“Payasam” by Thi. Janaki Raman

 

*This is an English Translation of “Payasam ¹”, a short story written by Thi. Janaki Raman. Translated from Tamil by K. Saravanan. This is 35^th English Translation in the Classic Tamil short stories series.

Thi. Janaki Raman

   Samanathu stood in front of the podium under the Peepal tree, looked at the lord Ganesh made of stone. Gently patted his temple. Under the guise of Thoppu karanam ², he held his ears and simply displayed a mild jerk in his body up and down.

He felt that someone was telling into his ears: ‘You could very well fold your knees fully, sit and then stand for at least four times. Couldn’t you? Who else has the strength that you have? You are not like Subbarayan who is destined to be permanently sick in life. Are you? You don’t suffer from joint aches, blood pressure and spinning head like Subbarayan. Do you?’ No one has actually uttered anything to him. It was he who was speaking to himself. His inner voice further told him, “It is true that I am seventy seven years old and Subbarayan is sixty six years old. So what? But who, among us, will be assessed seventy seven? Will it be I or he? Will it be just enough if someone is able to earn fifteen or twenty lakh rupees? Will he be able to get this kind of rock solid chest like the bottom of coconut leaf stalk? Will he be able to get this kind of thick, stone like muscles in hands and calf? What sort of marriage is he conducting? Stupidity! The entire world has been invited for it. Hasn’t it? With all these fanfare with drums, tying the Thali ³, getting the last daughter married off, and sending everyone off with the bundles of cooked rice, what the hell are you going to do after that? You would just sit and eat the wheat porridge and swallow some medicine tablets, and wipe your body with the hot water as much as you like. Wouldn’t you? Would you be able to come even for a day like this to the Cauvery ⁴, swinging your hands and legs, to take a bath?’

Samanathu looked around. The Peepal tree leaves were speaking something gently, rustling. Men, women and children alike who had already taken bath that side of the river and those who were on their way to take bath this side of the river, were going past the narrow lane that led to the river Cauvery. Three fourth of them were unknown faces- with silk sarees and empty pots while going and wet sarees sticking to their body and pots filled with water while coming back- Sand particles sticking to the wet soles, dotted like pepper balls. Like tender greens stem, a child, of five or six years, came nude after bathing. Having changed their dresses on the river bank itself after bathing in the Cauvery, some wearing faded blue Salem silk bordered dhoties were coming. Three fourth of them weren’t known faces.

“Isn’t all for marriage?” a loud query. That faded blue dhoti asked.

“Yes” samanathu replied, looking at his face with tons of questions in his eyes. He asked him in his mind: ‘Why are you shouting like this? Do you think I am deaf?’

“Aren’t you able to identify me?” that embroidered Dhoti asked him again. “It’s me. Brother in law of Sita, Madhurai”

“O…Is it? Yes…yes…Now I could identify. I couldn’t make out in a single glance. The food stuff hasn’t been made yet. Please go there. You might have travelled throughout the night in the train.” Samanathu displayed his hospitality.

“He…is Subbarayan’s chithappa ⁵. Being the eldest of the family, he is the one who is looking after everything” The Madurai Dhoti introduced him to another washed dhoti standing nearby. He, then left.

“He is the one….” He started adding up some more, introducing him further.

“You please go…I will come in a while after bathing” Samanathu sent them off.

His voice from inside said: “Brother in law of Sita? Subbaraya!...How were you able to give birth to seven girls?  For each girl’s marriage you are bringing train full of your relatives, sons in law and brothers in law. Before I step into the Cauvery River, I don’t know how many brothers-in-law am I going to encounter?’

Leaving the Peepal tree, he started walking towards the river Cauvery, making the ground shake. Tucking up the end piece of his waist cloth in his waist, he was wearing a Kachcham ⁶   folded up to his knees. A double fibred towel on his right shoulder, open rocky chest, hollow stomach, eyes without over growth of eye muscles and fully functional ears- Samanathu glanced all of them once by himself.

Before his feet touched the Cauvery river bed, he could hear the sound of Thavil ⁷ from the street, followed by Nagaswaram ⁸. ‘Muhoortham ⁹ had been fixed after half past ten. The time isn’t even eight. But these guys have started hitting the drums. They need to while away their time soemhow. Don’t they? In the very similar manner, Subbarayan too gave birth to seven girls without knowing how to while away his time. Didn’t he?’

The water was flowing in three fourth of the river’s spread. Remaining part of the river was sand. He was tramping, with his heavy steps on sand.

The sound of drums was heard feebly at the distance. They might call him. Elder of the family. ‘Subbarayan would come to him, addressing him as Chithappa…Chithappa…If not he, his brothers would call me so- as if I am making everyone dance to my tunes. Let them call…’

Samanathu looked around- to his left.

Across the river there seemed to be a bridge looking anew. It was a new bridge. ‘Is it Subbarayan who is walking there? No…No…. Many people are walking over there. Lorries are moving. Loaded carts are moving. Pedestrian walk over there- everything bears the resemblance of Subbarayan. Even trucks and bulls look like him’. It was Subbarayan who brought that bridge to the town. Had he not been there, the bridge would have been built somewhere forty kilometre away from there. Such was his influence in the government.

At the rear side of his right- in the Vellalar Street- smoke was coming out- the smoke emanating from jaggery making. ‘On the other side, the field of Johnson grass with flowers- half of those flowers were found blossomed like coral flowers shining in the morning sun light. They look like Subbarayan while looking at them closely. It was subbarayan who brought sugar cane to that town. Opposite to the town, other side, these smokes, and sugarcane industry smoke- everything was brought by Subbarayan. Yonder, that school, it was also by Subbarayan. That cooperative society beside the bridge- again by Subbarayan’.

“Why are you burning with jealousy? Isn’t he your elder brother’s son? It is now nearly twenty years I came to this house after marrying you. Half of the days, either it was old watery rice of previous day or some Vatha Kuzhambu ¹⁰ and this coral mound- I didn’t enjoy anything other than these. Did I? Were you and your brother able to send even that four rupees of monthly wages to Subbarayan? You had brought him telling that he was your relative and got him educated at the rock fort, praising him that he was very good at studies. Didn’t you? Were you and your elder brother able to complete at least his education? With your futile attempt of making him jump off three fourth of the well, you had dragged him home during the final year, discontinuing everything. He came back, angry, roamed around and became feeble. Then the goddess of wealth came to him, danced in his family…”

Samanathu was no longer willing to listen to this rant. It was his wife’s voice. Now he was able to listen to it in the air. Around seven or eight years ago, he had heard her in person.

‘It was true that I couldn’t get him educated. He came to the town. Then ran away. Went to the fort and started a career of an accountant. Picked some fights there. He borrowed some amount from one of the customers of the shop, and established a grocery shop with the half of the share as profit. Whether it was it his sheer luck or his face or his character, no one knew. His shop grew leaps and bounds, became a whole sale shop from a petty shop. Procured paddy. Black grams and pulses in trucks and amasses wealth of twenty lakh rupees in twenty years. He had purchased one fourth of the land in the local village itself.

He divided his own earnings and gave the half of it to Samanathu. Samanathu was angry as his part fell outside the village. Not only that, it was lying far beyond the river bed too. He fought with him. Only at that time Valambal told him, “What the heck it is! Is it your rightful demand? Or is it your grandfather’s property? Or has your father earned it? It was all his single handed earnings and he has given it to you as he has regards for his Chithappa. Your complaints sound just as frivolous as your complaints about a cow you have received as a charity not having proper teeth and tail. You better shut your mouth and accept whatever he gives. If the people come to know about it, they will laugh at you. Had I been one among the village elders….”

“Even otherwise, you are now a different woman. Aren’t you? On seeing you the way you dance, talking in favour of him I am unable to make out whether you are my wife or my elder brother’s wife”

“Thooo…enough…enough of your nonsense” Valambal moved aside.

“mhha…a sound of laughter like a cow came out of his throat pit- a laughter of pride. A pride with stupidity. Then he followed Valambal, trying to coax her. “Don’t be angry dear…I just checked how your heart responds to it”

“Enough of it…Please don’t talk to me”

For next three days, Valambal didn’t speak to him- for this stupid mischief.

There was no property dispute till she died. Now the property was divided. He had accepted it too…Now what next?....”

But he couldn’t get the whole of his share. Samanathu’s Valambal was not alive in this world now. The first two children she gave birth were not alive now. The third one was a girl- she was also no more. Fourth one was a girl- she lost her husband in the third year of her marriage and now settled in her mother’s home. Wearing a brown linen saree, she left her husband’s home and came back to her mother’s home. As per the family tradition, they shaved her head off and got her wear brown silk saree. Her marriage took place on the same stage along with Subbarayan’s third daughter’s marriage.  

Fifth was a boy- a painter living in Delhi. Sixth one was boy- he was attending to the nuptial errands in the marriage of Subbarayan’s seventh daughter like a domestic help. It was he who had hurried him up to take bath in the Cauvery, telling him, “Please go and take bath quickly. Who else is here as elder other than you?”

Samanathu tied his towel around his waist, put a knot in it, got into the water, plunged into water fully, and wiped his body.

A bus was going on the bridge. One bundle of banana leaves, a bicycle, four or five bales and a bundle of sugar cane were kept on the luggage carrier of the bus- everything bore the name of Subbarayan. ‘I want to strangle that fellow by his neck, shaking him till his eye balls come out…..and putting all the women of his family into a rug sack…..and ’ he grinded his teeth.

‘You may throw them into the Cauvery. Only then you can be doomed for ever in the hell without being able to come out of it. Go there immediately’

It was she…She…it was Valambal. Yonder, it looks like her on the black washing stone. Dark in complexion. Wavy hair. String of corals. Thick stud. Body without blouse. Medium built. Many a time he had come to the river, took bath at a distance while she was taking bath in the Cauvery. He had groped her as if he was looking at an unknown woman through the corner of his eyes. ‘That day, while changing the wet saree, struggling to cover her waist and calf, standing in the empty space of the river bed, he was ogling at her; at that moment she glanced at him, the way he became shy as if he was someone not related to her- everything is still visible! Why did she leave for heavenly abode well before me?’

“He gave you half of what he had earned and shared the remaining part with his brother. Even his children would get very little as their shares. Then why are you burning with so much of jealousy?” she shook him on that day, washing him off in the Cauvery river.  

‘A colossal being! She stood for what is called righteousness till her last breath. Didn’t she? What a sense of rectitude! You have kept me as a human being, my dearest. Haven’t you? Now you have left me” he mumbled. Tears rolled down his eyes. Turned back. The next washing stone was somewhere afar. No one could have heard him. Even if they had heard, it would have sounded like slogas.

‘Narmade Sindhu kaveri..’ he murmured slogas, wrenched his dhoti, wiped his body, wrenched his loin cloth, rinsed it and tied it around and started walking after smearing vibhoothi ¹¹ on his body. (Subbarayan would keep calling him fondly Chithappa …Chithappa. Poor fellow!)

Nayanam and Thavil were approaching near. He stood in front of the Peepal tree podium, worshipped Lord Ganesh and stone cobras and left hurriedly. He entered the street. The whole village was sparkling like a new bride. New sarees, jewels, reddened feet, fair complexioned calf muscles and faces frequented each households. At some verandas, some were playing cards. The street was full of persons wearing neatly washed dhoties. Every corner of it echoed the chaotic noises of children.

“So grand of a marriage to attest Manaluran’s name” Samanathu mumbled with himself. His family did not belong to that village. Three generations ago, his ancestors emigrated from Manalur in search of livelihood in priesthood job, settled here in a small hut at the corner of Agraharam¹². But now, it had acquired its own land in the form of houses in the middle of street itself. Yet the title, ‘Manalur’ didn’t leave them. How could his pride that resulted after subduing the locals not manifest itself in Samanathu’s eyes and walk at that moment? Let it be visible for everyone in that village to see.

Both his house and Subbarayan’s house were standing adjacent to each other like brothers. With the canopy covering both the entrances, both the verandas were full of crowds wearing new dhoties. Inside the halls, were there flowers, beds, noises of children and trunk boxes.

He walked past, went inside, wore his dhoti, went to the back yard, washed off his feet came back, and sat on prayer. Earlier, the pictures of Lord Krishna, Lord Ram and Lord Ganesh would hang on the walls of that room in a row. Now, Lord Ram, Lord Krishna and Lord Ganesh were sitting in the Almira of the prayer room. The paintings drawn by Mathu were now hanging on the walls.

Mathu- was his third son. He didn’t come to attend the marriage. He wouldn’t be able to attend every marriage of subbarayan’s progeny. Would he?  

“Appa”

It was his daughter who called him. She was standing with her linen saree, covering her head.

“They are going to call upon the bridegroom and change the garlands. The procession for ‘parting mendicant’ is about to start. Please go there. You may conduct your prayers tomorrow.” She told him.

“It is ok…It is ok…I will come in a while. You may leave now.”

She looked up to him. Stood bewildered.

“Why don’t you leave now? Haven’t I told you that I would come in a while? Only this work I have”. His last words didn’t fall into her ears.

Tonsured head. She was thirty one years old. Youthfulness of twenty got exhibited both in her cheeks and eyes.

“I told you to leave. Didn’t I? You go. I will be there”

She left, gently closing the door. He felt that something was burning up to his neck.

He looked around. Everywhere the paintings drawn by Madhu. Looked at them intently. He felt laughing. In one painting, it was nothing but a full knee with an eye and a comb inserted in it. Another painting looked like a girl. One of its legs was a pig’s leg. She showed the interiors of stomach, tearing it apart. Four knives, a milk tin and a baby curled body were there inside. Another one was a lotus flower. A slipper was kept on it. The half of the slipper had a moustache drawn on it.

‘What nonsense are these?’ he stood stunned at seeing them, and kept watching them with his mind lost in one point. ‘Legs are aching. Aching legs…to me. Alas!’

The sound of drums.

“Appa…they are calling you” linen head peeked into once again. Such a small face.

“Yes…I am leaving”

“Chithappa…where have you gone?”

It was Subbarayan’s voice. A panting voice. Hunch back.

The bride and bride groom exchanged their garlands. It was said that watching them along with the swing, would bring one all the gains of the Punya ¹³ of having a glance of Parvathi- Parameswaran and Laxmi- Narayanan. Even the widows from that village were standing at all nooks and corners. Everyone was laughing, showing their teeth everywhere. Broken teeth, stained teeth with dirt, corroded teeth, widowed teeth, toothless teeth. Even the cook was also present there.

‘Kannoonjalaadi nindraar…’

Nayanam player played that ‘song’ -in-swings.

Samanathu felt asphyxiated. He moved from there silently. He walked along the back yard to get some fresh air. The hall was completely empty with none, not even a fly or crow. Going past back yard entrance, was there the last yard. No one was there. Gigantic ovens were burning with flames. The fire was thick. Everything was boiling in cauldrons. Behind the jute sack curtain, one boy, oil skinned with dirty poonool ¹⁴ was cutting cucumber. No sign of any living being around there. Parvathi and Parameswaran were busy exchanging their garlands.

On this side of the gigantic stoves, a huge cauldron was kept on a platform. Waist height- up to abdomen level, Payasam was kept inside. Its aroma, coming out. Grapes and cashew nuts were floating on its surface. How could they lift it and keep it on that platform? It could be lifted only when two persons lifted it like a palanquin with the help of wooden sticks inserted into its upper rings. The quantity of Payasam was sufficient for nearly four or five hundred persons.

‘I can turn it upside down single-handedly.’

Samanathu held his breath, pulled the cauldron on one side with his both hands, flipped it on one side. ‘Poooo….very simple task…Next second, the waist height cauldron flipped it sky-looking mouth on one side and fell flat onto the ground. The Payasam flowed into the gutter.

The cucumber cutting boy came running.

“Grand pa…Grand pa…”

Samanathu felt as if sand is crawling on his face and skin.

‘This fellow comes running with Arival Manai ¹⁵ in his hand. Doesn’t he?’  

His hands and legs started shivering. Tongue lost its balance.

“You fools! Where have you all gone leaving this big rat swim in the payasam? You have made this much Payasam just to feed this gutter. Haven’t you? You scoundrels! Don’t you have even a plate to close it?”

A servant maid came running towards him.

“O! My elder Master! What happened?”

“Amaandi….Hadn’t your elder master seen, all would have got payasam with a rodent. Get lost from here. Go, play in swings with your garlands”

Another five or six persons came running.

That liner clad girl also came running, covering her head.

The servant maid explained everything to her.

“Appa…how could you topple this big cauldron?”

A shade of gloom spread across her body, tender milky face.

“Get away from here…a sharp shout came out from him. “Hadn’t I been there, you all would have got rat poison, not payasam.”

The girl threw a pricking stare at him. Can an eye carry such a bush of thorns in it?

Samanathu couldn’t face that bush. He turned his head, and yelled, “Where is that stupid cook?...he left the place and went towards the hall.

Pe…pe…pe…pe…

Pae…pae…pae…pae…

The Nayanam was playing the swing-song in Anana Bhairavi raga.

It seemed that Valambal was singing that song.

                                                   ***The End***

Note:

1.      Payasam: A sweet porridge made of rice powder.

2.      Thoppukaranam: A way of worshipping by doing ‘sit-ups’, holding one’s ears.

3.      Thali: A sacred yellow colour thread worn around a woman’s neck as a symbol of being married.

4.      Cauvery: River Cauvery, flowing in Tamil Nadu.

5.      Chithappa: Younger brother of one’s father.

6.      Kacham: A type of waist cloth worn by men.

7.      Thavil: a type of musical instrument made of hide.  

8.      Nagaswaram: a type of wind musical instrument.

9.      Muhurtham: an auspicious moment/ time.

10. Vatha Kulambu: a type of stew made of dried vegetables.

11. Vibhoothi: a sacred ash, applied on body and forehead.

12. Agraharam: a distinct residential area earmarked for Brahmins.

13. Punya: The good effects earned through good deeds.

14. Poonool: A sacred thread worn by some sections of people.

15. Arivaal Manai: A curved cleaver with a sharp edge facing the user, fitted on a wooded frame held down by legs, used for cutting vegetables.  

Translated from Tamil by K. Saravanan.

Source: ‘Payasam’, Short story written by Thi. Janaki Raman.