to what I said. When each of my son left me, I had a hope that my last son would look after me. But he brought me here and dumped. My sister’s son is working abroad. He only looks after everything, such as these arrangements etc…” 

“Your sister’s son is Chandran. I am his friend. It is he who asked me to visit you” 

She didn’t reply. It appeared that my words did not get into her head. I was sitting, watching the movements of palmyra trees seen through window grills. I was intrigued by her silence. 

“Once upon a time, we had a big grocery shop. My husband had a Vil Vandi (Passenger Bullock cart). We used to visit places only in that cart”

She started narrating a story involuntarily- People who came to see her as a bride, her marriage, prosperous business, children one after another, a death in the market place caused by the hit of rogue bulls that ran amok as someone had lost control over them- she narrated events one by one in sequence. For a second, she paused and asked me, “Who are you?” I told her my details once again patiently. Apart from her eyes that were fixed upon me, I failed to find any traces of acknowledgement of having heard my words on her face. 

A book was lying on the medicine table. Comforting myself, I picked up that book, flipped its pages- A book I had never come across yet. 

The book was filled only with pictures. All were Saivaite holy places of South India. Majestic pictures of temples standing tall with a mountain, trees and river on one side. Pictures of deity in sanctum sanctorum on the other side. Every picture bore different appeals. In addition to it, some pages had the pictures of stone pillars. 

“Are they looking you after well here? Do you have anything to inform to Chandran?” 

She didn’t reply anything. My heart began to get frozen in astonishment. I couldn’t help the feeling of getting embarrassed of sitting in front of a sculpture and talking to it. I watched her eye brows. They were pale and curved. Only her eyes were batting incessantly. 

She started speaking again. 

“I was his everything…his life…. Wherever he goes, he never fails to bring a bundle of flowers in hands. He will be at peace only after he puts it on my head with his own hands in the kitchen. One day my mother in law saw him wearing the flowers on my head. She shouted in high pitch whether the house was for dignified woman or whores. She kept on pestering that no woman in the house knew nothing about dignity and instead roamed around with flowers on their head like prostitutes. He left the spot at once and went to the back yard. Without making any more fuss, I too started concentrating on my work in the kitchen. She then started finding mistake in that too. Yelling at me, she came near “Look at her impudence…a lusty donkey looking for sex every time” and pulled the flowers from my head and threw it to fire in the stove. 

Tears kept streaking down her cheeks. She started sobbing inconsolably as if the flowers thrown into fire years ago were still burning right in front of her eyes. It was unbearable to see her crying with her lips crooked in pain. It was rather an uneasy situation. I couldn’t understand any words she spoke at the peak of her sob. Even though she was sitting very near to me, I could feel that she was standing at the edge of time where no one could reach easily. She leaned against the wall, with her eyes looking somewhere, fixedly. Her sob made her chest heave up and down. Nerves in her neck and her chest pit coiled up. Their movement rather increased my uneasiness. I looked at her face again. Her eyes were gleaming like broken glass pieces accidentally fallen into a bunch of thorny bushes.  She rolled her tongue, and moistened her lips once again. 

I couldn’t move my eyes away from those tears and fear-filled eyes. My throat got dried up, clogged with the torment hastened by the enormity of guilt. I thought of going near to her, to assuage her with my touch. I withdrew myself from that thought very next moment.  A feeling of failure that I couldn’t evoke the memories about Chandran in her tormented me. Her eyes were watching me when my eyes were cruising hesitantly into the inner hall, windows, curtain, wall pictures, toilet doors and South Indian Saivite holy places book, heaving a sigh and walking. Till I reached the door, she was watching me, remained silent. Suddenly, with a rapid batting of eye lids she stared at me and asked “who are you?”. I looked at her eyes, leaning against the door for seconds. I once again brought into my mind the eyes which I had just seen near every window of the houses. I couldn’t stay there even for moment after that. I hurried up, and left the home. I could breathe properly only after I stepped out of the entrance coming past all those perfectly built curved long roads, grass beds and fountains. The predicament of communicating my pain to Chandran had got me anxious for the first time. 

***


 

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