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This is an English Translation of “Puratchi
Ezhuthalarin Kathanayaki”, a short story written by Ku. Alakirisamy.
Translated from Tamil by K. Saravanan. This is 30th
English Translation in Classic Tamil Short stories Series. |
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| Ku. Alagirisamy |
It might sound light if it was said that
Ramanathan had got bored with the city life. in fact, he had got disgusted with it. It
was the truth. It had just been maximum of four years since he came to
Chennai. The house where he was living at
present was his second rented house. It was also not right to say that salary he
received from his office was inadequate. Despite having everything, he just
hated Chennai city like poison. ‘Had those atom bombs, dropped on
Hiroshima and Nagasaki, been dropped on this wretched city and made it
completely flat, barren, they would have at least changed the capital to some
other city. Wouldn’t they? Even if they didn’t change the capital, at least I
would have been happy staying in such a grave yard. But it was my destiny that
I have to reside in this Chennai.’ –Such was his hatred for Chennai. He
had poured out his frustration to many of his friends so as to find some solace,
keep his agitated mind cool. All of them used to look at him, perplexed at his hate
speech and fury.
‘He is not a type of person who
usually hates others. He used to be friendly with everyone with his smiling
face. A bon viveur. A person with this kind of attitude is speaking like this.
Isn’t he?’ – His friends wondered. The reason for all the hatred and
bitterness that filled in his head, was rather a petty problem. It would be
very difficult to believe it, if at all explained. It was a city. Wasn’t it? No
one would believe it. Would they? The upper floor of the house where he lived was
the sole reason for all these. Whether it holds true or not what the French
Novelist Balzac had told somewhere, that the houses in which people live
actually make their character, it was completely true in his case. It had been
one year since he came to that house. Prior to coming to this house, he was
struggling in a small house without adequate ventilation and light along with
his wife, brother in law and his parents. Newly married, he spent his first three
years of marriage in that dark dungeon. The present house was properly ventilated.
Sufficient light came inside. It was spacious too. While taking it on rent,
even the words of the house owner were indeed sugar coated. So, nothing more he
needed. He became a tenant. That time, he had a baby and his wife was pregnant.
Only one big discomfort in the upper floor- that, water was the major problem.
Bringing the water to his residence
was almost akin to milking a kicking cow. Water had to be drawn through pump.
There were five or six families living in the ground floor. Everyone would be
busy one after the other, that was, from half past four to half past ten in the
morning till the water supply was stopped, in drawing water from the pump. They
could have their bath early in the morning only after a stiff competition with
each other. In such a situation, how would he get time to ask others to close
the pipe for some time? Unless the pipe was closed below, it was very sure that
the water wouldn’t come up, no matter however much one wrestled with the pump. So
even for a bucket of water, he had to literally beg the people down, from his
floor, to close the pipe. Despite having such difficulties, Ramanathan couldn’t
feel its gravity during the first three months because of the help extended by
his brother in law, Natarajan. He had come to the city in search of job, and
was staying in his sister’s house temporarily. Ramanathan used to leave for his
office at half past nine in the morning after having bath, and eating his
breakfast in haste. From the moment he left, Natarajan would make it sure that
he utilised all the possible opportunities to stand by the pump and filled the
water whenever it was possible. Hence the requirement of water for the house
was complete. In the evening, the same story of water filling. After three
months, Natarajan got a job in Salem. He left for Salem immediately.
Only in his absence, Ramanathan was
able to realise the enormity of the water problem. Having two choices of either
going to the office or pumping the water, he understood that he could do both
only during the holidays. What to do then? He thought of approaching the
servant maid, who came to his house to wash the utensils and clothes, to pump
the water by giving one or two rupees more. She also had children. This extra
amount he proposed to give would be of great help to her. ‘Why should I
engage a different woman for this work and waste money on her?’ He thought,
waiting for Kamala. Kamala was his servant maid. That day, instead of coming on
time, she came late by half an hour. She walked straight away into the kitchen
as soon as she entered the house. She called out Meena- Ramanathan’s wife. They
were discussing something for a while. Ramanathan couldn’t overhear what they
talked as he was on the other side. After their discussion, Meena came to
Ramanathan. She dropped a big bomb to his shock. Ramanathan stood totally
stunned at what she said.
“Kamala doesn’t want to continue her
work here”
“Why?”
“She says she wouldn’t be able to pump
water. In these two days of pumping water, her hands and chest are aching, she
says. So she wouldn’t like to come henceforth.”
“How could she manage pumping water
these many days? The hands which could pump water so far without aches, have
now started aching suddenly. Haven’t they? It was not she who pumped the water.
It was Natarajan who pumped and stored it. She would just wash the utensils,
cloths and dried them before leaving home. So… this is her problem. Right? Call
her” Ramanathan told her. Driven by a sort of pride that he was, anyway,
prepared his mind to give her some additional amount of money apart from her
regular wages, he thought that Kamala was enacting that drama just to get more
wages, and looked at Kamala, “Why do you say like that? Is pumping two buckets
of water that difficult?” he started enquiring her. Without giving him any
reply, she was standing, leaned against the wall with her head looking down,
scratching her one nail with another. “Kamala, what do you want to say? You can
be frank with me.” Ramanathan coaxed her. “I cannot continue here anymore. You
appoint someone else” she nodded her head vehemently. All his efforts to make
her pump water to meet the requirement of the entire house, that too, with his
helping heart, went in vain as she refused to do even her regular works at
home.
Ramanathan tried all his tricks with
her. His wife too tried her best to convince her. Even the elderly parents of
Ramanathan too tried their words with her. But she remained unmoved. At last,
he said, “Ok. I will give you two rupees more. You complete filling water and
your other regular works”- Ramanathan threw his final shot.
“Even if you give me hundred rupees, I
will not pump the water.” She was so stubborn in her words.
It was her reply; stern reply. As he
felt that it wouldn’t be honourable to force her anymore, Ramanathan gave her
the balance amount and sent her off.
“She was so stubborn and left in this
manner. Now what will I do for pumping water?” Meena expressed her angst. She
was worried that she wouldn’t be able to pump even a jug of water with her
frail body, a toddler in hand and one in stomach.
“You are so ignorant Meena. Aren’t
you? There are umpteen persons roaming on the streets even without some porridge
to eat for one time. You just wait for some time. Let me bring a servant maid
by tomorrow itself.” Ramanathan assured her confidently. Since then, within
three days, through his contacts, Ramanathan could manage a new servant maid.
The name of the new servant maid was Mangalam. She was young aged woman, having
child of four years old. She was looking noticeably beautiful, having good
complexion.
At the very first sight, anyone would
easily say seeing her well- toned body that she could perform any task untiringly.
It was understood that her husband had left her long ago, gone somewhere and
she was now leading a tough life with her child for the last three years. She
herself told this. “What a pity! These days the men are stone hearted” Ramanathan’s
mother expressed her anguish.
“How could he leave such a beautiful
wife and a lovely baby at this young age?” Ramanathan wondered. ‘He had
left, it is not the time to think how he had left’ Ramathan thought and
left for the office. She also came for her routine work. Ramanathan left for
his office with the peace of mind. For about a week, Mangalam did her work
efficiently, earning everyone’s appreciation. Everyone residing in downstairs,
be it men, elderly men, young boys alike- would never open the pipe below when
she came upstairs to pump water. They used to walk to and fro near the pipe,
looking up to have a glance of her while she pumped water and simultaneously throwing
their eyes around to be sure that their wives were not watching them. Only after Mangalam finished pumping water,
they would open the pipe below. With this, the curse of water problem had come
to an end. Amidst this happiness, they gave her an old saree, not torn, and
bought a new skirt and a blouse for her four year old child. Only at this
juncture, Mangalam became ‘enlightened’.
She came to a conclusion that she had
been doing an extremely dangerous work which no servant maid in the city would
ever dare to do-something they were not supposed to do-even if they were
offered thousand rupees. That was end of it! The bull had readied to be
belligerent! From providing sumptuous food to tending to all her needs, Meena
was generous as she was cautious that she shouldn’t desert her like the old
servant maid. But the servant maid was not an easy nut to crack. Ramanathan decided,
and told her that he would increase her wages more. Mangalam didn’t accept it
immediately. At last, when he told her that he would increase her wages by
three rupees, she half-heartedly accepted his offer. But this attraction of
three rupees didn’t last for more than a month. One day, the old servant maid, Kamala
met her on the street voluntarily and told her, “Why are you doing all these
works? Just because women like you are ready to do these kinds of works, these
house owners torture women like me to do the same. You pump water. Alright. But
for how many days could you do that? For how many days, your body could
withstand it? Are they giving you such a wage that you couldn’t hold? – She got
her mind confused. Mangalam woke up from her slumber. Next day, she went to
Ramanathan’s wife, told her, “I can’t pump water”- sang the same old song of
the city.
Ramanathan was left terrified once again. All
from the family begged her fervently, something not falling short of
prostrating in front of her. But the tiger never eats grass even if it is
hungry. Does it? So, the servant maid wouldn’t pump water. Would she? After collecting
the balance amount, settling the wage accounts, Mangalam left. After she left, those
two weeks of mental agony that Ramanathan underwent till another maid servant
Kuppammal arrived, was something indescribable in words. He didn’t bath for
four days. He pumped water, taking two days leave from his company. He was
reprimanded severely by his senior officers for being late to the office. One
day, he fought with one family living downstairs too. It is said that people
bear three mistakes for the sake of water. Just, to complete the cycle of
bearing the third mistake, Ramanathan arranged the third servant maid. She also
turned out to be uncooperative. He decided to change the house and thought of
going back to the village. We shouldn’t think that Kuppammal must be an old
woman as her named suggested. At the maximum, she must be forty years old. She
was a very poor woman. She used to come with shabby, old cloths during three
fourth of the time she worked. Even she, such a poor lady, worked only for two
months. In the third month, once she received the wages on second day, she also
announced that she would no longer come for work there.
Reason! The same reason. ‘She wouldn’t
pump water’. Along with this, she added one more excuse. She told that her
husband didn’t like her pump the water; he got angry about it; and would chase
her out of the house if she ever tried pumping the water anymore. Ramanathan
was terribly annoyed and got extremely angry at listening to her version.
“Listen…Stop all your ludicrous stories.
Do continue here if you like; Or else get lost from here”- Ramanathan was very
categorical in his words. Kuppammal didn’t stand there further. “Isn’t it a
nonsense? Look at the stupid arrogance of her husband, who is just depending on
the old rice she takes to her home given here for his very survival! What he
gets to eat is just a gruel; but see what he needs to gargle- Rose water! Our
old adage is not without logic. Isn’t it?”
Ramanathan got angry at everything he
happened to come across that day. He went out of the house with a raging anger to burn the
entire city, reduce it to the fort of charcoal. It was scorching sun light outside.
He was walking aimlessly, without knowing where he was actually going. ‘Instead
of coming to the city for doing the job, it would have been better begging in
the village. Even if I work here for another thirty years, I am not going to
amass anything big. Ain’t I? Despite spending money, peace of mind is
nowhere to be seen’.
‘It is pity
that I don’t even have the guts which that servant maid has. The moment she
feels she doesn’t like it, she leaves everything in a minute. But I…tied to
this job and this wretched city, leading a pathetic life every day. What a
colossal shame of life!’ fretting about his destiny, he entered a movie hall
that he came across on his way. Thought of forgetting his woes for some time.
It was an English movie of two hours. After the show, he came out of the hall,
went to nearby restaurant, had his meals in full and had a coffee. As it was a
moonlit night, he thought of spending half an hour in the beach, and got into a
bus. He sat on the beach sand, enjoyed its breeze. At about eight, when he was
about to move, he remembered his friend, who was living nearby. Ramanathan thought
that he could spend some time with him and enquire about houses with good water
facility, went to his house. As his good luck would have it, his friend was at
home when he reached there. He was the so called revolutionary writer, Mr
Partha Sarathy; a famous novelist. At times he wrote short stories too.
He had pen names
too. ‘Parthan’ (Another name of Arjun in Mahabharata) and ‘Therotti’ (Charioteer) were his pen names. As Ramanathan sat in front of him, he threw a
customary question at him just to initiate a conversation whether he was writing
any novel that time.
“Yes” Mr Parthasarathy
replied.
“Which novel?” he
asked, rather stupidly.
“A novel which
talks about our everyday experiences.” the writer replied.
“How come such
stories occur in your mind? No such stories never occur in our mind. Do they?”
“Occurring? Nothing
occurs on its own. There will be no smoke without fire. Any event which we see in
its fullness in our life shall form the crux of the story. It only takes the form
of short story or novel. You know well that, as a writer, I intend to portray the
realistic life as such in my works, don’t you? Now you see…! I got the theme
for the novel which I am presently writing, from this street itself. Almost all
the events in the novel are real and actually happening. I just have to give it
a shape and make it not void of aesthetics. It is all only my job in this.”
“What is that so
impressive going on this street?” as Ramanathan asked him, the writer started
giving a brief account of the story.
“It is a tragic
story. A story of a sex worker who sells her body for her livelihood. Precisely
because of this, he had named the novel, ‘The sister who had slipped’. That ‘slipped
sister’ had a girl child. The scoundrel who she loved had abandoned her along
with the child, leaving them to face this cruel world. Now she is a destitute,
struggling in this world without anyone to support. She travels from place to
place but not getting a job to settle down. Both the mother and the child are
left to starve most of the days. At last, for the sake of the child, she is
ready to sell her body. Whenever she is out for earning her living, her child
will be left alone, hungry, miserably crying without seeing her mother.” When the
writer was narrating this story, something had struck in Ramanathan’s mind. He asked
him suddenly, “Is your heroine living in this street?
“Yes…of course. She
is living in this street. That too, in this opposite house.”
“Ohh…I see…How
long has she been living here?”
“Probably about a
month or so…”
“Do you know her
name?”
“No...I don’t know”
“How does she look like?”
Parthasarathy
described her appearance. The description was over.
“It’s alright… It’s
alright” Ramanathan said.
“Why?...What
happened? Your inquisitiveness shows that you know her earlier.”
“Leave it aside.
In case, if I like to meet her, how would I do that?” Ramanathan was astonished
at himself and smiled.
“Why are you so much
concerned about her?” the writer queried.
“I’ll tell you
that later. You please complete the remaining part of the story.” Ramanathan
told him.
But the writer
had lost his interest in telling the remaining story. He asked Ramanathan to
join for dinner. After their meals, both of them were sitting in the room
upstairs where they were sitting a while ago. While chewing the betal leaves,
Mr Parthasarathy was peeping out of the window frequently, looking for
something on the street. They were talking about sundry matters. When
Ramanathan told him the requirement of a house, the writer asked him, “Why? What
is the problem with the present house?”
He started
narrating his story, filled in with his miseries. He explained the difficulty
of getting a servant maid even with high wages. He explained in detail how each
servant maid was obstinate in their attitude and not ready to do anything physically
demanding.
Parthasarathy
became angry with those servant maids. “Almost all the servant maids are same
in their attitude. Everyone wants to have comforts in life without working. Their
time also passes like this.” When Ramanathan was busy telling his story,
Parthasarathy intervened, and told him, “Look over there! A woman is getting
down from the rickshaw. Isn’t she? She
is the one”.
As he peeped out,
looked at her and was not surprised. He was happy to know what he presumed had turned
out to be correct. He looked at intently under the light of lamp post. ‘Yes…it
is she..’
“So, you are
writing a story about her. Aren’t you?” Ramanathan asked.
“Yes”
Parthasarathy accepted.
“Do you know who
your heroine is? She is my second servant maid Mangalam. She is that ‘sister
who had slipped’. It is only for her, you are shedding your tears. She ran away
with a lame excuse that she wouldn’t pump water, just a half an hour work,
leaving good wages and healthy food. Why only novel, you can write plays also about
her” Ramanathan’s voice sounded firm.
Writer Parthasarathy
was visibly confused, without knowing what to do, he simply vented out his
exasperation, “Oh God! Is it so? Is it true? Is it that woman?”
Ramanathan
intervened, told him, “Why do you whimper unnecessarily? Let her go wherever
she wants. You just reply to what I am asking you. Will you find out a suitable
house for me or tear this novel into pieces? Even if you do any one of these, I
will never forget that help.
Ramanathan gave
out a hearty laughter. The revolutionary writer too joined him, laughed along
with him.
***End***
Translated from
Tamil by K. Saravanan.
Source: Ku. Alagrisamy’s
short story “ Puratchi Ezhuthalarin Kathanayaki”
