Viswanathapuram
was abuzz with activity. Ramayyar's son,
Sreenivasan [known to all as Cheenu'], who was the first BA in the nearest ten
villages, was getting married to Krishnayyar's daughter, Janaki. Ramayyar and Krishnayyar were the two
wealthiest landowners in all of Palakkad and so of course, the wedding was a
great affair involving about 500 wedding guests from all the surrounding
villages and none other than the great maestro Tanjavur Ramanatha Ayyangar
singing on the evening of the wedding.
Janaki was 11 and Cheenu was 21, and
their marriage was one considered a perfect match—'pattukku pattu poruttam!'
('a ten out of ten match!') as the astrologer
said with gleeful astonishment to all those who came to him. At her age, Janaki was blossoming into a
beautiful young woman. Cheenu was
already the pride and joy of every household in Viswanathapuram, and quite a
handsome young man to boot. He never
failed to turn every head as he walked about, his ottaveshti around his
waist, his milk-white chest and torso uncovered and adorned by a lone gleaming
white poonal. His thick hair was knotted back in a tight sikhai,
and the soft beard accented the big blue-stoned kadukkan on his
ears. Not only was Cheenu the first BA
in the area, and that too a graduate with Distinction, he was a great singer,
knew how to chant the Yajur-veda with a rare perfection of pronunciation and
pitch and was the paradigm of respect to his elders. Indeed, this was a match made in
heaven — a union not just of the earthly Satyavan and Savitri, but the
union of two illustrious families. 'A
matter of great importance for all of us,' said the elders.
The wedding day that is, the final
day when the knot would be tied, was nearing.
Already 5 days of the wedding had passed with great pomp and
circumstance. The various sections of
society were all very pleased, especially the gossip mongers. There was usually something to complain
about, but there was nothing this time.
Everyone was forced to feel satisfied.
Their deep bellies were so well-provided-for that they couldn't even
find an excuse to feel sorry for themselves.
So instead they talked about the world beyond Viswanathapuram. About how the white races in far away Europe were fighting each other for land. Though they talked at length about the merits
of the German position versus the British position, ultimately some old fart
would say 'Raman anda enna, Ravanan anda namakku enna oy! Neenkallam vendatattu pesi pesi
othavankikkapporel!' ('Who
cares whether Rama rules or Ravana? You
people are going to get into deep trouble talking all this nonsense about
politics.) That piece of folk wisdom would, of course, restore
peace. The year was 1916 and the Great
War had been going on for some time now.
But of course in Viswanathapuram the fights were more often between
women in various households, and among neighbours. Maybe the Great War in Europe
wasn't so bad after all.
The only conspicuous absence on the
sixth day of the weding was, of course, the mappillaitozhan — Cheenu's
best man, Sankaran. Sankaran was the same age as Cheenu, but a
little shorter and somewhat thinner and darker than Cheenu, whose musculature
was his best feature. He was just as
handsome as Cheenu, and of course, other Brahmin fathers of equal financial
position to his own had already begun to calculate how much dowry they would
have to pay for their daughters to have him as their bridegroom. He had not gone to college like Cheenu
had. In fact, his education was entirely
traditional. Sankaran did know English,
however, as a side-effect of his friendship with Cheenu. The two had been friends for as long as
anyone could remember. Sankaran was
Ramanatha Sastri's only son, a poor lad for whom all the mothers' hearts bled,
for he had been orphaned at birth by the death of his mother, a woman of weak
constitution. He'd been raised by his
father, a pious if strict man who gave his son everything a poor scholar's boy
could look forward to except tender affection.
And Sankaran found his affection in his constant companion, Cheenu.
Now,
on this, the sixth day of the wedding, Sankaran was nowhere to be found in the
magnificent pandal that had been raised in front of Krishnayyar's
palatial house on Kizhakke Vasal
Street.
Rather, an inquiring eye would have found him wandering alone in
Ramayyar's paddy fields, singing 'Sita kalyana vaibhogame... Rama kalayana
vaibhogame....' in a voice that quievered every few syllables. The look on his countenance was not that of a
young man happy for his friend. There
was a deep pain that made even the workers in the fields wonder what had
happened to the young swami as they hastened to remove themselves from
his presence so as to not cause pollution.
Sankaran,
who brooked no caste prejudice as a matter of course, didn't even seem to
notice the workers trying to hide. In
fact, his mind was not there in the fields at all. It was somewhere else. He saw the tying of the knot that was to take
place tomorrow; Cheenu's muscular arms and strong hands tying the first knot
deftly and letting the other two be done by his sister and mother. He saw Cheenu and Janaki's first year of
festivals. He saw the joy that would
accompany the birth of their first child, a boy. He saw Cheenu playing with his sons,
performing their upanayanam and so much more. And where was he? Sankaran was nowhere in these pictures. Sankaran was nothing.
Sankaran
crossed the fields and wandered down to the river bank. It was noon, and the sun was high in the
sky. There, a few hundred yards away
downstream, launderers washed and chatted and quarrelled like a flock of
ducks. Sankaran waded into the river and
stood waist deep and performed his sandhyavandanam without any of the
necessary utensils. He walked back up
onto the bank and strode up a group of flat rocks to sit and do his meditation,
being soaked head to toe. He recited the
Gayatri in his mind, 'Om bhur bhuva
suvaha tatsavitur varenyam. Bhargo
devasya dhimahi. Dhiyo yo nah
pracodayat.' Sankaran had mastered
great levels of concentration and had easily gone up to 10,008
recitations. But now, his mind was a
rein that had slipped from the hands of his intellect, unable to control the
horses of his senses, which were galloping at breakneck speed toward emotions
and memories. Again and again he tried
to regain control of his mind but today it would just not allow the intellect
to grasp itself. Finally, having recited
merely 108 Gayatris he gave up. He
hastily finished the other portions of the sandhya and sat there, numbed
and unable to get his thoughts in order.
Had
everything been a flash in the pan? A
sky-lotus? A complete and utter
chimera? Was this what love meant? And was he such a fool that he'd believed
Cheenu? Questions and self-criticism and
anger and sorrow and frustration assailed him from all sides.
Sankaran's
thoughts slipped slowly back to that evening, when they were 15 years old. That night, after slipping away together from
the temple where everyone was engaged in the Sivaratri celebrations for which
Viswanathapuram was famous, they had consummated their love for the first
time. It had happened really quite suddenly. Neither really had any doubt when it
happened, but afterwards, when they hastily bathed at midnight in the river
before rushing back to the temple, Sankaran couldn't help asking Cheenu, 'Itellam
tappillayo Cheenu? Ennada nameto periya
tappu pannittom enna thonnal alaiyadichende irukku.... Ennada itukkellam prayaschittam?' ('Isn't all this
wrong, Cheenu? Thought that we've done something awful keeps tormenting
me. What's the penance for this?')
Cheenu had said after a moment's thought, 'Brahmacariya kalyanam vendam
ennutan vakkanam Sankara. Vere oru
vazhiyum teriyalai. Appa amma ellarum
deshyappeduva. Analum dridhama vendam
ennum tan chollavendivarum. Romba
posukkina uravittu nama Kasikku poyiduvom.
Angana nama chenthe irukkalam.'
('We'll have to remain Brahmacharis and not get
married, Sankara. I don't see any other
way. Our father and my mother will all
get angry, but we must stay resolute and refuse to get married. If they push us too much, then we'll run away
together to Kasi. Over there we could
live together.) Sankaran nodded quietly and then said, 'Sari. Ni chollarathaye pannalam.' ('Alright, we'll do what you suggest.') They had
walked back to the temple wordlessly, holding hands all the way.
After
that, it had happened so many times.
They had promised themselves they would be celibate, but neither could
keep their word. And to atone, they
would fast. Cheenu, whose mother was an
innocent housewife who doted on her son, would have a hard time and would end
up breaking his fast before the evening was out. Sankaran's father never questioned him; he
trusted his son completely and knew that if his son was fasting in atonement,
that he had done a good job as a father.
The
years had flown by. Cheenu had gone to
distant Madras
and gotten his BA with distinction in English and was looking at a great career
in the Civil Service. And when the time
came, though he'd been the one to suggest the penance, he gave into the
marriage proposal. Sankaran heard the
news from other friends, but he was too proud to ever question Cheenu about
it. He just smiled broadly outside and
sobbed inside when he saw Cheenu [who had a meek and guilty look on his face]
and patted him on the shoulder and said, 'Nalla poruttam kadachirukku ennu
jyotsyar chollarar. Ore vayasilirukkaravala nama asirvadam
pannakkudathu. Ana nee ennodu
thozhan. Patinarum pettru peruvazhu
Cheenu.' ('The
astrologer says you have a great match.
We shouldn't bless those who are of the same age as us. Yet, you're my friend. May you live long to see a full life.)
His
thoughts slowly returned to the present when he heard the slapping of the
clothes against the rock by the launderers.
He came to a decision. He nodded
firmly and walked off to the pandal with a smile on his face. Everyone who'd been searching for him asked
him where he'd been. He just smiled and
said that he'd been performing his sandhya and had lost track of
time. The elders, of course, gave proud
meaningful looks and beamed at Ramanatha Sastri, who stoically [but inwardly
with pride] told his son to go and join his friend. That day and the next, Sankaran, Cheenu and
all their friends spent together.
Once
the hangover of the grand wedding feast had lifted, people began inquiring
about Sankaran's prospects. He was the
second-most-eligible bachelor in Viswanathapuram if only because of his lack of
western education and the penury of his father.
Nonetheless, the more conservative among the Brahmins saw both as
virtues. The horoscopes started pouring
in and Ramanatha Sastri, who was an expert astrologer himself selected an
alliance for his son with a 12-year-old-girl from Govindarajapuram and informed
his son that his marriage would be taking place on the 15th of Masi.
To
say Sankaran was afraid of his father would be a lie. Rather, he approached him with the severest
discipline and decorum; there was little emotional speech between them. He took the same approach in telling his
father of his decision. 'Appa, enakku
kalyanam vendam. Nan
thirumanichachu. Nan
brahmachariyathan iruppen.' ('Father, I don't want
to get married. I've decided. I'll stay a Brahmachari.') Ramanatha
Sastri didn't flinch. He smiled drily
and walked away. He knew his son. He would have his reasons. And though he didn't know how to show
affection for his son, he loved and respected him. No matter how much embarrassment it would
cause him now, he'd retract the alliance and reject others by telling them what
his son had said. He apologised profusely
to the girl's father, who though a little annoyed, respected Ramanatha Sastri
enough on a personal level to accept it.
Thankfully, the matter had not yet become public knowledge, so face was
saved by everyone involved.
Cheenu
approached Sankaran when he eventually heard the news. He'd been busy making the rounds with his wife's
relations. He came to Sankaran, who had
just finished his sandhya at their usual spot on the river and was off
on the way home, with a look of pain and sorrow. Sankaran smiled as broadly as he had. Cheenu began, 'Sankara ni enna
nanachindirukkay? Eppadi itu sariyakum?' ('Sankara, what do
you think you're doing? How can this be
right?') Sankaran cut him short:
'Nan vratam eduttal apram
mattamatten Cheenu. Ni ennappatti
kavalappadavendam. Nan
cheera iruppen; niyum athupole irukkanam.'
('I've made a vow and I won't change my mind,
Cheenu. Don't worry about me. I'll prosper; I wish the same for you.') With that, Sankaran walked off as the Sun set
above their heads, Cheenu looking on after the friend, the lover he knew he'd
lost forever.
