Poonachi, page 1
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.
Original Copyright © Perumal Murugan
Translation Copyright © N. Kalyan Raman
All rights reserved
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ISBN: 9789386850492
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Contents
The Dormant Seed
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
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24
Translator’s Note
The Dormant Seed
(Preface to the original Tamil edition of Poonachi , published in December 2016)
HOW LONG CAN an untold story rest in deep slumber within the dormant seed? I am fearful of writing about humans; even more fearful of writing about gods. I can write about demons, perhaps. I am even used to a bit of the demonic life. I could make it an accompaniment here. Yes, let me write about animals.
There are only five species of animals with which I am deeply familiar. Of them, dogs and cats are meant for poetry. It is forbidden to write about cows or pigs. That leaves only goats and sheep. Goats are problem-free, harmless and, above all, energetic. A story needs narrative pace. Therefore, I’ve chosen to write about goats.
I didn’t take very long to write this novel. Three months went by like a second. In that moment, pushing aside all the confusions, dilemmas and sorrows I had experienced so far, a great joy filled my being. The reason was Poonachi. It was a major challenge to create her on the page and the chief impediment was the diffidence that had come to reside in me. I believed that Poonachi would be able to break it. I feel now that my faith in her was not unjustified.
To begin with, I had chosen a single title, ‘The Story of a Black Goat’ for this novel. In the course of writing, ‘Poonachi’ appeared unexpectedly. Then I tried to combine both titles. Most early Tamil novels of the last quarter of the nineteenth century had double titles of this kind. The original title of the first ever Tamil novel was Pratapam ennum Pratapa Mudaliar Charithiram ( Heroic Exploits , or The Story of Pratapa Mudaliar ). There are many other examples, such as Abathukkidamana Abavatham alladhu Kamalambal Charithiram ( Dangerous Slander , or The Story of Kamalambal ) and Nalina Sundari alladhu Nagarigath Thadapudal ( Graceful Damsel , or The Clamour of Modernity ). The present title has helped me realise my wish to place this novel, at least by virtue of its name, in the tradition of those distant forbears.
The number of people to whom I must express my gratitude is large. First on that list are my friend and Madurai high court lawyer G.R. Swaminathan, and his wife, Mrs Kamakshi Swaminathan. There is much that I have received from them. One day, I wrote in my diary, ‘The unfortunate lesson that I’ve learnt from my experience of living all these years is that people are not that good or straight.’ That same day, I met Swaminathan for the first time. In the two years that I’ve spent in his company, my opinion has changed completely. That you can go beyond ideological differences and bind people together with love is an important lesson that I learnt from him. The other person who had an equal impact on me and encouraged me to face everything with a smiling face was Mrs Kamakshi Swaminathan. I take great pleasure in dedicating this novel, which in a way can be considered my first work of prose fiction, to these two extraordinary individuals.
When I shared the title of the novel with my friend, Srinivasan Natarajan, he gave me his vote of confidence and cheered me on. I appreciate his hard work and enthusiasm in designing the covers of the various re-issues of my novels and thank him with all my heart.
My grateful thanks to everyone.
Perumal Murugan
Namakkal
24 December 2016
1
ONCE, IN A village, there was a goat. No one knew where she was born. The birth of an ordinary life never leaves a trace, does it? Even so, her arrival was somewhat unusual.
In that semi-arid stretch of land known as Odakkan Hill, it didn’t rain much that year. The last few years had been no different. If it rained for half an hour on a rare day, some upstarts called it ‘torrential rain’. They had never seen a rainy season when it poured relentlessly throughout the day, for months on end. When it rained heavily, they cursed, ‘Why is it pouring like this?’ They were fed up of having to protect their possessions from the rain and getting drenched whenever they stepped out. But even an enemy should be welcomed with courtesy. If we curse and drive away the rain that brings us wealth and prosperity, why will it ever visit us again?
Pondering thus about the lack of rain, the old man sat on a hillock a short distance from his field and stared vacantly at the sky. He was a farmer who belonged to the community of Asuras. Harvesting had just been completed in all the fields. The yield was modest. But even after the harvest, some grass lay green and lush in the fields. Soon, the season of dew would be here. The dew cover would help the grass withstand the sun’s heat and survive for a few more days before drying up completely. Though the old man had a few goats that he could graze there, he wished he had one more goat that he could put to feed and raise in two months.
There was a small pit below the hillock where he sat, beyond which lay a stretch of sun-baked fields. He loved to sit there at sunset and watch the spectacle of a crimson blanket spreading over the horizon. On the days when he grazed his goats, as well as on other days, he would leave only after watching the colourful spectacle unfold in the sky. If he happened to miss it, he would feel aggrieved, as though he had been robbed of something precious. ‘Sit in the field and gaze at the sky for some time. It will clear your mind,’ the old woman would tease him.
One day, while he was enjoying the sunset, an unusual sight on the long foot trail adjoining the field caught his eye. A very large silhouette was moving in the far distance. It looked as if a tree trunk shorn of all branches had uprooted itself and was walking on the trail. The old man stood up instinctively. In the next few moments, it became obvious that what he was looking at was the figure of a man, elongated in the light of dusk.
The old man knew everyone in the area, including children of all ages. Who could this be? He couldn’t tell from the gait. In the space between one giant step and the next, he thought, a six-footer could lie down and extend his arms freely on either side.
It was the hour of dusk, and the figure was moving quickly, perhaps because he wanted to reach somewhere before nightfall. It seemed that he would pass by this spot in a few more seconds. The old man believed that there couldn’t be a soul in the region that he didn’t know. He had also never imagined that it would be so easy for someone to ignore him and walk away. Who was this giant?
Some moments later, the swinging movement of his right hand and his bent left arm came into view. When he saw that the giant was holding his left arm against his chest, the old man wondered if he had no use of that arm. If he picked up so much speed by swinging a lone arm, imagine how fast he could go if he swung his left arm too! To find out who the giant might be, the old man climbed down towards the trail.
He was an imposing figure, half as tall as a palm tree, with just a loincloth at his waist. The cloth seemed to flutter in the breeze. Though the old man had spotted him from afar, the giant had drawn near in no time. It looked as if he would race past the spot and be gone forever in a couple of seconds. Afraid that he might slip by, the old man shouted from a distance: ‘Who goes there?’ At once the giant stopped in his tracks. ‘It’s me, samiyov,’ he called out. His voice sounded like a wasp burrowing through a block of wood. The old man still couldn’t recognise him. Though he was positioned at a distance, he had to look up to see the giant’s face .
‘Who are you? You seem to be new around here,’ the old man said.
‘Not at all,’ the giant replied. ‘I belong to this area. I am wandering from village to village, trying to sell this goat kid. I haven’t found a buyer yet. She is just a day-old infant. That’s why I am going to every field, samiyov.’
‘If you go to the market fair, she’ll be sold in no time,’ the old man said.
‘Who will buy my baby at a market fair, sami?’ the giant laughed.
This one is very arrogant, thought the old man.
‘The fellows will come, one by one, hold her jaw and look at her teeth. They’ll clasp her waist with their fingers, pull at her udder and stroke her back. Haven’t we seen the poor goats standing around like exhibits at market fairs? Would I let any old hand touch this precious baby? That’s why I couldn’t bring myself to take her to a market fair. Raising this infant and making a living from it is beyond me. So I am roaming from village to village, try
Seems like his tongue, too, will stretch as long as his body, the old man thought. He glanced at the kid. She was scarcely visible. Maybe she was resting comfortably in the crook of his arm. In the fading light of dusk, he couldn’t see her clearly. He was reluctant to step closer.
‘You say you went to several villages. Did no one there have the money to buy this wonder kid?’
‘Oh, men of fortune are as plentiful as fruit worms, but a kind heart is rare. Only a kind-hearted man can have my baby,’ the giant said.
He bent down and set the kid on the ground. His back was as broad as a slab of granite. A big, fat worm wriggled near his feet. Standing upright again, he took off his head-towel and wiped the sweat from his face and upper body.
‘Look, she is no ordinary kid. Her mother birthed seven kids in a litter. After she delivered the sixth, I thought it was all over and only the umbilical cord was left. But she contracted her body and pushed hard once more. This one slid out as the seventh and dropped like a piece of dung. She is truly a miracle, look at her,’ the giant said.
A pleasant breeze had crept in at sunset, but sweat streamed down the giant’s torso like a rivulet. The old man looked on in surprise as he stemmed the flow with his towel and wiped himself dry. ‘What kind of man is he? Is he from a different planet?’ he mused, while the giant continued: ‘I can’t wander around anymore, sami. My days are at an end. I’ll hand over this kid to you and move on. Keep her under your care, samiyov.’
He lifted the kid and placed her in the old man’s hands. At first, it felt as if a hammer had grazed his hand; the next moment, he found a flower on his palm. The old man had never seen such a tiny goat kid before. He gazed at her in amazement. Her wriggling form fit snugly into the crook of his arm. The kid’s colour was all black, the shiny black of a beetle. With his palm resting on her throat, he looked up. The giant was gone. He was fading into the darkness at the end of the trail .
‘Yov, yov! Don’t you want money for the kid?’ the old man shouted. The giant couldn’t have heard him. The old man stood still and watched as the figure dwindled to a speck and then vanished altogether. As he turned back slowly, the old man was gripped by anxiety. He had wished for a goat to graze on the green grass. By chance, this bit of dung had come into his hands. How was he going to raise it to adulthood?
2
THE OLD MAN climbed the hillock and stepped into the field. He had plucked some grass and filled a basket with it. After laying the kid on the bed of grass, he lifted the basket and placed it on his head, and started walking. Arriving as a smoky haze, darkness had begun to settle slowly across the crimson sky in the west. It was time to head homeward. Someone like that giant, with his long strides, would probably have got there in no time.
The old man’s thatched shed was at a walking distance from the field. He had to pass the field, take the mud track, then cross the lake shore and trudge along the very long foot trail that wound through the stretch of semi-arid fields in order to reach home.
By the time he got on the foot trail, his shadow had begun to fade. He took long strides, in a hurry to reach home before it was too dark to see ahead. There were shorn fields all across the stretch. Here and there, he saw a few men who were taking their goats back home after grazing them on the new grass. But for this goat kid, he would have been home by now with the basket of grass .
As he walked on, he suddenly heard the sound of the kid crying, like a steady hum. The worm of a kid had not only eaten up his time, she was now crying; it provoked him to abuse her. Then he saw a bunch of goatherds come running towards him from all four directions, yelling, ‘Dhooyi, dhooyi.’ The old man stopped in his tracks, sensing that something was amiss. A gust of wind seemed to be pushing the basket off his head. He held on to it tightly. A man rushed forward, caught the old man by the arm and steadied him. Otherwise, he would have fallen face down in the dirt. He lifted the basket off the old man’s head and kept it on the ground. After recovering his wits, the old man asked breathlessly, ‘What’s happening?’
‘Look over there,’ the man said, pointing to the west. Flapping its wings, a large bird was flying away towards the hill where it was already dark.
‘What do you have in the basket that a large bird would hunt?’ Two or three men approached him with the question. ‘Is it a rat that you caught in the field?’
Meanwhile, the kid stood up slowly inside the basket and moaned: ‘Mmmm.’ Still shaken, the old man was unable to speak.
‘You had this big black worm in the basket. That’s why the eagle struck,’ laughed one man as he picked up the kid.
‘This is a goat kid, ’pa,’ said another.
The kid wriggled like a worm in the hands of the man who had picked it up. All the goatherds looked at it in wonder. ‘Is she really a goat kid? ’
They took her in their hands and examined her. The old man was embarrassed. If the goatherds had not spotted the eagle swooping down on the basket, it would have snatched the kid in its talons and eaten her by now.
‘Look at the kid. This moment of peril must have been in her destiny,’ the old man thought to himself. Then he addressed the goatherds: ‘Like providence, you people turned up at the right time to help me. On top of losing the kid, I might have taken a fall with the basket and broken a limb. What would I have done then? There’s an old woman at home. She feeds me every day because I do a little work and earn something. If I am laid up in bed with a broken limb, would she look after me?’
A goatherd in a loincloth held the kid in his hand and said, ‘Her belly is empty, ’pa. Look at her. She is so hungry she can’t even open her eyes.’ He called out, ‘Bu-ck-oo, bu-ck-oo’ and his goats came running to him. He picked a nanny goat and held the kid under her udder. The kid was too weak to reach for the udder, so he crammed the nanny goat’s teat into her mouth. It was perhaps the first time the kid was trying to hold a teat in her mouth. After a bit of a struggle, she managed to hold it firmly and sucked on it. When the first drops of milk touched her tongue, she discovered a new taste and began to suckle eagerly.
‘The kid is quite smart,’ said the man who had arranged to feed her. After a few sucks had drenched her belly, her jaw began to ache and the kid let go of the teat. ‘Go on, drink a little more. It’ll make sure that you pass the night without hunger pangs,’ the young man said and made her suckle some more. Then he picked her up and handed her over to the old man. ‘She looks like a worm, but with her attitude, she is already an adult,’ he said.
The men set out behind their herds. After placing the kid safely inside the basket and covering her with grass, the old man started walking on the trail. ‘I don’t know how many more hazards this creature will have to face. Will she overcome all of them or go under? Who knows what is fated for her?’ he mused.
The old woman didn’t like the look or sound of the kid. She scowled at her husband. ‘Where did you pick up this kitten from? Why do we need her?’ When the old man told her she was a goat kid, she picked her up and exclaimed in amazement: ‘Yes, she is a goat kid.’
All night, they went over the story of how the kid had come into their hands. They already owned two goats. One of them had littered just a month ago. Three kids: two male and one female. All three jumped and played around in their front yard. The other goat was pregnant and would deliver about a month from now. They had sold the kids from her previous litter to the butcher only ten days ago. They also owned a buffalo calf, a heifer. If she grazed for another year, she would be old enough to mate, and they could sell her.
The couple spent their days raising a few crops in the half acre of land adjoining their thatched shed, grazing their goats and tending the buffalo calf. It fell to the old man to take the goats to the fields for grazing and fetch fodder for the goats and the calf. Using that as an excuse, he liked to wander across the fields and villages, bantering with people at large and enjoying a few laughs. His wife rarely went out anywhere. Since their needs were very few, she visited the market fair once a month to buy groceries. They also visited their daughter’s home once a year for the annual festival at the village temple, which involved being away for a fortnight. She was their only daughter, and they had no other wish than to pass the remainder of their lives as serenely as they had done all these years.
