The Heroine of a revolutionary writer (Puratchi Ezhuthaalarin Kathanayaki) by Ku. Alagirisamy.

 

This is an English Translation of “Puratchi Ezhuthalarin Kathanayaki”, a short story written by Ku. Alakirisamy. Translated from Tamil by Saravanan Karmegam.

Ku. Alagirisamy

  

 It might sound lighter if it was said that Ramanathan had got bored with the city life. To be precise, the truth was he had got disgusted with it. It had just been maximum of four years since he settled in Chennai.  The house where he has been presently living is his second rented house. It wasn't exactly right to say that the salary he received was meagre and 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 be in this Chennai.’ – A classic hatred for Chennai. He was so much frustrated that he would pour it out with his friends in an attempt to find some solace, keep his agitated mind cool. They would get perplexed at his hate speech and fury.

‘He is not type of a person who usually hates others. His had friendly demeanour to get along with everyone. A bon viveur. A person of that kind now spits out such a hatred.’ – His friends wondered. The reason behind his hatred and bitterness that filled in his head, was a petty issue and might look so silly if explained. No one would ever consider it a matter of some value in this big city. It was the upper floor of the house where he lived was the reason behind all his hatred. A critical scrutiny might be needed to what the French Novelist Balzac had said about houses, that, the houses in which people live do actually make their character. It was completely true in his case. It had been one year since he came to that house. Before that, he had tough time in a small rented house without adequate ventilation and light to stay 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 which was properly ventilated, spacious with sufficient light coming in coupled with sugar coated words of the house owner made him believe it was perfect place to stay. He came to that house as tenant along with his baby and his pregnant wife. Only one major discomfort staying in upper floor was water problem.

Bringing water to his house was almost akin to milking a rogue kicking cow. Water had to be drawn through a pump. There were five or six families living in the ground floor. Everyone would be busy in drawing water from the pump from half past four to half past ten in the morning and never leave till the water supply was stopped. They would bathe early in the morning following a stiff competition with one another. How would he ask them to close the pipe for some while? The water could be pumped up to his floor only when the pipe below was closed. If not, no matter however much one wrestled with the pump, not a drop of water could be pumped up. Even for a bucket of water, he had to literally beg the people down to close the pipe. Despite having such difficulties, Ramanathan couldn’t realise its gravity during his first three months of stay because of the help extended by his brother in law, Natarajan. He was in Chennai 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 a quick bath and a brief breakfast. It was Natarajan who would get the buckets filled with water employing all his tricks with people at the pump. Morning water woes would thus be over. In the evening, the same story would repeat. After three months Natarajan left for Salem as he got a job there.

It was only in his absence, Ramanathan did realise the enormity of water problem in his house. He was left with two choices- Going to the office or pumping the water. He realised that he could do justice to both only during the holidays. What to do then? He thought of engaging his servant maid, who came to his house to wash the utensils and clothes, to pump the water by way of paying her one or two rupees more. Since she had children, she would be happily accept his offer of his extra amount as it would be of great help to her, he thought.

‘Why should I engage a different woman for this work and waste money on her?’ he thought, and waited for Kamala, the servant maid working in his house. She was late that day by half an hour. She walked straight into the kitchen as soon as she entered the house, called out to Meena, Ramanathan’s wife and discussed in hushed tone for a while. Ramanathan couldn’t overhear what they talked as he was on the other side. As their discussion was over, Meena came to Ramanathan and dropped a big bomb to his hell 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 past two days of pumping water, her hands and chest are aching, she says. So she wouldn’t like to come henceforth.”

“How was she able to pump water these many days? The hands that could pump water without aches till now have started aching all of a sudden. Right? It is not she who pumped the water. It was Natarajan who did it and stored it. She just washed 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, he was mentally prepared to give her some additional amount of money apart from her regular wages. He thought Kamala was enacting that drama just to get some more bucks. He asked her, “Why do you say that? Is it very difficult to pump two buckets of water? Without giving him any reply, she stood, leaned against the wall, head looking down, scratching her one nail with another.

“Kamala, what do you want to say? Be frank with me.” Ramanathan coaxed her.

“I cannot continue here anymore. You appoint someone else” she swayed her head vehemently. All his efforts to make her pump water to meet the requirement of his entire house, that too, with his helping heart, went in vain as she now refused to do even the routine 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, a stern reply. As he felt that it wouldn’t be sufficiently an honourable act to coax her further, Ramanathan gave her the balance amount of her wages and settled it.

“She was so stubborn and left. 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, holding a toddler in hand and carrying one in womb.

“You are so ignorant Meena. Aren’t you? There are umpteen jobless roaming on streets without even some porridge to eat a time. You just wait for some time. Let me bring a servant maid by tomorrow itself.” Ramanathan assured her confidently. In three days, with the help of his contacts, Ramanathan could manage a new servant maid. The name of the new servant maid is Mangalam, a young aged woman, having child of four years old. She looked noticeably beautiful with good complexion.

At the very first sight, anyone would easily pass the verdict seeing her well- toned body that she would perform any task untiringly. 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. Her story moved Ramanathan's mother who would share her anguish with Managalam, “What a pity! These days the men are stone hearted”.

“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’ Ramanathan pondered a second and left for office. Mangalam was on her routine. Ramanathan could leave for his office with peace of mind. For about a week, Mangalam did her work efficiently, earning everyone’s appreciation. Everyone residing 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 perform cat-walk near the pipe, looking up to have a glance of her while she pumped water, simultaneously throwing their eyes around to be sure that their wives were not watching their cat-walk. Only after Mangalam finished pumping water, they would open the pipe below. With her physical appeal, the curse of water problem had come to an end. They gave an old saree- not visibly worn-out, and bought a new skirt and a blouse for her four year old child as a mark of sharing their happiness. It was only at this juncture, Mangalam became suddenly ‘enlightened’.

She thought 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 the end of everything! The bull had readied to be belligerent! Ranging from providing sumptuous food to tending to all her needs, Meena was generous enough as she grew cautious that this maid shouldn’t desert her like the earlier one. But the servant maid proved she wasn’t an easy nut to crack. Ramanathan told her that her wages would be increased. Mangalam didn’t accept his offer readily. When he told her that he would increase her wages by three rupees, she half-heartedly accepted it. But the glamour of three rupees didn’t last even for a month. One day Kamala, his old maid, met Mangalam 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 long would you keep doing it? How longer your body would withstand it? Are they giving you such wages that you couldn’t resist? – She got Mangalam completely confused. Waking up from her slumber, Mangalam went to Ramanathan’s wife next day and told her, “I can’t pump water”- she started singing the same old song of the city.  

Ramanathan was left terrified once again. All his family members begged her so fervently with just a step falling short to prostrate in front of her. But the tiger never eats grass even if it is hungry. Does it? So, does the maid. She wouldn’t pump water? Simple.

After collecting her balance amount and settling the wage accounts, Mangalam left. The two weeks of mental agony following her desertion that Ramanathan underwent till he could find a new maid Kuppammal, was something indescribable in words. He didn’t bath for four days. He himself pumped water, taking two days leave from office. He was reprimanded severely by his senior officers for being late to the office. One day, he had some fight with one family living downstairs. It is said that people bear three mistakes for the sake of water. Just to complete the cycle of bearing his 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. She must be not more than forty years old at the maximum. She was a very poor woman. One could see her in shabby, old cloths during three fourth of the time she worked. Despite being a poor lady, she also worked only for a couple of months and announced that she would no longer come for work there after receiving her wages on the second day of her third month.

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 water as he would get angry and throw her away from the house if she ever tried pumping water. Ramanathan was terribly annoyed and got extremely angry at listening to her version of excuse.

“Listen…Stop all your ludicrous stories. Do continue here if you like; Or else get out from here”- Ramanathan was very categorical in his words. Kuppammal didn’t stand there a minute further. “Isn’t it a nonsense? Look at the stupid arrogance of her husband, who is just depending on the old rice she takes 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 doesn’t go without logic. Right?”

Ramanathan was very angry at everything he happened to come across that day. He went out of the house with a raging anger sufficient enough to burn the entire city, reduce it to the fort of charcoal. It was scorching sun 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. Am I? Despite spending money, I couldn’t find peace of mind anywhere’.

‘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 to beach. 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 went to him thinking that he could spend some time with him and enquire about houses with good water facility. 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. He wrote short stories too occasionally.

He had pen names too. ‘Parthan’ (Another name of Arjun in Mahabharata) and ‘Therotti’ (Charioteer) were some of 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.  Now, you see…! I’ve got the theme for my novel which I am presently writing, from this street itself. Almost all the events in the novel are real and actually happening around here. I just have to give it a shape and make it not void of aesthetics. It is all my only 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’ has 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. For the sake of the child, she is at last 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 that house opposite.”

“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. 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 peeking out of the window frequently, ostensibly looking for something on the street. They were talking 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 narrated his story, brimming with his miserable experiences. He explained the difficulty of getting a servant maid even with high wages. He explained in detail how each servant maid had been 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. It is how they want to be.”

When Ramanathan was busy telling his story, Parthasarathy intervened, and told him, “Look over there! A woman is getting off the rickshaw. Do you see?  She is the one”.

As he peeked 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. Right?” Ramanathan sneered.

“Yes” said Parthasarathy.

“Do you know who your heroine is? She is my second servant maid Mangalam. She is that ‘sister who had slipped’. It is for her sake your valuable tears roll down. 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 looked 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, bursting into laughter.

                                                           ***End***

Translated from Tamil by Saravanan Karmegam

Source: Ku. Alagrisamy’s short story “ Puratchi Ezhuthalarin Kathanayaki”