One Part Woman (15 page)

Muthu and Kali walked along the meandering paths and elevated boundaries between the fields. They were enveloped in a variety of sounds—birds settling on the palm trees, the rustle of dry leaves in the mild wind, the sound of palm fronds grating against each other. Intertwined with all of these, their voices too had lost their human quality. Though Kali had been to these places several times when they were children, he was now unable to guess where Muthu was taking him. So much had changed in all the years he had stayed shut inside his barn.

They walked past fields belonging to both villages and reached the stream. It was flanked by thick bushes on both sides. The avaram shrubs had grown as tall as trees. Muthu walked past them, suddenly turned a corner and climbed higher. There was a coconut grove in front of Kali’s eyes. There must have been a hundred trees. They had been planted following the dictum that there must be enough space between two coconut trees for a chariot to pass through. Almost all the trees were of the same height. He could even
see the tender coconut and the toddy pots on many of them. He had never seen such a grove in these parts. When all the elevated fields lay dried up, how did such a coconut grove thrive here?

For most other crops, you could manage even if you had very little water in the well. It could even be as little as what a small cuckoo would need for a drink. With that you could grow some chilli, a square-measure of raagi or some cotton. But coconut trees needed plenty of water. Otherwise, the coir covering would dry and hang, and that in turn would make the top of the tree shrivel up. Such trees looked like broken-winged birds frozen in mid-air. Kali had four coconut trees. In the rainy season, he would widen the circle around the tree for it to hold more water. But in summer, the circle would shrink close to the roots, and he would release two loads of water through the little canal. How much of it would get to the coconut trees? Not much. Kali called this ‘Life Water’. This water was meant to give just enough strength to the coconut trees to survive. He’d do that because they needed coconut for their food. Ponna would also sell what she didn’t need. After all, it was only the two of them.

But Kali could not get over his sense of wonder that here, in this dry land, was a coconut grove with a hundred trees. As they entered, a chill palm breeze took them in its embrace. Dried-up barks and fallen fronds had been stacked up on a side. Some fronds had also been spread under each tree. He was full of questions: ‘Machan, who owns this place? I never realized there was such a grove so close to us. There would
be a hundred trees, right? Looks like they have all ripened. What do they do for water?’

Muthu told him the story of that place. A Muslim merchant who owned a cotton storehouse in Tiruchengode also owned this place. Before this grove of trees came up, this too was a dry piece of land like the surrounding stretches. But the cotton merchant had a lot of money. He brought a Gounder family from yonder and gave them a place to live here. This family had been languishing in a farm there, working as farmhands. He had met them during his visits there to buy cotton. When he called them here to take care of the place, they moved. Since he had no major concerns regarding money, he gave them what they needed. There were three wells for this land, and one well was used for irrigation every day. What more did the trees need? There was also a tile-roofed house right in the middle of the property for the owner to stay in when he visited occasionally. The Gounder family stayed in the thatched-roof hut. The moment the flower sheath started showing and the trees started yielding, a Sanar family too forced its way into the grove. Not only did they take over the trees but they also started making and selling toddy.

Kali’s mouth watered at the thought of the toddy. Until some years ago, you could get coconut toddy in shops. You could drink a bellyful at whatever time you wanted to; it was not as sharp as palm toddy. It was, in fact, sweet. But it was a real shock when all toddy and arrack businesses in Salem district were ordered to be shut down. One could not
see toddy bowls on trees. The Sanars were at a loss about what to do; it had been their traditional livelihood. Life, in general, lost its flavour. So, people started brewing arrack in secret. But there was a persistent fear of the police. People wondered why Brahmins were making these decisions. In the middle of the white man’s rule, who suddenly gave these Brahmins the power? How else would things turn out if this Brahmin lawyer from Salem—a man who knew nothing about alcohol, who had never tasted meat in his life—was made the minister?

Also, this order was only for Salem district. No other place had such a rule. It was supposed to be a favour this lawyer had done for his district. Could everybody afford to go to the district of Coimbatore next door just to drink? But some people did. Thankfully, the lawyer went away soon and the white man’s rule was back again. Although the shops didn’t open again, the rules were relaxed. Nonetheless, Kali hadn’t drunk toddy in a long while.

Delighted that Muthu had brought him to the right place, he put his arm around Muthu’s shoulders and they walked towards the end of the grove, next to the stream, where the Sanar’s living quarters were. This was a small, thatched-roof hut. Little mud toddy pots had been kept upside down in front of it. There were also four or five mats for people to sit on.

By the time they reached there, the day was casting a yellow light everywhere. Inside the grove, the light came filtered in thin rays. Two children were happily playing around. When Kali and Muthu sat down on the mats in
front of the hut, they could hear sounds from inside, of dishes banging against each other.

‘Who’s there?’ Muthu asked.

‘Please sit, brother. I’ll be there in a minute,’ a voice replied from inside.

She stepped out saying, ‘What happened, brother? You have come so late.’ And Kali recognized her immediately.

‘Katthayi! What are you doing here?’ he said in amazement.

‘Do you know her already?’ Muthu said to him.

Kali just said, ‘Hmm,’ and turned to look at her. ‘Where is Mandayan?’ he asked.

‘He went saying he wanted to have a word with the Gounder. Let me call him,’ she said and walked a little distance into the grove. Then she called out to her husband, ‘Pilla! Pilla!’

That was how she called her husband. If he was nearby, she would use one of her children’s names to address him. Since it sounded like he had responded, she returned to the hut.

‘How long have you been here?’ Kali asked her.

Katthayi poured out her woes: ‘It is in this dark place that we have been languishing for two years now. We used to live with other people; now we are all alone by ourselves. After that wretched whore made sure we got out of your land, we roamed around all over the place before landing here.’

Four or five years ago, Mandayan and Katthayi had come to Kali’s land to climb palm trees, and they had stayed there for some days. They were newlyweds then. Katthayi’s beauty was undisturbed. Mandayan had left his village because of a feud with his brothers. Deciding that they would make their living elsewhere, they had come to Kali’s village. After all, a toddy tapper could find work to do wherever there were palm trees. All he needed was a strong rope and a sharp knife. Just like the gypsies, they could set up a hut with a few dried fronds on any rock they found. It was not very difficult.

Mandayan was very good with palm. He had acquired a deep understanding of the palm tree from a very young age. There had been trees that people had given up on, which Mandayan revived and made them spring toddy again. He was also excellent with working with the coir sheaths. Palm toddy was just as sweet as coconut toddy. If you tasted the top layer of alkali, it tasted as sweet as cane juice. The jaggery that came out of this just melted in your mouth. Since he
was a master of all this, there was no village where he could not make a living.

They made a hut on a piece of rock on Kali’s land. Half the produce was toddy, and the rest was the clear alkaline water. Katthayi’s job was to boil and reduce the latter into jaggery. Most of the toddy was for consumption within Kali’s property. But whatever was left of it, Mandayan sold to daily-wage labourers.

A man called Pazhani Mooppan was doing similar work in the adjacent plot of land. His wife was a troublemaker. She decided that her business was not going to flourish as long as Mandayan and Katthayi were around. After all, it was not as if a lot of men came to drink every day. And how hard it was sometimes to get the money from them! One had to practically untie their loincloths and take the money out. And who needed a competitor in the middle of all this?

The day fresh toddy was brought down was when they could sell and make some money. Though some people drank on credit, there was quite a crowd on Tuesdays, the day of the market in Tiruchengode. The list of creditors was quite long, but if the owners persisted in asking the customer each time, it was possible they cleared their tabs. There was a caste dimension to this too. While it was easy to handle most castes, it was quite a challenge extracting money out of the Gounders. But they expected you to pour toddy whenever they came.

As far as palm jaggery was concerned, it had to be preserved well and sold when the prices were good. Sometimes it would
take even a year to see any profit. Either way, it was toddy that sold easily. So there was always some competition.

Pazhani Mooppan’s wife started making insinuations and hurling indirect abuses. She spread rumours linking Katthayi with each of her customers.

‘Do you think she just sells toddy like I do? No! She bewitches the men. That’s why these fellows go to her grinning from ear to ear.’

‘She takes her customers into the hut. Who knows what she shows them there?’

‘If she goes aside and removes her sari, milk oozes from her breasts. Mine are dry and shrivelled. Who will come for these?’

How long could Katthayi bear these insults? Since she was a new, young bride, she was not armed with words to retaliate with. But Pazhani Mooppan’s wife had no problem unleashing vulgarisms. Katthayi felt that it was better to die than to have to survive putting up with all this. Her eyes reddened because of crying every day. Mandayan was not the confrontational type. Also, if someone came to fight with you, you could argue it out. But if they implied, insinuated and said things here and there, how could one respond to that? However, it didn’t mean they could ignore her, thinking of her as the dog that barked at the sun.

Mosakkounder frequented Mandayan’s shop and stayed till late at night drinking. Pazhani Mooppan’s wife, the demoness, went to the Gounder’s wife and said, ‘Katthayi is being kept by your husband. Otherwise, why is he there in the Sanar’s place till midnight?’ The Gounder’s wife came
with a broomstick to assault Katthayi. Mandayan and Katthayi abandoned the trees just when they were ripe with new toddy, and left the village. Kali couldn’t do anything. How could he respond to someone who did not engage in direct combat but attacked by slandering and bad-mouthing? Also, if Kali did intervene, the woman might say, ‘Look at this! The impotent one has come to fight!’

In fact, Kali heard what she said about him: ‘This impotent man has brought her from somewhere. When his own wife is a dry land, what is he going to do with this new one?’ He felt such rage that he wanted to drag that coarse and uncouth woman by her hair and give her a thrashing. But Ponna was firm. She said, ‘Let’s not get into this fight between the Sanars. They think one thing when they climb up, and another when they climb down. Be careful.’

After all that time, Mandayan was very excited to see Kali. He had two tiny little children. Kali could not take his eyes off them. He sighed. What was the use of being so well built and strong enough to knock four men down in one blow? Mandayan was fat and short. So what? He had fathered two children. Perhaps his body was as dexterous as his hands. The children looked as beautiful as sculptures.

‘Is our Gounder related to you?’ Mandayan asked Muthu.

‘Related? Hey, Mandaya! Ponna is my own sister!’ Muthu laughed.

‘Somehow, we never got to know that. Otherwise, we could have brought the Gounder here long ago and given him a taste of the coconut toddy.’

As per Muthu’s arrangement, they had steamed mochai peas and rice. Mandayan had coconut toddy as well as arrack soaked in coconut toddy to offer. Kali said, ‘I will have the toddy first.’ He was already regretting the fact that he had missed tasting the fish that would be available near the temple hill, now that the festival was coming to a close. The moon had started to ascend the skies.