Song of the Ankle Rings Read online

  ‘I remain of child-bearing age and the gods might yet bless us with a son.’

  ‘You dream, woman, of an age long gone.’

  A male child was important to conduct the final rites for the father and carry the family line. A wife who did not produce a son risked having to share her husband with a second wife.

  Father was a wealthy man, and he had a ready excuse acceptable to society. Mother grew distraught. But my dear father was an honourable man. There was no second wife to dethrone Mother, or step-mother to ill-treat me. Then, on another day, when discussing my future, he said,

  ‘My daughter will not master the veena, she will not learn to sing, and she will not dance.’ Not receiving a response, he turned harsh. ‘Do you hear me, woman?’

  ‘Why do you treat your swaddling daughter so? She needs talents in music and dance to complete her maturity, to keep her future husband entertained, and to gain approval from those whose home she enters as their family light.’

  ‘My mind is set, woman, and I will not be moved.’

  More silence followed, for Father always went quiet when deep in thought. After a long hush, he said,

  ‘I will betroth her to my friend Masattuvan’s son, the boy Kovalan. We will seal the union in the prescribed manner before esteemed witnesses, with the exchange of promissory trays laden with gold, precious stones, flowers, and auspicious things.’

  ‘Kovalan is a fine boy,’ said Mother, ‘and at two years the elder, a good match for our Kannagi.’

  And so it was, as a wet nurse suckled me, my parents decided my future and fate.

  We lived in Maruvur District, the seaport side of Poom-Puhar. The city itself lay on the northern banks of the Kaveri River. To the west of Maruvur was Pattinam, the City District with the sprawling palace, royal courts, and residences of nobility and luminaries. The physicians, astrologers, artists, and courtesans lived in Pattinam. Vast well-manicured gardens dotted with luxuriant trees, flourishing flowering plants, and ponds filled with thriving fish and exotic waterfowl separated the City and Maruvur districts. The king held great festivals and spectacular games in these gardens, which also served as venues for the daily markets that stretched into the night.

  The merchants maintained their primary residences in Maruvur District in proximity to the jetties and warehouses. The place teemed with yavanas—foreigners—from Seenam, the Middle Kingdom in the east, the Araby deserts of the shifting sands, and the Grecian islands dotting the turquoise seas in the west. There was a network of noisy alleys crammed with shops and sheds where artisans worked on leather, cotton, timber, and various metals. Physicians dabbled in herbs; perfumers concocted perfumes; and behind barred doors, skilled craftsmen bent over tables and cut, polished, and set precious stones.

  There were whispers of houses of ill-repute but I was ignorant what it meant. To my young mind only people acquired ill-reputations, not houses. When I asked, Chinnamma said something vague regarding dancing girls and alcoholic drinks. These houses of pleasure—this was another term she used—sold palm wine, and entertained guests with music and dance of the baser varieties. And they offered maidens and boys.

  ‘Offered? What do you mean by offered?’ I asked.

  But Chinnamma suffered her usual affliction, one which took hold whenever she did not wish to answer my questions: she became deaf. I never want to grow old, for I wish not to become deaf.

  Puhar also boasted numerous temples along packed streets. All one had to do was to look up and there would be a gopuram, the monumental and ornate tower heralding a temple entrance, puncturing the clean blue skies.

  Standing apart from this noisy, confusing labyrinth of never-ending alleys, lecherous street vendors, and—I too whispered though I do not know why—houses of ill-repute, was a serene enclave marked out by thick trees. Within these confines resided the tall mansions of the wealthiest merchants of Puhar. Soft sand covered the streets. Elegant statues of divine beauties, holding lamps lit by fragrant oils, stood in every street corner.

  This was where we lived—Kovalan and I. But at my age, Father’s wealth made no impression on me. And even as an adult, I did not care for such ostentatious living.

  ‘KANNAGI! STOP HIDING behind the window and peeping out at the street. What will people think?’

  That was Mother calling from her kitchen. She cared what people thought, lived for people and for their approval.

  ‘I’m waiting for Kovalan.’

  ‘You’re spending too much time with that boy. Father already had words with me.’

  Mother was the one spending too much time in the kitchen; not to cook, but to harass the poor servants.

  ‘Are we not promised in marriage?’

  ‘Stop being vulgar, and remember, too much honey will bring forth the sour.’

  What was she prattling about? I ate honey day and night, and it did not turn sour. But I chose not to pursue the matter. Instead, I ventured into her area of expertise—cooking.

  ‘What’s for lunch?’

  ‘All six tastes,’ said Mother from somewhere in the deep kitchen.

  I heard her instructing the harried cooks. Mother enjoyed ruling her kitchen: a vast square with a row of wood-fired stoves lined one wall, high shelves stacked with silver pots and pans against another wall, and a dozen earthen-ware barrels of water along a third wall. The cooks and their assistants sat on the floor where they cut and shredded vegetables, and ground spices—thudding pestle in mortars, and grating rolling stones over granite slabs. The smells that wafted out of the kitchen and filled the house alternated from fragrant to sharp, depending on the spice and sting of the chilli.

  ‘Whose birthday is it?’ I called out.

  ‘Birthday? Don’t remind me of birthdays, silly.’

  Mother was the silly one in the family. Chinnamma said by ignoring her birthdays, Mother hoped to remain young.

  ‘I’ll tell Father you called me silly.’

  ‘Go ahead, I am unafraid,’ shouted back Mother. ‘And come and help me.’

  ‘Yes, you are afraid of Father. What’s more, you’ve more servants than the king has soldiers. What do you need with me?’

  ‘Stop being an impudent gabby and come here and taste the dessert.’

  ‘What’s for dessert?’ I called back, my eyes remaining on the street.

  ‘Payasam,’ she said, ‘and tell me whether the sweetness and texture is right.’

  Mother thought she was clever, poor woman, trying to bribe me with the sweet porridge dessert.

  ‘Your payasam is the best in all of Puhar, Mother, always.’

  ‘Really, you think so?’

  That was Mother, easy to bait. She also spent hours preening before the mirror—poor mirror. And when she prayed, she made sure people saw. Her prayers were complete only with an audience.

  ‘Do you really think my payasam is the best?’ And she always required affirmation.

  Mother did not know I had seen Kovalan approaching the house. And I was already tip-toeing to the door. I heard her calling.

  ‘Kannagi! Kannagi! You think so?’

  Poor Mother. I left her seeking affirmation from an empty living room.

  I dashed out the door and raced down the carriage track to the impressive iron-gate where Old Watchman, in frayed uniform—he had saved his good set of clothes for auspicious days—gave me a toothless grin. He was sweet and quite useless but I adored him—and he never told on me.

  When Father wanted to retire Old Watchman, who was already a hundred years old, I melted into one of my temper tantrums and broke into tears. Father remained unmoved. He was sure it was all a ruse.

  When my tears ran dry, I smeared chilli in my eyes. This time I bawled so hard and heaved for breath, even Father panicked and gave in. Poor father. Poorer me, because my crying did not let up. I did not know chilli smarted so badly.

  Father blanched with anxiety and sent for the physician.

  While my parents hovered in the background, looking over the couch
where I lay prone, Grandfather Physician—he too was a hundred years old and toothless, and convinced me never to grow old because I did not wish to be toothless—checked my pulse and eyes. He gave a secret wink and, fussing more than usual, dabbed my eyes with water.

  Satisfied from working his magic of medicine, Grandfather Physician declared I had experienced a mild shock but was on the road to full recovery. With a wag of his finger, he cautioned my father not to cause me further distress. After which, Grandfather Physician gave me another wink and departed, leaving poor Father admonished.

  Whatever disappointment Father harboured about not having a son had disappeared many years ago, and his love for me was as fierce as only fathers can love their daughters.

  Father continued to fuss over me and Mother tried hard to control her mirth. It was only in my later years I realised mothers have a knack for seeing through all their children’s antics—all the more when it comes to daughters. Mother loved me in her own way but she had her limitations, and not all of her own doing. Poor Mother was an adult, and age can be an affliction too. The only good thing about growing old: no one will tell you when to go to bed, and when to rise.

  Regarding Old Watchman, I got my wish. He kept his job for another hundred years, and I stayed away from chillies—in particular the small red ones.

  And so it was, when I ran out to meet Kovalan, Mother continued to call. ‘Kannagi! Where are you? Kannagi!’

  I grabbed Kovalan’s hand and broke into uncontrollable fits of giggles as we ran off. After placing sufficient distance between Mother and us, we stopped and, with hands on knees, panted and laughed through gasps.

  ‘Let’s climb trees,’ I said and raced off. Kovalan, being taller and swifter, relinquished a head start so he could enjoy overtaking me. He liked to win.

  Running past, his voice triumphant, Kovalan called over his shoulder. ‘Tortoise! Tortoise! Tortoise!’

  And I stuck out my tongue. I did these naughty things when there were no adults; and they all complimented my parents for my good manners. It was so easy to trick adults. When I grow up, I will be a smart adult and catch all the naughty children.

  When we first plucked up the courage to climb trees, I beat Kovalan to the top and that irked him. His only complaint—you’re a girl—was more of an accusation. As I scaled another tree, I called down.

  ‘Then better me, and climb faster and higher. Come on!’

  Thus challenged, Kovalan scrambled up, lost his grip, and slipped. He earned ghastly cuts and gashes on his knees and legs. He grew dark and, for days thereafter, refused to visit. Wracked with pain, I pined for him. Every time I beat him in a challenge, he sulked and stayed away.

  After one such wrenching week, when Kovalan called, I let him clamber up the easier branches while I took a more difficult path. He hurried past and reached the top, then sat on a branch and dangled his feet. He turned smug and urged me. Upon reaching him, I threw a challenge.

  ‘Another one, that tree!’ I said.

  Again, I took a circuitous route, and he won. He quite enjoyed himself and it made me happy. He had that effect on me. His happiness was mine.

  We had another friend, Anandan. He was a year older and bigger than Kovalan. In truth, he was Kovalan’s friend, and therefore became my friend too. We played together, fought bullies, pulled pranks, and screamed and ran down streets. We had such great fun. Some adults thought us naughty and complained about our poor upbringing. These remarks came from adults who had forgotten their childhoods, an affliction which most grown-ups suffered.

  I was wary of Anandan. Unlike Kovalan, who was soft and kind, Anandan had a mean streak. I wondered what Kovalan saw in him but I did not ask. Whatever Kovalan decided I accepted. I trusted him.

  Over time, I learned that Anandan’s father was once a poor man who had found his fortune in Araby. He exhibited a daring which my father and Kovalan’s father, both descended from ancient merchant families, lacked. Anandan, who had inherited his father’s hunger, worked hard for luxuries and recognition—trophies that Kovalan and I accorded scant regard.

  Though Anandan’s lack of wealth did not bother me, his lack of decorum did. For that reason, I did not quite like him.

  WHEN I RETURNED HOME, Mother was waiting. ‘So here you are,’ she said. ‘I’ve told you often enough not to go gallivanting with the boys.’

  ‘They’re my friends,’ I said.

  ‘They are young men and you are coming of age, and should start behaving as a proper maiden.’

  ‘I’m a child. You’ve said it many times.’

  ‘Not anymore. Go to your father now as he has things he wishes to say to you.’

  I heard a throat clearing and saw my father’s figure fill the doorway. With a wide smile, I ran and hugged him around the waist.

  ‘Father!’

  ‘How are you, my diamond?’

  He led me by the hand to his swing. I waited with eager anticipation and, as expected, Father scooped me up and settled me beside him. My happy legs hung loose, and I kicked my feet as if playing in water.

  ‘What is this, my gold, wet clothes?’ Father looked surprised. He pretended.

  ‘She was by the river, with the boys again,’ said Mother. I made a face at her and she said, ‘See her naughtiness. It is all your fault.’

  I twisted my face even more and, with a huff, crossed my arms high on my chest.

  Father laughed and said, ‘Come, come, my emerald, be polite.’

  ‘Okay, Father.’ I unfolded my arms and, with a fake smile, said, ‘Sorry, Mother.’

  ‘See how she dramas. Look at her!’ Mother sighed. ‘You and your father, do as you wish, I don’t care.’ So grumbling, Mother disappeared into her vast kitchen, and left me feeling sorry for the poor servants.

  ‘Did you see any crocodiles by the river?’

  ‘No, Father, but the boat sailed well.’

  ‘You mean the boat I purchased for your birthday and hid in my secret place?’

  ‘Oops!’ I covered my mouth.

  Father laughed and, in a gentle voice, he said, ‘I’m aware, my little ruby, that you’ve discovered all my hiding places.’ Then, leaning in, he whispered. ‘But your mother does not know, so let it be our secret.’ I rewarded him with several conspiratorial bops of my head.

  ‘Where is the boat?’ asked Father.

  ‘Oh, the boys teased, so I rose to their challenge and sailed the boat in the river. Perhaps that was why the crocodiles kept away. You know, it was a wooden boat and crocodiles don’t like to eat wood.’

  ‘Ah, yes, of course, my blue sapphire, crocodiles detest wood.’

  ‘Oh, you know too? You’re a clever Father.’ Seeing my father’s pleased look, I brought my courage to full play and puckered to look pitiful.

  ‘But the rocks had no such qualms,’ I said, ‘and they smashed my boat and it broke.’

  ‘Oh dear, my emerald, some rocks can be so inconsiderate.’

  I paused and wondered whether Father was teasing me. I had to put him to the test, and so I whined.

  ‘But it was not my fault, and Anandan forced me to sail it.’

  I tried to force out tears, but it did not work. And I had forgotten to bring along my chilli—the green one. Not the red, because I was not silly anymore. After the Old Watchman incident, I resorted to the milder green ones.

  ‘And Kovalan, did he force you too?’ asked Father.

  I did not wish to blame Kovalan but also could not bring myself to lie, and so, I nodded and tried harder to cry. I made all the right noises, but no tears flowed.

  ‘There, there, don’t cry, my hessonite, but do you think Kovalan might want to sail your boat again?’ Father stroked my hair and planted a light kiss on my head.

  ‘I told you, it’s broken!’

  ‘And yet he encouraged you.’

  ‘But I did not want to, Father.’

  ‘Of course, my pearl, I know.’ Looking me in the eye, he said, ‘Young men behave so. Once your precious bre
aks, they will not want it anymore.’

  ‘But Kovalan said he will make good the repairs, Father.’

  ‘Some things cannot be repaired, my cat’s eye.’

  ‘What things, Father?’

  He called my mother, his voice tinged with irritation. ‘Where is her lunch?’

  ‘What’s the hurry, it’s not as if your precious duckling is starving.’

  Mother brought rice cooked with nuts and raisins, and fruits and milk. Placing it on a low table, she shrugged a shoulder at me and walked away, and I made a face at her.

  I drank the milk with relish and chose my favourite fruit—sliced mango. As usual, Father watched as I put on a show for him. I ate and wiped the juice on my chin with the back of my hand, and my antics gave Father much pleasure.

  ‘You remember Uncle and Chinnamma; how would you like to visit them in Madurai?’

  ‘Are we all going to visit Chinnamma?’ I could not hide my excitement.

  ‘Yes, as a family.’

  I threw up my hands and shouted with joy.

  ‘You can stay there until a year.’

  ‘And we can all picnic and enjoy ourselves.’ Again I threw up my hands with glee.

  ‘Yes, but Father has much work to attend to here and Mother too, and we will visit until a month before returning. But you can stay and enjoy yourself.’ He leaned close and said, ‘Without Mother picking on you.’

  I nodded and gave him a mischievous smile. Then the joy bled off, leaving me empty. I looked forward to the adventure of a new place but not without Father and Mother. More puckering, and my lips pushed out, seeking sympathy.

  ‘I’ll miss you,’ I said.

  ‘I’ve told you stories about Uncle and Chinnamma’s farm, their cows and goats, and deer and rabbits.’

  ‘Horses and bullock carts?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, bullock carts, my red coral, and you can learn to drive them.’

  ‘Can I ride the horses?’

  ‘No, maidens don’t ride horses, but you can learn to drive horse carts.’

  ‘But why can I not ride horses?’

  ‘Chaste maidens don’t ride horses. Moreover, horse riding is dangerous and you have the more comfortable and safer horse carts.’