THE CHILD

(Short story)

K.P. RAJAGOPALAN

(Translated from the original in Tamil by M. S. RAMASWAMI)

The cart had passed Konakkarai two Naligais before day-break. The old woman heaved a sigh of relief as though she had been saved.

“Hereafter we needn’t fear the villagers. No house anywhere nearby. And it doesn’t matter whatever comes our way; we can handle the situation. The man who drives the cart is the farmer of Sundara Sastri. So, we need not be afraid of him. But, what a shame! Suppose somebody comes to know of this–the smoke will become a wildfire. Hasn’t it already become public? The whole village talked about it in whispers. However secret a matter be, it comes out in the open somehow. What a fate for this accursed creature! Why should she become pregnant?”

The old woman sat in the cart and her thoughts ran that way. Balambal was weeping and whining lying inside the cart. Physical pain on one side; and mental anguish on the other. What would that poor girl do? She yielded to a sudden impulse of nature and the result so heavily on her head. Such a cruel punishment for giving herself up to a natural instinct.

Salam grew till her fourteenth year without the least care or sorrow–as a creeper growing luxuriantly in the forest. Youthfulness ran through every limb of hers like the spa that filled new branches. Because of that vital juice there was a lilt and a hop in her gait and sight. The old woman would remark: “Walk slow you girl. Do not walk as though the earth is quaking.” A fullness would burst through her laughter, wave upon wave. At once the old woman would try to damp her enthusiasm saying, “What’s it? Would a girl ever laugh like this?” Her abundant hair topped the charm of all her limbs.

No one looked at this rare beauty. Balam spent her days with her grand-mother in a corner of that big house like a flower bloomed in the thick forest unnoticed by anyone. One cannot be so certain of that too. Every time Balam stood a while on the threshold of the house or walked along the road, all the young men who saw her stared at her with a deep sigh. So many were waiting to hold her hand, smell her fresh fragrance and throw her away.

But none came forward to marry her. All her charms were wasted in poverty. That young flower broke into bloom. The fact that she did not get married began to irritate her gradually. Hence her figure became pale and sickly. The old woman tried her best. She couldn’t get a suitable groom for Balam. Even Sundara Sastri in whose house that old woman was working put forth much effort. All her beauty was wasted like the moonlight in a jungle.

Beauty’s hold did not leave her alone, untouched. The thirst of her youth quickly drew through her senses all the love of the external world. That desire grew apace overpowering her ever-increasing grief and worry. “Shut yourself up indoors! What fun do you want to see? If anyone sees you like this, he would laugh”, the granny would remark. Her beauty was a thing to be laughed at then. At such times she wished she were dead. But the world would again pull her out. The processions that went along the street, the tittle-tattle of women, their laughter all these would kindle her heart. She would like to run and stand amidst them. If she saw girls skipping and singing in front of a house where a marriage was conducted she would very much desire to go there; mingle in that crowd and sing jubilantly along with others.

But at that time she remained like a widow; she was un-married; that was all the difference. She had come of age and that was all her fault. Why did she have that round firm swelling up of her flesh that soon? Wasn’t it a mistake? Why did she grow so vibrant and supple? It was Nature at work. That shouldn’t be. Puberty should follow, not precede, marriage. Married she could blossom out. Society had laid down the law thus. So it knocked her down. So it probed her very flesh like the rays of the sun crying a halt to the course of Nature.

What could she do? Her heart sank. When she heard the enticing tune of the joys of the outer world, all her youthful buoyancy pent up all along raised its hood with a hiss. What magic power can control it? She couldn’t do that.

Thus Balam spent two years. All youthfulness left her; instead there was a sort of ageing. Her beauty outgrew her body.

It was then Chandrasekharan, son of Sundara Sastri, came to the village for his vacation. He was about to finish his college studies. Balam appeared before him, when all his thoughts, night and day, centred round a girl. His father had decided to celebrate his marriage that year itself. Soon as his eyes fell on Balam he refused to have his marriage that year. He did not heed to the words of anyone. It was Balam’s alluring charm that made him change his mind in an instant. But he could not marry Balam. In his love-sickness he even thought, what if.

Within those nine months Balam knew what it meant to be a woman. All her romantic dreams just left her. And against this experience the future became a burden to her. She did not know where should she go and what should she do? She lost her sense of direction.

After the vacation, Chandrasekharan went to the Law College to continue his studies. He was in the village only for a couple of months. When he left home, he made all kinds of promises to Balam. But he did not know the changes that took place later. Balam did not want him to. But Sundara Sastri became aware of these. And he did not like to admit openly the sin committed by his son. It was because of that the journey referred to in the beginning took place.

She did not weep at all; she only moaned due to the pains. Her grandmother alone sat by her side and was raving.

“The sinner, he has ruined me,” said grandmother.

“Paatti, don’t speak ill of him. In what way did he ruin you?”

“What more should he do?”

“He won’t do any harm, knowingly.”

“A fellow who cannot marry...”

“He will not marry any other girl.”

“Now, all our self-respect is gone.”

“He won’t keep quite.”

“Only because he had kept quiet we are disgracing ourselves going in this cart?”

“If only he were here, this would not have happened. He would not have agreed to this.”

Even while Balam was saying this, she felt quite a strange sensation.

“Paatti”, she shouted suddenly.

The cart had been padded with straw and over it a carpet and some clothes rolled over to make the journey comfortable.

The old woman took the child from the side of Balam.

“Paatti, show me the child.”

The cart had reached the river bank by then. The carter stopped it there, untied the oxen and went somewhere closeby.

The old woman began to get down from the cart with the child.

“Paatti, what’re you going to do?”

“What’s there to be done?”

Suddenly Balam sat up.

“Paatti, Paatti.”

“It is my fate I should commit this sin. Am going to....”

“What are you going to do with the child?” snapped Balam.

“What to do? No doubt I have not the heart to do it. But what is the way out?”

“Ayyo, was it for this that the child came into this world?”

“By the water’s edge–if we leave it on the river bank. He who has planted the tree will water it. Yes, it is day-break. If anyone who goes that side sees this, he would take it with him–out of pity. That’s its fate”

“Paatti, don’t do that.”

“What? ‘Don’t do that’.”

“How can you leave the child on the bank while it is all dark everywhere? Instead you can as well throw it into the water, Paatti, give the child to me, let me see it once....”

Paatti too was filled with emotion. She handed over the child to Balam. Balam looked at the child in the wan light of the moon and nestled it to her breast.

“Paatti I won’t.”

“What! You won’t?”

“I won’t give the child back to you...My, how dared I come here to do this dastardly act? It’s all good. Paatti, what do I gain if I return home with you, leaving the child here? Is my life dearer to me than my child? If what I have done is a crime...why this cruelty to hide that? Shouldn’t do that? I won’t. The child...I need it. Henceforth that is all that I will have. If I lose it, there is no expiation for me.”

“What a fool are you? Are we to return to the village with the child?”

“Let us go. What is there to fear?”

“It will look damn nice! To you...”

“Nothing wrong with me. I need no one. This alone enough for me.” So saying Balam clung to the child firmly.

The child whined. At once Balam satisfied that cry. When the soft dusk turned into dawn Balam, cradling the child in her hands, got a new feeling that she was a mother.

“It’s getting late.”

“Paatti, whatever be my fate, I am not now prepared to sacrifice my child,” said Balam with a clear certainty.

“Ayyayyo! Why are you so wilful?”

“Nothing like that. Hei, you carter. Tie the oxen to the cart. Let us go home.” Balam’s tone was commanding.

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