Stories

The faceless woman – a short story by Su Samuthiram – 3

Pandian Ramaiah 1 Comment

Firewood should be cut for the public eateries known as oottuppura 1. Farmers should submit their bullock carts and bullocks to the adhikara kacheri 2.

At least half of the 120 services prescribed for the lower castes must be completed during the Maharaja’s visit, or they will face beheading. Unfortunately, they will not be compensated for their efforts, and not even a sip of porridge will be offered to them. Even the food wastage of oottuppura is off limits to them, as they are forbidden to go there. Refusal to serve will be met with severe punishment, and any delay in tax payment will result in being bowed down and forced to carry a heavy stone on their back. Even the sick and elderly are not exempt from this ‘obligation to serve’.

The men, with their rectangular ears hanging down to their shoulders, adorned by long lead earrings, their mundu not reaching below their knees, and their tufts of hair covering their scruff, ran away without uttering a single word. They shouted for help, screaming “Sudalamaada 4 come to my rescue! Kallimaada 4 come to my rescue!” Those without families ran to hide, while the family men sought to bribe the authorities in order to escape.

When the hamlet of Palm Huts heard the sound of rushing footsteps as a result of the outflux of people..,

The women, who had been talking in the street here and there, grinding corn in thirukai 5, pounding corn with an ulakkai 6 in ural 7, and chatting to each other while doing their daily chores, abandoned their tools and congregated together. They wore single sarees below the waist, reaching just to their knees, and were completely exposed above the waist.

The lead coils decorated their long ears like men. Apart from that, these women were renowned for their chests freely exposed to the air. As they aged, their breasts became plump like mangoes, withered like bitter gourds, and hollowed like the dried shell of a gourd.

Yesterday, these women, who were accustomed to seeing breasts as just another body part like arms and legs, felt a little embarrassed when they saw the woman in a blouse. She would occasionally appear in front of the palm tree hut, which served as the northern boundary of the southern row of cottages. They were also somewhat envious, wishing they could take off her blouse and put it on their own waist. Even the upper-caste women did not wear a blouse like hers, and instead wore girdles around their breasts. Sometimes, the shoulder strap was wrapped tightly around the back and another loop was attached around the waist. However, the woman in the blouse was wearing a kandanghi 8 saree, with floral designs folded into pleats above her breasts. When asked, she said it was a blouse, and ‘It’s the custom of our village’. She told them ‘You should also put it on’, as it was more important than wearing a mangalsutra. To befriend her might cause trouble, similar to the story of a mouse befriending a frog in order to learn how to swim…

  1. Public eatery house with free food – chatram
  2. Bureaucracy office
  3. A garment worn around the waist in the Indian states of Kerala
  4. Rural Hindu deities worshipped predominantly in South India.
  5. A grinding arrangement made in stone to grind small millets into fine flour.
  6. Threshing wood with its top and bottom covered with iron
  7. A stone machine to pound grains like rice, corn.
  8. Woven with thick and coarse cotton in Karaikudi, Tamil Nadu,

(to be continued)

This post is a part of the Blogchatter Half Marathon 2023 by https://www.theblogchatter.com/

The faceless woman – a short story by Su Samuthiram – 2

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The man struck his thandora with great force, echoing the ceremonial words about the King of Travancore. After each announcement, he hit ‘dum‘ thrice and finally ended with a bureaucratic beat – tamara.. tagara.. takka – that thundered through the hamlet.

Fifty or sixty huts, each around six feet tall, were lined up facing each other in the hamlet. Behind these rows were more tiered rows of huts, giving the appearance of a town. Each hut shared its mud walls with its neighbor. A narrow street of its own arose between the rows of huts on both sides, as if it had been created by divine intervention.

The men who were chatting in front of the Kallimaadan pedestal – which was covered with a triangular shape, and had fallen-off lime plaster patches and showing the boulder with red sand inside – looked at the sound of the thandora with panic. They looked to each other for comfort, overwhelmed by the thought of their unpaid taxes and their obligations to serve the king. Their shoulder-length ears hung in coils, swaying up and down in despair.

‘Obligation to serve’ means unpaid work. This service included cutting coconut leaves, tying them in bundles and carrying them for the king’s elephants, carrying horse-grams for his horses, dredging dried-up shrunken rivers called kaayal-s or ponds, offering coconuts, palmyra fruits and sprouts, millets, and carrying bags of salt from the salt-pans.

(to be continued)

This post is a part of the Blogchatter Half Marathon 2023 by https://www.theblogchatter.com/

The faceless woman – a short story by Su Samuthiram – 1

Pandian Ramaiah 2 Comments

Thandora Beater stood at the graveyard outside the hamlet, stretching his body as if he believed the hamlet was not fit for him to go in. With a booming ‘Dum Dum‘, he issued the proclamation of the the state of Travancore.

“Sri Uttaram Thirunal Maharaja Thirumanas, Sri Padmanabadasa Vanchipala Marthanda Varma Kulasekara Greedapati, Mannai Sultan Maharaja, Rajya Pakyothaiya Ramaraja Bhagadoorsham Sherjang Maharaja, Suchindram Thanumalayan will visit the temple chariot festival the day after tomorrow, and stay for a duration of two days”.

“In view of this, it is announced to everyone that all the despicable low caste workers, cultivators, come with your offerings and handicrafts and you are ordered to stand 96 feet away from Suchindram Katcheri. Prior to the arrival of the Maharaja, all taxes such as the land tax Prusangdaram, the inheritance tax adiyara, the house tax kuppagalhcha and the palm tree tax, the tax for palm tree ladder enikkaram, the tax for palm fiber thalakkaram, the head tax, the breast tax mulakkaram, the moustache tax meeshakkaram, the mangalsutra tax, and the plantation tax should be paid without any due. In addition, those who have seen, heard, and known through inquiry should immediately inform the higher authorities about the lower castes who do not observe caste rituals. In case of violation of these, it is informed that those who do not disclose this information will be given any punishment including capital punishment.”

(to be continued)

This post is a part of the Blogchatter Half Marathon 2023 by https://www.theblogchatter.com/

Concealed heaven

Pandian Ramaiah 7 Comments

She looked around quickly, to see if anything had been taken.

She hides a few of them in her Botany textbook. When her Botany teacher is illustrating the cross-sectional diagrams of flowers and seeds on the board, she takes advantage of the pause to quietly turn the pages and examine them one at a time. She finds herself lost in a blissful, fluffy cloud of contentment.

She was captivated by that enchanting smile and felt a thrill of excitement when their eyes met.

That day was testing her innermost joy. It was especially breezy that day. The wind flipped through the pages of her book and scattered her secret treasures across the floor of her classroom.

Her best friend Bhanu noticed them and gave a mischievous gaze, after recognizing them. Taking one of them, Bhanu returned to her companion with a sly smile. She then proceeded to reach for another, making a gesture that suggested she wanted to keep it for herself.

She stared wide-eyed at Bhanu, resembling Bhadra Kaali. She extended her finger and menacingly warned, “I’ll kill you.” Bhanu exhaled wearily in response before returning the rest.

She returned from the playground after her physical education class that afternoon and noticed that her school bag was open and her botany book was lying outside with pages flapping in the breeze.

She looked around quickly, to see if anything had been taken, relieved to find that those peacock feathers were still intact.

This post is a part of Blogchatter Blog Hop

Saraswathi Pooja | Saroja Ramamurthy

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“Saraswathi pooja – September 26th, Tuesday” Grandpa was reading the Panchangam in his quavering voice.

Saraswathi, who was descending from her room upstairs, heard that clearly.

“Thatha, no, it appears it is not Tuesday; it appears to be Sunday. Therefore, there will not be a holiday for Circar offices. Didn’t you hear Father saying that yesterday?” Saraswathi descended and inquired of him.

Grandpa removed his glasses and placed them in the case, then spoke to his granddaughter, “Sunday? Panchangams doesn’t specify that, right? It could be one day difference, either earlier or later. Would that mean four or five days difference? No way!”

“Dont know, It is on Sunday for Government alone. Don’t you know? The central Government appointed a Sastri from a foreign country. He got three thousand five hundred rupees as his salary to provide this advice. Lucky chap!”

Saraswathi informed her Grandpa and then went to the kitchen.

Grandpa muttered to himself, “Sastri? Coming from abroad, of all people. These naughty kids must think I’m crazy.”

Saraswathi entered the kitchen as the ‘coffee shop’ was still open. Her brothers had just finished brushing their teeth and were engaged in a lively conversation, each holding a cup of coffee.

She exclaimed, “So noisy! Is this a house or a Kothaval Chavadi?” She then turned to her mother and said, “Mom, you said Saraswathi Pooja was on Tuesday, but it appears to be on Sunday instead. Thatha has already confirmed this.”

“What in the world?” her mother exclaimed as she rushed into the living room. Saraswathi couldn’t help but snicker, covering her mouth with her hand. Her brothers followed suit, eager to witness whatever was unfolding in the living room.

❤️❤️❤️

Do not assume that Saraswathi is only fifteen or sixteen years old. When the month of Aippasi arrives, she will have completed twenty three years of age. She will remain youthful and vibrant as she is in her eighteen. We can not say she is not super pretty; at the same time, we can’t say she is not beautiful. She has a mischievous laugh on her face and speaks with a lot of wit, tease and humor.

Her parents and grandfather were greatly concerned about her marriage prospects. They looked for suitable matches, not only from Chennai Rajdhani but also from cities like Bombay, Calcutta, and Delhi, yet they were still unable to find a suitable partner for her.

Her grandfather often calls her “My girl, come here!”. Saraswathi responds with a smile and goes to stand beside him.

“Do you have any plans to get married, at least by this year or not?”

Saraswathi chuckled and said, “I’m always ready!”

Grandfather sighed, saying, “You’re ready, but the auspicious time for the wedding is being delayed”. It is sad to see Saraswathi like this. She is overwhelmed with disappointment about the postponement of her marriage. Despite her unhappiness, she’s trying to mask it with jokes and laughter.

One evening, close to 7 o’clock, Saraswathi lit the lamp and made her way upstairs with her books in hand. Her grandfather called out to her, “Sarasoo!”

When she spun around to face him, he said, “Sarasu, didn’t I tell you there was a potential groom in Madurai? I had Kalyana Raman investigate him, and he sent this letter to me. Have a look.” With that, he handed her the letter before walking away.

Saraswathi’s face was flushed with both shyness and anger when she received the letter. Kalyana Raman had been the son of a registrar who had lived in the house across from her for quite some time. He had been studying in law school for the past three years. Both families had been close during that time. He had wanted to marry Saraswathi and she had reciprocated the feeling. There had even been talks of marriage. Saraswathi had just finished her intermediate exams and said that she would marry him in two years as she intended to pursue a B.A. degree. She had expected Kalyana Raman to wait for her during that time. But, if it was a question of love between them, Kalyana Raman could have waited not just two years, but even five. However, his parents were not willing to agree to that and began looking for other brides. As Kalyana Raman finished his exams, his family moved to Madurai to start his own law firm.

When she realized he had sent a letter to her grandfather, she was utterly infuriated. Offended by his retort, she thought to herself, “What kind of man behaves like this? He can’t even wait two years for a woman!” With that, she ripped up his letter and threw it in the bin.

❤️❤️❤️

That day was the day of Saraswathi Pooja.

Yes; as her Grandpa confirmed by consulting his Panchangam, the event arrived on September 26th, a Tuesday without fail.

In regards to Saraswathi’s house, the festival not only came on its own, but also brought Kalyana Raman with it.

After the dawn, Saraswathi descended the stairs and was taken aback by the sight of the luggage and bed in her living room. Kalyana Raman appeared the next moment. Out of courtesy Saraswathi asked, “When did you arrive?”. She then hurried to the backyard, her mind filled with thoughts ‘What more to talk with someone who can not wait for just two years for her?’.

She observed her grandfather beaming with joy that day, though the reason remained a mystery to her. He thought ‘As these girls grow older, they became less inclined to behave well. She had barely uttered two words in the morning before disappearing upstairs, not even bothering to come downstairs to talk to him’.

It was 3 o’clock in the afternoon when Kalyana Raman and Saraswathi met each other upstairs.

Kalyana Raman asked, “Are you angry with me? Is that why you won’t even speak to me?”

“I’m not upset with anyone, so why would I talk to you? So I’m just staying quiet!”

“Did you read my letter? Thatha said he handed it to you!”

Saraswathi asked, “Do I have enough time without any tasks, to read whatever the letter delivered here? You might have written about the groom in Madurai. That’s ok. What about your wife? Is she fine? Any kids…?” before her question trailed off.

Kalyana Raman burst into a loud laugher.

Kalyana Raman exclaimed, “You’re so pure and innocent, I’ve never seen anyone like you! Wife? Kids? I never got married to any one! I was holding out for you and came all this way to marry you. I wrote it all in that letter!”

Saraswathi remained quiet as she crouched down and began to piece together the torn letter to read its contents.

—

Saroja Ramamurthy (July 27, 1921 – August 8, 1991) was a modern Tamil writer and Gandhian. She wrote short stories and novels. Her books were nationalized by the Tamil Nadu government. This story is from her nationalized short story collection.

I translated it for Blogchatter’s WRITE A PAGE A DAY 2023 campaign.

Ranga sends spy balloon to Billa

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Blade Pakikiri burst into Don Thangaraj’s house. He had something real serious to share it with his big boss.

Don Thangaraj, who is in his eighties now, still groggy from his sleep. With mouth full of kodukka-puli churanam, the local Ayurvedic cure for his dementia, burped twice to the disgust of Thamarai, his trusted sidekick. She noticed Pakkiri’s faster entry with her shrunken forehead like a Zomato delivery man.

“Boss, something real urgent is up!” Pakkiri declared.

“What the devil is it?” Don asked, his eyes still half closed.

Pakkiri looked at Thamarai in doubt. She, who was always on the look out, noded her approval to Pakkiri to go ahead.

“We saw a balloon.”

“Where. Near the Kali temple? Ya. There was a festival going on. Was it beautiful?” Don asked while he kept the water sembu at the floor.

“Boss. It is different. It is flying over our house and godown” Pakkiri exclaimed.

“Oh. probably one of my grandkids let it lose. Do you like balloons, Pakkiri? I’ll get something for your kids too.” Old don replied after goggled with remaining water, still not fully grasping the gravity of the situation.

Pakiri was losing his patience. Thamarai gestured him to wait.

Thamarai stepped in to explain “Boss, Pakkiri is talking about a spy balloon. It’s sent by one of our enemies to keep an eye on us.”

Don finally caught on, “I have many enemies, starting from Golmal Putinkumar to the two of you. Who sent it?”.

“Our boys say it is Rowdy Rangan. He is trying to spy on us and take over our business,” Pakkiri replied.

***

Rowdy Rangan, the troublemaker from Sulurpetta, had always been a thorn in Don’s side. Despite warnings from Pakkiri and Thamarai, Don still saw him as a competitor, not an enemy.

Rangan used this opportunity to learn all of Don’s tricks, like puncturing enemies’ bikes (for adult customers) and splashing ink on their shirts (for kids customers), which eventually became world-famous, with even Arvind Kejriwal falling victim to the ink attack, as reported by the Kissness Times daily.

Rangan started offering the same services at a lower price, which was well-received by many, especially school kids, who lined up every day to pay just ₹2 to splash ink on their bullies. Not only that, he offered 10% educational discount to school kids.

Meanwhile, Don Thangaraj was still charging ₹20 for the same services. Rangan started puncturing bikes, cars, and even airplane tires, all at a much lower price than Don’s, making him the favorite crime partner of northern Tamil Nadu and southern Andhra Pradesh. All these created dents in Thangaraj’s income.

***

By this time Pakkiri and Thamarai finished one sembu full of water, before explaining the risk to Don. Thangaraj understood the risk of the balloon from Pakkiri properly at last. He stood up and went away near the fence. It was a beautiful live fencing of castor plants. Pakkiri and Thamarai thought he was angry and he was about to issue orders to shoot the balloon. But Don blew his nose twice and cleaned himself with his towel.

“Boss, say something.” Thamarai pleaded.

“Why don’t we just pop it with a gundu pin?” Thangaraj suggested.

Pakkiri was disappointed like the investors who bought Zomato shares in IPO.

“Don, it is floating in the sky. How are you going to reach it with a gundu pin?” Pakkiri was scrubbing his cheeks and losing cool.

“Can’t reach there with a Catapult?” exclaimed Don without bothering about Pakkiri’s staring at him.

“Fine, fine. You two do this. Pakkiri, call Rangan’s guy and see if he sent the balloon. Thamarai, call his girl and check as well. I’ll plan my revenge later,” Thangaraj instructed before hopping into his oil bath.

***

“Next day, in Rangan’s courtyard, Rangan’s sidekick, Dumeel-Kuppam Vavvalu, got a call.

“It’s Blade Pakkiri from Don’s Gang speaking.”

“And I am Vavvalu from the Future Don’s Gang,” replied Vavvalu.

“We’ll see if you’ll be the future or the past soon. I want to clarify something with you. Are you the ones flying those spy balloons over our house and godowns?” Pakkiri asked.

Rowdy Rangan, who was listening in on speaker phone, shook his head up and down to signal to Vavvalu.

“Yes da. It’s ours. We are the bosses. Is it only you, have the permission to create chaos or what? Times have changed, it’s our time now,” Vavvalu roared back to Pakkiri.

And with that, the call was disconnected!

***

Another hot line rang on the other side.

Rangan’s assistant Revolver Reta attended the phone and switched on the speaker.

“Hello. Thamarai here.”

“Hai there Thamarai, I am Reta. Revolver Reta answering the call for you!”

“Well. I don’t care you are fan of revolver or kittipul. I just want to know if you fly Baloon above our grounds.”

Reta looked at Rangan. He signaled at her by turning his head left and right this time.

Reta tried to sound convincing, “Thamarai Akka, listen here! The balloon is ours, I promise. We only used it to inspect the potholes in the newly laid Chennai corporation road. Our junior rowdys met with some accident daily because of those holes. How a new road has holes on a single night, we do not know, akka. You know the stenchy Marina beach.. ah.. yes.. the same beach only.. You will find many samadhi-s over there.. The evening sea breeze from there, just carried it away from Sulurpetta all the way to North Chennai. Please forgive us and return our balloon, okay?”

***

The next day, Don Thangaraj was lounging in his favorite chair in the courtyard. Pakkiri was chilling on the Thinnai, and Thamarai was hanging out by a pillar nearby.

Rangan’s plan had worked like how Nykaa boosted their share value by giving bonus out of nothing. Don was confused by the mixed messages from his opponent.

“Hey, no need to get all puzzled, Boss. Just give us the word and I’ll take care of it,” Pakkiri egged on Thangaraj.

“But if what she says is true, then we shouldn’t do that,” Thangaraj spoke in a gruff voice.

Pakkiri tried to convince his Boss “Listen, Boss, we’ve got a serious situation on our hands. Our reputation is taking a hit, and even the local toughs in Gummidipoondi and Meenjur are turning to the other side. I mean, just the other day, a school kid splattered ink on our guys! We can’t let this continue. I talked to Ponneri Balu, one of our most staunch supporters, and even he’s wavering. We need to take action, boss, before it’s too late.”.

The old Don Thangaraj was looking at him indecisively.

Thamarai added her two cents, “He’s been spying on us to find out the weapons we use to puncture airplane and spacecraft tires. He wants to build a replica and sell it to everyone. Our spies tell us he’s even trying to puncture your car wheels with his pins, to show that he has the capability to do so. You can’t let this continue, Boss. Our reputation is on the line.”

Pakkiri chimed in, “Exactly! We need to take back our power, Boss. Show everyone who the real boss is around here. We can’t let him play us like a puppet.”

Thangaraj sounds convincing “I can feel that. People in our surroundings talk a lot about him. I heard he offers tea and vadai, if someone talk good about him in local tea shops. More and more people start talking about him even in the corner shop for free tea and vadai.”

Thangaraj leaned back in his chair, deep in thought. He knew that the situation was serious and something had to be done.

Pakkiri wanted to highlight the expanding influence of Rangan inside their territory. He said “The tea shop owners offer them freebies. Because he gets money from Rowdy Ranga. You know what? the kissness times daily used to get money from us and talked nice about us. But that poor fellow went to Rangan’s camp. Rangan poured money, liquor and mall on him. He started his tone already. We should not allow that in our land, Boss”

At the time, somebody entered the courtyard.

The gatekeeper said, “Boss, he is the balloon seller. He manufactures the balloon too”. The old lion asked him “So you are the weapon supplier. Don’t you need permission to sell balloon in our area or not?”

The balloon trader cried like someone who bought PayTM shares, “I just want to make a living, sell my balloons in Kali Madha, Arokia Madha and Nagore Dargah and bring a little joy to people’s lives. I am secular. I support democracy. You are the dictator of democracy. I accept. but please don’t stop me from doing my business here.”

Thangaraj chuckled at the trader’s words, ‘dictator’ in particular, and patted his head. Pakkiri and Thamarai saw that their boss was back to his old self.

***

It was a day to remember! Pakkiri rallied up all the townspeople to the event location and made sure the media was on hand to capture the moment. With a swift shot from his trusty sniper, Pakkiri brought down the balloon with ease. Meanwhile, Thamarai chased after the balloon sellers and manufacturers. It was a mission accomplished!

The results of the operation were immediately evident, as Don Thangaraj’s reputation skyrocketed after the balloon incident. The media, including a private Tamil channel and the publication Kissing Times, declared that Thangaraj was truly a force to be reckoned with, now and forever known as the Billa.

***

This post is part of Blogchatter’s WRITE A PAGE A DAY 2023 campaign.

Idumban, Murugan and WhatsApp

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Idumban was exhausted. He was carrying a kavadi, which had two mountains on either side, causing his shoulders to ache as if they were being twisted. Agathiyar was repeatedly messaging him on WhatsApp with the message, “Are you there?” but only receiving single gray ticks instead of the expected blue double clicks.

A few days prior, Agathiyar had tasked Idumban with transporting the two mountains, named Sivagiri and Shaktigiri, from Mount Kailash to Pothigai Hills (also known as Courtallam hills in the Western Ghats) via Air India Cargo.

However, due to the heavy rain in Chennai, all flights and lorries had been cancelled. Idumban was forced to embark on the journey on foot. He pondered the yearly struggles faced by Indian cities, with heavy rainfall during the rainy season and water shortages in the summer.

As Idumban continued his journey, carrying the heavy weight of the two mountains, he became confused and lost his way near Dindigul town after Trichy. At that moment, a young man on an Enfield bike came across the weary Idumban.

The young man said, “What’s up, seems like you’re extremely tired. Why don’t you take a break here?” and gestured to Avinankudi. Idumban agreed and decided to rest. However, unbeknownst to Idumban, the young man on the motorcycle activated a mobile jammer, cutting off all communication between Idumban and Agathiyar.

As Agathiyar was unable to reach Idumban through WhatsApp, Idumban was able to take a peaceful nap at Avinankudi without any interruptions.

After waking up and washing his face in Saravana Poikai lake, Idumban searched for the young man and his motorcycle, but to no avail. Eventually, all the messages that were jammed earlier finally downloaded onto Idumban’s mobile.

Idumban exclaimed, “Oh my god, what have I done?” and tried to lift the mountain, but was unable to do so. If he had help from Air India cargo or a National Permit truck, it would have been easier, but he was all alone. He wondered what a challenge this was.

While struggling, he noticed a boy sitting on one of the mountains in the kavadi, wearing a kaupinam (kovanam/a man forelap). Idumban thought, “Could this boy be the reason for the increased weight of the kavadi? Is he playing a prank on me? No, he’s just a small boy. But what if he’s causing this problem?”

Idumban then ordered the boy, “Get down from the hill, brother. I need to lift my kavadi.”

The boy mocked Idumban, saying, “You’re ordering me around? You claim to be able to lift mountains, but you can’t even lift it with a small boy like me?”

Already irritated by Agathiyar’s scoldings, Idumban had no patience left. He tried to grab the boy in an attempt to discipline him. However, Idumban was defeated in the fight.

The boy then asked, “I won. What will you do for me?” revealing himself to be the baby god Murugan in disguise.

Idumban responded, “Oh, the god with the sphere, were you the one challenging me?”

With great delight, Idumban then began to sing the kavadi sindhu.

“Sirvallar pasundhokai Mylon,- Valli
Chevvital Aladdinia Thelamudum Ailon,
Porvalar Tadangai Urumum Aiyalon – Vimala
Ponnadiyai innalara unnuthal seyvome.”

Kavadi Sindu – Annamalai Reddiar

Idumban received a blessing from Murugan. He requested that the devotees of Murugan sing Kavadi Sindhu poems and carry kavadis during their procession to the home of their beloved deity. Murugan agreed immediately.

Idumban went on, “Oh you who instructed your own father! I was carrying the kavadi to Avinankudi. You have blessed me. Please bless your devotees who come here with kavadis as well.”

Murugan happily accepted. And thus, Kavadi and Kavadi Sindhu were born!

“Sorry sir, there has been a change of plan in your project. The mountains will be here, not in Pothigai,” Murugan sent a message to Agathiyar on WhatsApp. He shared their location, which was in Palani. Murugan lived on one hill and Idumban lived on the nearby hill happily until they were taken under the control of the HR&CE department later 😀

—

Translated to English and rewritten as part of Blogchatter’s WRITE A PAGE A DAY 2023 campaign, on the day of Thaipusam festival.

Firefly Forest

Pandian Ramaiah 2 Comments

Nothing compares to a relaxed drive on the highways of Tamil Nadu, despite their notorious reputation for poor road design and undisciplined drivers. My fingers tap rhythmically on the steering wheel as I enjoy Illayaraja music on Kodaikanal FM. As I travel from Bangalore to Kodaikanal, I switch between my favorite radio stations across the route. When I reach the districts of Karur and Dindigul, I switch to this station, which brings back memories of my hometown, or rather, my childhood jungle.

It has been a tiring drive since the afternoon, with my calf muscle begging for a break. Although a hot water massage may be necessary for relief, the excitement of returning to my hometown in the hills overrides any discomfort. My mother is pleased with the rainfall this year, hoping for a successful harvest season. Potatoes are a common crop in the area, but she favors rice, which is not typical for the Kurinji – the hilly terrain of Sangam Tamil Landscape. She works with nature to cultivate a flat surface for farming in one of the villages of Kodaikanal.

It is not about the immense nature wealth and season that binds to be to that soil. It is my surrounding. The life is not colourful and tasteful without appuchi-s, aachi-s, maman-s and machan-s, the bhoomiputra-s! After migrating to Bangalore, I am slowly disconnecting from this root. My rational mind believes, while my emotions disagree with it. My emotions are like Hem in Who Moved My Cheese – resist to change! I took the Dindigul route as it is dark already. After deviating from Sempatti, I was on the ghat roads towards my heaven on the peak!

It’s not just the wealth of nature and seasons that ties me to that land, but it’s my community. Life isn’t as colorful or enjoyable without appuchi-s, aachi-s, maman-s and machan-s, the bhoomiputra-s! After moving to Bangalore, I’ve gradually started to lose touch with my roots. My logical mind understands this, but my emotions are like Hem in “Who Moved My Cheese,” and they resist to change.

I took the Dindigul route because it was already dark. After deviating from Sempatti, I was on the winding mountain roads, heading towards my paradise on the peak! My headlight was too weak for the dense forests covering the single godforsaken road that crosscut into the jungle. I just crossed pandimuni temple. I would be able to reach my destination in thirty minutes. For a long time, I have not seen any humans after entering into ghat road. This darkness is making me to feel uncomfortable.

As I approached Chettiyar Thottam, considered by locals as the gateway to our cluster of villages, I spotted a mesmerizing display of fireflies. I slowly brought my vehicle to a stop and turned off the engine, in awe of the sight before me. The farm fields were ablaze with countless flickering yellow lights, a scene more beautiful than anything I had ever seen on Instagram. It was as if a flock of flamingos were flying across the horizon. The world truly holds many wonders beyond what we see on social media.

I restarted the engine and drove down the road carefully, trying not to interrupt my thoughts. As I turned left, my headlights illuminated a skinny man wearing a dirty lungi and vest. I was momentarily startled, as I didn’t expect anyone to be there. But then I recognized him as Chakarai Mama, who used to work in Chettiyar Thottam. I pulled over near him, and he was engrossed in his phone. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to acknowledge me as I stopped nearby.

“Who?.. ” he asked..

“Its me, mama. Kumaran”

“Hey.. Mapla. Kumara.. When you came here”. He coughed to clear his throat before speaking, as his voice was hoarse.

“Just on my way, mama. That’s ok. What are you doing at this time here?”

“Evening shift for electricity. I came to switch on the motor.”

His eyes went back to his cell phone multiple times before he responded me.

“What’s this mama? fireflies.. huh? So many of them”

“Yes, mapla. winter season is over la. I used to see a few. But it is too many, this year.. hah.”

“It is so rare, mama. I never saw like this”

“Indeed.. hah. But they are super hunters, mapla. See how glamourous they are. But they can snails too.”

“Really ah.”

“What did you think then? They have a poisonous sting. It can paralyze snails, earth worms, even some beetles within minutes. Just consume like a sarakku!”

He murmured. Yet, he couldn’t resist to look into his mobile.

“What’s there in that phone, mama? Girl friend ah..”

“Rummy, mapla. You know what? We can play in phone. “

“Oh.. Mama, you didn’t leave this habit ah.. So many times I told you.”

“Its so easy mapla.. can earn money, buy land, tractor, power tiller.. anything.. I can even call Devi, back”

“Just stop it mama. You never won in rummy, even when playing with your friends with cards. You started playing in online. ah.. Just shut up and don’t lose any more money, hear it?”

“Mapla.. just one time la. Do you have a sum of 5000? Can do Google Pay? I’ll give back in the morning. Sure thing”

He was in a possessed state.

“This is nonsense. This is what I have. Take it. Finish it and come tomorrow morning. Don’t forget to switch off the motor.”. I handed him a bottle of KingFisher beer, then lifted my own glass and restarted the engine.

“Mapla. Mapla… Hey…” Chakarai mama was pleading. I gestured with an X sign and pressed down on the accelerator pedal.

It was 9:15 PM when I arrived at home. My mother was already prepared with hot Idiyappam and coconut milk. I eagerly dug in, savoring the flavor of the soaked rice strings. While I ate, I engaged in conversation to pass the time.

“I met Chakarai mama on the way. He still drinks, doesn’t he?”

I kept the fact that I gave him a beer bottle to myself and didn’t mention it to them.

“What? Chakarai? Where?” My father’s gaze shifted from my mother to me as he put down his spoon and stopped eating. My mother’s eyebrows furrowed in surprise, while I raised my eyebrows in confusion.

“Why? near Chettiyar thottam, on the road side bridge, near the motor room”

“Eswara. Who asked you drive at odd timing and stop at strange places?” She took the vibhuti-bowl and applied in my forehead.

“What? What happened”

“HE died two days ago. “

“What???”

“He committed suicide..”

“Sh**”. I spell bound and I felt like I was being pushed down on the downhill.

“Is it..?”

“Yes, he was unwavering and addicted to seetu (cards). This addiction ultimately led to his downfall, you know. He lost everything, including his wife, who left him, and his land, which he sold to fund his addiction. In the end, he took his own life by consuming pesticide and locking himself in the motor room. It appears that his soul has not found peace yet.”

I couldn’t eat any more.

“Addiction is like light. People like him are its preys.” My father said.

A firefly was flying outside my window.

—

This blog post is a part of Blogchatter’s WRITE A PAGE A DAY campaign.

To go back home – veetukku!

Pandian Ramaiah 1 Comment

Whenever I leave my home, I often feel a sense of longing and say ‘veetukku…’ (to go back home). Adults would make fun of me and ask, ‘Why, are you in the forest?’ I would get more irritated when someone teased me like that.

Later, I started attending primary school. I missed my home and cried for the whole day. When my teacher asked why, I said ‘veetukku…’

During my college days, I wanted to present myself as a different person. As a law or arts student, I saw joining politics as my only option. Tamil politics operates like a multi-level-marketing scheme, with money flowing from the top tier to the bottom tier in a hierarchy. From the party leader to the low-level party cadres who put up flags and lights for meetings, everyone benefits when the “cash rain” falls. In return, they expect us to be more “visvasi-s” (trusting). That trust is important to receive money in the next cash flow. To prove my trust, I threw a stone at the glass window of a local opposition party leader. I was arrested and spent time in lockup. When I realized I needed to pay for my own bail, I felt a sense of longing and said ‘veetukku…’.

Despite that, I got the opportunity to move up the political ladder. I spent all my resources, including loans, donations, and threats. My goal was not to double, but to at least quintuple my investment. It was not as easy as you might think. Even after gaining power, I had to spend a lot to mute opponents, both within my own party and in the opposition. I needed to use money and power interchangeably. I knew I would receive the same treatment if I lost power. I bought lands, built rice mills, opened several petrol stations, and built a shopping complex in the center of the city. Most notably, I built a college. The college business helped to increase my prestige. Previous generations of politicians were bar owners, but people like me in the “neo political” era don’t have to live in that kind of environment. I pay educated people, and their parents respect me. When my previous generatation leaders became wine shop owners, I became ‘educationalist’. But the motive is the same! I was intoxicated by the widespread power I had, but deep down, I knew who I truly was. My mind lamented, ‘veetukku…’

It’s been some time. I’ve experienced ups and downs. I rose high on the political ladder in Tamil Nadu. My self-conscious did not remind me of who I am. As time passed, I grew older and my sons became powerful centers in my party. Even my grandsons are accorded great respect wherever they go. The power intoxicated everyone in my family. I felt I had achieved. I felt proud of my accumulated wealth, but it was never enough. I started a series of distilleries to produce liquor. The government gave up on education, and privates gave up the bars. I sold liquor barrels to the government. My liquor was sold on every street, in front of many places of worship, and at the doorstep of daily wage workers. I made every part of society taste my spirit. The government took the blame, and I was happily hiding behind it.

I felt something was wrong with my health before I reach the average life span of India. I felt fatigued. That was the day my cook prepared a pal nandu kozhambu (crab curry cooked with spices and coconut milk), and I couldn’t eat enough. My wife realized, and eventually, the physicians announced they couldn’t do anything to save me. Money poured inside my house from all my income sources, like the endless tides in Chennai Marina. Of course, the Chennai Marina is black due to sewage water, and my money has its own black shade too. But none of the currency notes could save me or relieve me from my pain. I was unconsciousness in the hospital ward for most of the time. Whenever I regained my consciousness, I could hear the heated arguments between my sons as they struggled over property and power sharing. It was the quietest period of my life. Nobody greeted me, nobody offered me a garland or towel, no press meets, no assembly talks. I was kept alive by a feeding tube. One evening, my wife came into the ward. She wanted to ask something. “Where did you keep the navaratna kasumala?” she asked. I said “Veetukku…” She couldn’t understand, so she leaned in closer to hear me. I repeated “Veetukku…”

The vehicle was en route to my home. Upon realizing what was about to happen, arrangements were made. I was back in my bedroom, surrounded by care. My elder son said, “Appa.. Appa.. Can you hear me? We’re home. Are you happy now? Where is the navaratna kasumala?” I lamented “Veetukku…”, but I couldn’t make it as an audible voice. I felt I was traveling through a black tunnel in search of light. I heard someone else lamenting far away, far below me. There seemed to be the end of the tunnel. There was a bright space that greeted me with pleasure. All my pain and worries, which had come with me so far, went away. Someone there asked me, “Veetuku..? You’re home?” I said, “Yes, finally.”

—

This blog post is a part of Blogchatter’s WRITE A PAGE A DAY campaign. This is a fiction. It does not represent anyone in real. If it reflects someone, know that it is purely accidental. Company is not responsible 😀

The serpent’s nectar [short story]

Pandian Ramaiah Leave a comment

There was a flash of a huge stream of water coming inside a pot hole in the bank of the Ganges. A young Naga, Loban – who was sleeping inside it – awoke in such sudden current of flashing water. ‘Why is the water so fast? Is it the good olden banyan tree with tentacles that fell into the river?’. It had been a few months since Loban was born. He had great pleasure in hunting for tadpoles. Only then did he enter into the worldly life of searching for food and sleeping after food!

He came out of the pool and turned his head to look at both sides. ‘That’s it. This is not wood. Something like a big serpent.’ He bent his body left and right to swim towards it. Not one. Is there a great pair of Naga-s? Not at all. They are human hands. He is human; he may be a monster’.

The monster-like human, who fell into the water, was drowning very fast. Through the opening of his mouth, which was slightly open, air bubbles split his lips and drained his life out bit by bit.

“O Loban! Vrikodara is his name. You don’t have time, my dear little Naga! Inform Aryaka immediately. It is not the right age to take his last breath. He should live.” the Ganges ordered Loban. “At your behest, my holy mother!” Loban bowed his head. He swiftly swam into the darkness of the depths of the Ganges.

***

Vrikodara was lying like a crushed fruit. He slowly opened his eyes. His chest and stomach were burning. Thanks to the poisoned sweets, the taste of the desired dessert was still left in his throat. He started to cough continuously and tried to clear his throat. Finally, he was able to sit upright with tears in his eyes.

“Do not be afraid anymore. You are fine. ” Bhima looked at him. “I am the commander of the Naga-s. My name is Aryaka” he told Bhima. His unblinking and gem like eyes surprised Bhima. It was a vast underworld space filled with the roar of waves. The sand bed sediment of alluvium and clay had accumulated under his feet. “O! the one—with strong hands like a root of the thick wood—you have come to Naga’s kingdom. You have been poisoned. Your hands and feet bound by creepers and vines, you were pushed into the Ganges. Mother Ganga – who graces us – is kind enough to bring you here. ” Aryaka’s voice mixed with the ground water and sounded like a voice from the sky. “Yes.. that’s I.. me.. Mother Ganga told me only..” Loban groaned in a bored and low hissing voice. “Nothing to be concerned about. No poison can transcend us, except for the vengeance that is ingrained in the soul of man! ” Aryaka smiled.

Child bhima fight with Nagas. Image (c) Unknown
Child bhima fight with Naga-s. Image (c) Unknown

“O the naga with the graceful eyes! My life belongs to my brother, Yudhishthira. My life was about to be sacrificed in the fire of jealousy. You guarded me. Please accept my thanks. ” Bhimasena clasped his hands and bowed his head. “The hostile enmity that is accumulated in someone’s mind is powerful. It made my cousin feed me poison without consideration. It made him tie my limbs and push me into the river. O naga!—the one who carries rare medicines—though you are a stranger, you not only saved me but also helped me regain the responsibility of protecting Pandava-s from the fore-coming violation of morality. We, the Pandava-s, will be grateful. “

“Kaundeya Bhima! Whom do you call a stranger? ” In an echoing voice, the great serpent – the one with shiny scales on a plump charcoal body, with burning red eyes and sword-like poisonous fangs that gleamed in the light, as well as its brick red tongue dripping out – which flowed into the room to join their conversation.

Bhima poisoned Duryodana. Image (c) Unknown
Bhima poisoned Duryodana. Image (c) Unknown

“Hail the Naga emperor!” Aryaka turned his head and bowed. Aryaka told Bhima, “Vasuki is the king of serpents. You are his guest” . “I – the son of emperor Pandu, the second of the Pandava-s – Bhimasena, I adore and worship the great leader of the Naga-s” Bhima greeted Vasuki. Bhima told the emperor, “I have become forever bound to your mercy, my lord.”

“Kaunteya, I knew that you were pushed into the water. I realized who you are. Your mother is a descendant of Emperor Yadu. Yadu’s wife, Thumravarna, is a Nagini from our clan. Oh the one with the hot blood that swells in your veins! your blood contains Naga’s blood too, my dear son. I am your great grandfather. My clan continued to grow and branch so much to yield you. I am happy. My mind is full of love and affection for you. Come and touch my feet. May I have the pleasure of blessing you, my child! ” Bhima respected Vasuki’s kind words. Bhima is the one with an ever loving childish mind, though he is a nightmare for his cousins. “Bless me, my great father. I was glad to see you. ” the child Bhima bowed at Vasuki’s feet. “God bless you. Let victory and fame be with you always. ” Vasuki blessed him by touching his head and stretched his hand to Loban.

Bhima poisoned Duryodana. Image (c) Unknown
Bhima poisoned Duryodana. Image (c) Unknown

Vasuki received a vase from Loban and gave it to Bhima. “Your visit immerses the city of Bogawati in cheer. You need to stay here as our guest for some time as well, my son. The period ahead is not easy. The seed of the catastrophe has sprouted. Dharma should be guaranteed to win. Let your shoulder have the strength to allow the right Dharma to triumph. I am sure that my clan will thrive. I want to offer you a gift. Here is Nagamirtha (nectar) in this vessel. It is a sweet-smelling drink, but bitter in taste. After you consume it, no poison will harm you in your lifetime. You will get the strength of thousands of elephant, in addition. O the one with the wide chest! This is essential for the path you are going to take. “, said Vasuki.

Bhima is the one who was bitten away by the serpents; he is the one who was fed poisoned sweets. Who else can better realize the importance of nectar than him? Without thinking of anything, Bhima bought it and drank it in one gulp. The Nagamirtha, which went into his food pipe like a stinging liquid, turned violent and made his blood inside his veins turbulent. The chest and stomach burning, caused by the poisoned food, disappeared.

“Thank you for the grace of my forefather, who rescued me from the pain of poison. Your role will be in my success forever. My mother and my brothers will regret not seeing me. I need your permission and blessing to return. ” Bhima requested Vasuki.

Vasuki thought for a moment. After meditating for a while, he said, “All watery elements are different forms of mother Ganga. Vrikodara! She can take the form of milk, aushadhi (tincture), or poison. If it feeds, it is milk. When it saves, it is an aushadhi. When it destroys, however, it is poison. Oh, son of a broad minded mother! May you always be the milk that protects virtue and dharma. Good bye ” He touched Bhima’s head once again and blessed him. Loban stared at Bhima with his unblinking eyes

I was angry with my friend;
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe: 
I told it not, my wrath did grow. 

-A Poison Tree, William Blake

This is an inspiration from epic Mahabharata. This blog post is a part of Blogchatter’s WRITE A PAGE A DAY campaign.