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| Puthumai Pithan |
This is an English translation of Akalikai, a Tamil short story written by Puthumai Pithan. Translated into English by Saravanan Karmegam.
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It was the times of the Vedas on the banks of the river
Indus. Unlike now, there were thickly grown jungles and grasslands. Human
settlements in huts in small groups scattered here and there. The place where
human beings live in dense settlements in large numbers is termed a city. The
king, as head, lives there; it thus becomes known as a capital. But this place
is lying somewhere far from all these, where the bustle of humans is non-existent.
It is the place where the river Indus enters the plains after leaving the lap
of the Himalaya. The trees and creepers wouldn’t be aware of what it meant by
success in human life. The river Indus is at the peak of its pristine
profoundness, gushing through rocks, smiling at everything like an innocent
soul. Gautama Rishi’s hermitage is somewhere near the river, in the interiors
of jungles at a stone's throw distance between his hut and the riverbank. In
the North, near to his hut, lies a verdant grassland at a little distance.
Yonder, there are seen snow-clad peaks of the Himalaya as though standing like
a barrier preventing any harm directed at them. Gautama, a Brahmin, has devoted
his whole life for the sake of learning and art—it is all once upon a time.
Teaching one’s learning to youth and small children is an
enchanting experience. But it had been an old story now. He is once interested
in exploring the reasons behind the beauty of this universe, reasons for its
evolution, and its genesis. To fulfill his quest for knowledge, he had sought a
lonely place, a peaceful place, and thus settled here. Leaving his society
behind, he is now living in that hermitage with his wife. He is thirty years
old. Thickly grown, dark beard. Broader, light-emitting eyes. Tender lips.
Well-toned, broader chest. Flat stomach. All his attributes reflect the
tenderness of nature. There emitted a divine light, a splendorous oneness of
himself—from those eyes and lips capable of attracting one’s attention,
however, without evincing the slightest of a beastly beauty, any element of
fascinating others—proved the peace that prevailed in his heart. His wife is
Akalya. If he is an embodiment of masculine values, she is the quintessence of
feminine grace.
Doe-eyed, her eyes are expressive of her immense love for her
husband whenever she sees him. It appears that she has not only kept him in her
heart but also proves that every move of hers is intended to keep him happy.
She finds a happiness in it. Gautama also loves her so much. But his love is
not like a wild river; it is born out of peace in his heart. Even a gentle
throw of some dust on her would be sufficient to break Gautama’s heart into
pieces. She is also very well aware of his love, and it is not surprising thus
to see her as the epitome of chastity.
It is an evening. The sun hasn’t set yet. The snow-clad
mountains in the distance are shining like crimson flames.
Akalya comes out to the front yard of her hut, with a pitcher
sitting on her waist. Gautama, sitting in the front yard, is busy reading a
holy book. She stands near him. Gautama is so engrossed in the holy book that
it has kept him unaware of her presence. After a while, he realises that she
has been standing beside him for quite some time. With love pouring out of his
eyes, he smiles at her and asks her, “O! My dear Akalya! I got you late. Are
you going for a bath? I will come after some time once I complete the remaining
parts of this holy book.” She keeps the pitcher down and cuddles his head onto
her chest, her lips resting on his head for some while as she doesn’t attempt
to release herself from that state. She then says, “It is okay. Let me go
alone,” and leaves for the river, picking up her pitcher. She is disappointed
as what she has expected of him didn’t happen. She isn’t angry at her husband,
though, even as she couldn’t play happily with her husband while bathing in the
river. Washing clothes and cleaning the pitcher are performed with mechanical
precision after that as she reaches the river.
She takes her clothes off, keeps them on a rock, and jumps
into the water. Only she is aware of the pleasure while dipping in cold water.
Isn’t it? She is totally absorbed in taking dips in the depths of the Indus
River, climbing onto the rock, and then diving again. It is at that time Lord
Indra appears from somewhere and reaches the opposite bank of the river. The
voluptuous, curvaceous frame of Akalya arrests his attention and gets him
besotted; he stands like a stone, forgetting even to bat his eyelids. He
decides to possess her by hook or crook, climbs down the rock, and gets into
the water. Akalya hears the rustle of his moves, turns, and notices an
unfamiliar male ogling at her with a face filled with dishonest
beastly cravings. Looking handsome anyway! She could decipher the meaning of
his attempts at approaching her. She throws a frowning stare at him, an angry
stare. Indra is stunned at her look, shaking with fear; he stands immobile, in
a trance. He didn’t expect her to react in this manner. Akalya goes behind a
big rock, dresses her up, fills water in the pitcher, and leaves the spot
immediately.
Lord Indra grows feverish with a singular aim—possessing
Akalya. His mind is not in a position to examine the pros and cons of his
acts—who she is and what he has intended to do. When she is walking like a
woman possessed by some spirit, her husband Gautama comes in front of her. The
pitcher from her waist falls on the floor. She goes running to him, falls onto
his chest, and cries, emitting inconsolable sobs. Gautama hugs her and asks her
lovingly, “What happened? Tell me”. She explains everything amidst her sobs. He
comforts her and brings her to the hut. The magnificence of her love and its
manifestation in the form of her chastity make him understand a new truth: it is
her utter disgust for other men. Indra is still wandering around waiting for
one right moment to satiate his evil intention. Akalya is not even aware of his
intention. Her heart sinks into despair as if she has made a big mistake, a
mistake her heart would never forgive. Gautama’s love and care are her only
comforts.
That day, both of them take longer than usual to sleep.
“It is not possible for everyone to be blind for your sake,”
Gautama says.
“But it doesn't mean that one has to ogle like an owl,” Akalya
replies.
Indra is busy roaming around her hut, looking for an
opportune time to satiate his carnal desire. If he could succeed in hoodwinking
Gautama into believing a wrong time as dawn, he would be able to easily fulfill
what he has been planning.
It is midnight. Sky without moon. The stars are shining,
emitting dim light sufficient enough to make one believe that it is dawn. Lord
Indra crows like a rooster. Gautama is in half sleep, half cuddling Akalya. He
never sleeps deeply. Hearing the sound of a rooster, he rises and leaves for
the riverside to relieve himself. Since Akalya couldn’t get adequate sleep that
day, she is in deep sleep. Half of it is filled with dreams and the remaining
with deep sleep. She dreams that she is hugging her husband to her bosom and
remains with him. Lord Indra enters her room like a cat, without making noise.
He looks at the hapless woman who is sleeping without even realising her dress
partly slides loose.
His animal craving for carnal pleasure is thus fulfilled.
Akalya is still in her half dreams—she hasn’t woken up yet
from her deep slumber. She hugs him, thinking that it is her husband. It is the
moment where the instincts of nature partially become triumphant.
Oh! My good heavens! It is that scoundrel! Her head spins,
and everything around her starts spinning. She couldn’t understand anything.
How come he is here…that too in my house! She picks up a rod lying nearby,
swings it against his head, and gets up. The ignominy of losing something
extremely important is killing her inside. Indra regained his composure and
understood his mistake. What sort of madness is this? What sort of a beastly
injustice have I meted out to her? He feels that his heart is about to blast
out of angst. On reaching the river, Gautama understands something had gone
wrong back home as he realises that it isn’t yet dawn. He hurries him up and
comes back home only to realise that what has happened at his hut is now beyond
his control after seeing Akalya writhing in anguish. He scoops his wife up into
his hands. Her body wriggles like a worm thrown into fire. Indra is standing
there carrying the burden of sins he has just carried out on her.
“Indra, is it very difficult to think of other women as your
sisters?” Gautama asks him. Then he turns to his wife and says, “My dearest
Akalya! Your body had turned into a stone at that time. Hasn’t it?” as he
fondles her head.
His heart is at peace with a newly found truth—lust could
make even a god an animal. Chastity is all about the purity of one’s heart.
What could a hapless woman do when she gets her body defiled when something
happens out of sheer circumstances?
A silence.
The peace that has been prevailing in his heart is now
visible even when he utters these painful words, “Indra, you may leave now.”
What then about Akalya?
The last dance of eon that she has just witnessed in her
heart is now standing against the peace and tranquility of her husband like a
battlefield.
***Ended***
