*This is an English translation of “Mirugam”, a short
story written by Vanna Nilavan. Translated from Tamil by K. Saravanan.
This is 36th English Translation in the Classic Tamil Short
stories series.
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| Vanna Nilavan |
There were nothing other than some dried wood sticks in the fibre basket. But, yet it weighed heavy. Keeping it on the ground, Sivanu Nadar sat upon a stone standing erect on the side. He felt disgusted with his own body odour. It had been more than seven or eight days since he last smoked Beedi. The stench of beedi was still lingering in his mouth.
The backyard entrances of all houses lying in a row
were silent. Four or five houses away, only one crow was seen, sitting on a mud
wall, staring at him. ‘While going to Maliayachi Amman Temple yesterday
morning, a crow flew across above the head’. It would have been at least three
days since he last saw a crow. Thinking that if the same crow was sitting on
the mud wall, he turned his face towards the opposite house.
A white dog was trying to open the back yard entrance
of the house, sneaking its face into the gap between the doors. The door opened
a bit and then closed again. Sivanu Nadar was equally happy and surprised. He
got up swiftly, walked towards his house. Hearing his footsteps, the dog turned
towards him, looked at him and resumed its effort to open the door again. He
bent down, groping for a stone. No stone was found nearby. He, then removed
some broken bricks, road metals from the mud wall which stood half damaged in
the rain and threw them at the dog. The dog ran away, and stood at a distance.
Before it ventured again to come into the house, he opened the door and got
into the house. Once he closed the door, he could hear the presence of the dog
near the door. After entering the house, he found himself greatly relaxed.
He had come to that house very frequently earlier. He
had attended to all the errands of marriage conducted in that house. It was a
house with just two halls. Next to the kitchen, there was a dining hall.
Outside the dining hall, there was a veranda with lattice.
It took time for him to see the things clearly in the
kitchen. The smell mixed with the ash in the oven came floating along with
darkness. After a while, he could see the things slowly. He opened the windows
above the oven. Nothing was there in the kitchen other than the ashes not yet
removed from the oven and a small bowl kept on the side.
The dining hall door was not kept closed, remained
open. The cloth used to close the mouth of granary standing in the rear of door,
was found lying below. He bent down, looked into the granary. Some grains of
paddy were found on the dust accumulated over there. He tried hard to move the
big wooden box that was lying locked near the granary. Some utensils fell down,
rolled down on the floor. Only one photograph with cobwebs was hanging above
the front entrance. He scrutinised everyone in the photograph intently. He knew
all of them very well. He felt uncomfortable to stand in that room after that.
When he was about to leave, he saw an old oval tin
behind the door opposite to the granary. He walked up to it, cravingly though,
to see it. He was happy to see ants going out of it. He lifted the tin box,
opened its lids and looked in it. Some jaggery powder was sticking to its
bottom. He could prepare coffee two times with it. He sat in front of the door,
placed the box on the floor and mildly tapped it. The ants scattered around
haphazardly. He could see the kitchen door opening a bit and then closing and
the black snout of the dog whenever the door gave away gap.
In a while, all the ants disappeared. He went near to the
door with the tin box, hid himself behind it. This time, when the dog tried to
enter, thrusting its face into the gap, he leaned against the door and pressed
hard with all his strength. An odd barking mixed with an unusual howling and
sound which he hadn’t heard before came from the dog. He was afraid that he
might let the door loose after hearing that unusual sound. After a strong jerk,
the door closed properly and got fixed with the entrance frame. He turned back,
stood looking at the door with fear. That odd sound with unusual howling kept
coming from outside and slowly waned after some time. There were drops of blood
on the door where the dog tried pushing its face inside. Still unable to come out
of his fear, he held the tin box tightly, stood for some time and then came out
of the house.
Outside the door, the nail-scratches of the dog when
it tried to pull its face back from the door gap were found haphazardly on the floor
and at the bottom of the door. The blood was still dripping, intermittently though.
The colour of the blood didn’t seem to be that of human. It was more viscous
and orange in colour. Lifting his head, when he looked yonder at the opposite side,
the same crow which he saw earlier was still sitting on a mud wall four or five
houses away, and kept staring at him. He swayed his hand along with the tin
box, trying to scare it off. No word came out from his mouth. The crow was
sitting without any movement. He bent down and picked up a broken brick which
he used to throw at the dog, and threw it at it. He expected that the crow
would fly away from there. But the crow just moved to another mud wall a couple
of houses away, sat there and kept staring at him again.
With an apprehension that the dog might be hiding
somewhere around, he threw his eyes all around as much as he could and carefully
walked towards his house. Seeing all the houses in that street kept closed sent
out a fear in him even in that broad day light. He thought that the dog might
attack him from some unknown corner. As a precaution, he walked in the middle
of the street so that he could run for shelter easily if the dog came in front
of him. While coming near to his house, he remembered his fibre basket.
Once he entered his house and closed the door
hurriedly, he felt a sort of calmness of mind which he had never experienced so
far. There were only three match sticks in the match box. As he was convinced with
a certainty that he could light fire with one stick, he started making all the arrangements
for lighting fire.
He didn’t go out of the house that evening and night.
When he woke up from sleep in the morning, he looked out of the window. The dog
was sitting there at the entrance.
***End***
Translated from Tamil by K. Saravanan
Source: “Mirugam”, a short story written by Vanna
Nilavan.
