“Kasambu, get me a mug of water”—with a proud glance at the
man-high fabricated cane sapling protector he had just made, Ranganatha
Padaiyachi turned, looked in, and asked. He kept the jatropha stalks lying
around the sapling protector aside and sat down. His half-pants dropped down
beyond his waistline with the drawstring loosely hanging to the ground. His
hirsute chest was fully grey. The sweat, formed in droplets, seemed to be ready
to roll down from his bald head.
“I will be happy if I could see the saplings grow into plants
planted in these sapling protectors. It is getting late. I have kept the hot
water ready; come and have a bath. Her voice sounded feeble as she extended her
hands to give him the water in the mug. A sari shrunk up to her ankle, a
worn-out blouse, and some old jewelry on her nose and ears, which she had
brought when she was married.
He drank it eagerly after gargling. The water spilled in his
lower jaw, trickled down through his chest, and settled in the folds of his
stomach. “We haven’t amassed ten or fifteen acres of land like others. Have we?
What we have is just these four acres of land and a hut that looks like a
pigpen. We can’t buy anything more than this. That is why I would like to plant
a couple of trees, no matter if they give us fruits or not. I don’t know
whether it gets true and remains a lie. When the Neyveli men take over this
land, it is likely that they may consider giving ten rupees more along with
compensation, seeing these plants”—his routine words spoken in exasperation
countless times.
Had Ranganatha Padaiyachi been genuinely interested, he would
have become the owner of at least ten acres of agricultural land in
Veppankurichi. All his mind had been on his children’s education. He had his
daughter Rajavalli educated to become a teacher. As soon as she completed her
studies, he found a boy for her who was working in Neyveli. As luck would have
it, she also got a job immediately after she got married. Her family was now
staying in the township. She was working in Muthandikkuppam government school.
With the blessings of God, she was blessed with a baby who is now a toddler.
Now all his worries were only about his elder son,
Aivazhagan. He had done his M.A. at a college in Viruthachalam. He is now above
twenty-seven years old and still unemployed. He used to find some odd jobs in
the first thermal power station on petty wages as a supervisor. He, then, would
remain jobless after that. His important position in the Vanniyar Association,
his close ties with the district secretary Kuralmani, who used to visit his
house often, and his proximity to Doctor Ayya—all had made his father have
immense respect and regard for him.
Above all, the photo depicting his son and Doctor Ayya never
failed to make him feel inexplicable elation every time he saw it.
With one of his legs stomping on the ground, Sikamani,
sitting on his bicycle near the doorway, asked, “Periyappa, is Annan at home?”
Before Ranga Padaiyachi opened his mouth, Kayambu jumped in
and replied, “He has just come home after some work outside and is now having
his bath. Please have a seat here.” She brought a folded chair that was kept
leaning on the wall and went in.
“Only we both had gone to Vadalur.”
In some time, Arivazhagan called out to Sikamani from inside.
“Sika…”
“I am coming,” Sikamani went in. There, found banners pasted
all over the walls, almost in every corner. The wall posters with the portrait
of Doctor Ayya and some yellow flags were found strewn around the floor. “Could
you see lime powder, a broom, and a painting brush?” Arivazhagan’s voice coming
from inside hurried him up.
“It is above the wall near the window." When Kayambu was
replying, standing at the entranceway, they heard the sound of something
falling on the ground at the doorway that caused a mild jolt in them. All
turned to see Keeraiyan standing there. Keeraiyan dropped down the bundle of
date palm stalks from his head to the ground, visibly angry all over, and went
near to Kayambu with a complaint. “Periyayi, I just leave it to your judgment.
My livelihood is dependent on selling baskets and plates made of these date
palm stalks and climbers”. Kayambu could make out what could have happened when
she noticed Keeraiyan speaking with his headscarf, which looked almost similar
to his loincloth dangling at his waist, on his shoulder. It did appear that
Ranganatha Padaiyachi was also searching for some suitable words that would
match Keeraiyan’s anxiety. Trying hard to control her laughter, Kayambu was all
in her ears.
“Last week, I identified some good number of vines and creepers
amidst the date palm stalks in the field. When I went there today with a plan
to collect them to make at least four or five baskets, to my dismay, I saw them
completely razed. Overtly confused as to who might have been that person who
could do better than me in Veppankurichi, I just traced it only to land up here
where the sapling protectors are being made. Here I see our elder potter is
making those sapling protectors.”
Hardly had the words spilled out of his mouth, Ranganatha
Padaiyachi jumped up and swung his scythe across as if to chop off Keeraiyan’s
head. “You bugger, you have flattened everything in my field. And now, you have
come with a complaint against me. Haven’t you?”
Keeraiyan slouched and smiled, faking fear. Kayambu and
Arivazhagan, who came out that time casually, laughed. “Keeraiya, on every
visit this side, your day will never be complete if you don’t dig his mouth to
bring out foul words and get scolded for your impudence. Won’t it? Kayambu
said and went in.
There were only two potter families—Keeraiyan’s and his
brother’s—in Veppankkurichi. They used to make baskets and winnow. They had
their houses built along the road that ran to South Vellur. Their livelihood
was intertwined with the villagers almost like siblings of the same mother.
***Ended****
