When the Lotus Blooms Read online

  “Rajam… Rajam… Shaniyane! How much time will you take to bathe? You had enough time to rest and escaped working for three days last week. This is what annoys me about you. Rajam…do I have to call you five hundred times before you appear?”

  Hearing her mother-in-law Nagamma’s voice, Rajam froze, her heartbeat surging like a runaway train. She had enjoyed the respite for three glorious days without Nagamma to frighten her and make her jumpy and miserable, but now it seemed as though that had taken place a long time ago. Just hearing the sound of Nagamma’s voice sent Rajam’s thoughts into disarray. Completely confused, she dashed across the courtyard, hurriedly wrapping a towel around her wet hair. She was totally out of breath as she entered the kitchen. “Amma I’m so sorry…” she began.

  Nagamma scaldingly interrupted her. “What do you mean sorry? Is that all you can say after my voice is hoarse calling for you? Go, collect the cow dung from the shed.” Rajam hesitated, unable to bring herself to begin this distasteful chore, causing even more irritation. “What? Are you waiting for me to do it? Or shall I hire a servant for your majesty?” Nagamma stood up and walked over to her. Her taunting face towered over Rajam’s diminutive form, making her shrink back in fear. She rushed out of the kitchen, utterly bewildered and nervous but grateful to escape from her mother-in-law.

  Rajam’s heart sank. She hated this task. She couldn’t help wondering how it was supposed to be a privilege to collect cow dung and why it had to be her turn so soon. She had just bathed and her body shuddered in revulsion at the thought of the upcoming task. With great reluctance she opened the door to the cowshed. Immediately, her breath caught in her throat, her lungs overpowered by the strong stench of manure. Unable to tolerate the smell, Rajam ran to get Partha’s handkerchief, which she dipped in rose water. Then, tying it over her nose and mouth, she re-entered the cowshed. The task was vile but at least she wouldn’t gag and retch while doing it. Lethargically, she picked up a basket and collected the droppings, shivers going down her spine, as her body reacted to its gooey texture. Scarcely breathing, she made her way out of the shed. Pulling the handkerchief off her face she walked to the entrance of the house for the second part of her chore: spreading the manure on the floor. She couldn’t imagine how this foul smelling dung was a disinfectant, when it felt as though she was exposed to some infectious disease just by touching it.

  She was almost done when Nagamma yelled out for her. A dollop of fresh cow dung flew out of her startled hand and landed on her face. Instinctively, she raised her soiled hand to wipe it off, spreading the greenish brown mixture all over her cheeks. Brown rivulets flowed down her neck and stained her blouse, as tears of frustration ran down her wet, dung-streaked cheeks. Just then, Nagamma walked out and looked at her. Rajam was mortified. She was assigned one task and even that she had messed up–literally messed up, and now she was staring up at her mother-in-law with cow dung all over her face. Nagamma sniggered in delight and called out to the family to come and see the show. “Yenna Rajam, neeye moonjilai shaani pooshiniyaa? Hey Pattu, Sushila, come here, you have to see this.” Rajam turned her face away in utter humiliation and grabbed the basket in her trembling hands. It was uncanny how Nagamma always chose the most inopportune moments to appear. Fearing the shame from Nagamma’s cruel tongue, she fled into the sanctuary of the cowshed, where she sat down and sobbed till her eyes dried out.

  Rajam was so upset she hardly noticed the stench of the dung, which had been intolerable a moment ago. The cows looked at her with a bored expression, indifferent to her pain. “Stupid cows. Stop looking at me. It’s your filthy droppings on my face. You think you’re so sacred don’t you? Well you’re not. And your poop stinks.” She paused, almost as if she were expecting a response and then continued angrily. “I hate her, I hate her I hate her!” Rajam ranted, completely out of control, pummeling the wall with all her strength. The cows merely mooed loudly, unaffected by her angry outburst. “Nagamma, Snake Mother, Vicious Viper, Hooded Cobra, Striking Serpent! I hate your large nose and your pock-marked skin. I hate you, do you hear me? And I hate your cows and I hate this horrible cow dung.”

  Rajam leaned back against the wall, her tiny body racked with tears. She had no idea why she was reacting like this. It was so out of character. Collecting dung was something she always did, so why was she feeling so overwhelmed? Venting her feelings felt good, especially with a mute audience. She could never dream of saying such things in anyone’s face. If only she had the courage to say something to Nagamma; but no, that was not an option. To begin with, she was too timid and her upbringing didn’t permit her to disrespect elders, even though it was warranted. Just seeing Nagamma made her shiver, and hearing her voice paralyzed her, leaving her tongue tied; so the question of replying to her never arose.

  These last few years had been too much of a strain. She wanted so much to please Nagamma, to get one compliment from her but that never happened. No matter what she did, something always went wrong, and then there would be hurtful jibes. Adding to her already timorous nature was her obsession with her inability to conceive. She wanted so badly to have a child but her monthly sojourns to the back room were like clockwork. Now it had become a fixation which consumed her. Unmindful of her unhappiness, Nagamma always commented about her bleeding womb. She had become so attuned to Nagamma’s reactions that even an exasperated look on her face, though unintentional, would set Rajam off, making her feel like a victim, the guilt overwhelming and the disappointment devastating.

  She had to control her tears or else it would be one more win for Nagamma, not that she was counting. Thankfully, neither Sushila nor Pattu saw her looking like this. She still had one more part of this distasteful chore to complete and steered herself towards the back door. Still sniffling, consumed with self-pity, Rajam began the repugnant task of plastering the rest of the dung in large cakes against the back wall. She then peeled off the dry ones and carried them back to the cowshed to store for fuel.

  Reaching the well, Rajam took a deep breath, determined to calm her nerves. She vigorously cleaned her hands and face with shikakai but no matter how much she scrubbed, her hands would smell of dung all day.

  The kitchen was hot–very hot. It was two hours past sunrise but with the feverish activity in the kitchen, the heat was unbearable. The morning meal had to be ready at precisely 8:25 every day, when the men would sit down to eat heartily before setting off to work. By the time serving the meal was complete, half the day was over for the women of the household. Rajam hated the thought of working in the kitchen just after finishing the cow dung routine, but she had to help Sushila with the cooking or face Nagamma’s wrath.

  The menu was elaborate that day: drumstick sambar, tomato rasam, lentil thogayal (chutney), podalangai poriyal (stir-fry) and potato masiyal (mash). Rajam watched Sushila as she squatted on the floor with her left leg folded along the floor and her right leg propped up and placed on the wooden block to prevent it from moving. The blade was sharp and required a lot of skill to keep her fingers out of the way, but Sushila was an expert at cutting vegetables using the aruvaamanai.

  Four women worked tirelessly in the kitchen with Nagamma acting the part of Master of Ceremonies. For Rajam and Sushila, the stress was unbearable. The rasam had to have a tangy lime taste with just the right amount of water, the sambar be thick enough and have the aroma of fresh curry leaves, and the vegetables cut identical, sliced thin and even, so no one could tell the difference between two slivers. In addition, there were a host of other chores they were attending to simultaneously. The two daughters-in-law complemented each other as they danced a jugalbandi: a dance duo, now stirring pots on the stove, then dashing off to the cowshed to make sure the milkman wasn’t adding water as he milked the cows, rushing back to check the temperature of the bathwater and then squatting to cut vegetables on the aruvaamanai.

  Rajam’s heart was pumping extra hard in expectation of the ‘Nagamma censure.’ If Nagamma as much as whispered her name, it impacted R
ajam like a deafening thunderclap, following which Rajam’s heart hammered uncontrollably.

  This morning Nagamma was relentless. “Rajam, did you heat the bathwater?”

  Boom boom thump thump…

  “Sushila, cut the brinjals thin and long, not round as you did the last time.”

  Boom boom thump thump…

  “Pattu, stir the sambar. I don’t want the vegetables in it to burn.” Only Pattu, Nagamma’s daughter, responded by mindlessly humming a tuneless song, completely unmoved by her mother’s instructions. The cutting, slicing, grating, stirring, pouring, mixing, running and squatting, all in a hundred degrees temperature, created a total body workout in this culinary spa. To make things worse, the kitchen had just one small window on the ceiling for the smoke to escape. With smoke and fumes everywhere, the soot blackened wall complemented the soot blackened floor and Rajam’s eyes watered incessantly, reacting to the spice scented fumes.

  It was 8:15. Time to add the finishing touches to the food. In a small pan, Rajam watched the mustard seeds dancing in hot ghee and sighed at the familiar sizzling choiiiii… when she poured it into the sambar and the rasam. Now all that was needed was to add a squeeze of lime in the rasam to end one morning’s cooking. That only left the afternoon and evening cooking but it wouldn’t be as long, tiring, or complicated.

  Rajam winced as she squeezed the lime into the rasam. The acid in the lime penetrated a small cut on her cuticle. But then, curiously, a smile lit up her face. Her mind wandered back to when a lime had changed her whole life. Partha had narrated the story to her many times but he never changed a word in each retelling.

  She was only eleven years old when, unknown to her, Partha was loafing around on the field in front of her school watching the fanfare of Sports Day. Partha was in his final year of school and had three months of vacation to prepare for exams. Not academically inclined, he looked for any excuse to abscond from the house and spend some time with friends hanging around the maidanam, or drinking tea in the market place.

  On this fateful day he was with his friends cycling past the school, when he noticed a lot of activity in the front field. Being Sports Day, students dressed in white and green were marching in groups around the field. Having nothing better to do, he propped his bike along the wall and went to get a closer look.

  There she was, with skin like a pearl, slanted almond colored eyes, her hair in two pigtails, tied with a green satin ribbon. Her white shirt was tight over her prepubescent chest and her bottle green pavadai stopped just short of her slender ankles, accentuated by silver anklets. Partha absorbed all this in one glance, drunk with the onset of love that would last a lifetime. Just then, her pink lips parted, giving a brief glimpse of perfect white teeth, as she threw her head back to laugh at something her friend said. Partha had to get a closer look. He pointed to her and asked his friends if they recognized her. Vizhupuram was a small townand most people were acquainted with each other. He was surprised he hadn’t seen her earlier.

  “Oh her? I don’t know her name but I know she is Inspector Swaminathan’s daughter. Her younger brother, Mani, plays with my brother,” someone commented.

  By now Partha was visibly shaking, heady with unfamiliar emotions and sensations. As he drew closer to her, she skipped away on hearing the announcement for the next race, the fateful ‘Lime and Spoon race.’ There she was at the start line, right foot forward, her almond eyes focused on the lime balanced precariously on a spoon, held firmly in place between milky white teeth. Off they went. As Rajam crossed the finish line, she was completely unaware of Partha’s piercing eyes and his longing heart secretly urging her on. Whether it was Partha’s energy or her own skill, Rajam came first in the race and won a special place in Partha’s heart.

  He had to meet her. But how? He was seventeen years old, definitely marriageable age. But how was he to approach her? He could not actually go up to her and speak with her directly; that wasn’t acceptable behavior. Then how was he to meet her? His mind whirled with a million unanswered questions popping into his head every second. One thing he knew was, if he had to marry, then it would be to this girl. The ‘Lime and Spoon’ girl.

  The next few days were long and weary, with strategies made, vetoed and then replaced, as Partha was consumed with finding the right course of action. He sat on the terrace with his math book open, rehearsing walking up to his mother and saying, “Amma, I think I want to get married.” That sounded too brazen. Then he switched to a more casual tone saying, “Amma, do you know Inspector Swaminathan?” That was too random. No matter what he tried, it just did not sound right. He had to make sure that he had an impeccable Plan A, so he did not have to resort to Plan B, which was marrying someone else.

  After three full days of practicing, he decided the best course of action was to confide in his brother, Siva, who had been married for many years, and have him plead and present the case to their mother. That night, Partha brought Siva to the terrace after everyone was asleep and talked to him. At first, he felt sheepish and awkward talking about marriage, guilty about being preoccupied with a girl when he should have been studying, but the nature of the problem demanded urgency.

  “Siva, you have to help me. I am going out of my mind.”

  “Why? Did you fail your exams again?”

  “No it’s not about school. It’s about…a girl.”

  Siva smiled. “What’s up Partha, met someone you like?”

  “Yes,” Partha said bashfully. “And I need you to talk to Amma about it.”

  “Why me? Why don’t you ask her yourself? After all, you are her chella kutti. I’ m sure she would oblige.”

  “I may be her favorite but I feel nervous about asking her. You are older and married. Coming from you, it will seem as if the whole thing was your idea. You know how Amma feels about boys loafing around. She won’t take me seriously.”

  For the next fifteen minutes, Partha talked non-stop about the pros of Siva talking to Amma, and the cons of talking to Amma himself. So intent was he on convincing Siva, he barely took time to breathe. After Partha’s monologue, Siva smiled and patted him on the back, urging his brother to calm down and take a deep breath if he wanted to live to attend his own wedding.

  Partha was overjoyed.

  CHAPTER 2 – RAJAM

  VIZHUPURAM – 1934

  Rajam was jolted out of her reverie by hot rasam boiling over and spilling onto the flames, causing them to rise in an angry, orange, mini inferno. It was time to serve the men their meal and she had been lost in thought, filled with memories of her husband, Partha. Sushila brought the banana leaves in and was in the process of cleaning them before laying them out on the floor. The five men sat down. Following a routine typical of a Tamil Brahmin household, Nagamma began by pouring water into the brass tumblers and serving rice and ghee on the banana leaf so the men could perform the prayer ritual before commencing the meal. They initiated the prayers by pouring water around the banana leaf to prevent insects from climbing onto it. Then, putting one grain of rice in their mouths, recited each of the sacred names of Vishnu, thereby energizing the food with prana that would nourish the body and the soul. As they all chanted the sacred Gayatri Mantram in unison, Rajam and Sushila served the rest of the food: piping hot sambar, with drumsticks floating in its curried sauce, followed by rice with tomato rasam, and finally to cool the system down, rice with yoghurt. Vegetables: snake gourd stir fry, mashed potatoes and crisp fried appalaams on the side completed the meal. The men ate heartily and then got ready to leave for work.

  Nagamma’s husband, Munuswamy Iyer, worked as a clerk in a law firm and had to reach work by nine in the morning; so he left the house with Siva, who was a stenographer for a businessman and started work at the same time. Both offices were next to each other and only a short walk from the house. Partha worked at the local school as an elementary teacher after completing his Intermediate year at college and the two younger boys, Thambu and Kannan, were still in secondary school. Altogethe
r, the men brought in a princely sum of fifty rupees every month. Now that Nagamma’s daughter, Pattu, had moved away with her husband, there were fewer mouths to feed, yet the family was stretched for money by the end of the month.

  Nagamma hailed from a very wealthy family that owned a lot of land in Vizhupuram. For several years before the boys grew up, rice and wheat from her fields kept their bellies full. Even the cows were part of Nagamma’s dowry. Nagamma was stringent and somehow able to ensure no one ever went hungry. She controlled the income and saved whatever she could from the sale of produce to use in difficult times. Their lifestyle was simple and no extravagances were tolerated. Now Siva had taken on the family responsibility and it was largely his salary running the household. Of course, control of all family finances was still in Nagamma’s competent hands. She took pride in maintaining the household on a shoestring budget and never let anyone forget that.

  That afternoon, Sushila and Rajam sat in the back courtyard, the only portion of the house with shade from the blistering afternoon sun. Nagamma was asleep, as was Sushila’s stepson, Balu, so the girls had the house to themselves. Rajam could not sit still; she kept fidgeting with the end of her sari, the constant movement a result of her overactive thoughts. Of late, she found it difficult to focus on anything, her mind racing ahead, thinking about the next chore.

  “Hey Rajam, what’s the matter? You can rest now; the serpent is asleep. Why are you so agitated?”

  Rajam smiled, a little surprised at Sushila’s insight into her mental state. “I just don’t understand how a woman can be so domineering. I try so hard to please her, yet she is never happy with me.”

  “That’s just it, Rajam, don’t try so hard. Try and relax. Nagamma will never be satisfied, so no matter what you do, you will hear some comment. If you are so tense, how can you conceive a baby? I don’t let her bother me. I just go about my work without thinking of her reaction. Try to be like that.” Sushila gave her the same advice from time to time but Rajam did not know how to dissociate herself from Nagamma. “I wish I knew how to do that. I just feel terribly nervous around her. I don’t want her to be angry with me all the time.”