They were on the main road that led from Senkundroor to Odaiyur. To get to Kattuppatti, they would have to walk another mile. He kept explaining the different routes and places to her. The chatter helped him keep his anxiety in check. Though she sensed that he was describing the village’s layout and other things, her attention began to drift. She had exhausted herself thinking about what might have transpired in her town, and now her mind was muddled with questions about what could happen here. All night, her imagination had terrorized her with the thought that policemen would intercept them any minute and take her away from Kumaresan. Even now, she was seized by that fear, and she kept looking about warily.
When nothing of that sort happened during their journey, she wondered if her kin had considered it good riddance and poured water over their heads as a mark of disowning her forever….. Had all these years of familial bonding meant nothing? Why hadn’t they come looking for her? Despite her fears of being separated from Kumaresan, she would have been somewhat comforted if someone had come after them, even if it was the police. Now all she had was the emptiness of knowing no one was looking for her. After all this, could she ever go back there? And would anyone embrace her and welcome her back if she did? They would just say, ‘You left. You should have stayed away.’………
Suddenly, from within one of the huts, there came a wail, and an aggrieved voice lashed out at them: ‘You have smashed my head with a rock!’ Saroja looked up to see a slender figure in a white sari standing before them, her hair undone and her hands raised in the air. Kumaresan’s mother, Marayi. …..Saroja did not have the strength to look at her.
Marayi hit Kumaresan on his chest in protest. ‘Is this why I sent you to work in a different place?’ she demanded. ‘I had thought my son would earn some money and walk with his head held high among the people here. But he has thrown fire on me. If he had been killed in a road accident somewhere, I would have written it off as my destiny . . .I would have cried my heart out for eight days or so and been done with it. But now he has given me a reason to weep for the rest of my life!
Why did you do this? Why did you do this?’ She clutched his shirt in her fist and slapped him repeatedly, sometimes striking his cheek and sometimes his chest. And then, turning to Saroja, she screamed, ‘What did you do to bewitch my son? How many men have you done this to?’… ‘You can’t fool us like this, Mapillai. There will definitely be a village meeting in a few days. We don’t know what the village is going to say. Just be careful. Or . . . like I suggested, take her back and leave her there. You can go once a month and give her some money for expenses.’ ‘We will see about it, Maama,’ said Kumaresan.
Would he listen to them? Would he actually take her back and leave her there? She was fine with going back as long as he stayed there with her. Her father and brother wouldn’t mind. But would he do it? He had told her that she was the only thing in Tholur he was attached to. ‘Had I not met you, I wouldn’t have stayed here for so long. You are the reason I have remained in this stinky town.’ Hearing that had made her happy then, but now she thought it would have been better if he had liked her town………
A woman’s voice from nearby replied, ‘Same story. Who knows whom she ran away with?’ It felt as if something had flown in and hit Saroja on the face. She shrank and buried her face in the blanket. She could hear Kumaresan telling them that her mother had died when Saroja was still a child. Now another woman said, ‘Would she have run away like this had she been raised by a woman? She has been raised by a man. That is why she has gone astray like this.’…
Saroja was horrified. She had never heard such crude talk before. Her father and brother had never said a rude word to her. Nor had Kumaresan. His talk was smooth, like banana slipping in castor oil. He was adept at embracing her with his words. ‘Just tell us which caste she belongs to,’ said an exasperated male voice. ‘We can make sure there are no problems.’ ‘She is from our caste only, Maama.’
‘Stop saying that. When did our people migrate to those parts? Also, can’t we tell by just looking at her?’…………… Saroja felt like she’d been slapped. Another neighbour, Parvati, said to her, ‘Don’t you know Mythili only accepts things from people of certain castes?’ Until then Saroja had not thought much about caste. She could not believe that there were such people....‘It’s the caste that boasts so much without any reason to.’ ........ Her father used to say, ‘My daughter’s complexion takes after my mother. Who else in our family is so fair-skinned?
She is a piece of gold.’ After all that had happened, it was her fair skin that seemed to be earning her some respect. She had even begun to doubt if Kumaresan’s attentions would have drifted towards her had it not been for her fairness. But the colour of her skin was not going to be enough to survive in this village. She needed a lot more than that. The right caste, more than anything. That is what everyone asked her: ‘What is your caste?’ Kumaresan had told her very clearly to not say anything about her caste and that he would handle those queries. But now even he struggled in the face of such questions. How much worse would things get?
The shade of the tamarind trees on either side of the road comforted her… ..There was no one else on the road. A canopied road, she thought. One wouldn’t find a road like this in Tholur. The trees reached out with their arms from both sides of the road, as though holding her in an embrace. …. She asked him gently, ‘Where are you taking me?’ ‘Tell me where you want to go. I’ll take you there.’ ‘I only want to go back to my house. Take me there and leave me.’ ‘Did I go through all this trouble just to take you back? ….. One of his aunts exclaimed, ‘Oh! It is our No-ndi! He has come with his new wife to eat a feast here. Hey, you! Go get the batter ready for some snacks.’
Everyone smiled mockingly at them. They scrutinized Saroja—who sat on the veranda with her head bowed—from all angles. ‘Look at her!’ said one of the women. ‘She was not ashamed to elope with a man, but she is feeling shy now!’ Another one said, ‘If the people in Kattuppatti had any regard for their honour, they would have chased this donkey away by now.’………................................
Then appucchi spoke again. ‘Run away from here before your uncles return.
They want to hack you to pieces. They are very upset that the boy whom they raised has done something like this. Your uncles had plans to build you a tiled house on the rock and get you married to a nice girl. Couldn’t you find a girl in our village, from within our caste? We can’t even face our people. You have shamed us all. If your uncles see you now, they will hack you to death…….
After that, Saroja did not want to remain there for another minute. She pressed Kumaresan’s hand urgently, and he responded by getting up and walking out of appucchi’s veranda….
In the meantime, some one had gathered the plate and the things that lay scattered, and handed all of them back to Saroja. As they walked back ho me, pushing the bicycle along, the clamour of the festivities followed them for a long time.
Kumaresan and Saroja did not say anything to each other. In the oppressive silence, they could hear each other breathing. When they reached the rock, Kumaresan broke down. His mother, who was lying on a cot on the rock, chastised him. ‘You should have thought of this earlier! Where was your foresight then? Had it gone to eat shit?’
His whimpers ceased immediately. The rock and the fields lay spread out in all directions, but there was no spot where he could go and cry out his grief. He could not expect any support now from the same mother who had raised him lovingly all these years. ……………. Caste! Which caste is Soda Shop Bhai from? Wasn’t he the one who offered me the job? If he hadn’t done that, how could I have made some money? Which man from my caste came to my aid?
Kumaresan wanted to ask his mother all this. But thinking of her life as a young widow who had lived alone on this farmstead all these years and raised him all by herself, he didn’t say anything for a while out of respect.
But when he was unable to restrain himself any more, he finally said, ‘Amma, you keep pointing out everything you’ve done for me, but if you really loved me, would you stand in the way of my happiness? Let the people from the village say whatever they want to say. Who cares about the uncles and the other fools? You tell me, did you raise me with love?…. Who is she? If you had given birth to a daughter, this is how she’d be. You are a woman too. Don’t you understand that! Your love is not real.’
