Rising Heat, page 19
There were people who sold their lands and put the money in finance after paying their debts. Of what use was keeping land? In a year, they barely got two or three showers of rain. When they sowed groundnuts, the land was wet. By the time they sprouted, dust blew around. Clearing the land of weeds was an endless chore. To cultivate flowers, they needed rain. Eventually, something or the other managed to grow. At the end, though, what did the land tally up to? A man with land could barely feed himself. And that was after working the skin off his back day and night. Selling land made better sense. It was going at a good price. Gone were the days when they were getting a mere thousand or two thousand for an acre. The lands were transformed to plots for homes. The unit of sales changed from acres to square feet. If they sold the land and put the money in finance, the money from interests reached them promptly. They could build a house. Buy a vehicle. Wear a bright white shirt and a veshti. Do as they pleased. What else did they want?
People like Sevathaan took full responsibility for the transactions. The finance companies were like their second homes. Whatever the dealing was, he said, ‘Come to the finance office.’ When the lads went to the office, he pulled out the notice and read it. They said that the play should be mentioned on the last page of the kumbabhishekam pamphlet.
‘Should the play be included in the pamphlet? Looks like this will use up a whole page,’ he grumbled but finally agreed to it. The way he poked his nose into every business was becoming highly intolerable.
Thalaivar had been unwell and had moved to the USA. Only if that man died would this man’s dance stop, the lads groused behind Sevathaan’s back. When they talked to him, though, they talked politely and quietly, as if whispering a secret.
Unable to hide his frustration, the boy said a bit loudly, ‘We collected money for the drama. We have been rehearsing for it all these days. If you can’t even include us in the pamphlet, then what is the point in having us boys in this village?’
‘Okay, okay, Maaple. Why are you getting angry? Am I saying no? We will put it in there, we will put in it there.’ He was only keen on getting them out of there.
Even though he had agreed to including the notice in the way they had drawn it out, there was only a small mention of the drama when the pamphlets arrived. The boys were all so infuriated they wanted to tear him apart. All of them were eagerly waiting to see their names on the pamphlet for the first time in their lives and were supremely disappointed.
Chapter 13
‘Why did you not print what we gave you?’ a few of them surrounded Sevathaan and demanded. He seemed a little taken aback. His face started to sweat. He pulled himself together and got off his vehicle.
‘Nothing against printing all that. We ran out of space.’
‘How can you say there was not enough space, Maama? We told you right in the beginning, didn’t we? What did you tell us then?’
‘I said we will print all that. There was a lot of the temple matter that needed to be included, you saw that, didn’t you?’
Balu had the pamphlet in his hand. Ravi snatched it out of his hand and thrust it in front of Sevathaan.
‘You know how much space could have been saved? Look.’
Without taking the pamphlet in his hand, Sevathaan said, ‘Yes, I saw. This was all written by the temple priest. How can we edit that, tell me? Come, let’s get some tea and continue talking.’
He walked quickly towards the tea shop. That was one way to escape from the boys. And it would help him control his anxiety too. The boys followed him to the shop. They were clearly enraged. He did everything just the way he wanted. Everyone in the village, including the village head, took his word as gospel and agreed to everything he did. There was never any opposition to him. It was as though he held everyone under his spell and controlled them.
Whatever the concern, the answer was always, ‘Go, ask Sevathaan.’
‘Does he have two horns? Selfish man. Once the kumbabhishekam is over, he is going to pay for a lakshaarchanai, a special elaborate pooja, for the well-being of Thalaivar apparently. Everything is just a sham,’ the boys thought to themselves before they squabbled aloud.
‘They have printed such a big photo of Dhanappaswamy. Why couldn’t you put us in there?’
‘That fellow is a fraud and a rogue who cheats the village in the name of god. And he gets three-quarters of a page.’
‘It seems when he sees women he acts like a monkey and whistles at them. Does he deserve so much respect?’
Their bickering began to annoy Sevathaan. He pulled out a pamphlet from his pocket and showed it to all of them. ‘Here, read this.’ It was a biography of the holy man Dhanappaswamy.
‘Even though he lives in Vagunarur, he comes to Aattur once every week. When we approached him to help with our temple, he got a statue made. Read that. Then you won’t talk so badly about him.’
Ravi stood reading it in the light of the lamp. A couple of boys from the colony seated across the road from them on a little elevation kept looking at them. Sevathaan wanted to say anything that would get him away from the boys and away from there.
‘The holy Dhanappaswamygal is about five feet tall and has good bodily features. He has dense hair, a small forehead, eyebrows like a bow, mercy-filled eyes, a prominent nose, a natural smile, a mouth that wishes well, two hands that bless, two golden feet on legs that stand on wooden slippers as if to claim that they were created for their duty, which is to reach any devotee in need of help. His gaze is full of benevolence. Firm words that are sweeter than honey came together to create the holy Dhanappaswamygal’s body, making it of extraordinary beauty. The elegance of his thoughts, the calmness within him and the sweetness of his words would make one wonder if the great god Mansamy himself was standing in front of them. He is a rare sight. His love, holy vision, striking smile and the calm glow of beauty that his face exudes will bring happiness to our minds and open our eyes.’
‘Stop it!’ Balu grabbed that pamphlet from his hands, tore it up and threw it away. Sevathaan got on his vehicle and started it. They went and stood around him again.
‘Come home, all of you. We can discuss this further.’
‘Let’s talk right here. Get off your vehicle.’
He got off his vehicle quietly and sat on the temple bolster. The boys continued standing.
‘Dhanappaswamy is a woman in man’s clothes. A transvestite. We have all seen him in person. You give that wastrel so much space. Here we are, putting so much effort into our play. Give us a viable option and then leave.’
He held Balu by his shoulder and made him sit next to him.
‘You are all young fellows. What do you know? Today, the biggest seer around this area is Dhanappaswamy. You can check this out for yourself. There is always a crowd around him. Whether what he predicts actually happens or not, he rakes in a lot of money. He has built a big house in Aattur itself. You all have seen it, right? He has a voice. Who knows if he is a cheat or not. But he has given fifty thousand for our temple and made a statue for us. Not one or two rupees. A full fifty thousand. Just like that. All the pages and spaces belong to him. You will put up a drama with the help of some motherfucker. And we need to give you a whole page for that?’
‘Again, don’t keep mixing issues here.’
‘If we youngsters remain united, you all can’t bear that, can you?’
But the force in their words began to diminish. It was the fifty thousand doing its job. The money the godman had donated stifled their voices. And this worked to Sevathaan’s benefit.
‘You foolish boys, just where doesn’t this difference come up? Today, that is what gets anything done. Dhanappaswamy is from our caste, da. That is why when we asked for a donation for our temple, he gave us money immediately. Otherwise, will he give any?’
‘All that is okay, but we want space in the pamphlet.’
‘Why do you want that? So their names appear in large fonts and the names of our boys get printed in tiny letters? Do you all have any brains? Even the government gives all the unlimited subsidies only to them. Guru’s son is studying in Madurai. The government is bearing all his expenses. If any of our boys go to study like that, do you think they will do the same? Here, this Maaple is going to college. How much is the government giving him? It is the hard-earned money from toiling in the lands yesterday that pays for him instead. Keep all that in your minds.’
Gajendran suddenly began to talk as if he agreed with what Sevathaan was saying.
‘I told them all this a while ago. That Shaktivel is addressing me with the disrespectful “da”. And he acts up just because he is the director of the play. Even the other guy who comes with him from his valavu hardly respects us. He after all works in my family’s looms. Yet, he thinks it’s okay to put his arm around me and talk to me as if he is my equal.’
Sensing that Sevathaan was gaining traction to pull them all towards his side, the boy wanted to shift the focus back to getting their goal accomplished.
‘Let all that be. Now, how are we to perform the play without any publicity? We will get our own handouts printed then.’
‘When the boys from the colony put up a play, they had handouts. Do you think we are worth less than them?’
Sevathaan stayed quiet, seemingly thinking. The flies swarmed around the temple lamps and fell down charred. All around, little night lamps glowed in various colours. The old structure with the clay-tiled roof had disappeared. The temple stood shining in its newly painted hues. Its tower had new sculptures added. The lamp that glowed on top of it hugged everything around with its light.
‘Come to Kasog Finance tomorrow morning. Just two of you will suffice. I will make the arrangements for your handouts. But I have a condition . . .’
‘Tell us.’
‘It should be our councillor who inaugurates the play. He is standing in the upcoming elections. What do you say?’
‘Sure, why not. Let him come. We are good if we get the handouts.’
‘The handouts will be ready in a day.’
The next day, the handouts arrived as promised. Just the way they had written it out. Not a thing had been changed.
With the blessings of Sri Saamiyayi
Long live the world of Tamil, long live the world of art
At the Karattur, Aattur villages’
Sri Saamiyayi Temple’s
Consecration ceremony
On the 21st day of the month of Thai (3-2-85), Sunday, at 9 p.m., at the beautiful stage located adjacent to the great Saamiyayi’s temple
Presenting the first work of art by the Red Rose Youth Club
In Wedding Attire Again?
A social drama
Opposite Karattur’s Annasalai, in the Rangusamy supermarket building, is Sri Suryabhavan, a vegetarian restaurant. Tea, coffee, tiffin, meals, curd rice, lemon rice, tomato rice, veg biryani, etc. are available here.
By Suryabhavan, K. Aarumugam, Karattur
Note: We are delighted to share that we process any orders in your name for sweet, savoury or tiffin varieties on the spot.
Sri Velmurugan Printers, Main Street, Karattur
The temporary shed with the stage was bursting at its seams. Women and children fell over each other trying to watch them. It was like a cinema shooting. The men tittered looking at the actresses again and again. A rehearsal was under way. The final rehearsal. The whole village’s eyes were only on them. Even those in a rush slowed down to take a quick peek at them before moving on. Nubile women watched the young men on stage with both shyness and enthusiasm, whispering with their eyes. Looking at them, the men on stage thought they were big superstars and began to put on airs. And when they forgot their lines, they blinked cluelessly. There was so much commotion. No one could distinguish between the sounds of the actors and the chatter of the viewers. In the middle of all this, the music crew was sitting in a corner practising the songs. They were all new songs. They had to be set to new tunes. The three actresses looked like karagaatam dancers in their excessively glittery clothes. They delivered their lines, adapting them to the scene themselves. The love scene took place in the park. Balu kept pinching the actress’ cheeks as he said his lines.
‘Yow, talk without touching me. If you keep touching me, I will walk out. You better watch out.’
‘Like you are some devoted wife. Do I not know about you?’
‘If you speak like this, I will not act.’
She walked away and sat in a corner. The comedian Ravi had the music crew stay by him and had them play his song. As they played it, he danced with the comedy actress.
Don’t go, my pristine rose,
Don’t leave, I’ll be morose.
As he chased after her, trying to hug her, she kept running away coyly.
O flower goddess who dances in my heart
If you don’t love me, my soul will depart
This heart is full of love, talk sweet, my dove . . .
The more she struggled to release herself from his grasp, the tighter he held her. She finally bit him to free herself and ran away. Pacchaami, who had the father role, also wanted to practise his song. Shaktivel was pulling his hair out. It was so chaotic. Unable to take the disorder, the boy yelled at everyone.
‘Stop all this. Everyone, stop talking and stand to the side. If the final rehearsal doesn’t go properly, we will end up forgetting our lines and our scenes on stage. Start the rehearsal from the first scene. All the viewers, please leave now. Come back tonight and watch the show.’
They managed to send everyone away and start the rehearsal from the first scene. For those who forgot their lines, he held the book with all the lines and gave them cues. Even then, Shaktivel was directing them to act this way and that. For his scene, he shouted loudly and made a scene. A villain he had to be.
The actresses decided to drink water and went into a changing room built with a few braided coconut fronds. Keerthi tried to peep through the gaps in the fronds. One of the women was changing her clothes there. The boy gave Keerthi a hard kick on his bottom. ‘Hee hee,’ Keerthi giggled as he straightened himself and asked him, ‘Do you want to see too?’ ‘Go, da, your scene is coming up.’ Keerthi reluctantly walked to where the rehearsal was going on.
The boy had a headache and wanted to have a cup of hot tea. Thinking about the others made him angry. They looked like they were going to pick the actresses apart and devour them piece by piece. But did they observe the ‘exquisite’ bodies of their beloved actresses? Did they notice the gestures of these beloved actresses with skins devoid of firmness or sensitivity? Their faces sparkled with beauty created with layers of make-up. And here the boys were trying to make real the imaginary lives that they were acting out. Che . . . why do I alone have no interest in all this? Is it really a lack of interest or is it my sense of superiority over the rest that I am continuing my studies? If not, would I have been behaving worse than them? What was the reason I went seeking Ramayi? Do I think that these boys also are not my equals, just as I thought about Murali and Gopal? If not, would I have been like this too? Inside, every atom is lust in all its arrogance. It draws everything to it. And guffaws boisterously like there is nothing beyond. If bettered, it flips itself and stays down adamantly. Ppa! . . . His mind full of thoughts, he didn’t feel like going back to the shed and decided to walk home instead. The drama could be managed somehow. Getting there in the evening should be enough.
Starting in the morning, programmes related to the kumbabhishekam took place one after the other. A Thalaivar movie was going to be screened on a 35 mm screen in the evening. After that was the drama. It was going to be inaugurated by K.K. Murugayyan, known better as vettukaaran, ‘the Slicer’. There was talk that he was going to stand in the next election for the position of panchayat head. He was related to the minister Kandhasamy by way of his wife. He had opened an industrial training unit near Mullur and business was going well. Efforts to upgrade it to a polytechnic were in the works. The man was extremely thin, barely noticeable on the chair. He wore glasses that looked like mirrors. The white veshti, shirt, gold chain, watch, ring, minor chain, car—all this helped give the man a presence. Sevathaan wanted to run for the post of president. That was why he was acting subservient to K.K.M.
As soon as the car arrived, they all rushed to greet him. The Slicer climbed the stage, swaying like a pendulum. He sat on a chair arranged for him. On one side was Sevathaan and on the other was a village senior and Veeran. Balu delivered the welcoming address. He then opened a shawl and handed that with a garland to the village head, who then placed them on the Slicer. After Sevathaan spoke highly of him, the Slicer gave his speech to inaugurate the show. He could barely deliver a speech—of the words that came stuttering out, he swallowed half of them. As soon as the Slicer finished, it was the boy’s turn to present the vote of thanks. ‘I am going to talk for a couple of minutes,’ Shaktivel whispered in his ears.
‘The director of this show, Shaktivel, will say a few words in front of you. Following that will be the vote of thanks,’ the boy announced and moved over to the side. Shaktivel put his hands together and bowed to the crowd. He spoke elaborately about how he had worked day and night without sleep to put the play together and that it was all because of his passion for the art. Even if he had stopped there, it wouldn’t have been a problem. But he went on to speak about Sankaradas Swamigal and Sambhandha Mudhaliar and their contributions to the field of drama. He cited the examples of Balachandar and Sridhar, about their origins in this field before becoming big in the cinema industry, and talked about his own experience in cinema. Everyone began to get restless. Sevathaan’s face stayed frozen in shock. In a different context, he may have even slapped him for it. Still, all that jabber was within some bounds. Until Shaktivel grabbed the garland that was lying on the table.
