The Hunt (வேட்டை) by Yuma Vasuki

 

Yuma Vasuki

Translated into English by Saravanan Karmegam

Usmani walked up to the entrance, stood there, turned his head hesitantly, and called out to him. His calling failed to evoke any response from the man sitting on the chair, who was found almost lying his frail body onto it, with a fixed gaze into the hearth filled with wood ash.

“Poonacha…” 

“……………”

“Dear Son…Poonacha…” 

“……………”

“I’ll be back soon. You stay home. Take liquor only after having your meals since your body is so frail. Usmani climbed down the stairs, heaving a sigh of anxiety about the deteriorating condition of his son’s body.

His son used to roam around like a well-fed, arrogant tiger, and he was so impatient at everything that he wouldn’t stay in one place even for an hour. Even during blood-freezing, icy winter seasons, he would return home to sleep only at odd hours in the night. Holding the window grills, Usmani would be visibly worried, peevishly waiting for his son, who would arrive in either by sitting on his friend’s bike or walking. Sometimes Usmani would visit the field at the time his son was working there. Ponacha would be busy teasing women working in the field till his father’s arrival, and at the very moment he saw his father's head showing up, he would start pretending to be a strict taskmaster extracting labour from those women. Usmani would stand there for a while seeing his son’s performance and leave with an appreciative smile. Walking down on the slopes, well before he crossed the bridge near the falls, he would hear the songs sung by Poonacha reaching him from behind. 

‘Rasayya…You had broken every nerve of his flamboyant talk and cheerfulness and dumped him within the walls of this house. Hadn’t you? It isn’t right by any means. Is it? Now he is lying limply like a heap of lifeless goat skin’    .     

The sun, looking dull, was hiding behind the clouds. Along with the dull light of the morning sun, the fog had also got its due in shrouding the greenery found spread in abundance on the slopes of the mountain. His black Coorgie attire, which he used to wear only during some specific festivals—stale and mouldy due to its stay in the cupboard for a long time—was flapping loose up to his ankle while he walked. The hilt of his dagger fixed at the knot of the chain slinging from his shoulder across his torso had gathered some rust. He remembered his rubber bag that he had kept aside and checked it once. He was walking slowly with his hands folded across his chest in an attempt to withstand the winter, which seemed to be teasing his senility by rubbing his body. His speed was slackened due to the growth of blue flowers on both sides of the track. They were found more thickly grown than yesterday and were most likely to grow more in numbers to the extent of covering the leaves from visibility in coming days. It was the season for them. If Poonacha’s mother had been alive, these flowers would have decked the Goddess Kaveriyamman in the form of garlands. Never minding the severity of winter, she used to get up in the early morning before sunrise just to pick these flowers, as she knew the art of enjoying the pleasure of looking at them at the crack of dawn that had actually blossomed in the previous night without anyone’s intervention. When Poonacha was a small boy, his mother would wear these flowers on his head, dress him up in a girl’s dress that she had borrowed somewhere, and keep photographs of him in girl’s attire.

The words “Appar Kodava Samaj” inscribed on the top of the function hall standing in the front were looking pale, and some of them were seen partly deleted while looking at them from a distance. ‘No one seems to be bothered about it. Does anyone? One wouldn’t be able to see even a soul here who is still diligently following the customs of Coorg. It is only when they want to cut each other into pieces during internecine conflicts that they would remember their appetite for hunting they had inherited from their ancestors. Other than those sporadic instances, no one is found here who carries the essence of being a real Coorgie. The traditional ceremonies conducted on account of marriage and funeral wouldn’t leave any lasting impact anyway. The children are being sent either abroad or to other states for their higher studies. On their return, these children tend to follow the customs they had learnt from the places where they studied. Whatever it may be, Rasaya, the one who is born in this land, Madikeri, must not betray his words under any circumstances.’

A small group of people was dancing around the drummers. The sound stemming out of drums resembling that of one from a large kettledrum got them even more excited. Many a new face was seen standing near doors, watching them dancing. They were not locals. They could be relatives of the bridegroom. When Usmani went past the arch decked at the entrance, Rasaya came almost running to greet him. 

Rasaya bent down and touched Usmani’s feet three times with his hands before he touched his chest with it. Keeping his left hand on his chest, Usmani lifted up Rasaya’s face and blessed him with his long right hand by placing it on Rasaya’s head. When he was led in by Rasaya in with utmost servility, Usmani adjusted Rasaya’s black cloak with a sense of owning rights over the latter and inquired, “I guess everything goes on as planned”—in a slightly authoritative tone.

“Yes… it does. Though Shakeela doesn’t believe in all these, I have made her understand. We just can’t afford to compromise our age-old traditions just because the youngsters don’t believe in them. Can we?” 

“Never…Rasaya…We should never compromise. Her stay outside for a long time for studies might have caused her to change her perception. Good heavens…she had fallen in love with a Coorg boy instead of picking up some unknown guy to elope with.” 

Usmani sat on one of the chairs kept in a row in that capacious hall. He glanced at the persons sitting near and stroked his grey eyebrows with a mild smile on his lips. 

The crowd had started gathering. The hall was filled with sudden bursts of laughter and brisk voices assigning tasks. The children stole the neatly made artificial paper decorations surreptitiously and tore them into pieces. Some of the visitors even started dancing to the tunes of music that came from outside. If one of the dancers in the duo in the competition changed his steps suddenly, the other had to cope with the former immediately to match his steps. If the duo happened to be a man and a woman, in most of the cases it was men who usually failed and looked stupid, while it was women who would be teasing and chasing the beaten man away with traces of a blush. When Usmani was watching the faltering and improper dance moves with disdain, Binu went to him and kneeled down in front of him. He stood up, blessed her with his two hands, and asked her to sit on a chair nearby. She refused to sit on it and sat on the ground instead. His fingers touched her head, stroking it affectionately.

“It’s been long since I last saw you…Mm…hope everyone is fine. You are also growing old. Half of your head has already turned grey. You look like Rasaya’s elder sister”. She murmured into his ears in a low voice so that only her brother could hear it, “I thought you wouldn’t attend this marriage.” Usmani bent down a bit and received what she said.

“You shouldn’t think like that. Should you? No matter who will come and who won’t, I must come for it. Mustn’t I? Not everything does happen as per our wishes. Does it? We can’t blame anyone for this. We must learn to accept it right and move on.”.

Getting anxious at seeing tears rolling down from Binu’s eyes, he assuaged her, “Don’t cry. Please don’t cry, Binu. You are the mother of the bride. Someone might see you crying. You…a pitiable soul…Nothing was in your hand in this matter. I am not unhappy with you. Had I been unhappy, I wouldn’t have come and sat here. Would I have? If that kid Shakeela is happy with it, I would also be happy with it—his voice became softer and tender. Binu pulled her veil covering her head and wiped her eyes and face. 

“How’s Poonacha?”

“He will be alright soon, within days.” 

“He was brought up with a word of promise to marry her from his childhood, and it would certainly have pained him a lot when her marriage was going to be solemnised in this manner. Anna…do you know what she did? She is threatening to commit suicide if she is not married to the person she loves. Look at her impudence! It is all because we got her educated more. Isn’t it?” 

“Don’t scold her. Even in those days, Rasaya used to tell very often that he had given birth to Shakeela just to get her married to Poonacha. When she herself has chosen this marriage this way, what else can we do about it? It is alright. I still couldn’t see who the bridegroom is. Hasn’t he been brought to this marriage hall?” 

She pointed at a man with her eyes, who was tottering in inebriation, amidst the dancing crowd.

“Seems to be a rich boy. Doesn’t he?” 

“His father owns a spinning mill, Anna…” 

“Then it must be a correct choice. See…I have come here all the way walking down from my home. If she had been given in marriage in my home, she would also have come here like me. Shakeela must be lucky that she got a rich man.” 

“Please forgive me, Anna…” Binu told him, tears welled up in her eyes. 

“Why should you be sorry for it? Where have you learnt to talk like this? Get up, dear…and carry on with your routine. I will leave only after having lots of liquor and food. See here…I have brought the rubber bag too.”. He took out the rubber urine bladder and showed it to her. Binu smirked quietly and left.

Usmani got up, went near to the washroom, stood at a secluded spot, fixed the rubber bladder properly between his thighs, and came back. They were distributing whiskey-filled glasses, placing them on big, beautiful trays in rows, and carrying them unmindful of whiskey spilling on the carpet on the floor. Usmani sipped it drop by drop, savouring its flavour. Ladies and children were liberally provided with it. Cigarettes were offered only on demand. People nearby were talking to each other that Rasaya had spent nearly forty thousand rupees to bring different varieties of liquor from Bangalore for this marriage. Out of curiosity, Usmani demanded two more glasses and drank them. Shortly after this, a rubber bladder fixed to collect urine swelled a bit under his dress. 

They offered some of the finest bigger liquor bottles to Goddess Kaveriyamman, offered prayers to Her, and chanted some customary mantras, holding the sword high. Once done, they led the couple to separate rooms that stood facing each other for decking them with bridal make-up. The making of cocktails by mixing up all types of liquor in a barrel was under way in the hall. The mothers of children who fell unconscious due to drinking carried them and laid them along the wall to avoid inconvenience to others. Some of them even enjoyed their children, who were still dancing steadily under intoxication, with their admiring eyes. 

Usmani stowed a piece of currency note into the pocket of one of the persons playing music outside, taught him a note that he loved most, and danced to its rhythm at once when the musician started playing it. He corrected the people who were dancing with faulty moves. “Listen carefully…this is Coorg dance, and this is how it should be performed.”. When he was busy dancing with his dresses drenched in sweat, Rasaya came to him, took him inside, and told him that Mehanti had to be given to the bride. 

With the complete bridal makeup all over, both the boy and the girl were made to sit near to each other.  Mehanti paste was kept on a silver plate in the front along with some broken twigs. Everyone picked up those twigs one after the other, took out the paste a bit with its tip, pressed it on the couple’s palms, and blessed them. Shakeela’s friend sharpened the twig with her teeth, laced it with a little amount of Mehanti paste, and pressed it hard against the bridegroom’s palm. He glanced at her, wincing his face with the sharp pain it caused. “This pain is nothing. I can give a hairpin to Shashiv to give you Mehanti. Can I?” Shakeela whispered into her lover’s ears. While giving Mehanti to them, Usmani blessed them, “As a Coorg couple, may you live long,” and then resumed his drinking. Poonacha was seen disappearing from the place where the bridegroom was sitting with his palms spread, looking upward. 

…

The glass pieces of bottles thrown at the floor with force were found scattered everywhere in the hall. Usmani, who was till then sleeping, got up and looked around with shock. Poonacha was looking at the ground, fixedly, sweating all over and panting. Deftly avoiding his feet from stepping upon the broken glass pieces, he cuddled his son and made him sit on a chair. “Please calm down, Poonacha. You are a grown-up. Aren't you? Calm down, dear boy. You mustn’t do such things.”. Poonacha picked up the half-broken bottle in his hand from the floor and threw it furiously into the hearth burning with fire. Usmani hugged him tightly and tended to him with reassuring words. His voice grew heavy with emotions. “My son…please stop doing all these. I am being tortured by it. Is she the only girl around here? If not her, we can find out someone better for sure. That is it. No good is going to happen with your self-torment. I am not yet dead, Poonacha. I will bring you a much better girl than her. You must forget her, without giving much importance to it.”. He took out a liquor bottle from the almirah, opened its lid, filled it to the brim, and gently pressed it against Poonacha’s lips.

… 

The bridegroom tied the Karugamani on the bride. They were made to sit together and were draped with a silk cloth from neck to knee. Rice was kept nearby in a big vessel. Men and women came in separate queues, scooped out a bit of rice from the vessel, tossed it onto the silk cloth gently, and presented them with gifts. When it was Usmani's turn, he took off his ring and wore it on the bridegroom’s finger. The bridegroom clenched his fist in order to avoid that unfit, big sized gold ring from falling off from his finger.

Pork, cocktail, and liquor were served in the feast, along with Dal water and wheat bread. Usmani chuckled at Shakeela, who was sitting in the opposite row, and gestured towards her to feed the bridegroom with meat. Some tiny pieces of meat fell down from his mouth as he exerted while laughing. He asked the person eating at his side to check if his rubber urine bladder bulged under his dress by touching it and got convinced of it. He drank a glass of decoction too, which was kept there for people to drink once they got relieved of their hangover from alcohol.

Poonacha got a glass of decoction from his father, emptied it in one gulp, and when he stooped to keep the glass down, he cried inconsolably, hiding his face between his legs. Usmani stood stunned, helplessly watching him cry. With tears welling up in his eyes, he was also in dearth of words. He stroked Poonacha’s back, which was still shivering, fondly. Ever since the day Shakeela’s marriage was fixed, something of this sort had been happening almost every night. “She didn’t love you. It was only you who had loved her. Let the sins of your lamentation not touch her. Leave her alone. Let her have a blessed life at the place where she is married to.” 

Poonacha lifted his head swiftly, like that of a snake. “Of course…let her be happy. But I can’t live in this village. We can sell off everything we have here and go somewhere.”

Usmani cleaned up the glass pieces and heaped them together with a cloth bundle.

“Are you speaking with your senses? We can’t leave the place where we have been living for the last six generations just for the sake of a woman. Can we? I don’t mind if you don’t share my sentiments, but I expect you not to be a coward…” 

“Who do you have here for you? No one needs us here. Everyone would be good if only you had money. If you have trust in me, you may come with me. If I stay here further, I would have left with nothing other than death after going mad.” 

In seconds, Usmani grew angry and glared at him. His eyes became red. “Is that all you could speak? Is it Poonacha? I grow suspicious of myself that I have brought you up like a woman, pampering you more. You get unduly worried about things that deserve actually nothing. A person who wants to run away, abdicating everything, leaving the pride of his clan behind, can never be a real Coorgi. Now just tell me… If you wish, I will die at this moment. After my death, you can leave anywhere you want.”. He sat beside his son, held his shoulder, and laid him on his lap. 

“You are still a kid...Aren’t you? Why should you go mad? Why should you die? I have been keeping myself alive only for you. When you say you are even ready to die, it gives me unbearable pain. Poonacha…Okay…we can leave. We can go to any place, wherever you want. Nothing is more important than you. Okay…We may leave. Now you sleep peacefully. Sleep, Poonacha… Everything will be alright at the dawn.” He was patting his well-built son’s back gently for a long time before switching off lights. The chilly wind blew across and slapped on his face like a bout when he opened the windows. The edges of mountain peaks in the distance were visible indistinctly. The light at the top of the radio station tower had almost disappeared in the fog and was visible as a mere red dot. 

…

With the illumination of lights erected with a specific purpose, the darkness around there stood afar from that place. No one could feel the severity of the cold due to the effect of liquor. Those who got relieved of their hangover from liquor due to non-stop dancing went inside and came out after refilling themselves. The liquor barrel was brought outside as frequently going inside for refilling became a cumbersome exercise. A locust that had just escaped the light fell into liquor and was struggling to come out of it. Shakeela was made to stand about fifty yards away from the hall, facing towards it. She was holding a pot on her head, half filled with rose water and rose petals floating in it. Her friend Shashiv was standing behind her. The younger brother of the bridegroom was dancing frantically three feet away from her in the front. His mother, standing beside him, was offering him liquor in right proportions so as to ensure that his enthusiasm for dance didn’t diminish. When he was about to fall on Shakeela a couple of times due to the uncontrollable speed of steps, her friend Shashiv came forward to stand in front of Shakeela. After knowing the name of the bridegroom’s younger brother from others, Usmani shouted, “Don’t leave Sukhirth… Don’t even spare a foot for her. If she comes in, she will get you and your elder brother separated. Don’t leave.”. 

As the time passed by, he was still dancing at the same spot—with all frenzy getting into his skull, he was dancing without getting tired. He fell on Shashiv a couple of times. She pushed him away gently, faking a smile, and made him stand. The relatives of the bride brought some heavy doses of liquor to make him fall flat as soon as possible so that Shakeela could be taken inside the home. But Sukhrith rejected it, pulled someone near, and told him, “You keep dancing here. I will be back in a while” and made him stand at his place. He then went inside, drank some mixture of liquor of his preference, came to his place, and started dancing again. Shakeela was visibly uneasy with a pot on her head. Sukhirth asked Shashiv, “Can you give me a kiss? I will pave you the way by two yards?” 

“No two yards…Can you give me ten yards?” 

He got a kiss from Shashiv and went ten feet away behind her and started dancing there. The bride and her confidante walked ten feet ahead. Usmani shouted at the high pitch, laughing and mockingly chided him, “Sukhirth! You fool…Ten yards for a kiss. It is totally unjust.” 

“You will separate my brother from me. Won’t you? Just say no…I will pave you the way by five yards.” 

Shakeela demanded him again ten yards. 

Sukhrith nodded his head in denial and babbled, “No…only five feet,” still dancing.

“It’s alright. I won’t separate you both.”. Once Shakeela acceded to his demands, he moved aside by five yards behind. He gave some more concessions of yards to Shashiv as she praised his look and allowed him to pinch her cheeks. 

As they were nearing the hall, some twenty feet away from it, he was not ready for any more compromise and started dancing with all his might. The situation had so become that no one would be able to move an inch forward if he did not become softer in his attitude. Without making her moves overtly visible, Shakeela was inching forward with her toes. The bridegroom, who was dancing at a distance amidst beats and claps, shouted something from there. “Sukhrith…have an eye on her. She is moving. Don’t leave her that soon.” Unable to hear what his elder brother told him due to the intense noise of drums, Sukhrith thought that his elder brother was requesting him to compromise, and he shouted back, “No… I won’t compromise.”. Relatives of the bride were trying all their possible tricks to make Sukhrith fall flat, whereas the relatives of the bridegroom were trying their best to keep the bride waiting as long as they could. 

While coming back with his rubber urine bladder swinging after administering some initial treatments of relieving hangover to a bridegroom’s friend who had just fallen into a gutter, Usmani said, “Please give way to her. Poor girl. How much longer can she stand like this with a pot on her head?” But Usmani’s words did not go into his ears and accelerated his moves with renewed vigour. He told his mother the name of his favourite liquor and ordered her to bring it. He moved a bit on one side, a foot away, in a bid to make his mother hear what he wanted to convey; he called her out aloud and told her, “Don’t pour it into the glass. Just open the bottle and bring it to me”—before he completed his sentence, both the bride and her friend quickly sneaked in and went inside, going past him.

…

Sitting quietly, Poonacha was staring with an empty look at his father, who was getting ready to go out. Without having his hands inserted into the sleeves of his sweater, he was cuddling his chest with his hands. The sleeves of the sweater were hanging loose on both sides. 

“Do you have to go there? His weak question did not bring him any reply. He inserted his hands into sweater sleeves and rubbed his hands together and kept them on his cheeks. His eyes were reddened, and his face had become pale. He massaged the cracks on his lips with his tongue. 

“You don’t have to attend that marriage. It is the marriage that should have been your son’s.”

Usmani was wearing the traditional black dress and fixing the chest chain. 

“If you love me, you must not go there. If your sister’s daughter’s marriage is important for you, it is your discretion to go.”. Usmani smiled at his son’s stern, warning-like words. He stood in front of the mirror and ensured nothing was left out. With his shivering pointing finger, Poonacha was talking behind the mirror, “When you return, I won’t be here anymore…”.In a bid to check everything finally, Usmani started searching his rubber urine bladder. It was impossible for him to manage his outings without it, especially while drinking more during festivals. He took it out from the table drawer, fixed it appropriately, and walked out nonchalantly, without reacting to the piercing eyes that were fixed on his back. His walk was simply majestic.

Usmani drank and danced as much as he could and was visibly tired. It seemed difficult for him to conceal his tottering. The young men were still dancing. Women knew how to keep their inebriation alive by drinking liquor in moderate quantity. When they laughed at the men who fell flat, pointing at them, the wives of those men who fell unconscious were embarrassed.

The banana trees whose heads were chopped off were found planted in a row with adequate distance between each other. They were freshly cut trees. A string of flowers was kept at the top around a stick inserted on the round-shaped cross-section of the stem. The earth around those trees was found clean, with water sprinkled in it. The crowd thronged to trees. A person claiming to be a maternal uncle of the bridegroom came forward. Once he was given a long sword, he removed the string of flowers from the top of trees he was allotted with the tip of the sword. That sword shining with sharpness of its edge rose behind him while mantras were chanted accompanying it. Then it descended in a half circle with a swing and chopped the tree. The sound of drums and frantic clamour seemed to have woken up the houses in the valley below. The massive sound of drums rose to the high pitch each time a tree was sliced. The bridegroom was standing near the trees, watching them anxiously that they should be cut down without getting struck. Usmani waited till all trees allotted to the bridegroom's side were completely chopped off and then received the sword as the maternal uncle of the bride. 

It took considerably more time for him to complete chanting mantras while he held the sword with both hands raised above. After removing the string of flowers at the top, the tree fell into two with his swing of the sword. The rubber ball-like urine bladder swayed with the swiftness of his moves, speckled laughter around there. Both men and women laughed their hearts out, holding their stomachs, and were struggling to control their laughter. Due to the gush of laughter, even the drummers could not beat their drums. Sticking the trumpet on the ground, buttressing it with his forehead, the trumpet player was laughing furtively. Binu was watching her brother with great embarrassment. Usmani was busy cutting the trees, cheerfully though. He took note of the place where the bridegroom was standing while lifting his head after cutting trees one after the other. Only one tree was yet to be cut down. Marriage would be over with that. He positioned himself comfortably on the side where the bridegroom was standing. No grin on his face. No signs of unsteadiness caused by inebriation. Sharp eyes carrying the frenzy of the hunt nurtured carefully. He raised the sword on one side. Painted. Breath became irregular. The bridegroom was standing with his hands raised in a bid to be ready to give a signal to the magnificent display of music once the last tree was chopped off. With their senses completely focused on, everyone was watching the sword swing at last, flash like lightning, and drive deeply into the bridegroom’s abdomen.

End***

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