The Story of a Goat Read online

  Also by Perumal Murugan

  One Part Woman

  The Story of a Goat

  PERUMAL MURUGAN

  TRANSLATED FROM THE TAMIL BY N. KALYAN RAMAN

  Copyright © 2016 by Perumal Murugan

  Cover design by Becca Fox Design

  Cover illustration © Natalia Andreychenko/ Alamy Stock Photo

  Translation Copyright © 2018 by N. Kalyan Raman

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review. Scanning, uploading, and electronic distribution of this book or the facilitation of such without the permission of the publisher is prohibited. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated. Any member of educational institutions wishing to photocopy part or all of the work for classroom use, or anthology, should send inquiries to Grove Atlantic, 154 West 14th Street, New York, NY 10011 or [email protected].

  Originally published in Tamil as Poonachi Allathu Oru Vellattin Katai by Kalachuvadu Publications in 2016.

  First published in English in 2018 by Context, an imprint of Westland Publications Private Limited.

  Published simultaneously in Canada

  Printed in Canada

  First Grove Atlantic paperback edition: December 2019

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication data is available for this title.

  ISBN 978-0-8021-4751-6

  eISBN 978-0-8021-4752-3

  Black Cat

  an imprint of Grove Atlantic

  154 West 14th Street New York, NY 10011

  Distributed by Publishers Group West

  groveatlantic.com

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  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Also by Perumal Murugan

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Afterword: The Dormant Seed

  Translator’s Note

  Back Cover

  1

  ONCE, IN A village, there was a goat. No one knew where she was born. The birth of an ordinary creature never leaves a trace, does it? That said, the goat’s arrival into the world 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 would call 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 should 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 short 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 there, as well as on some 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 man’s wife 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, even the local 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-foot-tall man 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 wasn’t 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 perhaps had no use of that arm. If he picked up that much speed by swinging a lone arm, imagine how fast he could go if he swung his left arm too! To try to find out who the giant might be, the old man climbed down towards the trail.

  The giant was an imposing figure, half as tall as a palm tree, wearing 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 still 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 baby. 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 showpieces 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 baby goat and making a living from it is beyond me. So I am roaming from village to village, trying to find someone who will look after her properly,’ the giant explained.

  Seems like this giant’s 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 would be 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, 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 go past 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, hurrying 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 kid cry out again and again, like a steady hum. This worm of a kid had not only eaten up his time, she was now crying; he scolded 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.

  ‘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 my wife 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 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? 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 then 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 gr
azing 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 and enjoying a few laughs. His wife rarely went out anywhere. Since their needs were very few, she went to 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.

  That same night the old lady gave the goat kid that resembled a kitten a nickname: Poonachi. She once had a cat by the same name. In memory of that beloved cat, this goat kid too was named Poonachi. They had acquired her without spending a penny. Now they had to look after her somehow. Her husband had told her a vague story about meeting a demon who looked like Bakasuran and receiving the kid from him as a gift. She wondered if he could have stolen it from a goatherd. Someone might come looking for it tomorrow. Maybe her husband had told her the story only to cover up his crime?

  The old woman was not used to lighting lamps at night. The couple ate their evening meal and went to bed when it was still dusk. That night, though, she took a large earthen lamp and filled it with castor oil extracted the year before. There was no cotton for a wick. She tore off a strip from a discarded loincloth of her husband’s and fashioned it into a wick.

  She looked at the kid under the lamplight in that shed as though she were seeing her own child after a long time apart. There was no bald spot or bruise anywhere on her body. The kid was all black. As she stared at the lamp, her wide open eyes were starkly visible. There was a trace of fatigue on her face. The old woman thought the kid looked haggard because she had not been fed properly. She must be just a couple of days old. A determination that she must somehow raise this kid to adulthood took root in her heart.

  She called the old man to come and see the kid. She looked like a black lump glittering in the lamplight in that pitch-black night. He pulled fondly at her flapping ears and said, ‘Aren’t you lucky to come and live here?’