“The Night” (Iravu)– by M. Gopala Krishnan (Published in Sahitya Akademi's Indian Literature journal)

 

M Gopala Krishnan

This is an English Translation of Iravu, a short story written by M. Gopal Krishnan. Translated by Saravanan. K . This story has appeared in Sahitya Akademi’s Indian Literature journal (Nov- Dec 2022 Issue)

 Thirumalai had a temperature, unbearable for him as if the bed had been strewn with embers, and he was unable to lie down on the bed as each atom of his body seemed to have been set afire. His condition demanded some immediate easings. He tried twisting his body but his hands and legs remained immobile with a lethargy in defiance of his wishes. When his Old Mother had him lain on the bed, she would assist him to keep his right hand across his chest. That day too, she had covered him with a shawl only after placing the right hand across his chest as usual. The left hand remained as such, stretched out. The legs seemed to have been attached with his body below his waist like plain wooden planks. All what he could was just to call someone aloud with a heavy voice and tell them his needs.

Old Mother was sleeping along with his maternal and paternal aunts in the hall opposite. Usually, Thirumalai’s cot would be kept at the corner of the hall. But his bed was arranged in veranda today. Apart from being a comfortable place, it was the place where people didn’t make a nuisance of themselves.  Directly in front of his cot, was the main thoroughfare of the household. To its left was a kitchen. Adjacent to the kitchen was a room, along its wall. Of the rooms, this one was fairly bigger with a window attached in the outer wall. The entry of air and light was quite good in that room. Apart from all this, the hall was sultry even during the day time. The said room did not command any specific importance till date. But in it Ganesan’s First Night has been arranged today. It meant that room was going to be Ganesan’s bed room henceforth. His room of romance! A mere articulation of those words with himself was just enough to make Thirumalai’s whole body burn with rage.

He summoned all the pain in his soul and emitted a sharp scream, “mmmmaaa”. His coarse voice dissipated the darkness with a huge amount of restiveness. For a moment, it was doubtful whether that sound had reached the inner part of the rooms. No reply came any from anyone. There was no movement noticed in the hall either. Exhausted due to marriage related works, all were in deep sleep. ‘These people might also sleep. But Ganesan would not have slept, for sure. The charming components of that room will not allow his body to sleep. Will they?’ 

He mustered all his anger and agitations together once again, and shouted at high pitch, “yammaa…yammaa” till his throat grew blocked. He was now fully enervated. He panted. The heat of his breath that ran with a steady surge up and down made him sweat.  

A sound was heard in the hall. Seconds later, a light was switched on. Old Mother, tottering, came down the stairs of the hall. She called out to him, “Thirumale…”- a sleepy call. She climbed the veranda stairs and switched on the light. The yellow light of the incandescent bulb descended on the veranda. 

She bent down and looked at Thirumalai who was lying in sweat. She wiped off his forehead with the hem of her sari. “Are you alright? What happened Thirumale”-she asked with a mild shiver in her voice. 

Thirumalai’s eyes looked at her fixedly. He quickened his normal breath intentionally to make it look abnormal. He shut his eyes as he cleared his throat. 

“Do you need water Tirumale?” Thirumalai grew further irritated at seeing the old lady not showing any signs of urgency. 

“Yammaa…Yammma..”, he held his breath for a second and drew it in with force, and screamed. His breath stopped for a moment and started wheezing. In seconds, his face started sweating. He pulled up his eyes upwards. ‘Now, the old lady would get frightened at seeing it, for sure’. The sounds of footsteps were heard from the hall. 

“What happened akka?” came his mother’s sister’s concerned voice. 

Thirumalai’s anger rose when he saw that the door of the house had still not opened.            

“Don’t know. Seems to be severe wheezing problem. He is sweating. He has been alright till now. I don’t know what has happened all of a sudden. I wanted to give him some water, but he is not opening his eyes”, she told as she was wiping him again with the hem of her sari. 

They heard the sound of front door opening. Once he understood that the light on the entrance beam was on, Thirumalai felt relaxed. Not opening his eyes, he just drew his breath in again without slackening its speed. 

“What happened Amma?” Ganesan had come there by then. The Old Mother explained her state of confusion about his condition once again.

“Anna..” Ganesan called out, as he lovingly caressed his forehead. The scent of marriage coming from him got Thirumalai further enraged. He sucked his breath in once again and cleared his throat forcefully. His respiratory tract was obstructed as if some blockage was being drawn up from the interiors of his chest pit. He started prattling without opening his eyes.  

“Anna…Annaa..What is happening to you? Please look this way” Ganesan was sitting beside his cot. His hands were shaking due to anxiety. “Amma…bring some water”. He wet the towel with water. He wiped his face with the wet towel. Thirumalai brought his breath under control and opened his eyes slowly.

“What is happening to you…Anna? Thirumalai was embarrassed at seeing the uneasiness on Ganesan’s face. He turned his face aside, spoke stammeringly, “Nothing…I just felt that something has obstructed my chest. Now I am alright. You go…and sleep.” His words trickled very heavily from him. His Old Mother kept staring at him unwaveringly. Unable to bear her look, he diverted his gaze towards the thatch with a blank expression. Without moving out of his seat, Ganesan too was watching him intently. 

“You go inside…nothing has happened to him?” The emptiness found in his mother’s voice pierced Thirumalai. 

“Just wait ma…Anna…do you want to go for a pee?”

Thirumalai didn’t reply. His rage reared its head once again in him. With the odour of marriage and a newly groomed vigour, Ganesan lifted him from the bed and made him sit. Mother’s sister moved into the hall. “It is not required now. Just a while ago, before sleeping, he went for urination” his mother sulked, went to bring the urine collection pot. He lifted the dhoti up a bit, held the pot down and asked Thirumalai to pee in it. There was a silence as if the fire of jealousy burning inside Thirumalai had been calmed down. His mind became quiet, releasing its hold on anxiety as if all his anger and rage which had till then, held him to ransom had died at that moment. A satisfaction of chasing away the scent of marriage! Putting him again on the bed, stretched out his legs comfortably, Ganesan left. His eyes closed, lying on the bed, Thirumalai could still feel that his Old Mother had thrown an unnerving stare at him for a moment. 

“Call me if you need any help…ma”- the sound of the latch being fastened by Ganesan was heard again.        

The veranda and the hall delved into darkness once again. ‘Mother could not have slept yet in the hall. The words which she keeps using within herself for grumbling, would not allow her to sleep now. The questions she thought of asking me many times might be forcing themselves to come out of her throat pit now. But she was unable to throw those questions directly at my face. Only because of her silence that emboldened me, I have been orchestrating this stupidity lying on the bed’. He felt like laughing out loud. ‘The sound of my laughter must emit light like a lightening piercing through the frozen thickness of darkness. I know my lower lips would crook and be pulled downward when I laugh. While laughing like that, even my regular laughter would carry that crook in it. There is no need at all for me to take effort to laugh with that crook’. 

‘By this time, he…’ Thirumalai’s thoughts took a step back. ‘What’s this? The rage reared its head once again. Nevertheless, I, looking on from the other good side of me, reproached myself for being able to think like this? That too about Ganesan!. Every one won’t get a brother like Ganesan. Everyone may be having siblings. But at the age of twenty-four, he has been carrying his brother whose hands and legs are paralysed. I am nothing more than a torso with life which is lying either on a woven chair or a cot. Just because there is life in the torso, can it be called a human being? I cannot even pee on my own’.    

Ganesan would get up at five in the morning. But Thirumalai’s sleeping pattern was not predictable. ‘Immediately after getting up from the bed, he would come directly to the bed. His first job was to remove my shawl, make me sit straight with both my legs dangling on both sides, lift my dhoti and collecting my urine in the urine pot kept under the cot. Then he would take that pot to the wash room, wash it and keep it upside down at a corner of the wash room. “Do you want to sleep or should I make you sit on the cot?” he would ask me’. Most of the times, Thirumalai preferred the chair. His hand woven chair was placed right under the ceiling fan in the hall, just four feet away from the television. He would make him sit on that chair, adjust his dhoti properly and switch on the television. There would be no programmes other than some morning prayers. Even though Thirumalai didn’t like them, he would watch them without complaining.   

He would come once again before taking his bath. His Old Mother would have fed him a coffee before that. There was not even a single instance where Thirumalai drank coffee without making at least one complaint about it, no matter how much delectable it was. One day, he would say it was not hot enough. Another day, he would shout that she was deliberately giving it very hot because she wanted his tongue scalded. Sometimes he would scream why she hadn’t put in enough sugar as if she preferred to have him treated like a diabetic. He would rant that only his legs and hands were paralysed and nothing else was wrong with him. On yet other day, like a miracle, after drinking coffee without complaining about it, he would stare at his mother who used to compliment wittily that rain might come that day. He would reply, “Yes…for that only I didn’t complain about it.”, laughing with his crooked lips. “It would have been better, had you complained about it instead of making this comment” – the old lady would reply.  

Ganesan would take him to the toilet, arm supporting him along with both hands. He would have readied commode in advance. Once inside, he would lean him against his own shoulders, remove his dhoti and underwear tied with a thread. Then he would make him sit on the commode and wait for him. Once he would say, “I am done” with his head down, Ganesan would wash him off and take him to the bath room. After sitting him on a wooden stool, the Old lady would pour water on his body. Ganesan would bathe his body. He would massage his limps as if he were a baby. After that, he would wipe his body dry, wear him under wear and vest. He would tie the dhoti around his waist tightly and bring him again, arm supporting. He would make him sit on the hand woven chair, bring Vibhoothi¹ from inside and smear it on his forehead liberally. 

He worked in a Cooperative society. He would leave for his office at half past nine in the morning and would return at half past one in the afternoon for lunch. Before his arrival, the Old Mother would have given the kneaded rice to Thirumalai transfixed by television programmes, sitting in his chair. Whenever he felt hungry, the taste and aroma for him were nothing but only those of his mother’s cooking. On Sundays, she would cook either chicken or mutton and would feed him. And only on that day, he would like to have betel leaves in addition to his regular food.

After lunch, he would leave for his office only after asking whether Thirumalai needed anything from outside. When he comes back, it would be dark. In the evening, a group of people used to assemble there to play card in the outer hall. A group would be formed with Anbarasu, Butcher shop Chithappa and a retired spectacled teacher, and some others. Even Thirumalai’s hand woven chair would also come to this card playing crowd. Whenever any hand was missing or Thirumalai wants to play, he would be roped in. He would in turn engage Subbuni for assistance.  

Subbuni would stack the cards, show them to him. Thirumalai would instruct him in a low voice which one to be picked up and which to be removed. No matter how badly he played, he wouldn’t face losses. Subbuni would get his due from the amount won on that day for going to the movies. Anbarasu was Thirumalai’s childhood friend. Along with Thirumalai, he also grew under the care of the Old Mother. Whenever he didn’t have any work, he would spend his time with Thirumalai. Thirumalai had been reading the Murasoli² newspaper since he was fifteen years old. Without reading the letters written to “brotheren”, his day would be incomplete. Even now, he was the only person buying Murasoli in Sirumugai. Soda Shop keeper Marimuthu didn’t mind bringing that newspaper from Mettupalayam for him. It was Anbarasu who would read Murasoli out to him. Reading books was an easy task for Thirumalai. Once the respective pages are given to him, he could read it easily by placing a card board under it. But reading newspaper was not that easy. Anbarasu would read out the news of “Kazhagam³” with intended puns. 

It was also Anbarasu who was fulfilling Thirumalai’s secret requests. All the planning and executions of those requests would take place during the playing of cards. 

On Sunday, when the mutton stew was boiling, Anbarasu would be present. Thirumalai’s heart would pounce at seeing a small liquor bottle swinging in Anbarasu’s underwear pocket. On the pretext of reading out Murasoli for Thirumalai in the outer hall, he would mix up the liquor and feed him without anyone’s knowledge. At the most, two times in a small ever-silver tumbler. That too, with a dilution of equal amount of water. Even that bit of intoxication would make Thirumalai hang his head down throughout the rest of the day, and chuckle at the people who he met, with his trademark downward pulled lips curled into a crooked smile. When they were drinking, if Ganesan happened to come by that way, he would avoid them. The Old Mother would bring pieces of meat taken out of boiling stew, in a large bowl. 

At times, Thirumalai would show immense interest in reading historical novels. But he wouldn’t read those historical story books keeping them on his lap like other books. Keeping Anbarasu beside him, he would read those stories as fast as he could. Anbarasu, sitting down near his legs would be browsing through some other books. Thirumalai felt that the nights of those days were stretching longer with pain and longingness of an intractable desert. He would be waiting painfully for the first sign of dawn with the feel of sultry and suffocation as if the bodies confined within the walls of the room were rolling down near him. Yet, he wouldn’t be able to reject the books brought by Anbarasu. The earnestness of his interest to read them next day morning would put aside all the mental agonies of previous night.  

When they started talking about Ganesan’s marriage, this mental agony had started to burn in Thirumalai. Ganesan was four years younger. For the last two years, he had been postponing all the marriage plans. He had even, reasoned with an open heart that when Thirumalai was suffering with such an ailment, his getting himself married could never be a good proposition.

Whenever he postponed his marriage like that, an intrinsic concern would blossom in Thirumalai for Ganesan. He would call him upon to change his mind, ‘Ganesa! It is indeed painful for me when you postpone your marriage citing my condition as the reason. Think about our Old Mother. You know I won’t be able to do anything. She would like to see you getting married. Wouldn’t she? Please agree to this marriage.’

Only after his genuine persuasive efforts, did Ganesan agree to get married. Now, it seems to be quite unbelievable that he could have ever spoken such lovable words to him. ‘I should have been very happy when he refused to get married. Shouldn’t I have? Both the sense of gratitude for Ganesan’s matured attitude regarding me and the concern towards mother must have pressurized me as an intolerable misery at that time. Mustn’t it have?’ 

… 

It has been fifteen years now. The Old Mother sent him off with tearful eyes who left happily for Melkundha after getting a job in Electricity Department. Her son who never stayed outside even for a night!  Her eldest son. But it was a government job. She sent him off with pride on one side and tears on the other. 

The idyllic Ooty hilly roads and the enthusiasm about the new job made Thirumalai forget the distance of the journey. After Ooty, when he reached Melkundha, the icy wind and the cold greenery engulfed him. The green pastures and the top of the trees were shining in the crimson light of the afternoon. When he opened the windows of the house allotted to him in the Electrical Residential area, a quick inflow of icy air filled the rooms. The clouds cradled by the sunshine were moving at the fringes of the hills in the distance. For a moment, the loneliness of that night ahead frightened him. The small stone-walled room, wooden cot, a blanket rolled up like a python and a rug in dark hue of blood spread on the floor seemed disagreeable to his temperament.

He hurriedly locked the door and went down. It was getting dark. Children wearing caps and sweaters were playing in the children park located at the centre of residential area. He remembered that his appointment letter had carried the information regarding winter essentials such as caps, sweaters and hand cloves. There was no need of such winter clothes in Sirumugai. He must have purchased them after getting down at Ooty. But he had felt that it was better to reach an unknown place during day time, and so set off directly. He would buy all those items after making some enquiries about them in the office in the morning. He started walking along the peripheral road of the campus. 

It must have been only six or half past six. But, it was heavily dark without any glimmer of daylight. Would be there anything to eat nearby? A Gurkha watchman wearing a cap and a muffler wrapped around his neck, was sitting in a wooden cabin designed for a man to stand and sit, smoking a bidi. When he saw Thirumalai walking near him, he looked at him intently. He was a new face in that place. ‘This fellow must be the replacement of the person who had been there when he came in the afternoon’. The Gurkha gave him a customary salute. It looked as if he had booked that salute for some use in future. It was kind of a salute given by him to officers when they were on surprise visits. 

Thirumalai introduced himself, saying he had come there for the first time, gave him his house number and enquired about the availability of restaurants around the area. Thirumalai could see Gurkha’s face bearing a friendly expression. The man told him that there were no such restaurants nearby. Further, he told him that there was a small restaurant outside Melkundha bus stand and it wouldn’t be open at night. The Gurkha further said that it would be always better to cook food for oneself at home in such hilly regions. He also asked him whether he had the habit of smoking bidi. Thirumalai also felt that he needed the warmth of cigarette smoke in that icy weather. But he was not ready to degrade himself to the level of smoking bidi. The Gurkha warned him not to venture out of the house without cap on head and sweater on body and explained how the sudden changes in temperature would result in dangerous effects on one’s body. Thirumalai felt that conversing with Gurkha who was speaking in broken Tamil gave him a better feeling of comfort rather than bemoaning his loneliness on the taut silence of a lonely room.  He didn’t feel hungry as yet. Perhaps, one might not feel hungry as the stomach gets indolent in cold regions. He had some bananas and some pieces of breads in his bag, though. He could manage somehow with that.  

When he returned to his house after a long while, the entire campus was taking refuge in the warmth afforded by the glass windows. On reaching his room, he threw his body on the cot after eating the fruit. The chill made his body shiver. Once he covered his body with the blanket, the shivering grew aggravated. He covered his body up to his neck. As the trapped heat of his body spread inside the blanket that was weighing down on him, the warmth inside grew cozier. He felt that it would be further better, if he closed his ears too. There was a cotton roll in the shaving set. But he was too lazy to get up to fetch it. He took the dual fibre towel placed at the edge of the cot and tied it around his ears tightly.            

That night, which taught him the severity of winter for the first time in his life had sowed the seeds of massive fear in him. He was under the illusion that the whole cot had become a snow bed and he was lying inside it as a puppet. He had a brief dream that his lips, eye lids and other parts of his body had a layer of dew drops like ashes resulting in his body getting frozen and eventually dying. He dreamt that a person wearing black woollen clothes and gumboots with a shawl on his shoulders, walking through the thick snow bed full of thickly grown cedar trees with icy bundles on their heads, was digging a burial pit for him. Overwhelmed with fear, he woke and got up from the bed. The water in the bottle was frozen, an icy slab. He feared that even the pipes in the toilet might emit smog. The only solace for him was that blanket which had steadfastly been with him through all his fears.   

When the light of dawn penetrated through the glass windows, he was asleep. 

Of the three engineers working in his section in the office, only Ponmoorthy lived alone. When he came to know that Thirumalai was also staying alone, he invited him to his house. He made all the arrangements for his visit that evening itself. He told him that there was no need to cook food at home. He got him introduced to a mess situated at an upper ground of the road on the way to their office. It was modest with two dining tables meant for four persons to have meals in the front hall of the house. Only Parvathi and her daughter Selvi served food there. The mess didn’t have an elaborate list of menu. It provided idli or dosai or sometimes Poori in the morning, a simple meal with Sambar, Rasam with fried vegetable in the afternoon and chappathi in the night. If needed, one could order amlette or fried egg. That was it. Those who had monthly account with the mess and placed pre-orders could only avail that mess facility.  Selvarasu, Parvathi’s husband would always be found sitting either chopping cabbage or onion or something like that into tiny pieces. It seemed that his entire world was revolving around with the speed of his vegetable cutting knife. Without uttering a single word, his whole attention would be on chopping the vegetables with his head bent down.

Only after going to Ponmoorthy’s room, Thirumalai came to know about a new world which he had not known of yet. In Thirumalai’s world, women who existed in his life merely as part of indecisive imaginations and incomplete paintings had themselves metamorphosed into a much bigger space with unusual marvels, colours and absorbing interests. Ponmoorthy was a married man and had two children. His family was living in Tiruppur. He would visit his family once in a week. The story of the women who he met in the bus, the story of a woman who sat on his lap as she could not stand in the bus during a rainy day, the friendship he developed with a lady who was sitting in the opposite seat in the train while going to Bhopal, the story of his going to that lady’s home after going to Bhopal- each night thus become the nights of tales.

Though his uninhibited delivery of dialogues and descriptions made Thirumalai feel shy in the beginning, he grew accustomed with it quickly. 

Moorthy’s descriptions and embellished commentaries filled in Thirumalai’s dreams. With an assurance of getting him married immediately in the month of Vaikasi⁴, the way his Old Mother immersed herself in the marriage arrangements served to whet Thirumalai’s cravings. 

It was the last week of December. Ponmoorthy was in the town that week. The impact of winter and its intensity was more severe than usual from the very start of December. One Saturday, there was a festival in a village in the hills located three kilometres from Melkundha. Chantha, who worked in the office, had invited them. Thirumalai went along with Moorthy.

The village was located in the heart of mountain slopes along the grove in the woods. With the boozing and dancing, in the light of flaming torches the village was in the peak festive mood. The roars of hide musical instruments making one’s nerves shudder, synchronized rhythms and the coordinated voluptuous bodily movements of those thickly dark skinned women shining in the dim light with inviting smiles - it all made Thirumalai faint with passion. He could not drink the brew with its counterfeit sweetness, arid flavour as if mixed with sand, not palatable to tongue. He was not in a position to take Chantha’s advice that drinking that beverage was must to withstand the winter cold. He could feel the eyes of that woman, wearing a bunch of crimson colour flowers in her coiffured tresses, fondling him again and again during her dance.

Snow began to descend like a drizzle in the jungle blanketed in darkness. The bitter icy wind entered every nerve of the body and froze the blood circulation. Moorthy was dancing amidst girls. Chantha kept filling in his glass when it emptied. It seemed that no one other than the eyes of that woman took notice of Thirumalai. In the fever of intemperance, that tiny ground was booming with the rhythmic beats of drums. 

In Thirumalai’s body, which was burning with passion and desires for the pleasure from a woman’s body, winter toxins welled up. The warm clothes he was wearing were of no use in the face of the intense thirsts of that night. It seemed just enough for him to go near to her and cuddle her who was dancing with the semblance of her every nerve impregnated with lightening. The tingle of winter and the frenzy of lust made his body shudder.

At that moment, as he stood over-whelmed by possibly by an unknown fear or hesitation, a lightning bolt flashed for fraction of a second, struck his chest and disappeared. Completely losing his senses, Thirumalai fell down on the ground. When he realized that the woman came running to him, held him in her hands, he could see nothing other than darkness around him. 

He could open his eyes only on the evening of the third day. No one was near him. With the blue colour curtains rippling around on all four sides, he lay on the bed as if his body did not belong to him. Some liquids dripped through the pipes inserted in both arms. The tubes attached on his chest and head were running circuitously, joining at one place and twisting at another. The mild traces of that pain were still there in the chest. A nurse with her mouth closed with a green napkin rushed to him. She pulled his eye bags down and examined it, checked his pulses and scribbled something hastily on the card kept at the foot of his bed. Thirumalai wanted to ask her so many questions, but at the same time he felt it was better not to. He closed his eyes. 

When he was brought back to his home after one and a half months, his body was not under his control. Something like severest winter or extreme stroke or a stroke of some sort had rendered his nerves, necessary for body function, totally incapacitated. All the miracles of medical advancements could not rebuild his nervous system. 

…

The clock in the hall rang once, stopped. ‘The time was 1’O clock. Wasn’t it? Or was it half past one? Has anyone heard this sound of the clock? How many nights I had kept watching the movement of this clock’s hands? Now all are sleeping out of tiredness. Yet, two persons must have heard this sound. Or they may be lying at a distance where they can’t hear that sound. As they cuddle each other, they can’t hear it. Can they?’ His mind determined doggedly to interrupt their privacy.  

He threw his voice from his throat pit with ferocity. This time, it came out like the roar of an animal. He felt suffocated. Severe pain on the chest! He closed his eyes tightly. “What Thirumale!” the edgy voice of his mother came from the hall. Just for a second. After that, only her sharp eyes kept staring at him piercingly. The sound of the latch being released was heard from the inner hall. Thirumalai tried to keep his face normal. Just to reinforce his state of mind, he coughed once again. “Ganesa! You go to bed. I will take care of him” Old Mother got up and came to him. But before that, Ganesan had gone to him after putting on the veranda light.                        

His hands touched Thirumalai’s forehead. “What had happened Anna? Here…look at me”- he massaged his chest caringly. Thirumalai bobbed his head agitatedly as if he was writhing in pain. Sitting at the edge of the cot, Ganesan, asked him, “Is your chest paining? Just a second…” and massaged his chest gently. The Old Mother turned once again to Ganesan, told him, “It is nothing Ganesa! It must be some petty chest burn. It will be alright soon. You go inside” 

“He was quite well in the evening. Wasn’t he? Did something he ate not suit him? Ganesan still kept on massaging his chest. 

His touch was unbearable for Thirumalai. Ganesan had been touching him hundred times daily. But today Thirumalai could not bear his touch. There was a distance. He could feel the lack of warmth in it. ‘He would have been with her, cuddling by this time. Wouldn’t he? Or he would have been narrating my story with heart full of despair.’ Thirumalai felt laughing even in that situation. ‘If it had been so, what would have been her situation listening to his story?’ His graphic visualization of the room which had lost its sheen in an inopportune time had made Thirumalai immensely happy.

Ganesan took his hands off Thirumalai. 

“To be on the safer side, we can call the doctor tomorrow morning to see him. Can we give him a hot tea?” 

“It is not needed…da! It will be alright soon. It is just an ordinary cough. We can provide him some herbal concoction tomorrow morning. Now you go and sleep peacefully. Tomorrow morning, you should leave for the town. Shouldn’t you?”- The Old Mother was insistent on sending him inside.       

‘Once the body lost its synchronicity, would it be possible for it to renew its vigour? With the rhythmic beats of drums at the back ground, the movements of her dark body in an elegant dance in the space infused with light and night had made this body shudder with passionate longings during that winter night. How many miserable nights I have spent on this cot thinking about that night repeatedly with an unquenched lust and a completely disobliging body? Who will get impregnated with my seeds that explode during my union with her body in the air, dancing in the empty space of the night? O! Mother! There is no justifiable reason for you to know about the silent pain of sex without body. I know you prefer cursing me to have me dead at this moment. I too have felt like that many nights. What am I going to achieve by being alive with this body which had become a burden even for myself?’ 

‘There was no reply from Ganesan. He never sulked about it even for a day. Despite having other important works to do, and facing discomforts, he never complained about looking after him. His Old Mother had problems of both senility and defencelessness which might have forced her to complain. But, not a single murmur had ever come from Ganesan. ‘However, the seeds of irritation and ire must have been sprouted today even in Ganesan. Even if doesn’t happen today, my existence and helplessness will become an inevitable encumbrance for him one day once he gets used to the pleasure from her. The moment he understands my discomforts of these nights, it might change into either self-pity or mere boorishness or whatever.’ 

Unable to bear the silence of both of them for a long time, he opened his eyes slowly.  Sitting on the veranda, Ganesan was looking up the sky strewn with stars. As if she was waiting for him to open his eyes, Old mother came near to Thirumalai. Her eyes bored his eyes. She bent down, mumbled something into his ears. 

“Why are you doing this, Thirumalai? Do you think it is right what you are doing? It is a sin. Isn’t it?”

Thirumalai stared at her angrily. 

“Yes...it is sinful. Then give me some poison. All the sins will be absolved. Won’t it?

As he spoke these words with his lips crooked, his Old Mother started weeping. Without understanding what they were saying to each other, Ganesan rose up hurriedly, and came up.  

“What happened ma? Anything serious? Anna! How do you feel now? Are you feeling very unwell?”

Thirumalai just nodded emptily. Tears started rolling down on his cheeks without his control. Seeing both of them weeping, Ganesan came near. His face was stern. The sternness of his face made the Old Mother nervous. She wiped her eyes swiftly and wiped Thirumalai’s face too with the hem of her sari. 

“Haven’t I told you? I told you that I don’t need all this marriage and its chores. You haven’t paid attention to it. Have you? He uttered softly in a dry tone. Thirumalai’s heart was quivering with guilt. He broke down. He felt like hugging Ganesan. As his chest was beaming with guilt, his trembling lips emitted violent sobs.  Old Mother turned slowly. Wiping her tears with the back of her palm, she turned to Ganesan. She couldn’t see his face clearly as it was obfuscated by the shading caused by the light. Ganesan’s expression was immobile marked by depth of darkness and grief without light. A monstrous fear of unknown rose up from the abdomen of Old Mother. 

                                                                ***Ended***

Note:

1.      Vibhoothi- sacred ash one applies on forehead while worshipping God.

2.      Murasoli- A newspaper run by the political party, Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam

3.      Kazhagam- The political party, DMK

4.      Vaikashi- Second month of Tamil year (April- May)