One Part Woman (13 page)

Kali was half-asleep on the cot under the portia tree when Muthu’s voice woke him up.

‘Welcome, mapillai. Have I made you wait for too long? These fellows never leave me alone. I had planned to stay put at home on this festival day, but who lets you be? You know Selvarasu, don’t you? He wanted me to go with him to select a bullock. It took us so long to finish that transaction. The bullock looked like it was quite used to pulling carts. But it had only two teeth. The fellow wouldn’t come down below forty rupees. We somehow agreed on thirty-five. All right, come. Let’s eat. You could have eaten. Why should you be waiting for me?’

It was only when the two were alone that Muthu addressed Kali in the friendly terms reminiscent of their childhood days. But when Kali was here, he was the son-in-law, and Muthu’s address shifted accordingly.

Kali rose from the cot, saying, ‘Oh, I didn’t mind waiting. And I dozed off.’

Portia leaves had been stitched together into a wide leaf
plate for them to eat from. At festival time, mendicants delivered stitched leaf plates to every home. But since they had a huge portia tree right in the front, the mendicants sat there in its shade and stitched their own leaves for them to use. So, they never ran out of these leaf plates.

Kali declined the snacks since he’d already eaten a lot of them. Muthu murmured in his ear, ‘Don’t eat too much. I have made other plans.’ In times like these, Muthu’s plans always excelled. He also didn’t hesitate to spend. ‘It is enough to leave a little for the children,’ he always said. ‘Don’t we have to live well? The children can fend for themselves.’

After lunch, they sat under the portia tree and chewed betel leaves. Since they’d been bought just the day before at the Tuesday market, the leaves were fresh. Kali’s mother-in-law was in the habit of chewing betel leaves every day. So, they always had enough at home. She wrapped the leaves in a white cloth and kept them on top of the water pot. She also wet the cloth two or three times a day so that the leaves wouldn’t wilt until the next week’s market.

‘Mapillai, now we can go out for a while, can’t we? I hope you have nothing planned,’ said Muthu. ‘Hang on a minute. We will leave soon,’ he added and rushed inside. Kali heard him tell his mother, ‘What, Mother? No, nothing at all.’

And then Kali heard his mother-in-law chastising Muthu, ‘Why couldn’t you come back sooner? These two are all over each other as if they just got married, and I got tired having to call Ponna to help me here. Nothing got done here. Anyway. I will take care. You fellows go.’
Muthu also said goodbye to Ponna who was arranging the pots and pans.

He rushed back to Kali and said, ‘Come!’

Bored and lonely from sitting under the portia tree for so long, Kali was now ready to go out. In his barnyard, there was always some work to do. He felt that the most difficult thing to do was to do nothing at all. He knew Muthu had a knack for finding secret hideouts in the forest, and that he would also have furnished them with all that was needed whenever he spent time there.

There was a rocky patch in the elevated section of the fields. It was quite rugged and in the gaps between the huge rocks, giant trees stuck out forming bridges across the two rock faces. Only very rarely did someone go in there to defecate. And they were always afraid. But Muthu had a hideout even there, deep inside. There was a palm tree atop a pile of rocks, and he had worked using the rocks right below that palm tree. He had nudged them away with a crowbar and cleared a circular spot where five people could easily sit and two could lie down. But his genius lay in the way he had laid palm fronds on the trees that lay over the gap right above them, forming a bridge between the two rocks. Not only did this give them the much-needed shade but also served as a perfect decoy: for anyone who looked from above, it simply seemed as though the palm fronds had just fallen in the wind.

And all that Muthu needed was hidden in the crevices in the rocks: chilli, salt, a lead wok with a broken crimp, a mud pot—everything needed to run a small family. A rat, a
bandicoot, a quail or a partridge would get fried in there now and then. Secret places were Muthu’s happy places.

When Muthu took him in there once, Kali said, ‘Dey, machan, why do you have this space? Which woman do you bring here?’

‘Nothing like that, mapillai. People can spot if anyone comes and goes. Only I come here. You know my father, don’t you? This is where I come to escape him,’ Muthu replied.

Once, when they were preparing the land for sowing peanuts, Muthu bought a large pitcher of toddy and hid it in one spot. Two ploughs were working on the land. Once in a little while, Muthu ran to the rocky patch and while returning to the field, he made a show of tightening his loincloth and said, ‘My stomach’s upset.’ But how many times could they halt the ploughing? Annoyed, his father ran after Muthu the next time he took off, and discovered his secret spot.

‘Are you a rat?’ he laughed. ‘You have made a hideout in this little nook.’

After that, everyone started visiting the spot, if only to marvel at Muthu’s genius. So he had to abandon that spot, but it was not as if there was a dearth of possible secret locations there.

There was certainly one spot that he’d had since childhood, which no one had been able to discover. Only Kali was privy to it. The elevated fields ended at the stream, the edge of which was bordered by ten large, fully grown neem trees. On one of those trees, Muthu had fastened two of the branches together to form a loft and had completed it using long stalks,
ropes and plaited palm fronds. To an outsider, it would just look as though the neem branches had entwined. He could spend days and nights over there. He had also furnished the place with all the things he needed. Though he could not really cook there, he could pretty much do everything else he wanted to. If there was an argument or a fight at home, he would run away and spend at least a night and a day there. On one such occasion, they had looked for him everywhere, without any luck. After a whole night and a day, he returned home as if nothing had happened. But they still hadn’t been able to locate this spot.

When Kali said, ‘You should have been born a crow or a cuckoo,’ he replied, ‘I would have been much happier that way, you know.’

Muthu too had a barn, but it was his father who was the master there. He always remarked when he visited Kali’s barn, ‘Only children without their fathers around are the lucky ones.’

Remembering all this, Kali thought that they were now going to one such haven. But Muthu seemed to walk past all the fields. The sun had started going down, but in its slant it could be felt more sharply.

‘How much further?’

‘If you want to see a new place and taste new stuff, you should not mind such discomfort. Wait and see. You will hug me and give me a kiss!’ said Muthu.

Kali’s curiosity was piqued. He kept walking with Muthu past the barren lands.

Ponna’s parents got busy as soon as Kali and Muthu left. ‘We are late,’ they said to Ponna and rushed her to get ready.

Before he left, Muthu came into the house and said to Ponna, ‘We two will be fine. You go, Ponna. Think of god in your mind.’ She had stepped out eagerly to say bye to Kali. He raised his eyebrows and smiled at her seductively. He wouldn’t talk to her when they were in a crowd or even when there was anyone else around. But he would communicate everything to her with his facial expressions. His eyebrows would arch and talk to her; the curve of his lips would contain his message for her; and just a nod of his head would let her know what he wanted. It was only she who was afraid that someone would catch them at this game. She was surprised that her brother had managed to speak to Kali and get his permission for this. After walking a little distance, Kali turned to look at her. She stood right there, since she knew he would do that. She sent him off with a shy smile.

A little while after their departure, a bullock cart pulled up in front of the house. There was hay spread on the cart
for her and her mother to sit on. In the sack tied under the cart, there was some fodder for the bull and two coarse mats. Her mother had packed some food, and it was now next to her on the hay.

Ponna hadn’t known her mother had packed food for the way, though she had been with her all day long. She must have soaked tamarind and made the rice when Ponna was busy with Kali.

‘When did you manage to pack the food, Amma?’ said Ponna.

‘You two are all over each other like you just got married. You talk through signs. In the middle of all this, where do you have the time to pay attention to what I am up to?’ her mother replied. ‘If there is a child, it will teach you some modesty,’ she added. ‘Well, at least now your husband had the good sense to say yes. Pray that this time it should all go well.’

Ponna heaved a sigh of relief. When she had menstruated in the first month after the wedding, her mother-in-law sniggered in displeasure and turned her face away. Since then, the snigger had continued every month until that day. Nothing had happened to change that. But now, Ponna was going with her blessings. It was Kali’s change of mind that was surprising to her. Perhaps it was because her brother and Kali were friends since childhood. That’s why his words had had some effect.

In a very short while, the bullock cart reached the main road. Huge tamarind trees lined the road that ran between Tiruchengode and Erode. From the point where their mud path met this main road, they saw that it was already lined
with bullock carts. Traffic was quite bad even on days when people went to see the chariot, but nothing compared to this day. Their cart too inserted itself into the line. They saw there were a lot of carts without roofs and which had only hay spread on them. There were only one or two bullock carts that had a covered box to sit in. In all of these, men, women and children were packed tight. Both mother and daughter felt strange that it was only their cart that was not crowded.

Every cart carried stacks of grass and fodder for the bulls. They could even hear the crowing of hens and roosters from under some of the carts. People would go see the gods that night and the next day they would offer pongal and sacrifice a rooster for the snake god in the forest. After they’d cooked and eaten, they’d wash and clean their utensils right there before leaving. Hundreds of roosters would be sacrificed the next day. Needless to say, it would be another crowded day in Tiruchengode.

Not only did the dust from the roads settle on their bodies, it also flew on to their faces and made it hard to breathe. People walking by the side of the carts did not mind this even one bit. They carried on as if the dust was nothing but holy ash smearing itself on them. Taking a cue from her mother, Ponna covered her face with her sari. It looked like her mother was wearing a faded sari. Maybe this was the best one she had. However tirelessly she worked in the fields, she was unable to wear good clothes. Nor was she keen on doing that.

Ponna remembered a story from last year. Apparently, when people went to Pallipalayam with the carts to trade in
hay, a man came to conduct an auction for them. They did not want to get into an auction, so they all bought a sari each. Ponna was now wearing the sari that Kali had bought her from that sale. He always preferred light-coloured saris. She loved this one—a light sandalwood colour—and she was now concerned about it getting caked with dust. Thankfully, after a little distance, women were sprinkling water from either side of the road, helping the dust settle. This was a service that people from the villages along the road took on during the festival season.

There were also water pandals every few miles or so. They were made by plaiting palm fronds together and then fastening them with coconut fronds. Two or three carts pulled up in front of each of the pandals. Everyone could get as many pitchers of cold water as they needed. The Chakkiliyars, in deference to the upper castes, removed themselves to the other side of the pandals and drank water out of palm-fruit shells. Some of the pandals even had watery buttermilk in pots. This was like nectar to someone in thirst. Nothing could compete with that. Watching everyone around her, Ponna was filled with the excitement of a child.

The young men who drove the carts were keen on overtaking the carts ahead of them. Every time they managed to do that, all the young men and the children in that cart would shout and jeer at the one they overtook. All of this took a toll on the poor bullock that heaved, panted and struggled. Excitement pulsed through the entire stretch of the road. Ponna’s father drove slowly and carefully. It was enough if
they reached when there was still some daylight left. After all, there was nothing new about the festival that he needed to see after all these years. The last time he went was when he took little Ponna to see the festival. The years had rolled by. Now, looking at this crowd, Ponna had little doubt that all sorts of rules would be broken that night. Perhaps different rules applied to crowds?

Just like this road, the other roads that led to Tiruchengode from all the other villages around it would also bring in similar crowds. Would the four quadrangle streets hosting the Tiruchengode chariot festival suffice to accommodate these thousands of people pouring in? Just for this day, the town would expand into the distant lands surrounding it. The noise of the crowds continued to ring in her ears.

Her father stopped the cart at a water pandal. It was in the village of Karumagoundampalayam. They could get watery buttermilk there! They only said it was watery, but it turned out to be excellent buttermilk. If you drank a small pitcher full of this, it would relieve not only your thirst but your hunger too. Nearby, there was also a large tank filled with water for the cattle. While the passengers were busy drinking the buttermilk, some of the drivers unharnessed their bullocks and took them for a drink of water.

All of these were acts of service that people from the villages along the road took upon themselves. These pandals lasted the entire duration of the festival. On some days, you could get not only water and buttermilk, but also panagam, sweetened with jaggery. All the palm-tree climbers of that
village made sure that enough Karuppatti jaggery was available to make panagam in large vessels. When they were heading back to the cart, a man approached them. He was wearing a dhoti around his waist and had a folded towel under his arm. When he said, ‘Samee …’ Ponna’s father turned around. ‘What?’ He could tell that the man was a Chakkiliyan.

He said, ‘Samee, the little ones are unable to walk. If you can give us a little space in your cart, you will be blessed.’

‘Where will you sit?’ Ponna’s father asked.

‘Samee, you go to the back and sit restfully on the hay. I will drive the cart and have these three sit next to me.’

‘Are you a good driver?’

‘Samee, I work for the Periyagounder’s farm at Periyapalayam. My name is Maran. You can ask him. Everyone speaks highly of my work, samee. I will be gentle on the bulls. You will have nothing to fear.’

‘All right. Come. Get in carefully,’ said Ponna’s father, handing over the reins to Maran. Moving the bull on the right slightly aside, Maran climbed on to the driver’s spot. Then he lifted his two little children and made them sit. His wife was a little on the heavier side. She hoisted herself up by placing one foot on the pivot of the wheel and sat herself behind her husband, making sure she did not touch anyone sitting on the hay spread. Since now an entire family was to the front of the cart, the weight imbalance bothered the bullocks. So, Ponna’s father moved further to the back to make it easier for them. Now they also had people to talk to.