Rising Heat, page 17
The soil was going to go into Thatha. The soil that was already soaked in him. That soil was mixed with water, and his beloved grandchildren poured a little of that mixture into his mouth, one by one. When Chithappa’s son Muthu was done, the sound subsided. Paati’s lament was the first to be heard. Everyone else sniffled softly. Appa’s eyes kept oozing tears uncontrollably. He stood with his hand over his mouth.
Periappa began to provide instructions for each step that had to take place next. Thatha’s mouth was tied up with a white cloth, the body was covered and laid in the middle of the covered porch. The message had to be communicated to relatives from other villages. Chithappa went to the Aalkudi valavu looking for help. They sent the boy to town to arrange for the audio system and petromax lights. As he started moving ahead on his cycle, he ran into his Chithappa.
‘Payya, no one is willing to deliver the message to other villages. “Who will go in this heat to deliver the news of death, Saami,” they say. They certainly weren’t going to do it for one or two rupees. I even tried to give them five, but they still wouldn’t. If you saw them in their vetti and thundu, you couldn’t tell they are labourers. A man with some land is all but ruined!’
‘Okay, what needs to be done now?’
‘You go inform your grandmother’s family. I will send our boys to other places.’
‘Raakur Maama will be in the paddy godown. He has a phone there. If someone knows the number, couldn’t we just call him?’
‘That’s right, Payya. Your Annan knows the number. Get it from the shop.’
The boy’s cycle moved faster the deeper he sank into his thoughts. He was enveloped with the sadness that the one lap that lay open for him was now folded and tucked away. That lap was sown with love. On the days that Thatha went to the market, a savoury mixture and murukku would unfailingly show up from the folds of that lap. Thatha would offer it to him with his shaky hands and with his drunk drawl. That shakiness made the snacks taste even better. Thatha even brought him little packets of the spicy bean snack from the arrack shop.
How did it matter how big a boy he was? To his grandfather, he would always remain a little boy who crawled on to his lap to play with him. ‘Ponnaiyyan.’ The old man couldn’t pronounce the name that everyone else called him by. He had a special name for him to call with love.
‘Ponnaiyya . . .’ he would call even when he was a distance away, as he staggered in his tipsy darkness. The boy had to run over and guide him, holding his hand. The man who knew how to get to that point didn’t know the direction beyond it. It was the boy’s grasp that had to show him the way.
He would buy white baby goats from somewhere. He would look for his Ponnaiyyan to bring them. When the boy walked in front with the goat, he would tease him.
‘With Ponnaiyya’s touch, I’m sure we got a polar!’
‘Surely it must be Ponnaiyya’s fortune that we got ourselves a thattai?’
Thatha’s praises were in the jargon of goat-sellers. If he got more profit than he expected, Thatha would hand him two rupees. ‘Go buy something and eat.’ Those two rupees had so much value. At the end, when Thatha lay sick on his cot, they made him sit and bathed him in hot water. Both his legs had swollen like pillows. His face was bright. The limbs had stretched out like nerves. Appa and Chithappa poured water on him and scrubbed him. ‘Why are you bothering me like this . . .?’ he had whined. As the exhaustion from that spread throughout his body, he had begun to lose consciousness. One by one they had gone to him to get his blessing and a wish. Paati had asked, with her tear-filled eyes, ‘What blessing are you going to give me?’
He had stayed quiet. Paati had shaken him and asked again. He had gathered all his strength and had spat out, ‘Masuru.’ My foot.
For many, his silence had been his word. The boy had gone and stood next to him. Thatha had looked at him until his eyelids could not stay open any more. He had stretched out his arm and held him. A hold that felt akin to being caught under an iron wheel.
‘Ponnaiyya . . . live smartly . . .’
Those were his last words. After that, it was only the ‘nggkr’ sound till the end. That voice wouldn’t be heard any more. The sound of him clearing his throat as if to spit out the never-ending sediments of impurity was no more.
At night, he would pat the boy’s back gently and wake him up. ‘Do you want to pass urine?’ he would ask. That support was no longer available. The hand that enveloped him while sleeping would now do so only in spirit. It was as if the boy was collecting all his memories of his grandfather in a little box to protect them.
By the time he finished all the work assigned to him and returned home, a pandal had been installed outside. Under it were two benches. A group of men had come from Chinnur to play the drums. They had lit up a heap of dead leaves to temper the thappattai, a small percussion instrument. The group hadn’t started playing the drums yet.
‘Saami . . .’ they bent their bodies and wished the few people who arrived. As people gathered, they would wish them by their names and ask for money. The people who came to see the dead before the body was taken away usually brought some money specifically to give the percussionists.
The women began the customary lamenting. Incense sticks burned by Thatha’s head. His face was devoid of any care. His eyes seemed full of determination. That determination did not leave him till the end. He was careful to not let his problems affect anyone else. Twice or thrice he had defecated on the cot without his knowledge. The daughters-in-law refused to clean it. It was clear that until Atthai arrived and cleaned it, he was going to lie there in the smell. He had no sensation of the urge to defecate. Appa and Periappa had each held one end of him and transferred him to another cot. They had removed his loincloth and poured water on him. They had poured water on the other cot and Paati had scrubbed hard with a broomstick. Thatha had watched everything that happened without batting an eyelid. He hadn’t said anything then but after that he had refused to eat anything.
The drummers began to play the drums. The loudspeaker was being set up. The women’s laments were inconsistent. People from both villages joined them. Periappa, Appa and Chithappa stood in a row outside and demonstrated their sorrow by crying loudly with their faces in their towels. Sevathaan and the village head arrived and sat down. The drummers wished them by their names and asked for money. When Sevathaan heard the voice say ‘Saami . . .’ he looked at them carefully. He then took Periappa alone to the side.
‘Maama, where are you planning to bury your father?’
‘In the graveyard in our village, of course, Maaple. Where else will we bury him?’
‘I was wondering if you were maybe going to take him to the Chinnur one.’
Sevathaan slipped away from him and spoke to the village head. The people of Aattur gathered together and spoke in hushed tones amongst themselves. In an instant, they got on their vehicles and left. Nobody knew what was going on. How could the funeral continue without a gathering? The labourers also left with them. Nowadays, no one came to collect old clothes. No one came to give haircuts. They didn’t come to collect the annual gift money too. They gathered only when there was an occasion, happy or sad. Even then, they didn’t want anything in kind. They took a fee instead. Appa asked them, ‘Where are you going? How can we not have anyone around for the moaning?’
‘What can we do, Ayya? A few people from the village told us not to be here. If the villagers tell us to stay, we will. Come to the village and talk to them.’
The family did not understand what the problem was. The front yard of the house with a dead body was devoid of any people. Even the lamenting stopped and the women followed the men out. Someone stepped on the tail of the dog that was lying crumpled in a small ball and it got up and ran, yelping loudly. Unable to run or walk properly, it stood with one foot lifted. Poor Mani. Usually it lay in a pit it dug for itself. Vengan had ridden his bike out of control and run over Mani, severely wounding its hip. It didn’t go anywhere else but stayed close to home after that. Mani licked the wound over and over again, and walked slowly and quietly without disturbing the dispersing crowd. It sat in the garbage pit, curling its body back into a ball.
They parked the vehicle outside the village head’s house and Periappa and the boy walked in. The old place had been demolished and in its place was a larger and more spacious house divided into four or five rooms. The design of the window grilles oozed sophistication. The vernacular roof tiles had been replaced with cement and mortar. The old, large ancestral doors made with timber had been removed and in their place were pairs of smaller doors that stopped people from entering. The village head walked over from a corner of the house. He was a tall man with his face full of a greying beard.
‘What is this, Maama . . . you all just left in an instant without saying a word? What are we expected to do with a corpse lying in front of our house?’
Periappa’s face seemed as if he was on the verge of bursting into tears. His eyes were filled and about to give any minute. His hands were nervous and struggling to stay calm. They couldn’t comprehend the reason why the villagers had walked away. The village head, an older man, spoke with a straight face.
‘How did you think this was going to happen without a problem, Maaple?’
‘If you tell us what the problem is and the village tells us what we should comply with, will we not obey you?’
‘Okay, Maaple, why don’t you go meet with Sevathaan?’
‘If you can tell me what the problem is . . .’
‘That’s why you have to go see him, Maaple.’
Periappa didn’t know what to do. He was worried more about gaining the wrath of the village than losing his father. They needed the village. After all, the village people were their people. The village stood by them through good and bad. The village harboured them. They could not live in isolation without its support. If they could lean on anything, it was the village.
Sevathaan’s house was recently constructed. The doors were finished in laminate and shined smooth. The window grilles curved here and there and formed a circular pattern. Lamps hung around beautifully. There was a dining table and small porcelain dolls on display. It felt like a little palace. The house was built with the money from selling the land. Periappa was so upset he didn’t seem to notice anything. The boy, on the other hand, felt uncomfortable being there. He stood close to his Periappa. Sevathaan was seated on an easy chair.
‘What is the matter, Maaple? I asked the village head and he sent me here to ask you about it.’
‘Maama . . . if you do anything without thinking it through, this is what will happen. The grand old man had built a shack for himself adjacent to your younger brother’s house. Okay. Now, which village does that land come under?’
‘Chinnur, of course.’
‘Are you paying taxes to that village, though?’
‘Even though we bought land and moved there, this village is where our heart is. The temple taxes are all paid to this village, our village.’
‘Why the change in the village, Maama? To this side of the panchayat road is our village. The other side is the other village. So then, will Maama’s house not belong with that village?’
‘No, Maaple . . . we are going to bury Appa in our village graveyard only.’
The boy could not bear to listen to Sevathaan’s stances. Why all this pretence? How many convoluted questions is this man going to ask before he speaks of the problem? Is he using Thatha’s death to play games and seem like an important man? He needs to be kicked so hard that his testicles go flying. He sits there lounging, showing no signs of moving, what sort of a show is this? Bloody rascal.
‘The temple wall got damaged. We collected thousands of rupees around the village and are rebuilding it now. Will we even ask the colony people? They could put any donation in the temple donation box if they feel so inclined. Our people are our people no matter where they are. Yes. But it takes something to be part of a village, isn’t it?’
‘Maaple, everything you said is right. Tell us what the problem is.’
Periappa was losing his patience. The boy’s face flushed red as he stared at Sevathaan. Sevathaan spoke as if he understood their emotions.
‘You pay taxes to this village. You are going to bury the body in the graveyard of this village. But you bring the drummers from that village?’
Finally, the issue was clear. No one had thought that such a problem would come up. They were struggling, being caught between two villages. How did it matter where the drummers were from? They beat the drums. They got some money. The Aattur drummers came from a place close to Sornavur. Someone had to go there to inform them but they didn’t have anyone to send. There was no need to make such a big deal about this. Sevathaan continued, ‘If you tell these drummers to leave and send for the other drummers, the villagers will come back.’
Periappa did not know how to respond to him. The two of them returned home. There was a lot more sorrow around the house that no one was there mourning the dead than for the loss itself. There were a couple of people from Chinnur, and a few relatives. Periappa asked them for their advice.
‘As soon as he died, I was the one who sent for the drummers. Who expected that that would lead to something like this? Do we not pay the Aattur drummers their annual labour gift? Will they keep quiet if we didn’t? So why did this have to become such a big issue?’
Appa clarified his actions to avoid blame. To see a house with the dead so empty made the women weep over and over. The boy didn’t want to interrupt the elders who were in discussions, but he had ideas. Why are they thinking like this? What can the villagers do? Their absence is not going to stop the body from being buried. Were they going to expel them from the village? No, that was all in those days. These days, nothing like that would happen. What did they do to Kodukkan for drawing water from the village well against the village rules? They are still only watching him do it. They cannot move and shake like they used to be able to. Sevathaan is jumping around as if everything is in his hands. He prods and creates problems that were never there.
‘Doing the rites without the village is not such a big deal.’
‘How can that be? Don’t we still have to go to the graveyard?’
‘So what if we don’t take him to that graveyard? Isn’t there a spot right here in this land for him?’
The drumming became louder in the background. The drummers were nervous they would be sent home and started beating the drums faster. They were very focused on not giving up their rights. ‘We’ll see how someone else enters the boundaries of Chinnur and plays here. How will they allow that?’
Chithappa went to them and told them to stop playing. Wait till the problem was discussed and resolved and play after that, he said. They stopped and sat down. ‘We’ll deal with it then when they ask us to leave. We have the people of Chinnur on our side,’ they decided.
‘We can’t simply go against the village just like that, Maaple.’
‘Why, what can they do to us?’
Annan’s face was glowering.
‘It’s not like that, da. The temple, the tank, people, caste, everything belongs to the village. Can we claim a relationship with Aalkudi instead? Those are our people. We cannot simply brush them aside today, we have to think about tomorrow as well.’
‘We cannot ask the drummers who are already here to leave. That is not fair either. Moreover, they won’t leave even if we ask them to. What else can we do? Tell me.’
Periappa’s face displayed a lack of clarity. Chithappa seemed like he was ready to carry the body like a gunny sack and bury it right then. The women whimpered quietly. They were all frustrated that even after Thatha was dead, he had to go through all this. The stereo was switched off too.
‘We did this by mistake. Let us go and ask the villagers for forgiveness and try to cajole them to join us.’
‘Why the hell should we ask them for forgiveness? Did we go into the village and pull anyone by their hand? Or did we steal something from them? Whatever we do, I will not agree to the business of asking them for forgiveness.’
Chithappa’s point did seem to make sense. Appa tried to advise him nicely but both the boy and his Annan were on Chithappa’s side.
‘Whatever it is, we don’t want to get into a fight with the village. Go. Go and tell them . . . all this happened by mistake. And ask them what we should do. We cannot ask the drummers to leave now. We cannot ask the other drummers to come now either. Ask Sevathaan himself what other option we have.’
Chithappa said, ‘I will go this time’, and left. The boy seated himself on the pillion seat. Sevathaan was expecting them.
‘What have you decided, Maama?’
‘What can we do? Whatever the village decides, we will accept that. Let me gather a few people and I will ask them . . .’
Sevathaan interrupted him hurriedly, ‘You don’t have to call any of them. If I say something, they will all agree to it.’
‘Then just tell us,’ said Chithappa, a little sternly.
‘I already said what needs to be done. Send them back and get these drummers.’
‘That is not possible, Maaple. If we send the ones that are already there back, will their villagers keep quiet? They are already ready with their armours. Give us another option.’
‘There is no other option.’
Chithappa’s face shrunk. He flapped his towel vigorously and got up. He then looked at the boy and said, ‘Get up now, let’s go. How much has my father done for this village. These are dogs with no gratitude. If you can come, come. Otherwise, his sins will come after you.’
‘Don’t rush out, Maama,’ said Sevathaan, immediately grabbing his hand and making him sit.
‘Will this get resolved with your anger? This ritual involves the village. We must think before acting. If you say something today, you would not want some others to blame you for anything tomorrow, do you?’
