Rising Heat, page 11
‘Just. Simply. Tell me now.’
‘Earlier, he used to drink kallu in the forests. But now, where does he have the time for all that? He comes home after twelve at night. He has loads of work. He doesn’t go there these days.’
Murali picked up his cycle and didn’t say anything for some time. He seemed deep in thought. He opened his mouth a couple of times to say something but didn’t. He looked up at the canopy of the tamarind tree, and then looked at the boy. He wiped his face with his hand, stopped his hand on top of his nose and stayed there, thinking.
‘What is it, da? Whatever it is, tell me now.’
‘Don’t take this the wrong way. I have something to tell you.’
‘Whatever it is, don’t hesitate, just tell me.’
Murali rode his cycle with his eyes fixed on the front wheel and did not look once at the boy. His voice sounded feeble as he said, ‘I too have gotten inebriated a couple of times, da. I’m not saying it is such a big sin. But . . .’
‘Just say it, da. This is hardly the time to talk like a saint.’ His beating around the bush was beginning to annoy the boy.
‘I saw your brother completely drunk yesterday.’
Surely he must have confused his identity with someone else. How would he remember a face that he had seen two, maybe three, times? He has seen someone else and assumed it is my Annan. Cockeyed fellow! he thought, laughing.
‘Do you know how my brother looks?’
His words sounded as if he was mocking Murali’s capability to remember things. Even in school, Murali couldn’t repeat what was said a short while before. He felt that the boy was pinpointing all that with his question, and that burned him. Anger and pride boiled over.
‘He is a bit fairer than you. He combs his hair like Thalaivar. His cheeks are a little hollow. His moustache has only the end hair sticking out. His nose is withered and points downwards. His eyes . . .’
‘Stop, stop. Tell me, where did you see him?’
The identification marks that Murali gave were all correct. But would he have been drunk? That too to the point of delirium? The golden boy. Reserved. Quiet. Was he really talking about him?
‘Last night, I went to a second-show cinema with my Maama. It must have been around one, one-fifteen. There was not a soul around. And not a sound. It was only within the colony by the ration store corner that we heard two or three people talk and laugh loudly. We couldn’t tell who they were so we went close by to find out. They completely ignored us. Then, suddenly, they began to fight amongst themselves. They hit each other even though not one of them could stand steady. Your brother was among them. The others were from Vettur, apparently. My Maama told me. I, too, was not very sure at first. But then I checked closely in the light from the lamp. It was surely your brother.’
Annan came in at night without anyone’s knowledge. He left after everyone in the morning. Even if he was drunk, it was true that no one could have known . But hanging out in groups and creating trouble?
The boy’s head began to spin. He wanted to stop the cycle and just sit down right there. What else did he have to bear the burden of? The house was just about returning to some state of normalcy after the thunder that had struck them. Now this? They had imprisoned Appa for a week after the cemetery episode. Because the whole village took responsibility, that incident died away without causing any further trouble. After Akka got married and left, they barely saw her. She came home on rare occasions, as if visiting some acquaintance. Unable to bear all this, Appa shut himself in the goat pen. Thatha and Paati spent their time bickering and fighting between themselves. They were both just bags of bones, though. They had as many wrinkles on their body as the bubbles in the rice water they threw away, and shrunk a little every passing day. But who was really flourishing anyway? Chithappa’s story was similar too. He was in danger of getting pneumonia from all the loads he was lifting. He was always drunk because of his work. His eyes were perpetually bloodied.
When the boy wondered why it was all happening this way, he could only blame the loss of the land they had owned. How cheerful and energetic their lives were! They were flung away, out of their lands, and this was the state they were in now. How could Annan too do this?
He didn’t sleep that night. It was a new-moon night and pitch-dark outside. He was lying down in the shed. His mother’s cot was by the front of the house. Across from her and a little away was Thatha’s shed, where the old couple slept, each in one corner. A small lamp flickered from the shed where food was cooked. Until then, there was no sign of Annan. The boy lay awake, determined to see when Annan got in. He kept tossing and turning. The thornlike cot bothered him. The cock crowed. Was it crowing at an odd hour? His brother could blame losing track of time if at least the moon was up and bright. But why hadn’t he returned yet on such a pitch-dark night? That rascal, he had been sneaking into the house in the middle of the night!
Mani stood by the well and howled. The howl he howled every three hours, or a saamam. The boy wanted to beat up the dog. It howled as if everything was lost. He should have just left it to run around in the colony. After Thatha and Paati lost everything and moved to the valavu, Mani used to come home too. But he had to circumvent the village to get home because theirs was the last house in the valavu and it would have to fight with the other dogs in the village if it went through there. They all ganged up to attack it as if it were a stranger. It was getting to be too much trouble for it to reach home, tucking its tail between its legs and escaping all the attacks. So, Mani found its own convoluted route to get to them. If they gave it something to eat, Mani finished that and then made its way to the colony again. And ever since they had bought land and moved, it was freed of having to deal with the village dogs.
Mani stopped howling and started barking. Other dogs began to join the chorus from afar. Mani went close to the cart track and barked harder—and then suddenly stopped as if nothing had happened. The boy lifted his head slightly to see what was going on.
There was the sound of a cycle. And he could see someone pushing it. Mani went close to that person and rubbed against their legs, whimpering softly. The person simply gave it a kick in the darkness and said, ‘Get lost.’ Mani withdrew into a corner, crying loudly in pain. Just when he was wondering if he should get up and help his brother, his mother was already up and walking towards him.
‘Why are you creating so much trouble for me?’ She gave him a tight rap on his head with her knuckles. His head couldn’t stay straight. With his head hanging down to the front, he slowly managed to put down the stand of his cycle. Amma held the stumbling fellow by his hand and guided him inside. The boy, on the other hand, watched the whole thing happen in front of him and his ire grew beyond bounds.
Amma, you knew all about this and are keeping it a secret? What sort of mother are you!? You think you are protecting this spineless son by hiding his character? How long do you think you can protect him? As long as you do so, he will keep drinking. And cause nuisance. And eat without anyone noticing him and go to sleep. Amma, what you are doing is enabling him. It will get him out of the consequences of his actions. But that only temporarily. The more he drinks, the walls of protection you have built will crumble one by one. They will all come down and expose him to the world. At that time, he will stand naked, hurting; stop protecting him, Amma. Why are you feeding him? Is it because he drinks, and if he sleeps on an empty stomach, his intestines will get fried and his buttocks will explode? If there is someone to take such good care of him, how will he ever feel any remorse from drinking so much? He will happily drink more. He will drink until he doesn’t remember anything. Are you afraid that he will drink openly if everyone came to know of it? Foolish mother . . . Let him drink openly. A person committing a mistake in secrecy will always feel protected. Take that away from him. Let some fear about life get into him.
Amma served Annan some food, scolding him in her mind. So, Annan did drink. It was also very clear that this was a daily affair. What should he do now? He had to expose Annan and include Amma too.
He walked stealthily to the goat pen. He heard Appa’s loud snore. Appa sounded one with the goats. ‘Appa, Appa,’ he called out softly. Appa ground his teeth like stones rubbing against each other. If someone who didn’t know about it heard this, it was sure to scare them. Why did he grind his teeth like this? ‘Huh?’ he said as he woke up with a start and climbed down. ‘What, da?’ His voice quivered.
‘Come and see the state that your older son is in. Come.’
‘Why, what happened?’
‘He is completely drunk, Appa. It seems to me that he comes home like this every day.’
‘Oh no! Has he also decided to drop a rock on this family’s head?’
He followed Appa in the dark. The shaken body was quivering. His father couldn’t walk faster. Even in the dark, the komanam shone like a bright white line. He was sagging like an old white goat that had had four or five kids. Amma came out to throw away the leaf that Annan ate from. She let out a soft cry as she saw them approach and withdrew to one side in fright.
‘Why are you shouting? It’s just us. Call your lovely son out.’
‘He is already asleep.’
‘Sure, of course. Dei! Get up and come out!’
Annan got up from the plinth of the house and came over. He tried hard to control his stagger. He stood up straight and pressed his feet down hard. ‘What, Appa?’ he asked loudly.
‘How long has this been going on?’ Appa asked without a trace of anger in his voice. Instead, it was laced with fatigue from the motley experiences he had gone through.
‘What are you referring to, Appa?’
‘This drunken state that you are in.’
‘Who is drunk?’
Annan spoke loudly. Even his voice sounded as if he was going to beat someone up. Meanwhile, the stare that Amma gave to the boy as she stood with the still-to-be-discarded leaf in her hand was sparking with fire.
‘You are a dupe who knows nothing. I know everything. You don’t have to go to the cinema talkies starting tomorrow. Stay back and work in the farm.’
‘That’s not my fate! Why should I roam around with the goats wearing a komanam?’
His voice came out clearly and deliberately without a crack. Appa was a bit taken aback by his response. Until then, Annan had never argued against Appa. He was an innocent lad who listened to whatever was told to him. A simpleton. His father couldn’t take it that he sounded so belligerent.
‘Then what? You speak as if you are born into a landlord family. That you can do nothing and still eat.’
‘Give me money. I will start a soda shop.’
‘How will I trust someone who is so drunk that he is walking on his head with any money?’
Appa’s voice shivered. Maybe it was the wind making it shake and crack a little?
‘I will drink. And do whatever I want. Do I ask you for money? I earn. And do I give money for the family regularly or not?’
He sat himself on a rock and held his head in his hands.
‘So, since you are earning, I shouldn’t ask His Highness any questions?’
‘Give me money to set up a shop. Then if you find me drinking after that you have every right to pull me up. But don’t expect me to sit around and bear the burden of the land. I won’t.’
‘But you think you can run the shop yourself?’
‘Won’t I? Give me the money and watch for yourself.’
Amma couldn’t bear it any longer and intervened. ‘Is he not saying he will do it? Just give him the money. He will learn to manage it. He knows the trade already. It’s not like he has to suffer in the forest like we do.’
‘You shut up and stay out of this, di. This is between him and me. And aren’t you quite the charitable goddess. Providing food to all the wastrels that come home drunk.’
‘As if you smell fragrant, with no alcohol on your breath.’
He got up as if possessed, grinding his teeth loudly. With the first stick he could find, he beat Amma. Her cries broke through the darkness. ‘Sinner, sinner, just kill me!’
He beat her with it until the stick broke into pieces.
‘Why are you hitting Amma, leave her alone!’ shouted Annan and pushed Appa back. Appa fell stomach down outside the house. The boy ran over to the father and helped him up. Thatha and Paati watched all this through the darkness. Appa’s leg got cut by the rock and the boy’s hands were sticky with his blood. ‘Aiyyo, Appa!’ he cried and found a piece of cloth to tie up his wound. Annan sat himself again on the rock and planted his head in his palms.
‘Adei . . . are you so drunk that you dare hit Appa? You drunk dog!’
The boy grabbed Annan’s hands in a bunch and punched him on his back. Annan grabbed his arm and bit him hard. The two of them rolled on the sand outside, fighting. ‘Dei . . . dei,’ yelled Amma and Appa as they tried to separate them.
‘Why are you doing this? Everyone is bent on destroying this family even more. Learn to be responsible and make a living, you motherfuckers,’ cried Thatha from the plinth. His voice was carried away by the winds, alone.
Inside the house, Amma lay with her hair spread everywhere. Around her, dirt and dust had built a boundary. Her undone hair lay clumped in unkempt locks with her having no time to pull them all into a bundle. She didn’t bother making or serving any food. She refused to get up regardless of what anyone said. Evidently, the burden in her mind hurt her more than Appa’s blows. Money earned through so much hard work! Everything got wiped away by greed. The boy found it disgusting to see Amma’s swollen face. Annan was the only one who kept trying to make her get up. ‘Get away!’ she snapped, swatting him with her arm as she continued to lie down.
She didn’t get up to even milk the cows. Appa would let the calf loose in the morning. In the evening, the boy milked the cow. He wasn’t used to it, having not done it for a while. But the buffalo stood still no matter who milked it. And its udders were soft like a flower. Just touching them made them squirt milk. If it was blocked, even if he used both his hands to softly squirt, nothing came out. He gently knelt down, balanced himself on his feet and milked the cow. Appa stood in front, caressing its face. He would have milked the cow himself but he couldn’t kneel down. If he did, it hurt like death.
Appa was raising his hand for everything. These days, his inadequacies seemed to manifest as blows and fights. And even the swear words he uttered grew worse. They wriggled like worms when he opened his mouth. Unable to bear Appa’s anger, Thatha fought with him once.
To that, Appa yelled, ‘Can the old man not shut up and stay out of it?’
Since then, Thatha hadn’t opened his mouth to ask about anything. He remained ‘like a beaten rock’, saying nothing. His chidings at Paati alone could be heard well into the night.
Amma too began to want all sorts of things. The young women from the colony had no work to do. They had all the time to go to the movies and dramas. Amma too would tie up the buffalo and go away with them to gossip or watch movies. Should Appa take care of the lands? Or milking the cows? Or grazing the goats? All the work landed on his head. Unlike before, nobody came to work in the farms. Even if they did, the salaries they demanded could be met only by giving them the shirt off his back. But Amma did not care about any of that. She made herself up, combed her hair, made a bun out of it and wrapped it with crossandra flowers. To make up for her wispy hair, she added fake hair that went all the way to her waist. He found all of this to be very distasteful. Appa observed everything but didn’t say anything. But some day—like how he had exploded in Annan’s case—when he found the opportunity, he would beat the hell out of her to appease his anger. He had already begun to say something about it now and then.
‘Looks like a man in the colony is waiting there with the gates wide open.’ Or, ‘Who invited you over there? You’ve walked back and forth from the colony seven times already.’
To all this, Amma would retort with, ‘Why don’t you come by? I will expose the man I cuddle on my lap. You are the one who goes to prostitutes from seven different villages. If you accuse me of anything, it will be your tongue that will rot, you watch.’
All that the boy could do was to cry within, hearing the exchanges his parents had. Who could he shut up? Both of them were pouring out the fires that were the agitations of their minds. And if they took joy in seeing the other charred from that fire, just what could he say? They were damaging each other so much with mere words. They seldom remembered that there were others around. And how many inappropriate embarrassing details they spoke out in the presence of their own son who now stood taller than the father. Is this what they meant when they said ‘turn forty and the demeanour changes to that of a dog’s’? They didn’t have the guts to face the consequences and instead gorged on each other. He even harboured thoughts of leaving home and running away with nothing but what he was wearing.
Amma just couldn’t do the work related to the land and stay quiet in that house. She would fetch two or three potfuls of rice-drained water for the buffalo. She would take cow dung for the houses that gave her the rice-drained water. She also had the job of delivering milk to the colony twice every day. And then she would deliver cow-dung cakes or castor plant twigs, and that was a couple of rounds of walking. She always managed to make some money every time she went to the colony. And if she gave Appa two paisa, two more went into her purse. The money she made went back to the colony as loans. Thirty-three per cent interest or forty-eight per cent interest. They even came home looking for her sometimes.
‘Please give two hundred. Even if you charge forty eight per cent, that is okay with us. We will return the amount in two months.’
These were people who drew a fixed salary every month. Why were they finding themselves borrowing money so often? They all lived way beyond their means, then they borrowed money with interest. These were people who worked at the mill, who were office-goers, weavers. Amma loaned money only to families she knew from delivering milk.
