The cherry tree (செர்ரி மரம்) by A. Muttulingam

 

  

A. Muttulingam
(Author)

     R. Shanmuga Sundaram
       (Translator) 

Translated from Tamil into English by Mr R. Shanmuga Sundaram, a Chennai based retired IT professional.

Today is the cash reconciliation day. We will combine my income and what dad gets from his gardening work and count them. Then, dad will go to the bank and pay the due for the loan. At that time, he will look at me oddly. It will disturb and do something to my heart.

I have not accomplished anything substantial in life. There is no point in knowing my name. I have not achieved any milestone in my studies, intelligence or beauty. I should talk only about my sisters. What they would become was already inside their bodies even then. I only did not know. The eldest of my sister is Samantha. Her job required a special kind of expertise. It is doubtful whether there would be even a hundred like her on this earth.

The second sister’s name is Pamela. If you line up the lazy persons of the world, she will be the third one in the second row of the first file. As to her beauty, it was ordinary. She will touch her books hesitatingly as if touching a worm. She is married to an ultra-rich person in Chicago, where you have to bend your body backwards to look at the tall buildings. She does not have to do anything. She will change her dress four times a day. To please her husband in a variety of new dresses is her only duty.

The last sister is Rebecca. She is a beauty who will seduce anyone in a second. Her smile will blossom like blood slowly draining. Eyelashes that extend beyond her face. Her neck size and the waist size are almost the same. Like a good swordsman wielding his sword in all directions, she will deploy her charm all around. No matter how one exaggerates her beauty, it would be an understatement. She got married only recently. She really struggled to choose one among her four determined suitors.

Our home has two rooms. Since the right wall of the house is common with the house of the neighbour, there is no window on that wall. The cherry tree stood in front of the car park. An old tree, dad says it is at least 100 years old. The neighbour does not like the tree at all. He keeps complaining to the municipality that it is going to fall any time on his house and will kill him and is waiting for their decision. I am waiting for the month of March. Only then the cherry tree will blossom.

I have a lot to say about my first sister. She married her assistant and lives in a thirty-storey building in New York. Her apartment is on the upper floor. Her office is in the lower floor. The husband and wife work at least 18 hours with multiple assistants. You can’t catch Samantha in an emergency. Words will wear out her mouth is her belief. You can reach her only by SMS.

To restore very old, but valuable books with skill and artistry without compromising their integrity is her job. She would get mostly books in English. Since her husband knows Hebrew, she would get Hebrew books too.  If the British museum gets an ancient book, immediately Samantha would fly down there. If the head of the Israel National Library announces that an antique book has been found, she would be there the next day. She will never visit dad or me who are just two hours away.

Dad and I are the only ones in the house. Even from a young age, I desired to fill my head with knowledge. It never worked out. I prepared for CPA and passed the examination. Clients came looking for me. Initially, I did their income tax returns for free as a practice for me. Now, I have made it my profession by converting one of the rooms into an office.

There was a single large picture that was hung in the parlour of our home. In that, all four of us are on display. When dad took the picture with his camera, I was 14 years old. My eldest sister was 13. Next one was 12 and the last one was 11. We the four sisters have already come to the decision by then. Even if we have separate Facebook accounts, this was the profile picture. We cannot remove it for any reason whatever. I would receive questions every day. Who are you? Are you this one or that one? I will never answer. Most questions would be about who was the one on the leftmost. It was Rebecca.

She has quite a few friends in Facebook. They fell in love without meeting her face to face. Maybe she would have hinted something to them, can’t say. She likes the attention from the men. She used to say that there are many poets in her admirers. All of them plagiarised poems. ‘If my exhale my breath, his lungs fill, it seems!’. Another one will say ‘Your arrival is as beautiful as 100 cranes landing’. ‘Like an army encircling a town, he will enfold and suffocate me. He describes me as a filled wine glass. But he drinks the wine like a desert camel in a single gulp’.

Rebecca was not married then. She brought her latest boyfriend home once. She will keep the cell phone in her palm and speak holding it near her nose as if sniffing it. When she winked, I understood that she was going to do something naughty. I looked at her boyfriend. Hair grown long and cut sharply. A jacket of soft leather. Shiny shoes. Charming face. If he scrubs his face a couple of times, he would become more handsome. With his mouth like split oyster shell, he was taking in Rebecca. When he was about to move the teacup to his lips, she suddenly lifted one leg and put it over the other. That movement was as if she was gripping something strongly with her thighs. He shuddered and split the tea on the floor. For the next half hour, he was on his knees wiping the floor.

When dad is around, I would be irritated as to why he still has not gone to work. Once he is gone, my heart would long for his return. A tension will grip me. That morning, an egg was spoilt. Dad sank into an inconsolable sadness. I said ‘it is just an egg’. ‘Just an egg? An egg white. A yolk’. It looked as if he was about to cry. He used to get angry for even little things. Now, he converts even a simple thing into a sad event.

Dad who used to come home tired in the evening was visibly excited that day.  The id card of his erstwhile company was around his neck. The front of his thick gardening clock will show what soup he had for lunch. ‘I saw a trillium flower today’ he said. ‘What is that?’ I asked. ‘It is a white flower with three petals. The plant will die if you pluck the flower. It is illegal to pluck in some countries. The exception of a flower, but it is beautiful’ he explained. Suddenly, he fell silent as his thoughts went elsewhere and his enthusiasm drained. Without looking me in the eye, he asked ‘Am I a good father to you?’. ‘Why do you doubt that dad?’. ‘All your younger sisters are married. Don’t you feel sad about that?’ ‘What sadness dad? The world is full of exceptions is something you have told us. The planet Venus near the earth rotates in the opposite direction unlike other planets’. 

In the months when income tax returns are prepared, I will have a flood of clients reaching out to me. I will complete their work promptly. They will also pay for the services. A new client came to visit one day. His lower lip and upper lip were of the same thickness. It was kind of attractive. His voice was deep as if there were ten persons in the room. I reconciled his income tax account. I also taught him techniques of how best to reduce tax in the coming years. When paying me, he gave me an enchanting look. And smiled kindly. He also promised to call. I waited. He did not turn up to do the next year’s income tax filing.

It was cash reconciliation day. Unexpectedly my second sister Pamela came to see me. She would not come without a reason. Last time, she came to announce that the finance minister had invited them for dinner. Dad had taken substantial loans for her education. She never took her studies seriously. She went around with boys. She will come home and shout at dad if he delayed sending her money. That day, she came in silently in a brick red car. Even as she entered, she wrinkled her nose as if there was a bad smell in the house. She looked around the house she had lived for 16 years as if it is something new. She was wearing a long, ash colored dress as if she was going for a dinner party, which was continuously slipping from her shoulder. She is an expert in selecting dresses in colors that highlight her eyes. A hairdo that would have set back a hairdresser at least two hours. Grey colored sandals with heels that gripped her feet tightly. She did not sit down. Like a revolving door, she neither came in nor went out but stood bobbing. Then she left as abruptly as she came.

Only after she went towards her car, I had a thought. Why did she come? She is not the kind who would visit me or dad because of an outpouring of compassion. While going, she stood on the driveway and clicked on the cell phone. The car automatically moved and stopped near her gently. Without turning, she got into the car and drove away. Only after she had gone, it occurred to me that she had come to show off her new Tesla car. When dad returned, I did not tell him about Pamela’s visit. I gave him the cash from my earnings. He counted it quietly and went to the bank to deposit it.

When there is no gardening work, dad will scrutinize the old wedding invitations of all and sundry. He has a collection of more than a hundred. Because of the hard gardening work he does, his wrists will always be swollen. He will tie ice bags on both hands and will play chess with himself. That day, he moved to the black king to B6 and looked as if looking at his opponent. The hair at the front part of his head receded and his wide brow shone. A vision that will invoke pity. How did mum elope with someone leaving behind him and four daughters? How deep that love should have been? I have seen one day dad kissing mum on her nape. ‘Did not mum love you dad?’ I asked. ‘Love will come to nothing in the end like soap that wears out gradually’. He turned the board and played for the white king. Once the game was over, I asked him who won. He replied that he won. I asked who lost. He replied for that too that it was he who lost. Almost like his life.

I think that was the last game of chess he played. He was slowly disappearing into his body. Some days, he forgot to go to work. When asked something, he stared on without answering. His gaze extended beyond me. One day, I asked him ‘Dad, what is your name?’. He was startled and looked as if I asked him to recite the multiplication table of sevens in the reverse order. Then he lifted up the id card hanging around his neck and read out his name to me. I was stunned.

The Facebook friend who had promised to meet me today was handsome in the picture. I have never given first priority to beauty. He talked to me over phone that was attractive to me. He begged me many times to tell him where I was in the picture. I did not disclose the information, but he said he had guessed it. I asked him how. He said it is the similarity between my voice and the picture. I asked him whether he can guess how my face will be now based on a picture that was taken ten years ago. He said yes.

He beseeched me many times that he will come to meet me. I kept delaying. But he never stopped troubling me. About a week ago, he left a message on the telephone. The telephone asked to me to press 11. I pressed. He wants to see me. He asked for a date. He asked me to imagine that he was an income tax client. The telephone asked to press 8 if I wanted to answer. To save the message, it asked me to press 9. To delete the message, it asked me to press 7. I pressed 7.

After a couple of days, there was an SMS from him. ‘The cherry tree in your house has bloomed beautifully’. I was astounded. ‘How did you know?’. ‘I checked it on Google’. Was he a nature lover? He must be a good person. He has not seen my face. He knows me just as the one who does income tax assessments. Can I trust him? I gave my consent to meet on 27th of March. I do not know whether he realized the importance of the date.

Today is the day he is supposed to come.

He said he would come at 10:30 in the morning. I have engineered such that no other clients were expected on that day. There were income tax files organized on the table. I straightened them. I hid the long stockings drying on the chair. I have told him almost all the details about me. I might have missed one or two details. After all, that is what that makes it interesting. I was ready. Only official dress. No makeup. A bit of eyeliner and a little extra lipstick. He should never realize that I have decked myself up for him.

The time was exactly 10:28. The sound of a car arriving and stopping was heard. I opened the window curtain slowly and looked out. He closed the car door. The light inside the car lit up. He waited until it switched off. He looked up. My heart started pumping. The winter was over and leaves started coming out on the trees. The cherry tree alone was full of light blue blossoms. There was not a single leaf. March 27 was the peak day for cherry trees. An abundance of flowers will bloom hiding the tree. The leaves would come out only after now. A tree which is an exception. He looked up and for a full minute stood there enjoying the flowers.

The sound of climbing stairs. After a few seconds, the calling bell sounded. I quickly adjusted my dress. I straightened the breathing tube so as not to stumble. I moved towards the door. The oxygen cylinder equipped with a chip followed me like a devoted dog. I collected myself, paused and thought about what was going to happen in the next minute. I put my left hand on the door handle and opened the door.

                                                    ***Ended***

Fifth Chair (ஐந்தாவது கதிரை) - by A. Muttulingam

Note on translator: 

Mr Thillainayagam Sangaralingam, a retired professor of English from M.S. University Thirunelveli. After retirement he has been doing translation from Tamil to English, mostly fiction. His English translation Pichamurti’s Selected Short Stories for the Sahitya Akademi won the greatly acclaimed Nalli-Thisai Ettum Award for the best Tamil to English translation for the year 2019. His latest work Password and Other Stories has been published by Ratna Books, Delhi. He has also published a book containing simple and precise meaning for the 1330 Thirukural couplets (NCBH, June 2022).

 

My sincere thanks to Prof. Thillainayagam Sangaralingam for this translation. 

***

 

Fifth Chair – a short story by A. Muttulingam

This is an English translation of "ஐந்தாவது கதிரை" written by A. Muthu Lingam. 

There must be something extraordinary afoot if an owl comes out in daylight. So it was for Thangarasa that day when he stepped out of his house. He was about to make another of his attempts to placate Pathmavathi.

There was nothing that was not available in that huge hypermarket, spread over an area of one square mile; nor was there any dearth of wonders and amusements. Every time he took Pathmavathi to this mall, she would get excited like a young girl.

All these difficulties had risen because of a chair. A trifling matter had got blown up to this extent. She was adamant and would not budge an inch. If he gave in now, she would not consider him worthy of even a dime afterwards. 

This chair, sold in Canada, was made in Kashmir. Next to carpets, articles carved out of walnut wood were most popular there. This chair made of seasoned walnut wood, was in no way ordinary. It was made with royalty in mind and particularly for discomfort. There were minute, exquisite carvings on its legs, armrests and back. Light blue velvet cushions added to its beauty. It was so high that one’s feet would not rest on the floor if one sat on it.  Pathmavathi was stubbornly insistent that they buy it. 

There were only four cushioned chairs in their house. They had been bought for their durability and colour, the colour of an earthworm on which grime was not visible. One was a sofa and the others single seaters. If the number of guests who turned up could not be accommodated in these chairs,  they had to use the dining chairs. Shameful! That’s why she was so eager to buy this one. She even pointed out sarcastically that the price of the chair was less than her weekly salary. 

Thangarasa was equally adamant on standing his ground. Whenever a quarrel broke out between them, the honour of surrendering was always his.  But this time, he was not ready to give in. He was firmly determined to assert his authority by employing all the tricks he could think of. 

But Pathmavathi was a great deal craftier than him. She was awaiting the opportune moment to use her most powerful weapon. She knew that it would devastate him totally. She was bold enough to do it. This trait of hers was evident when she was just fourteen years old. One day, she was returning home from school in her white uniform. Her schoolmates, all of them of the same age   as her, were walking along with her. On the way, she noticed a cart loaded with heavy cement bags and the cartman belabouring the skinny buffalo, which stood stretching its legs and frothing profusely at the mouth.  

She instantly stopped talking to her friends, walked up to him, and to his surprise and dismay, wrested the stick from his hand, broke it into two in no time, threw the pieces in the middle of the street and returned to her friends, as if nothing had happened. She took just twenty seconds to do all this. After joining her friends, she didn’t turn back even once. 

Such a bold person she was, And this daring was the reason why Thangarasa lost his heart to her. After landing in Canada as a refugee, the first thing he did was to bring her there, through an agent. 

The wedding took place in a temple in lavish grandeur with elaborate festivities. There were plastic plantain trees; a real grinding stone; two nadaswarammusicians, one sitting and the other standing (the latter’s fees being higher); a wedding dais decorated with mythological figurines depicting lion-faced elephants with trunks and tusks, plantain and mango leaves in freezer boxes, milk bread, green gram pancakes and many more rare sweets and savouries. All these had been flown in from Sri Lanka. ‘Video Fame’ Jagannatha Gurukkal conducted the marriage rituals fittingly.

She was not adept at wearing saris. That day she had draped the sari on her casually, with the palluhanging off her shoulder. Some people look unusually lovely in saris. And when it comes to certain others, their beauty gets dimmed to the extent that they start looking common. She was of the second type. Her figure seemed in no way remarkable. Her complexion was dull and dusky.

Only then did Thangarasa realize that a person could be deceived by his own eyes. She did not have an iota of bashfulness or fear. She was unpretentious and natural in her manners. This is what he liked, and also disliked. 

That night, many surprises lay in store for Thangarasa. Her shoulders were hard and shiny, like a wrestler’s. Her breasts, round and white like a crocodile’s belly, came into his view suddenly. Her stomach curved inwards, like a lumberjack’s. His nightly imaginings about femininity were smashed to smithereens; but he was only too happy about it.

When they had sex, she would plunge into it in full swing, with all her might. A state of being oblivious of one’s self and immersed in sensual pleasure that obliterates the world! A confounding situation in which one cannot distinguish which arm and which leg is whose. She would close her eyes and enjoy the rapturous delight unselfconsciously.

At such times, he would feel that the human body was not fit for copulation. Hands and legs would constantly intrude and obstruct. A snake’s body was the best suited for intercourse. He would feel sad that the miserable human body was not capable of coiling, twisting and intertwining or tupping in fast and thick.

On most days, an awkward problem would rise as they went about it in speedy vehemence. Her silver anklets would get interlocked. This frequent midnight occurrence puzzled him and also made him happy. She would cringe: ‘Gosh! Tangled together! Please unfasten them.’ He would silently enjoy her discomfort, stroke those feet which were pale on the edges for a while and untangle the anklet chains slowly, taking his own time.

But this happened only in the early days. Later on, having learnt her lesson, she would take off the anklets before coming to the bed once she had finished the daily chores. Thereafter, it became a signal. On certain days, she would take them off unbidden and approach him with a smile. He would understand and get ready. On other days, she would walk up to the bed with the anklets jingling noisily and jump into the bed. A holiday.

This was in the nature of a symbolic overture and continued even after their daughter was born. 

That, too, was an old story now. Nowadays, she never took off her anklets. How was one to know what was going on in her mind? She would turn her face the other way whenever she talked to him. It seemed that she disliked the idea of coming near him. 

After she came to Canada, it took six months for the sandy red tinge in her cracked heels to disappear. But it did not take even six weeks for her to metamorphose into a totally different person. Canada seemed to her a paradise. Unlike others, she braved the chilly weather nonchalantly. She integrated herself into the Canadian way of life as if she were to the manner born and took to it like a duck to water.

Thangarasa continued with his old habits, such as ironing his shirts himself and examining his shoes carefully before wearing them. But Pathmavathi bobbed hair and went around in Louis Vuitton jeans, T-shirts displaying bold statements, and Nike air shoes. She spent most of her time buying things in supermarkets, using credit cards.

Thangarasa got a computer programmer’s job in Canada after going through a full year’s training. He became an expert programmer; bugs couldn’t crash his programmes. Once they had been written, the need to rectify them never rose. But the files sent to his table moved at a snail’s pace and he lost his job. 

Left without a job, he was just vegetating at home. He, who had committed only minor mistakes until then, made an enormous mistake, prompted by Pathmavathi. He permitted her to take up a job in a factory. He lost his authority over her that day and could not retrieve it even after he got a job.

A large number of South American women who worked with Pathmavathi became friendly with her. Seeing her clothes, complexion, appearance and hairdo, people took her to be a Columbian or Costa Rican. Her posture, gait and the manner in which she picked her teeth resembled theirs exactly. While waiting at the bus stop, she would get unduly excited if anyone addressed her in Spanish. 

No one believed her when she said she had a fourteen-year-old daughter. One day, a woman they met in a ballet class pointed to her daughter and asked, ‘Is she your sister?’ That whole day, Pathmavathi was floating in joy. She said this to her husband again and again, and his fears increased.  

What an excellent rapport they had with each other in the days of those symbolic exchanges! If he addressed her by her full name, Pathmavathi, it meant that he was angry. In a happy, loving mood, he would call her ‘Pathu’. He would call her ‘Pathma’ in the presence of others. But it was an entirely different story in the bedroom. He would call her ‘Pathoo’ in a sweet voice and stretch this to ‘Pathooo…’, according to the mood. 

Several years had passed by and even the memory of those happy moments had been forgotten. 

At last, everything had come to a standstill, with this tussle over the chair. He was dead set against buying it. He had taken a secret vow to cut that chair piece by piece if she bought it without his knowledge. This was the ultimate battle. If he lost it, that would be the end of him. She would reduce him to nothing and stow him away in the lumber room. 

Their daughter had also joined hands with her. It had been years since he had eaten anything with relish. She had bidden farewell, once and for all, to their traditional dishes, such as idli, vadaiand appam. The devil burger and the demon pizza danced weirdly at every meal. Every day, these same food items would be laid on the plastic sheet spread over the table and covered with old newspaper. His gorge would rise at the unpleasant smell. One day, he asked for idliand she exploded:

‘You, who are used to eating idlimade of fermented batter, dosaimade of fermented batter and vadai fried out of fermented batter , will only wallow in outmoded thoughts. Am I idle at any time of the day? I get up at four in the morning, cook for you and also take care of the house. Don’t I go out and work hard, just like you? On top of all this, I’m taking care of a youngster. But you gulp beer and lie down all day, with your legs spread out. The cooker has not been working for the past six months. You have the time to buy a remote for your TV, but no time to get the cooker repaired. I don’t know what I’ll do next.’ 

There was another reason for her to lash out at him like that. Three of the stove burners did not work; she had been managing with one for about six months now. Though she had told him innumerable times, he hadn’t bothered to get them repaired. She was extremely vexed about it.

The main purpose of Thangarasa to visit the mall with his family was to get some relief from the uneasy situation at home. She walked ahead of him. Viewed from behind, she appeared exactly like a Costa Rican. Intemperate behaviour and seductiveness were found in her personality in equal measure. The house for which he was clearing the loan was registered in her name. Canadian laws are advantageous to women. His mind warned him that he should be very cautious in his dealings with her. 

Passersby stopped to take a second look at her. She was wearing jeans and a knotted blouse. Her stomach, tightened with a belt, caved in like a drum. She seemed intent on keeping herself as far away from him as possible. Lest he lose sight of her, he ran behind her, carrying his big paunch like an ungainly animal.

A Chinese was tattooing a picture of a dragon on the wiry shoulder of a handsome white man. They stopped and watched the wonderful sight unblinkingly. Thangarasa caressed her strong arms, which were like snake gourds, and tightened his grip. She knew that it was a signal for the night. 

Her face brightened as he took her to a beauty products store. He bought her eyeliner, sindoor, nail polish and all that she asked for. After an arduous search, she at last settled on a shiny lipstick of a hue that was between black and brown and applied it at once. Just a slight stroke and her lips pouted and turned seductive.

He did not want this happiness to melt away. As they crossed an ice cream stall, he asked if she would like to have her favourite sundae. She nodded and that was it. He at once started excitedly like a young lover would do for his girl and returned with three scoops of ice cream topped with melting chocolate, wafer, cheese and a cherry on top like a crest. She began licking it with her chocolaty lips. 

While returning, a chilly wind lashed their faces harshly. Cars were speeding in the opposite direction. Boats were attached to some of them, some even had houses in tow and a few others carried bicycles on top. Signs of happiness vibrated all around them, heralding the ensuing holidays. Expectations rose high in Thangarasa’s mind. 

Even though he had been so generous and friendly with her at the mall, only disappointment awaited him in the bedroom. He realized that the ice cream had done nothing to conciliate her. She pushed him aside as if he was a leper. She wriggled out of his reach again and again with brutal force. Thangarasa fell flat on the floor in front of the TV, as if whipped. He didn’t go back to the bedroom that whole night.

The next morning, Pathmavathi picked up fourteen empty beer cans from all the nooks and corners of the reception hall. 

For the next two weeks, an unusual silence prevailed in the house. A battle characterized by secrets and plots was being fought. Using lipstick, she had tactfully hidden her lips, which had swollen up after a backhand slap from him. She was biding her time to retaliate with a lesson that Thangarasa would never forget all his life and also put him in an ignominious situation he could never share with anyone. 

A woman educated in the Namagal Mahavidyalaya, totally ignorant of English when shifting to Canada and incapable of reading anything beyond comic books, had turned into such a scourge to Thangarasa, a wizard in computer programming.

Thangarasa could smell that he was in insurmountable danger. He also realized that the results of the battle wouldn’t be in his favour. So, he decided to cool her anger and bring her back to their past way of life by any means. He made a beginning after he had carefully and logically prepared a plan, the way he did when writing a flawless computer programme.

It started at dinner time. All the signs and overtures of their glorious past love life were exchanged. The dining table was a witness to a silent conversation, which was incomprehensible to the daughter.

When Pathmavathi was cleaning the utensils, he walked up to her noiselessly, like a cat, and stood close behind her. The cleaning kept her hands busy and he put his hands over her hip caressingly. She squirmed, unable to either prevent him or ward him off. He couldn’t contain the excitement he felt. 

She was taking her time over her chores. He thought she was delaying deliberately. She switched on the humidifier and then checked the locks. Now she was going up the stairs. He could hear her setting the alarm system. The lights went off. 

Behold! She was coming!

The door opened slowly. She had not taken off the anklets, but walked with extreme care to muffle any noise. She moved forward, taking steps sideways. Thangarasa’s excitement went beyond all limits. He was in such an uncontainable hurry.

He pulled her overcoat. She shouted, ‘Not today, no, not today. You’ll get angry.’ But he was in no mood to listen to her. A spark had been ignited in his body. In implacable haste, he pulled her blouse and the buttons snapped. At once, she clutched the edges of the blouse and pulled them close to herself, as if protecting a precious treasure, and resisted his attempts.

He had crossed the limit now. In that moment of frenzy, he pulled her blouse again violently. The edges moved apart. Full breasts, as ample as ever. 

But what he saw stunned him into silence.

Both her breasts had been tattooed. That Chinese bloke’s dragon opened its mouth wide and roared at him. Her breasts between which even a pencil could not pass through, breasts which he had all along thought were created for his exclusive enjoyment dangled, unable to bear the weight of the pictures drawn by a nameless pavement tattooist. 

He felt as if a beast lurking in the dark had pounced upon him. He collapsed and fell down.

She pulled the blouse together and covered her body. A crafty smile appeared at the corners of her mouth and vanished the same moment. Thangarasa did not notice it.

This was their last battle. This victory was her ultimate victory. After this, the question of buying that chair would never come up. Now, he was the fifth chair.

***Ended***

Source: Writer A. Muttulingam's short story "Ainthavathu Kathirai"

Translated into English by Thillainayagam Sangaralingam.  

 

 

 

The New Wife (Puthu Pensathi) by A. Muttulingam

This is an English Translation of "Puthu Pensaathi", a Short story written by A Muttulingam  Translated from Tamil by Saravanan. K  This is 14thEnglish Translation in Classic Tamil Short Stories series

 A Muthu Lingam 

  When she boarded the train at Colombo, Padmalosani didn’t know that  her name would be of no use any longer. She looked for her husband. He was busy pushing two big boxes and a suitcase looking much older than his age, inside. It had just been one day since their marriage took place. Her thali¹ was hanging around her neck like a circle and she had applied eye liner as well. Jasmine in her head. Even as she was examining her toes, she lifted her head up frequently, kept watching what her husband was doing.  

He was dark complexioned, tall and looked like a twisted rope. She didn’t like moustache. But his moustache was looking attractive. He had rolled up his light green full sleeve shirt up to his upper arm where his muscular nerves looked prominent. She remembered what her mother had told her. ‘Your husband is not that educated chap. He is having a shop at his village. Under any circumstances, you must not reveal that you are educated and you know English.’ The man who gave him the tickets had actually handed over him the correct balance amount. Even from that distance, she could see it clearly. But, that man had to explain it to her husband who was confronting him that the balance amount was not correctly calculated. The very thought of how he was going to look after the business in the shop made her appalled, indeed.      

When they alighted from the train at Kokuvil station, there was no one to welcome them. The firmament broken into fragments; the palm trees with its broken tufts; yellowish grass; the broken wooden fence. She was standing perpendicularly erect, completely not matching with the standards of that place. She bent down, pulled the rear strap of her sandals on her heels and fixed it. She bent down again, when she looked up after adjusting the strap of sandals in another heel, she found that the boys from the village stood, surrounding her. All of them were looking at her as if she was a weird object. One of them shouted, “Ramanathan has got a new wife”. That was it. From that moment, it was certain that there would be no one there to call her by her full name.

As Ramanathan was walking in front, bringing her to the village, taking pride in winning the hands of a princess in an archery championship, she was following, walking behind him. The porters were walking in front and the boys were following them behind. It looked like a big procession and the women of the village were wondering looking at them, peeking out of the fences. It was the first time a lady with the heels-sandals walking through the narrow streets of their village as if she was going to do some community service. There was no such a beautiful woman like her in the village. She remembered the words of one of her classmates who used to tease her, “By keeping all this beauty with yourself, what are you going to do?” She controlled her laughter that came up to her lips. 

Ramanathan didn’t open his shop for two days. The villagers were talking among themselves that he was under the spell of his new wife. On the third day, he opened his shop and started his routine business. It was the only grocery shop in the village. Other than grocery items, articles needed for school, soda, cigarette and magazines were also sold in the shop. He would open the shop by taking out the wooden planks one by one at six in the morning and would go home after closing it at eight in the night. His house was situated just behind the shop, adding to his comforts. 

For the first six months, the ladies from the village kept coming to see the ‘new wife’. Some ladies came to see the beauty of her talk with her irregular ‘swallowing’ of words; some came to see the beauty of her tresses flying in air on one side like the national flag. Her neighbour lady still addressed her ‘New Wife’. Those who came to the shop for buying things called her “new wife amma” and the boys called her ‘new wife akka”. She started forgetting her name. 

Within months, she could understand that her husband’s shop was running in loss. He didn’t know how to maintain the accounts. His ability to read was up to the level of picking up letters only. She was stunned to see her husband selling the items below the procurement price even after he had put a considerable amount of hard work to bring those items from the market. One day, while chit chatting with her husband, she told him that she would also join him in the shop to assist him. He got shocked as if he was bitten by a snake, told her, “chee…you should never do that. You don’t know anything about it” 

One day early morning, a telegram came to an old lady who was staying in the front house. Without opening it, she was running here and there, holding the telegram above her head like a termite which got wings. None was found around who could read English. Someone suggested that she could wait till the school opened so that any teacher coming to the school could read it out to her. The Old lady started crying helplessly. 

“May I read it?” she asked her husband. “You? Do you know how to read?” he asked her. “Don’t know much. But I can try” she replied. Once he gave her permission, she opened the telegram, read it and laughed heartily. “Grandma…nothing to fear. Your daughter has given birth to a baby boy. You have become a grandmother.” She told. The new wife’s knowledge in English became the main topic of gossip than the cheers brought by the baby’s birth. Ramanathan looked at her with surprise and admiration. So composed was she even at that time, she didn’t reveal the fact to him that she had received first prize in English and mathematics in the school where she studied.

Even after two years of their marriage, Ramanathan was still facing an issue. The beauty of his wife made him feel inferior. From the very beginning, he had been thinking that he was not a suitable match for his wife. The moment he approached her, he would feel so naïve like a boy. He was unable to look into her dark, striking eyes. Whenever she talked to him, opening her lips endearingly which looked swollen due to some recent insect bites, his heart would bounce. Sometimes, the shiver he developed after seeing her would start from his feet and spread to other parts gradually. He was unable to go near to her. 

One day night, she told him, “You ought not to think that I am advising you. Let us note down the prices of the items sold in the shop in a coded language. While selling the items, we should sell it for higher price than the noted ones. If we follow this method, we will not face any loss in business.” After conveying this idea to her husband, she was still waiting for his reply with her lips partly opened as if she waiting to absorb his reply. As he was very much tired that day, he simply told her “Okay…do it”, with sort of a charitable face giving alms to beggars.  

That night, she lit a lamp, sat in the light and started noting down the prices of each and every item. Those coded notes had the pattern of ‘கத்ண்’²and‘இதுஎ’². For every coded letter, there was a number given. She prepared a ten letter sentence to remember those letters and their corresponding numbers. When Ramanathan rolled on his side on the bed at 1 ‘O clock in the midnight, he saw his wife bending forward again and again, jotting down something with help of hand lamp’s light. He turned other side and slept. 

When he got up in the morning, he was astonished- She was still sitting at the same place, bent forward, holding her falling hair with one hand and still writing. She didn’t sleep throughout the night. It was extremely hard for him to believe. Something in his heart got softer and started flowing. He went near to her, touched her cheek, and called her tenderly, “Padmi”. He had never called her like that before. She didn’t even lift her head up. She started sobbing inconsolably. She wiped her cheeks with both of her hands like a car’s glass wiper, but even then her tears didn’t stop. It flowed down her cheeks and made it wet. “Please don’t cry…don’t cry” Ramanathan hugged her. He opened his shop two hours late and was drowned in delight throughout the day as if his name was printed in block letters in the front page of Veer Kesari³newspaper. 

When he was taking rest in the afternoon, she was looking after the business. Only Elephant mark Soda and Three Roses Cigarette were sold more in the shop. Referring to the price tags she prepared, she would sell the items and actively involved herself in the business. She was looking like a spin top released from the thread. At the time of closing the shop, she would come again to assist him. They would fold the advertisement boards and put off the rope hanging with fire in its tip used for lighting cigarettes, roll it up and keep them inside. Then they would line up the wooden planks in order, close the shop and lock it with a pad lock. One day she calculated the profit, told him, “Today’s profit is 50.40 rupees. This is the day we got the highest profit” and laughed. “How could you say it this accurately” he asked her. She thought for some time, putting her palms on her cheeks, narrowing her eyes as if she was trying to recollect the name of a heroine in the old movies. Then, told him, “We can do anything if we know the numbers and letters”. When she spoke those words with her irregular stutter, he would think of swallowing her as whole. 

Exactly after thirteen years of their marriage, a baby girl was born to them. They named her Arputham⁴as she was born as a miracle. Even after that too, the villagers still called her ‘New Wife’. When Arputham was ten years old, her husband died of heart attack. She didn’t get shattered by it. As her responsibilities increased, her wisdom also got widened. Thus, educating her only daughter and getting her well settled in life became the singular aim of her life. 

Unlike before, the business in the shop was running profitably. Both the teachers and the students studying in the school tried their best to decipher the code language pasted on the items sold in the shop, but in vain. They tried it with Arputham too. She also didn’t know anything about it. The teacher who was teaching mathematics in the school tried thrice and failed. They were talking among each other that the new wife had adroitly designed the code language. 

One day Arputham was found missing. The daughter had also planned to become beautiful like her mother. She had her braided plait hanging and thrown her half saree above it. When they got the news about a dead body floating in the common well, no one believed it. Arputham had committed suicide when she was seventeen years old. As the bad luck would have it, her mother woke her up in the early morning even a couple of days ago, fed her morsel after morsel of food till it got over when she was busy studying. She couldn’t ascertain the reason why she had committed suicide. It was understood that Arputham was in love with a boy who was active in the liberation movement⁵. When she came to know that he died in the Vadamaratchi battle, she killed herself. This story was known to everyone in the village and the school where she studied. But her mother was not aware of it. The mother who had waited for thirteen years to give her birth and spent seventeen years to bring her up to that level, became worthless at once for her. She had jumped into a well just for a petty three months of courtship with a militant. Hadn’t she?

She refused to open the shop after the death of her daughter. She wept aloud that for whom she had to have her life thence. After being persuaded by the villages, she opened the shop; Unexpectedly, the day she opened it became an unforgettable day. It was 30^thJuly, 1987. It was the day when the Indian Peace Keeping Force arrived in Sri Lanka under Lieutenant General Dipender Singh. Her shop wore a festive mood. Whoever came to her shop, was greeted with Elephant mark Soda. Three Roses Cigarettes for men, sweets, pencils and erasers for school children were provided free of cost. The festivity in the New Wife’s shop lasted till midnight. 

One day, when the curfew was in force, she closed the day’s accounts hurriedly and when she was about to leave for her home after closing the shop, an Indian military van came there, jolted with a sudden halt. An army man got down from the vehicle, plucked out eight bananas from the hand, bought four biscuits and a Three Roses pocket. He pointed at a bottle with the picture of egg pasted on it. He enquired something in a language which produced heavy voice in the throat pit. Without understanding his words, she simply nodded her head, ‘yes…yes.’ He asked her how much it was, by waving his hands. She also replied with hand movements that she didn’t need it. He insisted and gave her the cash. She wrote down the cost of the items on a paper by referring to her code language and received the correct amount from him. Receiving of amount from him for the items sold, indeed, enhanced the respect of Indian Army in her mind. But that respect didn’t last even for twenty four hours.

Next day, it was the time for closing the shop. Like yesterday, one vehicle came fast, stopped in from of her shop with a sudden brake. But the person who jumped out of the van was not the one who had come on the previous day. His face carried a look of exercising power on others. He was an army officer with blue colour turban and moustache. Without allowing her to speak, they dragged her with a sense of hostility to their vehicle, stuffed her into it and left. By that time the villagers assembled there. Greatly stunned, not knowing the reason why she was arrested and taken along with them, all she could cry out to her neighbour was just a sentence, “Rasamama akka, my goats, my chickens,…take care of them”. 

That army man had asked her whether the shampoo in the bottle with egg picture was edible. Without understanding his language, the reply she gave costed him very dear as he got diarrhea after eating it and now was bed ridden. She was taken under custody for enquiry. She could understand it later only after the translator explained it to her. Despite her repeated appeals that she was innocent, it yielded no result.

Even after six months were passed, the new wife didn’t return to the village. Her shop was also not opened. No one knew about her whereabouts after the army men took her with them for enquiry. The ones who were looking after the chickens ate them all one day. Those who were feeding the goats ate them all one day. On one night, someone broke open the rear door of the shop, entered and looted all rice and dal. Following it, flour, salt and sugar all disappeared. Very soon Soda, Three Roses Cigar, Shampoo with egg picture, note books and erasers were all stolen. An accounts book, a paper cutting pasted on the wall carrying the news of Arputham’s suicide and a calendar with a date sheet torn on the day of her arrest were the only remnants available in the shop. The calendar showed Monday, March 20, 1989. 

Everyone had almost forgotten the new wife who hailed from an unknown place in the south, got married and came to that village thirty two years ago. One day, a young couple who lost their home in the war entered the shop and owned it. While mopping the floor with a wet cloth, the young wife saw that every wooden plank carried numbers, 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,0 and letters written below them. Ten planks and ten letters.எ ண் ணெ ழு த் து இ க ழே ல்². The young wife stood hesitatingly for a while, wiped them with force and deleted them all with the cloth she was holding in her hands.

                                                                  ***End***

Note: 

1. A sacred thread tied around the neck of the bride during marriage. 

2. Tamil letters kept as such, as it cannot be taken out of context in translation.

3. A newspaper published in Sri Lanka. 

4. Arputham means miracle. As she was born as a miracle, she was named Arputham. 

5. It refers to LTTE movement.  

Translated from Tamil by Saravanan. K 

Source: “Puthu Pensaathi” short story by A Muttulingam. (I extend my sincere thanks to Mr A. Muthu Lingam for giving permission to translate this short story)