Tenderness

Laughter gurgled out of him. The old man stretched his mouth wide like a rent in a rag and broke into a grin. The gap in the upper row where a couple of teeth were missing was clearly visible. 

‘Muthumaadan and that Chollamuthu fellow were scuffling on the ground and hitting each other over a wretched bundle of cornstalk. When I gave them a big shove, they fell backwards on their asses. Such a funny sight. It happened a long time ago.’

Then he laughed again.

Once the dragonfly that was noisily hovering near the veranda’s rafter pole found a soft spot, it started boring into the wood and dropped sawdust on the floor.

Pressing his back against the wall, the old man moved it back and forth across to scratch his itch and stretched out his legs. Unable to bear the sun’s heat, he screwed up his face, covered his eyeballs with his lids and looked eastward. The lines on his forehead seemed like cart tracks across a slushy field.

Five-six boys who were gathered in the courtyard whispered among themselves and came to a decision. One of them brought his waist string over his shorts and bound it tight; he was ready. Then the fun began.

‘Toothless old man had a couple of wives!’

‘A couple of wives…!’

Hearing their shouts, the crow that was poking into the soaking pot in the neighbouring house to pick a few morsels of kanji hurriedly crammed four-five mouthfuls in its beak and flew up to the ridge on the roof; from there, it glanced sideways at the boys as if to say, ‘Don’t these kids have anything else to do?’

‘First, I must get rid of these little brats. Elei, do you think it’s funny? After stuffing themselves thrice a day till they are straining and groaning, they loiter around like pregnant catfish. Such wantonness won’t let them stay quiet, right? How will you idiots know what I am having to put up with? Do you want to prance around while I am fainting from hunger without a drop of kanji?’

‘Thatha, give us a little snuff.’

‘Elei, sons of little sluts. If you keep sniggering like idiots at everything, how will you come to any good? If you dare come near me, I’ll send you packing with a kick up your backside. Let me catch one of you; then you’ll know what you’ve got coming.’

He reached out with his hand as if to pick up the staff that was propped in a corner. The boys scattered like marbles rolled along the ground.

‘My teeth are broken, they say. As if they’re made of granite for these louts. A powerful man who advises ten others can hang himself with a rope, and these kids are making a big deal of my broken teeth. Piss off, you minnows.’

To keep the flies from sticking to the sore on his elbow, he touched it with a drop of saliva on his finger. The scaly dryness of the skin around the sore disappeared owing to the moisture of the saliva and only a few white bubbles were visible in the hollow of the wound. 

After watching idly for a long time from inside the house, the old woman suddenly drew the palm-leaf case near her and spat betel-leaf pulp into it. 

‘Why does it bother you if they laugh? Let them laugh if they want to. Don’t we laugh, too? Our robust young man is upset over losing a tooth, it seems. Instead of lying quietly in a corner…’

‘Listen, you ass. Now even you’ve started disrespecting me.’

‘No, no. I am feeling young only now.’

Both laughed.

*

This is a tomcat that’s devoured a thousand chickens. These fellows can’t properly bite into something that’s hard. Just running their mouths. Ask them to roast a cup of raw lentils and eat it, let’s see. Keeping their mouths loose and wide like a bull’s runny stool. Even today, if you give me a tumbler of dry rice, I’ll eat it in one go. Not for me, that poking between my teeth with a twig. Once I’ve downed two bowls of country liquor, I won’t get up till I’ve devoured a whole chicken, without sparing even a scrap.

These days, I don’t drink kanji at midday. It’s become a habit. Because I am sitting around all the time, I don’t even think about it.

Ei Paruvathi, if we have fermented rice water, add a little salt and bring it here.

Elei, who goes there—Kaliyappan’s son? Come here, da. Buy tobacco for five paise from the shop over there and come back fast. My mouth feels strange without tobacco. Where’s your mother gone—to pick cotton? And so, you grazed the buffalo calf and tied it up all by yourself, did you? Why don’t you put some oil in your hair? You’ve let it turn totally dry. Your mother can’t even manage that? Poor thing, what will she do? A single woman, after all. All right, do a little sprint and come back.

Can anyone keep his teeth in good shape at my age? Would he have even one or two left, I ask you. They’re just talking big. It’s all right if the young lot are like that, but even the oldies join them and pass comments. As if losing your teeth is something to look down upon.

The other day, a couple of young fellows were standing in the street and mouthing off some bravado: ‘Elei, I’ll give you a tight slap and break your teeth.’ As if this was some impressive rowdy behaviour. If a fellow spends all his days talking big and girding his loins, when is he going to break teeth and sweep them up? The times are bad; what can I say?

So, my teeth are gone, but I didn’t lose them just like that, did I? I lost them while swinging a stick during a roaring fight. Both front teeth were knocked out. My teeth wouldn’t fall even if I told them to.

It was no ordinary riot. Because somebody had said something, a group of people had come all the way from their village, cornered a fellow who was cutting leaves in a field and slashed him. Here, the whole village was up in arms. Those fellows were trapped nicely in the middle of the stream beside the temple. 

The women collected bundles of stones and passed them to us. Stones flung blindly from here and there flew in and hit us. It’s no trifle when two villages are at daggers drawn with each other. Without a single exception, all the men in the village, including the old and the infirm, turned up carrying a stick in their hand.

A young lad from the other side was moving about boldly. His throws were on target. He advanced smoothly like a fish swimming upstream in a flood.

I wanted to take him on. I saw him lurking in the eastern corner and pounced on him with my spear-staff. The fellow swung his staff cleverly. He did not allow me to land even a single blow. ‘All right, this fellow is smart,’ I thought, ‘so I have to show him what I can do.’ Pretending to attack him, I retreated a couple of steps to let him come up to me. There was a straw pit behind me, which I didn’t see. Once I stumbled slightly, the boy moved a step forward. A blow fell on my face like a punch. I couldn’t block it. The butt of his staff dashed mightily against my teeth. 

I wasn’t going to let him off easily, was I? I recovered and struck him a hard blow. That was it. His arm broke. The fellow ran away without a backward glance. Then, at one go, I fought off all those boys, and they took to their heels towards their village. I received a hit on the head.

And they call me a toothless old man. Would any of these fellows be moving about at my age? They would only hobble around like cripples.

I have a throbbing pain in my knees. I can’t walk about freely, swinging my arms. I don’t like sitting in one spot either. For how long can I sit here, dead as a corpse?

All the hair in my head has turned white like a ball of cotton. I feel a constant irritation in my eyes. 

Do these fellows at least know how to wield a staff like that? Is it enough if they swagger around, dressed primly in a veshti? If an enemy confronts me, swinging his staff, I’ll first figure out his purpose in coming forward, his prowess and his footwork; only then will I blast him one. What do these fools know about those ins and outs?

Who is that ruffian walking down the street, sir? Will you please step in here for a bit? Why do you fellows roam around carrying a staff? Is this how you guard the village and its people? On top of that, you wrap a mundasu around your head like a hooligan. Take that staff out of your armpit. It’s by wedging everything under your armpit all the time that you’ve gone to seed. Go on, you girl-chasing curs.

Let’s see you wear your veshti scissor-like across the body, tied around the neck, and walk with your arms swinging. So, you need to be taught how to tie it, is it? Don’t laugh. Why do you laugh at everything? Look at your head. Even a cloth pad for carrying loads of gravel looks better. They called a village meeting and appointed this hero to protect the village, it seems.

My old woman. Peek inside the house and see if she is moving about in the kitchen. I thought I heard the clatter of pots and pans. I am sure she is there. Before I took her for a wife, do you know in how many ways I used to wear my veshti, to show off my physique? In my younger days, I used to be lean and muscular. Not so bad even now. I am an old man, it’s true, but if you give me a length of shoulder cloth, see if I don’t wear it in twenty-two different styles.

So, you’re a brave tiger setting out. Go and pounce on the thief and catch him.

Dirt is clinging to my eyes, like mosquitoes. My vision is hazy. Everything looks dim. Eyes feel very sticky. I must chase the mosquitoes from my eyes, wipe them and get up.

Ei, Parvathi. Why do I need a stick, I ask you. As if I can’t walk without a stick. Why are you such a witless donkey? As if I was walking all these days leaning on stick.

I carry one for convenience, it’s true. But have you ever seen me planting it on the ground? Then, why on earth are you giving it to me? If I keep it out of some stubbornness, should I take it along even to the granary and the backyard? Put it in a corner. I’ll come back and oil it.

I haven’t caught the plague or something, have I? Any human can come down with a headache or fever. Sit here quietly. I’ll come back in no time.

I need to walk with a stick, it seems. As it is, these idiots look down on me. On top of that, once I start walking with a stick, immediately the whole street will start talking about it. And what kind of talk? ‘Who knows, it looks like this old man will stop us from going to work for a day. He is in a far worse condition than before. He can’t even walk without support.’ How would you like that? 

One day, not long ago, I came down with a fever. Feeling dizzy and unsteady, I went out carrying a stick. No sooner than I came back and sat down, it gave an opportunity for two idlers nearby to gossip about me. Given that there was such a song and dance about what I did only for a day, if I used a walking stick all the time, they would dig a hole for me and wait for me to die; they would even pay an advance for someone to play the kottu during my funeral procession.

I will die, of course. I don’t know if I am going to die first or enjoy the funeral feast of many before that. This is a sturdy old body. My head won’t roll so easily, elei. Remember that, at least.

I must be eighty now. Most people my age have passed on. It’s the food I ate when I was young that’s kept me alive. It was no ordinary food. If I visited an eatery, I didn’t come out without spending as much as eight annas. You could get four pieces of paniyaram for one copper coin. These days, you carry the money in a sack to buy something that will fit into your palm.

We don’t have any children. So long as we are alive, we must eat well; then we should die in peace. They are not going to preserve my corpse and keep looking at it, are they? It’s not as if someone or the other won’t get rid of my corpse. It doesn’t matter if I have no offspring. There are so many like us in the world. It’s not as if we alone ought to be shunned. On the day I die, won’t there be someone to call me uncle of some kind and carry the ceremonial sombu of water before I am cremated? Once we close our eyes, we’re not going to keep a watch over all this, are we?

I own a few acres of land. Beyond our lifetime, anyone can enjoy it. In the end, that foolish son of Parvathi’s sister is the one who will inherit that land. It will yield enough produce every year to feed a family. Even now, when we have leased it out to a tenant, it keeps us well fed, which is no small thing.

Like most people, one should have children right after marriage. Or one should remain childless throughout. Instead of that, if you keep giving birth to children and burying them, how are you going to feel? Forget the anxiety, but a man would feel dispirited, wouldn’t he?

It seems like it was only yesterday that Kaliyappan from the house down the street got married. Meanwhile, his domestic queen has delivered three boys and two girls. Not a single child was lost; all five are going about their lives in their own way. Whether you enjoy property and creature comforts or not, you will have peace of mind only if your children are healthy like them.

Once I got married to Parvathi, no man would have been as distraught as me. She delivered and lost six children, so you can imagine her condition. Four boys and two girls.

Our hearts would have healed if they had died immediately after delivery. When we bring up each child for one or two years, facing no end of trouble. and give them away, one by one, will the heart heal so easily? Like baby pumpkins withering on the vine and falling off, all of them passed away.

All that is an old story now. It was all we were granted by fate. Pining for the lost children, Parvathi was heartbroken. You should have seen the woman in her prime. Breasts like covered carts hung down on both sides of her chest. I married her for her voluptuous body. When she walked, she trotted like a filly.

The walls of our house are still intact. Not even one brick has fallen off. It looks like someone has swept the front porch. Kaliappan’s son might tie up his bull on the porch. Let him. At least the porch will be clean. Otherwise, these little donkeys will send the dust flying with their frolic. 

 I can sit down to pee only by supporting my knees with my hands. It’s not as if urine is going to flow the moment I sit down. It surges up, as if a pitcher of water has been tied to my waist. But once I come and squat down, the flow chokes up. I can’t avoid coming and sitting down. Why do I hear so much noise in both my ears? My eyesight is fading. It feels as though my head has grown heavy, making me giddy.

The staff is kept in a corner.

I must get up and walk very slowly, sticking close to the wall. Che. Is this a brick from the wall. Seems like I’ve dashed against it. I can’t bear the pain in my temple. Feel something cool near my eye. Am I bleeding?

I’ve fallen, have I? Tumbled down somehow. My towel is soaked in blood. I must tell her to wash and rinse it.

Can’t see even a single lad. Have they all died of dysentery? Up to this minute, they were loitering in the street like an army of donkeys. Not even one is to be seen.

Adei, who is holding my hand? Is it Kaliyappan’s son? Just take me along to the doorway of my house and leave me there, ‘pa.

Parvathi, why are you crying? Just apply some poultice. It would at least bring a little warmth. Does anyone have ointment? 

I can’t open my eyes. Too much pain. I feel pain all over my body as if it’s been cut to pieces. My chest is blocked. At the same time, it feels wide open too. Give me some water.

Elei, do you want me to die? My body is a cart spoke made of seasoned wood. I’ll get up and walk in two days. Then you’ll see. If you mock me, I’ll slaughter the lot of you.

*

The house was packed with people. It was impossible to stand without jostling one another. The air was sticky and hot. 

When a dog sniffed a corner of the compound wall and lifted its hind leg slightly, a little boy picked up a stone and threw it at the dog. The stone hit the dog’s belly, and its yelps were heard halfway down the street.

Under the shadow of the roof that fell on the eastern side of the house, a couple of men were standing on one leg, leaning against the wall, and chatting with each other.

‘Do you know how he was in his youth? Even with four people holding him down, he would break free. No one could go near him.’

Some men emerged from the house, wiping the sweat on their bodies. A few went inside. 

A woman held the free end of her sari in a bunch and fanned the face of the man who was lying still on a mat in the western corner.

A voice called out from the entrance.

‘Adiye! The baby is cawing like a crow in the cradle. Go and quiet him down.’

Once his legs began to ache, the little boy who was standing near the wall slid down to the ground and sat facing eastward. 

*

I was a big ruffian before I got married. I always had a stick or a sickle in my hand. It was on account of my rough ways that they appointed me as a security guard for the village. If someone spoke rudely to me, regardless of who it was, I would hit him without thinking for a moment. No one could lay a finger on me.

Sometimes, just for fun, I used to go on outings beyond the village too. I had four-five associates in the surrounding area. If I called them for a job, none of them would have any objection. In this village, though, no one was gutsy enough to come with me. ‘Such trouble is not for me,’ the fellow would plead, and slink away behind his cattle. If I sat down in villages to mediate cases, everyone would stand there petrified. Afraid that anything could happen, they would wait nervously, holding their entrails in their hands. There was one fellow there; once he had something to drink, he would argue tenaciously about the case. Snot-nosed brat. All his chatter reeked of insolence. I would give him a pat on the back and calm him down.

One day, four-five of us went to the northern fields. Each one carried a weapon:  sickle, staff, or small knife. Only one had a hatchet with him. Looting whatever we could find on the way, we walked on.

There were cotton fields all around, mostly of black soil. We walked down that path in the afternoon. After we crossed a village, I don’t remember which, in the distance we saw a woman picking cotton by herself. She was young. She was wearing a lot of gold jewelry on her neck and ears. Must have been worth ten-twelve sovereigns. A four-year-old boy was sitting nearby and playing. Since her attention was focused on picking cotton, she did not see us.

We moved a little away and sat under a black babul tree.

Mother and son went to a well nearby. It was high noon. There was not a soul around. Carrying a sickle, I went over by myself. Inside the well, she was scooping up water for her son to drink. I climbed down into the well.

On seeing me, she looked blank and confused. She was good-looking: young and bright faced, with a trim body. The free end of her sari was drawn tight across her breasts and tucked in at the waist.

I was feeling thirsty.

Removing her earrings and chain and giving them to me, she begged me with folded hands. I lopped off the head of the little boy who was crying. A little later, I removed her head as well. I washed and rinsed the sickle and got out of the well in no time. There were bubbles rising in two or three spots inside the well. I came away quickly. 

From that job, I received a huge share.

No one knows about that incident till today. I didn’t tell anyone. I didn’t breathe a word even to Parvathi. I hid the information even from those who had accompanied me that day. They only knew that I had come back with a bundle of gold jewelry at my waist.

There’s a terrible pain in my chest. I can’t move at all. I seem to hear the clamour of little boys in the house. Are there a lot of people gathered here? My forehead feels heavy as a rock.

*

The room was pitch dark amid the rush of visitors. Having given up hope, a lot of people stuck out their lips. 

He moved his lips faintly.

‘Kaa…li…yap…pan’s son’

From the gang of little boys, Kaliyappan’s son was extricated and made to sit near the old man.

As though he was staring at a fire, he opened his eyes wide. He reached with his hand and stroked the little boy repeatedly. He caressed the boy’s face and back. He kept stroking the neck for a long time.

His hand dropped from fatigue. There were tears in the corners of his eyes. 

A deep sigh. As when the opening in the ridge of a field is blocked, there was a sudden choking in his throat.

Death came to him.