The cold wind assaulted Kandappu’s body. He was walking briskly, swinging his arms in wide arcs. The wind was caking his shirtless body with copious amounts of Iṇuvil’s famed fine red dust. A chest that looked like the lifeforce had departed from its cage; a slightly oversized head that seemed to have been hastily glued on to this chest; sunken eyes; a physique that would, on any government servant, instantly merit a ‘medical certificate;’ all together, the sight of Kandappu’s forceful gait on that desolated road did indeed have the potential to inspire a bit of terror.
Surprisingly, a bus came into view at a distance. “Perhaps take the bus just for today?” Kandappu was tempted. His hands unconsciously reached for the knot at his hip. The seventeen cents that had been hiding there for three days, reeked of sweat.
if the boss is going to pay up today … … at least I can settle the small loans somehow. I’ve got to pay back at Suppaiyā’s shop. He will stake out at home waiting for me … these last four days have been fasting days … mmm … I am leaving my little girl to fend off the lenders … chee … what an existence …
there is no sugar for morning tea … … for how long can one manage to drink tea with a piece of jaggery? … mmm … I am increasingly feeling weaker with each passing day … must buy some iron tablets from the dispensary … how dextrous I was when I was younger … … now, as I age, my hand is no longer flexible.
As he approached the Muniyappa temple, Kandappu’s hand instinctively reached for the piece of cloth he was wearing on his shoulder. Without missing a step, he brought his hands together at his chest in worshiping position and called out aloud to the deity,” appaṉē muṉiyappā”.
Why, if I have a boy to help me at work today, I could easily roll sixty, seventy … … I could bring the little boy along. But my heart wouldn’t listen … at least he should get a basic education … the rascal … yesterday he broke his slate … he is not going to learn … maybe I should drag him along to train him at work … no … he shouldn’t end up in this godforsaken profession …. even dying is better than this … if he learns this miserable trade, he will resign himself to it.
… chee! I did get the job as a railway doorman. I listened to my angel of misfortune and let my chance for a government job slip away! I deserve to be beaten with a slipper… As he passed the Raja Mill Lane, Kandappu instinctively scanned the horizon. A cassava seller was passing the junction towards him. He thought “She can’t see me” and crouched down to sit on his haunches. A lantana tree tickled his thigh. He kept playing with the leaves of a touch-me-not shrub.
His body shivered for some reason.
As he passed the house of the pariyāri, the traditional āyurvêda doctor, he thought of his wife again. “Hospital medicine hasn’t made her better … I must take her to the Vēlaṇai pariyāri…”
He felt a little dizzy. Only when he turned into the gravel and limestone Māththaṉai
lane did he start to appreciate the asphalt road that he just left. Thuraiappā and Kandaiya were on bicycles ahead of him. “Had the wife not fallen ill, I wouldn’t have had to sell the bicycle … When am I going to acquire a bicycle again?”
“Hello, it looks like you haven’t opened the shop yet …”
“Yes aṇṇai… I was a little late in waking up today.” ’s eldest daughter was sweeping their front yard. — Isn’t my Pūraṇam the same age as this girl? But she is a tad taller … has somehow succeeded in taking care of his daughter’s matter … I, too, will have to find a match for Pūraṇam … But I don’t have anything to lavish on her as dowry… just her luck, she wasn’t born into a home that she deserved to be born into… … that boy Sanmugam has learned to drive a car … … he could be a good match … … but who knows how much Vayiravaṉ would demand?
Although no one spent any money to hang huge signboards at those small Kokuvil cigar factory sheds, those in the know can identify cigar sheds without any difficulty whatsoever. If a strong smell wafts through the tired commiphora trees that line fences along a lane, one can guess that a cigar shed is nearby.
As he pushed the door open, he could hear Murukēsu’s voice. …mmm… looks like I am late again today … he hung his piece of cloth on the clothesline, grabbed some tobacco clippings and started loosening them in his palms. They were coarse. He thought of sprinkling some kōda, the concoction made by boiling tobacco stems for several days, and then mixed with arrack, sugar, and spices to cure them but was afraid of the potential for a weight increase.
“What is it, Murukēsu… … it is “diamond” today, right?”
“No aṇṇan! Now there is a demand for ‘brilliant’; that is what you, too, will be doing today.”
Kandappu’s stomach churned. He never quite got used to this new size cigar type with fat tails.
“… … Thambi Suppiramaṇiyam … … throw me a thread spool, child… …”
“Here Kandappu … … watch out for today’s size … … it can easily go wrong …. I have put out four wrapper leaves for you … yesterday, only when I was packing your cigar bundles that I noticed … … your knots had come loose and the rolled cigar had opened up at both ends – just keep your eyes open, ok?”
When he rolled his first cigar and looked for the thread on his right thigh to close the cigar and tie the knot, his hand started shaking again … … he found himself mumbling something.
***
Even by the time that the twelve o’clock train went past, Kandappu’s hands hadn’t gotten used to the task. The tobacco clippings had turned coarse in the heat. The inner leaf broke as soon as one tried to open it. The wrapper leaf didn’t stay put when he tied it up and the cigar ends immediately opened back up. Perhaps he would manage a hundred and thirty or a hundred and forty.
When the cutter – just a young boy, but quite skilled and was the right hand of the boss – came by and started trimming the rolled cigars, Kandappu started to be nervous. “What is this man, you have blindly stuffed it full of tobacco clipping as if you are filling a coconut sack. It is sagging. Look here everyone … …!” Kandappu’s cigar was paraded around for all to inspect. He died of embarrassment and shame.
the two green chillies that he had secretly plucked off from his boss’ backyard. When the twisted bread descended through his parched throat with great difficulty, his weak eyes watered.
Despite his hunger, he couldn’t eat all that bread. That day the Mahābhāratha chapter on Abhimaṉyu’s torture was being read out aloud during the story session at the cigar shed. When the story reached the place where everyone surrounded the child Abhimanyu in a circular formation and Abhimaṉyu cried out “Father!”, Kandappu was close to tears. He felt as if the entire world were Kauravas, the clan who surrounded the young unarmed Abhimaṉyu, and he faced them alone and helpless.
A torturous grief enveloped his heart.At the end of the day, Kandappu waited for the boss to settle his accounts.
“Look Kandappu, look at this… … … if you do a messy job like this, who am I going to palm it off on to .. … after four days, they are going to send it right back to me.”
When the boss put the cigar back into the stock, he whispered, although within Kandappu’s earshot,
“Have all the other cigar sheds in the village burned down? …if he wants to stick with me … …”
The pillar holding up the cigar shed, which he has been accustomed to for thirty years, the bales of tobacco leaves, the iron box, the pile of dried tobacco stalks; everything was a blur in his eyes.
He stood up like a machine to throw the stems of wrapping leaves away. A piece of string dragged along with him, steadfastly stuck to his vēṭṭi, as if it is making fun of his sense of loyalty.
When he opened the gate to step outside, the silent wail of his anguish was deafening: “must I come back in through the same gate tomorrow? Again?”
Two days’ worth of ration book coupons are yet to be cut … … Mayilaṉ is going to camp out at home waiting for me … …
As he passed the library, the old woman Nākammā was waiting for her usual `wee smoke’. He took the country cigar from behind his ear and offered it to her. As he neared his home, his feet refused to move.
He could hear the sounds of Siṉṉāchchi coughing and Pūraṇam tearing off coconut leaves.
He washed his feet by the well and stretched his legs on the veranda. He was scared to ask Siṉṉāchchi how she was doing. The deathly silence shook him.
Hunger gnawed at him.
Anger towards Pūraṇam boiled up from within him.
Did she notice that her appu had come home? What arrogance … … mmm.
In the heat of hunger his anger was engulfing him. He gritted his teeth and waited patiently.
“Appu come to eat.”
He eagerly turned his head; but there was no one; it was just a hallucination.
Where on earth did she go? Have I become an object of ridicule?
No sooner had he peeked in the direction of the well than his anger spilled over the limit.
“What is this you moron — why do you spend so much time at the well? … … who are you flirting with? … … you overgrown idiot … …” He picked up the water pot and banged it against her slender waist with all the force he could muster.
“aiyō appu” she screamed.
Heavy blows fell on her back.
Siṉṉāchchi, who was lying down inside, moaned in a feeble voice “aiyō why on earth are you killing her?”
“Satans… devils…!”
“Where are you coming from you rascal.”The stunned little boy was lost for words. His fear swallowed half his words.
“akkā … aunt … house … āāā!”
“Rascal… are you gallivanting around from house to house all evening? … How long has it been since the evening lights were lit? … Did you study? … Is this how you study? … Dēy, is this how you are going to succeed in your studies? …”
His back was turning pink.
“Appu my appu. I swear on my appu. Please don’t hit me… aiyō you are hurting me. I swear on appu… … my appu … I even washed your vēṭṭi for you… I washed your vēṭṭi, appu…”
He dropped what he was hiding in his hands. The fish curry he brought for his appu from his aunt’s house was blending with the soil.
***
Big sobs and small sobs from the inside alternated. Kandappu sat on the outer veranda wiping his sweat away. Each sob was piercing him like a spear. The pain that bubbled up from within him made him forget the pain of hunger.
The moon was gradually rising in the sky.
“Darling, give your father something to eat,” Siṉṉāchchi moaned with difficulty.
There was no sound from inside.
“If everyone insists on being stubborn, who is going to console whom? … here … why don’t you go and eat? … she, too, is waiting without eating …”
Kandappu went inside, pulled out a low stool and sat down. Without a word, Pūraṇam washed a pot and set it down in front of him.
He picked up the hair stuck on the bottom of the pot and threw it away without her noticing.
Had this been a different occasion, how many blows would this have led to…
The rice was just as warm as it should be.
“that fish gravy would have been so good with this…” Kandappu’s heart wept. He ate the rice with the mango sambal that Pūraṇam had freshly ground. It tasted divine. He longed to ask “… is there more rice left in the pot?” but he did not have the guts to meet Pūraṇam’s eyes.
He gargled his mouth, drank a few mouthfuls of water, lit a cigar and went out to get some air. Inside the mud kitchen with palmyrah stem fencing, in the faint light of the kerosene lamp, she was eating.
Kandappu felt a sudden knot in his belly. It is doubtful if she had lunch. Once again, she was munching on the piece of bread that the little boy got for free from school.’For the second time that day, Kandappu’s eyes glistened with tears.
***
Pūraṇam threw the sleeping mat on the veranda and rushed back inside. The silence could kill Kandappu. Before he could ask aloud, she brought water in a copper pot and left it by the veranda.
The little boy had fallen asleep on his stomach, his cheeks stained by dried tears. Pūraṇam lifted him and laid him down on the sleeping mat. She locked the gate and placed the oil lamp in its niche. For some reason, she turned to look at Kandappu with pity in her eyes. That was her way of saying ‘appu I am going to bed.’
He attempted several times to find ways to start a conversation but failed. There were no clothes drying on the clothesline. Still, he wondered if he could call out to her `daughter, take the saree from the clothesline inside’. Let’s wait till dawn — he consoled himself.
Perhaps he had unrolled the sleeping mat the wrong way, he felt his back itch all over. As if it wasn’t enough, his body felt hot all over. The occasional gust of wind sprayed copious amounts of dust. The dirt stuck to the body and made it feel sticky.
“How many vows had I made for the little boy! … poor kid, I pounced on him blindly like a devil…all my fingers on that tender back … perhaps I should go stroke him gently. Poor boy … shirtless, lying down with his fly undone …”
A giant sigh escaped him. He remembered how the little boy had held up his only shirt, caked with dirt, and asked his sister “akkā is this the right side?”
When the next account is settled, he should have a shirt tailored for the little boy.
He sat up on the veranda cross legged and peeked inside. Pūraṇam’s feet were sticking out of the entrance. I can only rest after I marry her off to a good place … … … what have I given her ever since she was born? … … … as she lay sleeping in the faint light of the lamp, he tried to visualize her face.
“If the little boy passes eighth grade, I could send him to work at the co-operative society store… … …”
He heard Pūraṇam turn over in her sleep.How did I hit her on her thin waist, my goodness! … did I break her waist … how could I, ignoring the fact that she is a young woman! … how she toils all day! … let me get up early in the morning and make a couple of buckets of hot water. A bath can soothe her body aches.
The wind brought in another gust of dust. Perhaps I should sprinkle a bucket of water … …
With that thought he fell asleep.
***
“Appu!”
He woke up with a start. That faint voice. Who called out? The little boy? The emotion in the voice made him feel uneasy; He had a vision of Kandappu lying down lifeless, and the little boy wailing. Next — the little boy is walking along the road, with a piece of cloth on his shoulder, and swinging his arms — to roll cigars.
Somewhere, a dog howled.
It seems howling dogs herald the arrival of Yama! He shivered and groped in the darkness; below the shadow of that crooked mango tree branch, a shadow scampered away.
Above, the branch that looked like dark blobs, swayed gently.
It invited him, ‘come come’.
If I … … if I die, what will happen to the little boy… … to Pūraṇam? …
He couldn’t fall asleep the rest of that night; he lay down watching that mango tree branch intently, without batting his eyes.
It appeared to be calling for him with love ‘come come’.
