This is an English Translation of “Payasam 1”,
a short story written by Thi. Janaki Raman. Translated from Tamil by Saravanan
Karmegam.
***
Samanathu stood in front of the podium under the Peepal tree
and looked at the lord Ganesh made of stone. Gently patted his temple. Under
the guise of Thoppu karanam 2, he held his ears and simply displayed a
mild jerk in his body up and down.
He felt that someone was telling into his ears: ‘You could
very well fold your knees fully, sit, and then stand for at least four times.
Couldn’t you? Who else has the strength that you have? You are not like
Subbarayan, who is destined to be permanently sick in life. Are you? You don’t
suffer from joint aches, blood pressure, and spinning head like Subbarayan. Do
you?’ No one has actually uttered anything to him. It was he who was speaking
to himself. His inner voice further told him, “It is true that I am
seventy-seven years old and Subbarayan is sixty-six years old. So what? But
who, among us, will be assessed seventy-seven? Will it be I or he? Will it be
just enough if someone is able to earn fifteen or twenty lakh rupees? Will he
be able to get this kind of rock-solid chest like the bottom of a coconut leaf
stalk? Will he be able to get this kind of thick, stone-like muscles in his
hands and calves? What sort of marriage is he conducting? Stupidity! The entire
world has been invited for it. Hasn’t it? With all this fanfare with drums,
tying the Thali 3, getting the last daughter married off, and sending
everyone off with the bundles of cooked rice, what the hell are you going to do
after that? You would just sit and eat the wheat porridge and swallow some
medicine tablets and wipe your body with the hot water as much as you like.
Wouldn’t you? Would you be able to come even for a day like this to the Cauvery
4, swinging your hands and legs, to take a bath?’
Samanathu looked around. The Peepal tree leaves were speaking
something gently, rustling. Men, women, and children alike who had already
taken a bath on that side of the river and those who were on their way to take
a bath on this side of the river were going past the narrow lane that led to
the river Cauvery. Three-fourths of them were unknown faces—with silk sarees
and empty pots while going and wet sarees sticking to their bodies and pots
filled with water while coming back—sand particles sticking to the wet soles,
dotted like pepper balls. Like tender green stems, a child, five or six years old,
came nude after bathing. Having changed their dresses on the riverbank itself
after bathing in the Cauvery, some wearing faded blue Salem silk-bordered
dhoties were coming. Three-fourths of them weren’t known faces.
“Isn’t it all for marriage?” a loud query. That faded blue
dhoti? asked.
“Yes,” Samanathu replied, looking at his face with tons of
questions in his eyes. He asked him in his mind, ‘Why are you shouting like
this? Do you think I am deaf?’
“Aren’t you able to identify me?” That embroidered dhoti
asked him again. “It’s me. Brother-in-law of Sita, Madhura”i
“O… Is it? Yes…yes… Now I could identify. I couldn’t make it
out in a single glance. The food stuff hasn’t been made yet. Please go there.
You might have travelled throughout the night on the train.” Samanathu
displayed his hospitality.
“He…is Subbarayan’s chithappa 5. Being the eldest of
the family, he is the one who is looking after everything.” The Madurai Dhoti
introduced him to another washed dhoti standing nearby. He then left.
“He is the one….” He started adding up some more, introducing
him further.
“You please go… I will come in a while after bathing.”
Samanathu sent them off.
His voice from inside said, “Brother-in-law of Sita?
Subbaraya! ...How were you able to give birth to seven girls? For each girl’s
marriage, you are bringing a train full of your relatives, sons-in-law, and
brothers-in-law. Before I step into the Cauvery River, I don’t know how many
brothers-in-law I am going to encounter.’
Leaving the Peepal tree, he started walking towards the river
Cauvery, making the ground shake. Tucking up the end piece of his waistcloth in
his waist, he was wearing a Kachcham 6 folded up to his knees. A
double fibred towel on his right shoulder, an open rocky chest, a hollow
stomach, eyes without overgrowth of eye muscles, and fully functional
ears—Samanathu glanced at all of them once by himself.
Before his feet touched the Cauvery riverbed, he could hear
the sound of Thavil 7 from the street, followed by Nagaswaram 8.
‘Muhoortham 9 had been fixed after half past ten. The time isn’t even
eight. But these guys have started hitting the drums. They need to while away
their time somehow. Don’t they? In the very similar manner, Subbarayan too gave
birth to seven girls without knowing how to while away his time. Didn’t he?’
The water was flowing in three-fourths of the river’s spread.
The remaining part of the river was sand. He was tramping with his heavy steps
on sand.
The sound of drums was heard feebly at the distance. They
might call him. Elder of the family. ‘Subbarayan would come to him, addressing
him as Chithappa…Chithappa…If not he, his brothers would call me so-
as if I am making everyone dance to my tunes. Let them call…’
Samanathu looked around—to his left.
Across the river there seemed to be a bridge looking anew. It
was a new bridge. ‘Is it Subbarayan who is walking there? No…No…. Many people
are walking over there. Lorries are moving. Loaded carts are moving.
Pedestrians walk over there; everything bears the resemblance of Subbarayan.
Even trucks and bulls look like hi’m. It was Subbarayan who brought that bridge
to the town. Had he not been there, the bridge would have been built somewhere
forty kilometers away from there. Such was his influence in the government.
At the rear side of his right—in Vellalar Street—smoke was
coming out—the smoke emanating from jaggery making. ‘On the other side, the
field of Johnson grass with flowers—half of those flowers were found blossoming
like coral flowers shining in the morning sunlight. They look like Subbarayan
while looking at them closely. It was Subbarayan who brought sugar cane to that
town. Opposite to the town, on the other side, these smokes and sugarcane
industry smoke—everything was brought by Subbarayan. Yonder, that school, it
was also by Subbarayan. That cooperative society beside the bridge—again by
Subbaraya’n.
“Why are you burning with jealousy? Isn’t he your elder
brother’s son? It is now nearly twenty years since I came to this house after
marrying you. Half of the days, either it was old watery rice from the previous
day or some Vatha Kuzhambu 10 and this coral mound—I didn’t enjoy
anything other than these. Did I? Were you and your brother able to send even
those four rupees of monthly wages to Subbarayan? You had brought him, telling
him that he was your relative, and got him educated at the rock fort, praising
him that he was very good at studies. Didn’t you? Were you and your elder
brother able to complete at least his education? With your futile attempt of
making him jump off three-fourths of the well, you had dragged him home during
the final year, discontinuing everything. He came back, angry, roamed around,
and became feeble. Then the goddess of wealth came to him, danced in his
family…”
Samanathu was no longer willing to listen to this rant. It
was his wife’s voice. Now he was able to listen to it in the air. Around seven
or eight years ago, he had heard her in person.
‘It was true that I couldn’t get him educated. He came to the
town. Then ran away. Went to the fort and started a career as an accountant.
Picked some fights there. He borrowed some amount from one of the customers of
the shop and established a grocery shop with half of the share as profit.
Whether it was his sheer luck or his face or his character, no one knew. His
shop grew leaps and bounds and became a wholesale shop from a petty shop.
Procured paddy. Black grams and pulses in trucks and amasses a wealth of twenty
lakh rupees in twenty years. He had purchased one-fourth of the land in the
local village itself.
He divided his own earnings and gave half of it to Samanathu.
Samanathu was angry as his part fell outside the village. Not only that, it was
lying far beyond the riverbed too. He fought with him. Only at that time did
Valambal tell him, “What the heck is it! Is it your rightful demand? Or is it
your grandfather’s property? Or has your father earned it? It was all his
single-handed earnings, and he has given it to you as he has regard for his Chithappa.
Your complaints sound just as frivolous as your complaints about a cow you have
received as a charity not having proper teeth and tail. You better shut your
mouth and accept whatever he gives. If the people come to know about it, they
will laugh at you. Had I been one among the village elders….”
“Even otherwise, you are now a different woman. Aren’t you?
On seeing you the way you dance, talking in favour of him, I am unable to make
out whether you are my wife or my elder brother’s wife.”
“Thooo…enough…enough of your nonsense.” Valambal
moved aside.
“mhha… A sound of laughter like a cow came out of his throat
pit—a laughter of pride. A pride with stupidity. Then he followed Valambal,
trying to coax her. “Don’t be angry, dear… I just checked how your heart
responds to it.”
“Enough of it… Please don’t talk to me.”
For the next three days, Valambal didn’t speak to him—for
this stupid mischief.
There was no property dispute till she died. Now the property
was divided. He had accepted it too… Now what's next? ....”
But he couldn’t get the whole of his share. Samanathu’s
Valambal was not alive in this world now. The first two children she gave birth
to were not alive now. The third one was a girl—she was also no more. The
fourth one was a girl—she lost her husband in the third year of her marriage
and now settled in her mother’s home. Wearing a brown linen saree, she left her
husband’s home and came back to her mother’s home. As per the family tradition,
they shaved her head off and got her to wear a brown silk saree. Her marriage
took place on the same stage along with Subbarayan’s third daughter’s marriage.
Fifth was a boy—a painter living in Delhi. The sixth one was
a boy—he was attending to the nuptial errands in the marriage of Subbarayan’s
seventh daughter like a domestic help. It was he who had hurried him up to take
a bath in the Cauvery, telling him, “Please go and take a bath quickly. Who
else is here as elder other than you?”
Samanathu tied his towel around his waist, put a knot in it,
got into the water, plunged into the water fully, and wiped his body.
A bus was going on the bridge. One bundle of banana leaves, a
bicycle, four or five bales, and a bundle of sugar cane were kept on the
luggage carrier of the bus—everything bore the name of Subbarayan. ‘I want to
strangle that fellow by his neck, shaking him till his eyeballs come out… and
putting all the women of his family into a rug sack…’ He gritted his teeth.
‘You may throw them into the Cauvery. Only then can you
be doomed forever in hell without being able to come out of it. Go there
immediately.
It was she… She… It was Valambal. Yonder, it looks like her
on the black washing stone. Dark in complexion. Wavy hair. String of corals.
Thick stud. Body without blouse. Medium built. Many a time he had come to the
river, took a bath at a distance while she was taking a bath in the Cauvery. He
had groped her as if he was looking at an unknown woman through the corner of
his eyes. ‘That day, while changing the wet saree, struggling to cover her
waist and calf, standing in the empty space of the riverbed, he was ogling at
her; at that moment she glanced at him, the way he became shy as if he was
someone not related to her—everything is still visible! Why did she leave for
her heavenly abode well before me?’
“He gave you half of what he had earned and shared the
remaining part with his brother. Even his children would get very little as
their shares. Then why are you burning with so much jealousy?” She shook him on
that day, washing him off in the Cauvery River.
‘A colossal being! She stood for what is called righteousness
till her last breath. Didn’t she? What a sense of rectitude! You have kept me
as a human being, my dearest. Haven’t you? Now you have left me,” he mumbled.
Tears rolled down his eyes. Turned back. The next washing stone was somewhere
afar. No one could have heard him. Even if they had heard, it would have
sounded like slogans.
‘Narmade Sindhu kaveri…’ he murmured slokas, wrenched his dhoti, wiped his
body, wrenched his loincloth, rinsed it, and tied it around and started walking
after smearing vibhoothi 11 on his body. (Subbarayan would keep
calling him fondly Chithappa …Chithappa. Poor fellow!)
Nayanam and Thavil were approaching near. He stood in front of the
Peepal tree podium, worshipped Lord Ganesh and stone cobras, and left
hurriedly. He entered the street. The whole village was sparkling like a new
bride. New sarees, jewels, reddened feet, fair complexioned calf muscles, and
faces frequented each household. At some verandas, some were playing cards. The
street was full of persons wearing neatly washed dhoties. Every corner of it
echoed the chaotic noises of children.
“So grand of a marriage to attest Manaluran’s name,”
Samanathu mumbled to himself. His family did not belong to that village. Three
generations ago, his ancestors emigrated from Manalur in search of a livelihood
in priesthood jobs and settled here in a small hut at the corner of Agraharam12.
But now, it had acquired its own land in the form of houses in the middle of
the street itself. Yet the title, ‘Manalur,’ didn’t leave them. How could his
pride that resulted after subduing the locals not manifest itself in
Samanathu’s eyes and walk at that moment? Let it be visible for everyone in
that village to see.
Both his house and Subbarayan’s house were standing adjacent
to each other like brothers. With the canopy covering both the entrances, both
the verandas were full of crowds wearing new dhoties. Inside the halls were
flowers, beds, noises of children, and trunk boxes.
He walked past, went inside, wore his dhoti, went to the
backyard, washed off his feet, came back, and sat down to pray. Earlier, the
pictures of Lord Krishna, Lord Ram, and Lord Ganesh would hang on the walls of
that room in a row. Now, Lord Ram, Lord Krishna, and Lord Ganesh were sitting in
the Almira of the prayer room. The paintings drawn by Mathu were now hanging on
the walls.
Mathu was his third son. He didn’t come to attend the
marriage. He wouldn’t be able to attend every marriage of Subbarayan’s progeny.
Would he?
“Appa”
It was his daughter who called him. She was standing with her
linen saree, covering her head.
“They are going to call upon the bridegroom and change the
garlands. The procession for ‘parting mendicant’ is about to start.
Please go there. You may conduct your prayers tomorrow.” She told him.
“It is ok… It is ok… I will come in a while. You may leave
now.”
She looked up to him. Stood bewildered.
“Why don’t you leave now? Haven’t I told you that I would come
in a while? Only this work I have.” His last words didn’t fall on her ears.
Tonsured head. She was thirty-one years old. Youthfulness of
twenty was exhibited both in her cheeks and eyes.
“I told you to leave. Didn’t I? You go. I will be there.”
She left, gently closing the door. He felt that something was
burning up to his neck.
He looked around. Everywhere are the paintings drawn by
Madhu. Looked at them intently. He felt like laughing. In one painting, it was
nothing but a full knee with an eye and a comb inserted in it. Another painting
looked like a girl. One of its legs was a pig’s leg. She showed the interiors
of the stomach, tearing it apart. Four knives, a milk tin, and a curled baby
body were there inside. Another one was a lotus flower. A slipper was kept on
it. The half of the slipper had a moustache drawn on it.
‘What nonsense are these?’ He stood stunned at seeing them
and kept watching them with his mind lost in one point. ‘Legs are aching.
Aching legs…to me. Alas’!
The sound of drums.
“Appa…they are calling you.” The linen head peeked in once
again. Such a small face.
“Yes… I am leaving.”
“Chithappa… Where have you gone?”
It was Subbarayan’s voice. A panting voice. Hunchback.
The bride and groom exchanged their garlands. It was said
that watching them along with the swing would bring one all the gains of the Punya
13 of having a glance of Parvathi-Parameswaran and Laxmi-Narayanan. Even the
widows from that village were standing at all nooks and corners. Everyone was
laughing, showing their teeth everywhere. Broken teeth, stained teeth with
dirt, corroded teeth, widowed teeth, toothless teeth. Even the cook was also
present there.
‘Kannoonjalaadi nindraar…’
Nayanam player played that ‘song’—in’ swings.
Samanathu felt asphyxiated. He moved from there silently. He
walked along the backyard to get some fresh air. The hall was completely empty
with none, not even a fly or crow. Going past the back yard entrance was the
last yard. No one was there. Gigantic ovens were burning with flames. The fire
was thick. Everything was boiling in cauldrons. Behind the jute sack curtain,
one boy, oil-skinned with dirty poonool 14 was cutting cucumber. No
sign of any living being around there. Parvathi and Parameswaran were busy
exchanging their garlands.
On this side of the gigantic stoves, a huge cauldron was kept
on a platform. Waist height—up to abdomen level, payasam was kept inside. Its
aroma is coming out. Grapes and cashew nuts were floating on its surface. How
could they lift it and keep it on that platform? It could be lifted only when
two persons lifted it like a palanquin with the help of wooden sticks inserted
into its upper rings. The quantity of payasam was sufficient for nearly four or
five hundred persons.
‘I can turn it upside down single-handedly.’
Samanathu held his breath, pulled the cauldron on one side
with both hands, and flipped it on one side. ‘Poooo….very simple task… The next
second, the waist-high cauldron flipped its sky-looking mouth on one side and
fell flat onto the ground. The payasam flowed into the gutter.
The cucumber-cutting boy came running.
“Grandpa… Grandpa…”
Samanathu felt as if sand were crawling on his face and skin.
‘This fellow comes running with Arival Manai 15 in
his hand. Doesn’t he?’
His hands and legs started shivering. Tongue lost its
balance.
“You fools! Where have you all gone, leaving this big rat to
swim in the payasam? You have made this much payasam just to feed this gutter.
Haven’t you? You scoundrels! Don’t you have even a plate to close it?”
A servant maid came running towards him.
“O! My elder master! What happened?”
“Amaandi…. Hadn’t your elder master seen, all would
have gotten payasam with a rodent. Get lost from here. Go, play in swings with
your garlands.”
Another five or six persons came running.
That liner-clad girl also came running, covering her head.
The servant maid explained everything to her.
“Appa… How could you topple this big cauldron?”
A shade of gloom spread across her body and tender, milky
face.
“Get away from here… A sharp shout came out from him. “Hadn’t
I been there, you all would have gotten rat poison, not payasam.”
The girl threw a pricking stare at him. Can an eye carry such
a bush of thorns in it?
Samanathu couldn’t face that bush. He turned his head and
yelled, “Where is that stupid cook? ...he left the place and went towards the
hall.
Pe…pe…pe…pe…
Pae…pae…pae…pae…
The Nayanam was playing the swing song in the
Anana Bhairavi raga.
It seemed that Valambal was singing that song.
***The End***
Note:
1. Payasam: A sweet porridge made of rice powder.
2. Thoppukaranam: A way of worshipping by doing
‘sit-ups’ and holding one’s ears.
3. Thali: A sacred yellow-colored thread worn around
a woman’s neck as a symbol of being married.
4. Cauvery: River Cauvery, flowing in Tamil Nadu.
5. Chithappa: Younger brother of one’s father.
6. Kacham: A type of waist cloth worn by men.
7. Thavil: a type of musical instrument made of
hide.
8. Nagaswaram: a type of wind musical instrument.
9. Muhurtham: an auspicious moment/time.
10. Vatha Kulambu: a type of stew made of dried
vegetables.
11. Vibhoothi: a sacred ash, applied on the body and
forehead.
12. Agraharam: a distinct residential area earmarked
for Brahmins.
13. Punya: The good effects earned through good
deeds.
14. Poonool: A sacred thread worn by some sections
of people.
15. Arivaal Manai: A curved cleaver with a sharp edge facing
the user, fitted on a wooden frame held down by legs, used for cutting
vegetables.
