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Translated from the original Tamil short story pakkuvam (பக்குவம்) from the 1964 collection of short stories titled akkā (அக்கா) by A. Muttulingam. The original collection is available at noolaham.org. Translated with the author’s permission.
“Kantharmadam Sellammā”
“Five”
“Kottadi Āchippiḷḷai”
“Five”
“Kokuvil Velāyuthapiḷḷai”
“Ten”
“Chitfund Nallāmpi side”
“Twenty”
“Co-operative store Rathinam’s wife”
The traditional puberty ceremony was well under way. As people came up and put money in, Siṉṉaththurai kept recording the names and amounts in his notebook. It was Thuraiyappā who was calling the names out.
The girl, nay the young woman, stood there holding up a bunch of betel leaves, her head bowed, a four-meter long sāri mercilessly draped around her tiny little body.
As her face was colored by that newfound shyness innate to a girl who had come of age, she lifted her eyes up, poetry dancing in them, with difficulty.
The scene evoked a profound sense of pity.
Her face was trying to give life to a million little dreams. Beads of sweat laced her face.
“All right… escort the little girl inside” — Siṉṉaththurai called out as he counted the money on the silver tray and neatly stacked them.
The little girl’s slender chest heaved a sigh of joy.
Rāsāthi continued to stand there. She had been standing there all this time, next to the kitchen door, motionless, with her eyes fixated.
The extreme hurt in her heart manifested in a great big sigh.
She looked down at her lackluster body, then watched her little sister’s new sāri rustle as she walked by.
She felt as if some melancholic melody from a distant past swelled beyond the boundaries of imagination, assuming colossal proportions and swallowed her, diminishing her into a mere crumb, and drowning her.
That thought affected her heart in some strange way.
How can this happen?
That very question filled her little heart and tormented her.
How can this happen?
‘I am… … her elder sister … … I am … older … then how am I still like this .. am I … … perhaps … … perhaps … … why?’
Her tender heart tried to find the reason for something that was beyond intellect and thought, that was not captured by imagination.
Rāsāthi lifted her thin little arms in front of her face and looked at her. She looked at the shirt that was plastered on her chest, and the tiny thread-like plaits that lay on it. She looked at her pale legs, laced with a dusting of fine hair.
She felt a sense of great disgust at herself.
The oil in the lamp had dried out and the acrid smell of the wick burning without oil pervaded the room.
She felt her head spin. She even imagined that she could bang her head against the wall in anger and bleed to death.
But no matter how hard she tried, she could not control the tears bubbling out of her eyes.
* * *
Kaṉakammā lifted the ālātti platter with the ceremonial lamp, and hurried into the house, pausing as she passed Rāsāthi on her way in and letting out a huge sigh.
‘Why does everyone look at me like this? Why do they turn away as if they just had seen a rotting corpse?’
‘If ammā herself is like this, then how would appu react?’
‘If my own ammā cannot understand me, how can he understand my anguish?’
“Where is your eldest?” It was kuñjiāchi who inquired.
“She was around here somewhere” – the reply was spat out, soaked in frustration.
Rāsāthi’s hands tightened their grip on the door.
***
Rāsāthi’s younger sister enrolled in Rāmanāthaṉ College. Evidently it was no longer appropriate for her to attend a co-ed school. But there was no need to worry about changing Rāsāthi’s school because, after all, she had stopped going to school long ago.
When her sister came home on weekends, ammā was a swirling hive of activity. Rāsāthi bustled around taking care of all the chores – happily.
Occasionally, when her sister walked out of the bathroom in a wet sari with her head bowed, Rāsāthi would involuntarily glance down at her own body.
A great sigh would then escape from the hidden depths of her heart.
***
Rāsāthi’s sister had to return to her college dormitory by Sunday evenings. Usually, her mother would accompany her on the bus ride back to the school. But that day, she was busy with some chore. She sent Rāsāthi to escort her sister.
They walked side by side along the lane that was full of dust and gravelly clay. Rāsāthi was carrying her sister’s suitcase; it felt heavy.
As they crossed the volleyball field by the community center, she could sense a thousand young eyes staring at them.
She was taken aback.
She had never had such an experience before. Rāsāthi turned to look at her sister. But she was walking with a nonchalant, defiant dignity, her eyes fixed on the ground.
Rāsāthi raised her gaze. All those eyes were staring at her sister.
Later, when she returned home alone, no one seemed to glance at her direction, even accidentally.
Suddenly she understood everything.
Her mother always sent Rāsāthi to the co-operative store to buy their rations. She could never remember her younger sister being asked to go.
She had walked that path numerous times, carrying a wicker basket for rationed goods on her head, chewing on a couple of grains of rice, wading through the famous Kokuvil dust. But in all that time, she had never had this novel experience before.
She buried her head in the oil-stained pillow and wept, for some reason, thinking of something.
‘Am I really so unattractive to look at? Am I not pretty enough to turn heads?’
‘Didn’t Siṉṉakkā say that my sister and I have the same facial likeness? In what way is my sister better than me?’
Femininity kept laughing at her.
***
Kaṉaku visited the other day. He was always restless. As soon as he arrived, he would be raring to go back.
Rāsāthi was fond of him.
She hurried to light the fire to make him coffee. He drank in silence!
But his eyes kept darting frequently towards Rāsāthi’s sister who was on the recliner.
As soon as he finished drinking the coffee, he stood up to leave.
“siṉṉaththaṅkachchi,” ammā called out to her younger daughter.
“Coming.”
“siṉṉaththaṅkachchi.”
Despite having responded that she was coming, she had not moved an inch from the recliner on which she was lounging!
“Rāsāthi! It seems your sister is reading something. Go around to the backyard and pluck two pomegranates for your cousin.”
Rāsāthi ran out with a skip in her step. Within just four minutes, she came back with two plump red fruits and offered them to her cousin.
She was panting.
Kaṉaku was already on the bicycle saddle. “māmi, see you later,” he said; he then peered inside and waved, “See ya.”
Rāsāthi’s little sister waved back with a smile, without getting up from the recliner.
Rāsāthi stood holding a rough branchlet of a portia tree. Kaṉaku’s silhouette was a blur, really out of focus, in her eyes.
***
The midday sun blazed relentlessly. Rāsāthi’s footsteps were fast, but her heart beat even faster. Apprehension and joy were competing in trying to make her tremble more. She was heading home, half walking and half running on the hot sand. The same face kept reappearing in her mind’s eye.
‘Why is my body shivering, why are my hands trembling so?’
She paused to compose herself and turned to look at where she had come from. She could see only a part of the co-operative store at the corner of the lane.
A little while ago, as she started off to the co-operative store carrying the ration basket on her head, with her shirt kept in place by a clumsy knot, and wearing a dirty skirt, she could never have dreamed of the turn of events that transpired.
Even recalling the scene made her feel uncanny – she could not believe it. Perhaps this was all a dream?
– A dream?
Her hands involuntarily brushed against her cheeks. Her hand felt cool and moist.
She felt shy.
Chee… how awkward… … no shame…
“Rāsāthi, you are very pretty!” – She had never before heard those words to her in her life; that was the very first time she received such a compliment.
‘Am I pretty, too?’She could scarcely believe it.
As he ran his hands, coated with rice bran from measuring out rice grains all day, through his hair, he said “Rāsu…. why don’t you wear your hair in double plaits? That would look so good on you!”
She blushed.
She lowered her eyes, and they settled on the two new safety pins on her shirt.
Rathiṉaṇṇai had pinned them there.
“Rāsu… are you not embarrassed to knot your shirt?”
She was overcome with shyness.
“Rathiṉaṇṇai.”
How sweet was it to utter that name!
She wanted to say that name aloud again when no one else is within earshot.
– ‘Are we out of kerosene again? If so, I can make another trip to the store.’
“Rāsu, bring the measuring cup… let’s measure this rice again.”
She looked for the measuring cup; not finding it, she called out, “ammā, I can’t find Rathiṉaṇṇai anywhere”.
When her mother, startled, turned to look at Rāsāthi with suspicion in her eyes, she was standing in front of the mirror engrossed in braiding her hair into twin plaits.
***
Night.
Rāsāthi twisting around restlessly on the reed mat by the wall.
For a moment, it seemed like a dream, but then it seemed like eternal reality.
…A broad chest covered by a dense tapestry of hair — arms adorned with tattoos — a smile gracing those lips, crimson from chewing betel leaves — a cascade of curly locks..
“Rathiṉaṇṇai.”
A quivering sentiment rose from the depths of her stomach and enveloped her chest. A nameless emotion coursed through her body and titillated her.
She was lying on Rathiṉaṇṇai’s chest. It was heaven.
“Rāsu… look at me… you are so pretty.”
The next moment, an unfamiliar dread tugged at her heart.
Bubbles of emotion gobbled each other up and kept propelling her upwards.
Her body trembled softly; she felt a soothing chill come over her.
She kept floating upwards, weightless.
***
So much joy in her mother’s face. So much pride. From whence did this sudden glamor appear in Rāsāthi’s face.
She stood there, head bowed, holding up a bunch of betel leaves.
“Nāchimarkǒvil Aṉṉappillai”
“Ten”
“Āṉaipanthiyadi Supramaṇiyam family”
“Five”
“Notary Sabāpathyppillai and daughter”
“Fifteen”
“Co-operative store Rathiṉam’s wife”
“... …”
Her heart swelled for a fleeting moment before unraveling.
She could sense that he was standing by the front door, laughing and chatting.
“Look at him – look at him once to your heart’s content”, urged her heart.
She summoned all her resolve to try and lift her leaden eyelids.
Yet, success eluded her!
