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| Ki. Raja Narayanan |
The swing door commenced its movement.
The children from the neighbourhood partook in the game excitedly.
“All of you get your tickets” shouted Srinivasan. The children shouted back, “Give me a ticket…for you too”
“Which place do you want ticket to? Eii…don’t push me like this. Or else I won’t play with you guys”
“It’s okay…Sorry…I won’t push you”
“It’s alright. Where do you want to go?”
The children looked at each other’s face. One boy shouted, “To Tirunelveli”. Others joined him and shouted in unison, “Yes..to Tirunelveli…Tirunelveli”
Laxmi was wiping the door with a piece of cloth. Once Srinivasan completed giving the tickets with his empty hands, all climbed onto the door, hung. Some of them swung it to and fro. That heavy door moved happily to and fro as if it was delighted to carry those children standing on to it. “Here came Tirunelveli…” Srinivasan announced. All of them jumped out of the door. The ones who had swung the door bought the tickets and the ones who had ‘travelled’, swung the door. The swing door commenced its movement again.
It was an old, cemented house. It had only one big door. The inmates who, once, lived in that house were actually rich. Now, with very little possessions and money, they had become poor. Among the girl children in the house, the eldest one must be eight years old and another one was still a toddler. Their mother would go away for work in the woods; their father, a coolie working in Manimutharu had also gone away for his work. Laxmi and Srinivasan would play with the baby till her mother returned from the woods.
One day, Laxmi found out a Match Box sticker on the street. It was picture of a dog. As it was dirty, she wiped out the dirt with her saliva, with her skirt which resulted in the dirt smudging on everywhere in the picture. But she was satisfied that the picture was clean without dirt. She held the picture straight in front of her face, looked at it, moved her head on one side and then on the other side. Smiled at it. She looked around in search of someone to share her happiness. No one was there. Unable to control her happiness, she hopped down toward her home.
When Laxmi reached her home, Srinivasan was sitting at the entrance, holding his chin with his hands. On seeing him, Laxmi hid the picture behind her, and asked him, “Dei…Find out what I have brought”
“You might have brought something. Don’t you? But I don’t know what it is”
“Try guessing”
“I couldn’t”
Laxmi showed the picture to him from the distance.
“Akka…Akka…You won’t give it to me. Will you?” he climbed down the steps, came to her. She held up the picture above her head as if not willing to give it to him. Srinivasan ran behind her. “No…I won’t give it to you. Do you know how much it was difficult for me to get this? She told him.
“Let me have a look at it for only once. Please Akka..Please...” He begged her.
“You should return it to me immediately after seeing it. Is that okay?”
“Surely I will”
“You shouldn’t tear it off”
“I won’t”
Srinivasan had a glance of that picture. His face bloomed with happiness.
“Dei…Bring some porridge of boiled pearl millet. Let me paste this picture on the door.” She told.
“You are very correct!” Srinivasan ran into the house.
Both of them helped each other, pasted that picture on the door, cheerfully jumped at seeing it, clapped their hands. On hearing it, the children from neighborhood also came running to them, joined them. The movement of the swing door commenced once again.
2
If someone pays a close attention to the door, he would be able to find another picture pasted on the door just above the picture pasted by these children. That picture seemed to have been pasted long ago and it looked faded due to the years-long accumulation of filth and smoke on it. Perhaps, that picture could have been pasted by Laxmi’s father when he was a boy.
When those children were playing with the door, the village watchman came there.
“Laxmi! Where’s your father?”
“He’s gone to the town.”
“what about your mother?”
“She’s gone to the woods”
“Inform her that Village watchman Thevar came to meet her. Remind her to pay the excise once she returns.”
Laxmi just nodded her head in affirmation.
Next day, the village watchman came to Laxmi’s mother when she was at her home, asked her to pay the excise.
“Sir…he is not in the village. It has been five months since he had gone to Manimutharu. I don’t have any information about him. There has been no rain during the past three years. In this situation, how could we pay the balance of excise amount? Looking after these kids as a coolie with the paltry wages I manage from the woods is itself a daunting task for me. You are aware of it. Aren’t you?” she implored him.
But these words didn’t move the village watchman. He had enough experience of listening to such excuses from many people in the village. Hadn’t he?
“You see…We don’t have anything to do with your troubles. Do we? You must pay the excise this year. No excuses will be entertained anymore. It is of no use finding fault with me after that.” He warned her, left.
3
One day morning, the children were sitting in the ground in front of the house, chit chatting. The village watchman came to their house along with four persons. The persons accompanied him inspected the house at a close range. It looked funny for the children. The village watchman along with other four removed the door from its frame skilfully, carried it on their head and left. It appeared that children could have sensed something bizarre. Didn’t it? One of the boys bent his body backward, patted his thighs with his hands, stretched his hands forward, set it like a Nadhaswaram, and made sound, “peeeee…peeee” as if he was playing both Nadhaswaram and Thavil. Srinivasan also accompanied him. An enthusiastic group of children followed those men carrying the door, like a procession.
The village watchman couldn’t bear this display of children. “You asses! Won’t you leave me now?” he yelled at them. The children ran away from them. When they returned home, they found Laxmi sitting at the entrance, weeping. Everyone came near to her, sat beside her without making noise. None of them spoke. Srinivasan too kept his face look sad. But, they couldn’t remain calm for long. One girl, got up, told them, “I am leaving for my home.” Others followed her, left one by one. Once all of them left, only Laxmi and Srinivasan were sitting there. They also didn’t talk for a long time, remained silent.
Laxmi turned as she heard the baby crying inside. Srinivasan went inside and tried to scoop up the baby. He pulled his hands back from the baby at once. He looked at his sister. She also looked at him.
“Akka…touch the baby. The baby has temperature” he told her. Laxmi touched the baby. The baby had high temperature.
Long after the Sun set, their mother came home carrying a bundle of dry wood sticks on her head. While collecting dry wood sticks, she was stung by a scorpion and the pain was visible on her face. She sat by her children and picked up the baby from them. “The body has high temperature” she told herself. Her children narrated everything to her that had happened in the morning.
The story Rangamma heard from them had almost got her breath stopped. An inscrutable shiver ran through her body. She tightened her grip over the baby as if she had developed an unbearable pain in her abdomen. Despite her attempts not to cry in front of her children, she sobbed inconsolably, screamed, almost out of her senses, “O! My Mother”. Sensing something dreadful, the children moved away from her. They also joined her, wept, overwhelmed by an unknown fear.
4
No information came from Manimutharu. The days passed. During night, the children would be shivering due to cold wind flowing inside the house. Despite having a house, it was rendered useless as there was no door. The icy wind of Kartikai month troubled everyone in the house like a poisonous wind. The health of the toddler was also getting deteriorated as the days passed. On an ill-fated night, the baby died as it couldn’t withstand the icy weather. Rangammal delved into an unfathomable despair. She kept herself alive just for Laxmi and Srinivasan thence.
Now, Srinivasan started attending the school. In one afternoon, while returning from the school, he found a match box sticker on the road. He showed it to his sister. Laxmi was not interested in it.
“Akka…give me porridge. I am hungry. After the meals, I have to get this picture pasted”
“Thambi! There is no porridge” She uttered nervously.
“Why? I saw you making it in the morning. Didn’t I?”
She shook her head in affirmation, but continued, “I went out for a while. A dog came inside and drank all the porridge, brother! This house doesn’t have a door. Does it?” her voice soaked in despair and helplessness. The very thought that her mother would come home hungry from the woods, sank her in deep anguish.
Srinivasan collected some grains of boiled pearl millet found scattered there, applied it behind the sticker, came there to paste it on the door. But the door was not there. He stood, not knowing what to do next. He pasted it on the wall. It didn’t stick to the wall, fell down. He tried some other place, another wall, but in vain. With disappointment that got aggravated by hunger, he started crying.
………….
Laxmi was cleaning the utensils in the evening.
Srinivasan came running to her, his face gleaming with something, panted, stood in front of her. “Akka…Akka…You know the choultry near our school. Don’t you? Out house door is lying there just behind it. I saw it myself” he told her.
“Is it so? Is it true? Let us go there to see” she held him by his hands and both of them ran towards the village choultry. Yes! What he had told was true. The door was kept, leaned against the wall. They could identify their ‘friend’ from the distance. They looked around, ensured that no one was there in the vicinity.
Their happiness at seeing it! An inestimable ecstasy it was.
The Horse Purslane plants and Thai Vaazhai plants were crushed under their feet as they ran towards it. They went near to the door hurriedly, touched it, stroked it lovingly. Laxmi removed the small mounds of termite found on the door with her skirt. She brushed her cheeks against the door. She felt crying.
She hugged Srinivasan, kissed him, smiled at him. Tears were streaming down her face. Srinivasan too smiled at her. Both of their hands were firmly holding the door.
***End***
Translated from Tamil by Saravanan. K
Source: “Kathavu”, A collection of Short Stories by Ki. Raja Narayanan. (Annam Publication, Sivagangai, Tamil Nadu)
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