|
| 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 30thJuly, 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)
