Authors: Anita Nair
Ladies Coupe (33 page)
From behind a clump of trees that fringed the ground, I watched the pyre being built. A woodpile that would smear the skies with the stench of death. I waited. When he was reduced to ashes and when everyone had left, I would stand on his ashes and spit on them.
Murugesan’s son, his legitimate son, lit the pyre while the boy stood on the side watching. What was he doing here, I wondered.
The flames blazed. Voices carried: The body isn’t burning. Must be because of all the chemicals they used to preserve it. Heap some more wood on it. Here boy, put this onto the pyre.
The flames died down. A horrified whisper: the body is untouched. It’s charred in a few places and the skin has peeled off. But it’s still there. Don’t let his sons see it. Leave someone here to ensure that the men do the rest. There is nothing more for us here … Here boy, aren’t you from
Murugesan’s loom? Stay here and keep an eye on the men while they try burning the body again …
Murugesan’s loom? Stay here and keep an eye on the men while they try burning the body again …
Finally, it was the boy who had to assist his father’s passage to the other world. The cremation ground was deserted except for the men who worked there, the boy, and I.
Hidden by the night, I stood there and watched the boy gather wood to light the pyre again. I saw him walking through the grounds foraging for leftover kindling from other pyres, twigs, branches, dried grass … anything that would break into flame. The boy’s face was clenched in sorrow; or was it pity?
I crept closer and saw the half-charred and half-intact corpse. Grown-up men, Murugesan’s relatives, had walked away unable to bear the thought of being confronted by such a horrifying creature. What was the boy thinking as he lit the second heap of logs? I felt a great sadness wash over me. I had reduced the boy to this. A chandala. A keeper of graves, the overseer of the dead. He didn’t deserve this. Or any of what had happened to him.
As the flames leapt, my hate burnt with them. What was left in this world for me to hate, I thought. Murugesan was a smouldering heap of ashes. There was Muthu. But what could I hate him for? The bitterness unravelled. ‘Muthu,’ I called softly.
He turned towards where I stood. I saw his face fill with joy. I had expected hostility, anger, but not this unsullied joy. For the first time, I felt shame. Not remorse for having rejected him as a baby, you must understand. That was destined to be. But I felt shame for having used him. How was I any different from that long line of people who had used me and then discarded me when their need was over? I knew that I would have to make up to him for that.
There was so much work to be done before I could claim him for my own. I had to find the money to buy him back. Missy K, I thought. Missy K would understand and
help. Perhaps she would even help me find a job in the city she lived in.
help. Perhaps she would even help me find a job in the city she lived in.
Once again, I felt a quickening in my phantom womb. My child was about to be born.
… Remember what I told you about the roles in my life having no chronology; no sense of rightness. What happened then was that for the first time, I wrested control of my destiny. I wasn’t going to wage wars or rule kingdoms. All I wanted was a measure of happiness. All I wanted to be was Muthu’s mother.
For so long now, I had been content to remain a sister to the real thing. Surrogate housewife. Surrogate mother. Surrogate lover. But now I wanted more. I wanted to be the real thing.
Akhila Speaks
Akhila is sitting on a bench by the sea. She will sit here till the streetlights come on and then she will walk back to the hotel, she decides. A short distance away, between her and the sea, is a young man leaning against his motorbike. He is trying to light a cigarette with his back to the sea. The breeze lifts his hair and flops it down on his brow. His face is chubby and boyish in spite of the thick moustache. His eyes are not a child’s; his tight blue jeans and rust-coloured T-shirt swathe a body that is swaggeringly male, she thinks. When he lifts his head from his cupped palms, their eyes lock. She matches his scrutiny with hers. His eyes drop. A little later Akhila sees him leave. She smiles. She has never known such power before.
For two days now, Akhila has been living in a hotel at Kanyakumari. The hotel is by the beach and is called Sea Breeze. The porch leads to a small lobby. Along one wall is a sofa with paisley-patterned upholstery. On the opposite wall is a huge mural. The receptionist in a white shirt and black trousers smiles at her and calls her ‘Madam’.
There is a restaurant attached to the hotel. The food is plain and vegetarian. Akhila sits at a table by herself three
times a day and each day, she tries a new dish. She has already sampled everything there is on the menu.
times a day and each day, she tries a new dish. She has already sampled everything there is on the menu.
Familes stay here and old couples. Tourists and pilgrims. Akhila doesn’t know to which category she belongs. But it doesn’t matter. She listens to the conversation that swirls around her.
Akhila has a room that faces the sea. From her balcony, she can watch the sun rise and set. Below the horizon the water rests, a calm sheet of copper. Every morning and evening, she goes out for a walk. Sometimes people stare at her. They are not used to the sight of a single woman all by herself. A foreigner they can understand, but an Indian woman … She walks past them slowly, not increasing her pace or letting them know that she can read their looks. It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t care any more.
45-year-old spinsters have a reputation. For primness; for a meanness around their mouths; for the drying up of pores, crevices and ducts; for a self-absorption that borders on the obsessive and for an unfailing ability to detect a flaw in everything that is fair and unsullied.
And so it was with Akhila. Elderly spinster. Older sister. Once the breadwinner of the family. Still the cash cow.
But Akhila is certain that she won’t let her family use her any more. Look at me, she would tell them. Look at me: I’m the woman you think you know. I am the sister you have wondered about. There is more to this Akka. For within me is a woman I have discovered.
The next evening, he is waiting for her. In blue jeans and an olive-green T-shirt, lounging against his bike. She pretends not to see him and sits in her usual place. He clears his throat. She turns towards him and smiles. ‘Hello,’ she says.
She sees confusion mark his face. The women of his world don’t speak unless spoken to first and even then they would have nothing to do with a stranger.
‘What’s your name?’ she asks. Then she changes her mind and says, ‘Actually, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know your name.’
‘Vinod. My name is Vinod,’ he says quickly. She looks at him. He must be in his mid-twenties, she decides.
She gets up to leave and feels his eyes follow her down the road.
Akhila discovers that she likes being alone. She has no more doubts about what her life will be like if she lives alone. It may not be what she dreamt it to be, but at least she would have made the effort to find out. And perhaps that is all she needs to ask of life now. That she be allowed to try and experience it …
Akhila is sitting by the sea. The young man isn’t there. For a moment, only for a moment, Akhila feels a small stab of disappointment. She closes her eyes and feels the breeze caress her eyelids. For the first time in her life, Akhila knows what it is to woo the moment.
A motorbike roars past her and then shudders to a halt. She keeps her eyes shut. She hears a throat clear to announce a presence. Akhila opens her eyes. It is the young man.
‘Hello,’ she says. She sees his eyes light up in relief.
‘I wasn’t sure … you … would be here. I thought you would try to avoid me.’ The words tumble out haltingly.
‘Why would you think that?’ Akhila asks.
‘I don’t know … because I spoke to you yesterday,’ he says, running his hands through his hair.
‘You didn’t. I spoke to you first,’ she corrects.
‘Where are you from?’ he asks suddenly.
Akhila smiles. He is a boy pretending to be a man, she thinks. ‘Why do you want to know?’
She sees his eyes drop.
‘Why don’t you sit down?’ she says, pointing to a place on the bench, and when he smiles and hastens to sit beside
her, Akhila knows what it feels like to be the cat in a cat and mouse game.
her, Akhila knows what it feels like to be the cat in a cat and mouse game.
At night, Akhila’s dreams take on a pattern of ceaseless searching. She wakes up with her mouth tasting of chalk and a spiralling helplessness. I know what I want to do. So why do my dreams leave me so despondent, she asks herself one morning. That is the day Akhila decides to seduce the young man. One final act to consummate her decision. Where the body goes, the mind will follow, she tells herself, repudiating all that has been instilled in her. One feat of courage, to tread where she has never gone before. If there was a mountain, Akhila would try and climb it. She feels lust crouch in her temples and demand that she do its bidding.
Akhila sets herself a little game: if he makes the first move, I’ll go no further. I don’t want a man trying to broaden his horizon with my body. I don’t want to be another experience.
She walks to the bench. He is waiting there for her. A grin tugs at her lips. She bends her head to hide it. When she lifts her face, he sees an Akhila who wears the ghost of a smile.
‘Hello,’ he says. ‘You are late today.’
She shrugs and sits down. He waits for her to invite him to join her on the bench. Akhila begins to enjoy her little game.
She looks at the sea.
‘Aren’t you going to sit down?’ she asks.
‘Where are you from?’ he repeats his question of the day before.
She smiles and shakes her head. ‘I don’t like questions,’ she says. Why am I so reluctant to talk about myself, Akhila asks herself. This is for now. This has to end here. That’s why, she tells herself.
He doesn’t know whether he should feel rebuffed and leave. He can’t determine what she wants and yet he is
reluctant to depart. To fill the silence, to prolong his stay, he begins to tell her about himself Akhila lets his words wash over her. She sees that the people on the road are watching them. She thinks of what they will see: a middle-aged woman and a young man. She thinks of the speculation that will cross their minds. She thinks that what they see or will say is of no importance to her.
reluctant to depart. To fill the silence, to prolong his stay, he begins to tell her about himself Akhila lets his words wash over her. She sees that the people on the road are watching them. She thinks of what they will see: a middle-aged woman and a young man. She thinks of the speculation that will cross their minds. She thinks that what they see or will say is of no importance to her.
She turns and looks at him. Tomorrow she will play the game once more and then she will do what she has to do. The day after, it will be time to leave.
In the morning Akhila is drawn to a newspaper item about a suicide pact. A whole family in a small town in Kerala. The father of the family administered a poison to his wife and four children and then hung himself from a hook in the ceiling. In the note he left behind, he talked of hoplessness. He had AIDS and he didn’t want his family ostracized because of him. He knew of no other way to protect them from disgrace and unhappiness, he wrote.
Did his wife want to die with him? What about his children? Akhila thinks. How dare he take their lives as if it was his right to decide whether they lived or died?
Akhila turns the page in disgust. She thinks how a fortnight ago, she would have read the news item without worrying about the wife or children.
For the first time, Akhila remembers Sarasa Mami not with pity but with admiration. The difference as Akhila knows it now is that Sarasa Mami lived in the best way she knew; while she, Akhila, hadn’t.
Akhila stares at her young man as if to inscribe his features in her mind. He is there, faithful, fawning, and still unable to hold her gaze. He will not make the move, she knows. Has she won her game or lost it? Akhila wonders. Don’t be a coward now, she tells herself sternly. You want this. You need this. You have to be able to do this.
She takes his hand in hers and says, ‘I’m staying at the
Hotel Sea Breeze. Why don’t you come by later in the evening?’
Hotel Sea Breeze. Why don’t you come by later in the evening?’
A couple of hours later, the phone rings. The receptionist’s voice is curious and disapproving. ‘A Mr Vinod is here. He says he is your relative. Shall I send him up to your room?’
Akhila smiles into the receiver, ‘Yes.’
She opens the door and goes to stand on the balcony. She hears him close the door. She waits for him to latch it. When he does, she smiles again. She knows what it is he wants. She wants the same.
He comes to stand by her.
‘I love the sea at night. At night, it feasts upon each one of our senses,’ Akhila says. He moves closer. She thinks she can hear his heart beat. Why, he is afraid, she laughs. He is looking to me to help him out.
‘Do you have a condom?’ she asks. He hasn’t thought about it, she knows. He turns on his heel to leave. Just for a second, she thinks that she has dampened his ardour. Then she realizes that he will be back.
When he returns, she lets him love her with the windows and the balcony door flung open to the night and the lights on. When he reaches to switch off the light, she stills his hand. ‘What are you ashamed of?’ she asks.
He is impatient to enter her. She wriggles on her back and guides his hands to her breasts. ‘Slowly, slowly,’ she says. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’
But he can’t hold himself back and parts her legs. A spasm of hurt grabs at Akhila. It’s been so long since Hari. But lust parts flesh easily and Akhila is swamped by lust. A lust which evolves, sustains and withdraws into itself A lust that radiates the heat of fire. The energy that defines life. Akhila is lust. Akhila is Sakthi. Akhila is Akhilandeswari decimated into ten entities.
Kali. Ready to destroy all that comes between her and the flow of time.
Tara. With the golden embryo from which a new universe will evolve. She will be her own void and infinity.
Sodasi. Fullness at sixteen. Nurturing dreams and hopes. Even now, at forty-five.
Bhuvaneshawari. The forces of the material world surge within her.
Bhairavi. Seeking to find ways and means to fulfil her desires before all is null and void.
Chinnamasta. The naked one continuing the state of self-sustenance in the created world; making possible destruction and renewal in a cyclic order.
Dhumathi. Misfortune personified. An old hag riding an ass with a broom in one hand and a crow on her banner.
Bagala. The crane-headed one, the ugly side of all living creatures. Jealousy, hatred, cruelty, she is all this and more.
Matangi. Seeking to dominate.
And then there is Karnala. Pure consciousness of the self, bestowing boons and allaying fears … The Akhila her family knew.
This is who Akhila is. Together and separate. Akhila knows this as her body moves through a catacomb of sensations. One wave after another hurling her through an underground stream that had remained dammed for so many years. Akhila has no more fears. Why then should she walk with a downcast head?
She throws her head back and voices her triumph.
The young man stands by the door and asks, ‘Shall I come back tomorrow?’
Akhila smiles. He hasn’t even asked her what her name is. Which is exactly how she wants it. A need satiated. Her past purged. A point proven to herself. An old man would want to know much more. An older man would want to lead the way. So Akhila smiles again because she discovers it is so easy to smile now that she has her life where she wants it to be.
In the morning, Akhila wakes up with her old ball of gunny thread on her mind. She thinks of how she spent hours disentangling the knotted thread. And of how carefully and methodically she wound it, tying one end to the other so that it ran as a single thread from its core to the final inch … And then she thinks of Hari. That one unresolved tangle. That one knot she had severed rather than unravelled. And she thinks, I must sort that out too. I must find out what happened to him. And I must do it today, now, when I feel whole and strong.
Once she had thought that she couldn’t love another man as she had loved Hari. Giving him all of her body and soul. This morning, she thinks anything is possible. That she has the courage to pick up from where she left off and begin again. That as much as she desired Hari, she desired life more.
And so it is that Akhila opens her handbag and draws out the address book where Hari’s is a name among several names. She picks up the phone and places a person-to-person call to Madras. Will he be there, she wonders. Is she being foolish, she asks herself. Hari must have made a life for himself and here she is behaving like a heroine in a romance novel. Would he really care about what happened so long ago? Or about why she had chosen to walk away from him?
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