| 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 chair, who was found almost laying
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 at 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 walk. Sometimes
Usmani would visit the field at the time his son was working there. Ponacha
would be busy teasing women working in 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 task master 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 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 early morning before sun rise 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 with a girl’s dresses that she had
borrowed somewhere and had kept photographs of him in girl’s attire.
The words “Appar Kodava
Samaj” inscribed on the top of function hall standing in the front were
looking pale, and some of them were seen partly deleted while looking at them
from 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, 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 be it
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 kettle drum, got them further 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, 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 by
Rasaya in with utmost servility, Usmani adjusted Rasaya’s black cloak with a
sense of owning rights over the latter, and enquired, “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
compromise our age old traditions just because the youngsters don’t believe in
it. Can we?”
“Never…Rasaya…We should never
compromise. Her stay outside for a long time for studies might have caused
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 row in that capacious hall. He glanced at the persons
sitting near, stroked his grey eye brows with a mild smile on his lips.
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
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 for it- his voice
became softer and tender. Binu pulled her veil covering her head, 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 is 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 wash room, 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.
Cigarette was 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 it. Shortly after this, 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. Making of cocktail 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 which he loved most and danced to its rhythm at once the
musician started playing it. He corrected the persons 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 make
up all over, both the boy and the girl were made sit near to each other. Mehanti
paste was kept on a silver plate in the front along with some broken twigs.
Every one picked up those twigs one after the other, took out the paste a bit
with its tip and 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 bride groom’s
palm. He glanced at her, wiggling his face with the sharp pain it caused. “This
pain is nothing. I can give a hair pin 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
bride groom 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, 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. Aint 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 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 one
girl around here? If not she, 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 of 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 sit together and were draped with a silk cloth
from neck to knee. Rice was kept near 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 the turn of
Usmani, he took off his ring and wore it in 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 his rubber urine bladder bulged under his dress by touching
it and got convinced with it. He drank a glass of decoction too, which was kept
there for people to drink once they got relieved of hangover of 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 crying. 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, 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 have 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 it what 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...Ain’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 face like a
bout when he opened windows. The edges of mountain peaks at the distance were
visible indistinctly. The light at the top of 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 cold due to the effect of
liquor. Those who got relieved of their hangover of 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 which had just escaped the light fell into
liquor, and was struggling to come out of it. Shakeela was made 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 of dance didn’t diminish. When he was about to fall on Shakeela
a couple of times due to uncontrollable speed of steps, her friend Shashiv came
forward to stand in front of Shakeela. After knowing the name of bridegroom’s
younger brother from others, Usmani shouted, “Don’t leave Sukhirth…Don’t even
spare a feet 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 home. But Sukhrith rejected it, and 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 anymore 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 not he became 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 bridegroom were trying their best to keep
the bride wait as much long time 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 gutter,
Usmani told, “Please give way to her. Poor girl. How long more 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 a name of his
favourite liquor and ordered her to bring it. He moved a bit on one side by a
foot away in a bid to make his mother hear what he wanted to convey, he called
her out aloud and told, “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 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 face had become pale. He massaged the cracks on his lips with
tongue.
“You don’t have to attend that
marriage. It is the marriage which 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 stem. The
earth around those trees was found clean, with water sprinkled in it. The crowd
thronged to trees. A person claiming himself 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 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 for each time a tree was sliced. The bridegroom was standing near to the
trees, watching them anxiously that they should be cut down without getting
struck. Usmani waited till all trees allotted to the bridegroom 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 his 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
swaying with the swiftness of his moves speckled laughter around there. Both
men and women laughed their heart out holding their stomach, were struggling to
control their laughter. Due to the gush of laughter, even the drummers could
not beat their drums. Sticking the trumpet on 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 hunt nurtured carefully. He raised the sword on one side. Panted. Breath
became irregular. The bridegroom was standing with his hands raised in a bid of
being ready to give signal to the magnificent display of music once the last
tree was chopped off. With their senses completely focused on, every one was watching the sword swung at last, flashed like a lightning, and drove
deeply into the bridegroom’s abdomen.
