A Lonely Harvest Read online

  When Kali went to work in that piece of land, he always used the back entrance. There was a bathroom in that backyard. When he saw that, he decided he’d make one like that for Ponna within the farmstead. And so he had laid down four flat stones on the ground, and made sure the thatched panels were quite high and could conceal a person. Ponna could wash herself there even during the day. She had complained several times, ‘What nuisance! I am not able to have a wash in private during the day even just to beat the heat. That’s when some man or another comes by for this work or that, as if they could find no other time to drop by.’ In the village, the women were in the habit of waiting till dark and then going to the back of the house to have a wash. If they were returning from a visit to a house of mourning, they’d go to the well, ask someone to draw and pour some water over them, while still clad in their saris. There was no way they could change their saris there. But this little bathroom was helpful to her even when she needed to pee during the day. Without it, there had been no place for her if she happened to have an upset stomach. She’d have had to run to the back of the house, trying not to hold the sari up too high, and draw some water from the well even to wash her hand and feet. She would irritably complain, ‘I have to wait for darkness to descend before I can properly wash my private parts. But you men! You undo your loincloths and wash yourselves whenever you feel like it.’

  This bathroom had put an end to all these troubles. It was a source of wonder for the people who visited the barnyard. Kali had even made a door to the bathroom using a thatched panel made of dried coconut fronds. None of this had really demanded any heavy labour on his part. Once, when there had been a mutton sale and he had gone to get some, he found two or three thatched panels on which the meat had been laid out. He took two of those with him and tied them together. He made them hold together firmly by using sturdy stalks from the portia tree and fastening them to the panels with fibre threads of palm sheaths. Then he fixed this panel in such a way that it would open just on one side—like a flap. He also put up a pole inside for her to hang her sari on. For a while after this bathroom was built, women who were coming from condolence visits would use it to have a wash and change. Ponna was very proud of that. But soon, water became an issue. Once, some five or six women showed up. All the water in the big tub she had kept inside the bathroom got used up.

  After that, she made it clear to everyone: ‘You are all welcome to use this bathroom. But make sure you draw one pot of water from the well and fill up the tub.’ At this, people went away, muttering in displeasure.

  Kali said, ‘Poor women. Aren’t we strong enough to draw and fill some four pots of water?’

  Ponna replied, ‘You know nothing, Maama. All these women come here and wash themselves happily. But then they go around telling people, “You should go and see the palace Kali has built for Ponna.” Apparently, a woman in the cotton fields was singing the other day, “Her face doesn’t wilt, her breasts don’t sag, there you see Ponna, the wonder with a bathroom.’’’

  Kali could not contain his laughter. ‘Again,’ he said, guffawing. ‘I want to hear that again.’ She came with a raised hand to smack him.

  He leapt away just in time and quickly climbed up the portia tree. Sitting there, he sang, ‘Her face like a flower that doesn’t wilt, her vagina that does not droop, there you see Ponna, thanks to the great bathroom.’

  Soon, more than ten bathrooms came up in the village. For a while, in the town square, men were heard complaining, ‘Apparently, women too want an enclosure just like we have for the sheep and cows. That’s when they can spread open their taps and water themselves. All thanks to this impotent fellow. He started all this.’ After that, whenever any new bride moved into the village, the family got a thatched bathroom built.

  Every single thing Ponna’s gaze now landed on awakened some memory associated with Kali—and it filled her mind with him.

  TEN

  They cooked a kambu millet meal that day. Seerayi prepared it in a large pot, letting it simmer in a low heat and thicken. Vallayi cooked avarai lentils. When Ponna returned to the barnyard carrying water, Vallayi gave her some food on a plate. Had the period of mourning been over, they could have cooked rice. But that would have to wait until after they had paid a visit to the temple on the hillock. Starting to cook rice again would mean things were returning to their regular routine. Vallayi felt that Ponna deserved to eat rice after all that hard work she had done. She felt sad that Kali wasn’t fortunate enough to live longer with a woman like Ponna who was so resourceful and worked so well in the fields.

  Ponna, as usual, was running her fingers listlessly over the food on her plate. She was not able to taste or enjoy anything. She mechanically brought the food to her mouth and then swallowed it.

  In an attempt to draw Ponna out of her private musings and bring her back to the present, Vallayi said, ‘That is kambu meal and avarai lentils.’

  Hearing that, Ponna shuddered and said, ‘You made avarai lentils? Those are his favourite.’

  Vallayi did not respond to that because she did not want to take the conversation in that direction. She was afraid that might take Ponna away from the good mood she had been in since morning. Ponna took a long time to finish her dinner. It had just started growing dark when Ponna started eating. She ate, one slow morsel after another, until the Karattur temple conch sounded sharply at eight o’clock. If Ponna were a child, Vallayi would have dealt her a few slaps and made her eat properly. But now she had no choice but to rein in her impatience and mutter under her breath. Even after washing her hands over the plate, Ponna just sat there. By then, Seerayi also returned after finishing her tasks in the shed. The two older women filled up their plates and sat down to eat on the cot laid outside the hut.

  Vallayi said, ‘Finally your daughter-in-law managed to eat a ladleful.’

  The lantern inside the hut cast shadows, and thereby served to indicate Ponna’s movements. She had gone and laid down on the cot. Vallayi got up in the middle of her dinner to reduce the lantern’s flame. When Ponna sensed the light being turned down, she said, ‘Don’t cover up the moonlight. My maama loves that light.’

  Vallayi walked out, shaken by Ponna’s statements. She worried about what Ponna might do.

  In the past two months, people in the village had started saying things. They were saying that Kali haunted at night, and they were terrified. He was a proud man. His spirit wouldn’t calm down so quickly. When people die young, their spirits don’t rest easily. Even during the day, fewer people now used the path between the village and the cremation grounds. Those farming families that lived closer to the cremation grounds now ended their workdays at dusk and returned home. They didn’t even wake up in the night to feed the cattle. Many were saying that the sounds of ankle bells and a shrieking noise could be heard at night. Apparently, when Nachayi, who lived in a nearby field, went outside at night to pee, she saw Kali swinging wildly from a branch of the portia tree right in front of her. She ran back home terrified and then fell ill and was bedridden. Her family was now treating her with amulets and sacred ash. She also categorically said that she would step outside the house again only if that tree was felled and removed from that spot. So the very next day her husband brought the tree down and had it sold to the Karattur wood shop.

  People started calling out to each other across the fields to make sure everyone was well and safe. At night, they lit bonfires and sat around it in groups. It was said that the shaman priest at Koonappalayam had proclaimed after one of his divination trances: ‘There is a haunting in the village. At midday it will roam around as a fierce, swirling wind, and at dusk it would bark like a dog. It resides in the portia tree. Be careful. It will go away in fifteen days, but only after doing one heinous act.’ It was not only others in the village, but even Seerayi and Vallayi who had their fears. At night, if she heard the portia tree rustle in the wind, Vallayi would emit a sharp scream. But gradually, they got accustomed to these nocturnal sounds.
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  They both slept outside. If the cows that were tethered under the tree moved suddenly or if the branches swayed, Seerayi would sit up on her cot. Once, while she sat up after hearing such sounds, Seerayi said out loud, ‘You are dead and gone. Now what have you come back for? You did not want us, you pushed us away. You did not listen to our advice. You are a big man, you know everything. We are ignorant folks, doing only what we can and trying to get by. Why have you come to see us now? If you move the branch, you think we will get scared and run away? Do you remember, when you were a little boy, I used to whack you with the ladle that I kindled porridge with? I still have that ladle. I have kept it inside the hut. Try getting any closer. Do you think I have grown old? I am still strong. My body might have grown weaker, but my mind is still strong. Did you think I was like you? What was the point in strengthening your body like a rock? What we need is a strong mind that is not assailed by anything. You wretched dog! You did not have what it takes to stay and live. You hung yourself. How did I give birth to someone like you?’

  Vallayi too sat up, listening to Seerayi’s tirade, and said, ‘Yes, that’s right. Ask him, ask your dear son that!’

  Seerayi said, ‘What is the point in asking him? If he were in front of us, we could shame him with our questions. Now he has become the wind, and wanders everywhere. How can we catch him and keep him in one spot?’ Then she addressed the absent Kali again: ‘As a young man too, all you did was roam around aimlessly. Did I ever ask you where you went and what you were up to? I know you have licked several cunts. But what a wonderful wife you got. She was at your beck and call. Has any jobless dog in the village said anything wrong about Ponna in all these years? You would return home late at night and knock on the door—after spending hours god knows where—and she would open it for you. You came at midnight for her, and she let you in several times. Sometimes you even came home at dawn, and she was still there, waiting to open the door for you. Has she ever been mad at you and slammed the door in your face? I used to wonder if that girl ever really slept or if she was always up, waiting for you. That’s the kind of girl she is.’

  ‘Really, Seerayi? Ponna has not said a word to me about any of this,’ said Vallayi.

  ‘How would she?’ said Seerayi. ‘She was so crazy about him. She is still crazy about him. If we let down our guard for just one day, she too would climb that tree . . . Stupid girl. He might have been her husband, but she should have still kept him within limits. Even when she came by here in the afternoon, they would go in and close the door. Whenever she brought lunch here, it took forever for her to return to the village. I would worry about how she would walk back across the fields in the dark with all the creepy-crawlies about. Did he think I knew nothing about his behaviour? Had he stayed alive and dared to question me, I would have told him clearly: go and ask anyone in the village. Find out how many women kick their husbands out and bolt the door from the inside. There are several women who don’t even let their husbands touch them. “You think you deserve me?” they ask their husbands. Ponna adjusted and accommodated to everything. How could you think of tormenting her? On the last day of the festival, she only went to see the deity. Not to sleep with another man. Did you go and see it for yourself? How did you come to that conclusion? What proof did you have? And even if she did go for that, she would only have been with god. You think you are greater than god? Had I known you would turn out to be this person, I’d have plucked away these breasts that fed you. You have ruined this girl’s life. You think you will find peace in your death? No man who incurs the curse of a woman has ever found peace, let me tell you.’

  Vallayi too spoke her mind. ‘He keeps coming back here because he thinks he can take her with him. Why do you think the two of us are staying here? If we let you take her, then how can we ever call ourselves human beings? You think you can hover on the portia tree. We will chop it down. Not only this tree, we will also get rid of the tree you have planted back home. Then we’ll see where you can climb. We agreed to marry our daughter to you because you were our son’s friend. Have you any idea how lovingly we raised her? You think highly of yourself because you are the son-in-law? Respect is earned; we give respect only when you behave accordingly. Did we ever treat you badly? We never failed to invite you for Pongal and Deepavali—and we gave you the appropriate gifts and honour, didn’t we? Did we not make sure that you could hold your head high in front of others? When the village said you were impotent, we said you could marry another girl to prove them all wrong. You didn’t agree to it . . . We sent her there for just one day. What’s wrong with that? Did she ever reject you? Look at her grieving for over two months now. She looks like she is losing her mind, she laughs for no reason. We don’t know what is going to happen to her. She is so crazy about you. How could you leave her and go away?’

  The branches of the portia tree stopped swaying. The cows were sleeping peacefully. It was quiet all around.

  ‘Do you see?’ said Seerayi. ‘I think he ran away after the two of us united against him. But we should be careful. He might return in the middle of the night. Once he starts thinking of her, it does not matter what time of the day or night it is.’

  Vallayi replied, ‘Let him come, we will deal with him.’ She picked up a broomstick and kept it nearby.

  A sudden gust of roaring, laughing wind swept past them.

  ELEVEN

  Kali did come looking for Ponna. He paid no heed whatsoever to his mother’s admonitions. Perhaps he never heard anything she said. He leapt from one portia tree to another in the village and finally arrived at the one that was in the barnyard. The cows and bulls recognized him. The dog too could sense his presence. They rejoiced at this familiar fragrance in the air. He caressed them and spoke to them. He stood beside the bullocks for quite a while. They stood staring at him, refusing to lie down like they normally did. Seerayi noticed that and scolded them, ‘Why are you still standing about? Was the feed not enough? He has really spoilt you. Where else has it ever happened that someone actually fed every mouthful to his bulls as if they were his children?’ And she pushed some vegetable refuse their way. But they did not eat that at all. They just stood there, their tongues peeking out and then going back into their mouths.

  Kali stood stretching out his hand towards them so that they could lick it. He gently massaged their horns as they lowered their heads to lick his hand, and he said, ‘Looks like Ponna has said she won’t let go of you.’ The dog brushed against him lovingly, curling its tail. It brought its mouth closer to his face. He pushed it away playfully. It stood at a little distance and kept watching him. The hens and roosters made restless noises. Afraid that they might rouse Seerayi, he waved his hand at them and shushed them. They quietened down and perched silently on the tree. It looked like he was happy Ponna had decided to stay right there in the barnyard. It meant that she too was fond of the place. Even though he knew she wouldn’t panic, he felt a little hesitant to go and look at her face. He haltingly entered the hut. The cat leapt out of his way and ran into the alley nearby. He smiled, looking at his mother, and thought to himself that Muniyan’s arrack had perhaps been a little too strong and pungent that day. Seerayi had drifted off to sleep as soon as she lay down. Thinking she was still awake, Vallayi asked her something. When she got no response, she lay down, muttering, ‘You went off to sleep even as we were talking.’

  The lantern cast a yellow glow all over the inside of the hut. Usually, they would put it out soon after supper so that they could save on kerosene. But Ponna had kept it burning today. In that light, Kali appeared as a large shadow. Ponna lay there, holding some brinjal stalks close to her chest. Thinking of them as his thick fingers, she caressed them distractedly, as if by reflex. Her eyes were closed, but she was not asleep. Perhaps she knew he would come. Her face looked wilted, just the way a flower of the portia tree would wilt, its edges growing redder and redder. Her lips were moving, muttering something. He stood there, wondering how to touch her. Perhaps he could gently
move the strands of hair that had fallen over her forehead. Or could he touch her earlobes? She’d recognize him even if he gently blew near her ears. She’d know even the touch of a single finger. Had the situation been different, had he been alive, he would lift her hands and place them over his chest, then on his cheeks. Sometimes he would place his hands on her breasts when she least expected him to, and she would say, ‘Your eyes are always staring here. You never look at my face while you are talking to me.’ And he would say, ‘When you see a spring, don’t you feel like taking a handful and drinking to your heart’s content! But okay, I will look at your face from now on when I talk to you.’ And he’d kiss her on her face.

  But today he did not know how to touch her. He was unsure, and he shivered a little. But if he just stood there doing nothing, he might lose the time he had. He might have to leave without letting her know what he came to tell her. That wilted face he saw in the light of the kerosene lamp, he realized, was alive with memories of him. The loose end of Ponna’s white sari dangled from the cot. He held that end in his hand, and sighed. Then he touched her feet that stretched out from under the sari; they were stained with the dust of red soil. Perhaps she was feeling cold or because she sensed his touch, she drew her feet in quickly. But he did not pull his hand away. He could hear her whimpering. He too began to cry. He placed his head on her feet and cried. He kissed her firmly on the middle of her feet.

  He pulled her blanket in such a way that her feet could rest on it and not on the coarse ropes of the cot, which might leave their rough impression on her feet. Now he grew bolder and took her hands and placed them on his chest. The palms of her hand had withered like a dried leaf. He then lifted both her hands and placed them on his cheeks. Her palms grew wet from the tears on his face. Her hands, of their own accord, wiped away his tears. He sat down and placed his face on hers. She moved and made space for him on the cot. This cot had been custom-made for them by the carpenter in Aniyur when they got married. He had made the legs of this cot with wood from the flame of the forest; they were strong and resilient to moisture. The frame was made of neem wood. The rope was made of aloe fibre, and it was relatively gentle on the back. The knots were close and tight. Two people could comfortably sleep on this cot, with enough space to toss and turn. Kali had taken his bullock cart to fetch this cot from the carpenter’s shop. This cot was the first place where she lay down in his house. But he did not lie down next to her now.