From: sp2@cec1.wustl.edu (Sundara Pandian)
Subject: Mannaasai- A Tamil short story by N.Pichamurthy [ REPOST ]
Summary: A short story from modern Tamil literature
Organization: Washington University, St. Louis MO
Date: Tue, 29 Sep 1992 16:38:02 GMT


                          Mannaasai
                         -----------

    Yes, this is my house.The empty site in front belongs to
me.  The  enclosed  square, contagious with the site is also
part of it.
    One or two stray dogs in the street started at me  as  I
walked along the street clad in my Delhi woolens. I need not
have come at all ; but wisdom is not always common to every-
one.  The  fixed  gleam  in  the  eyes of the dogs seemed to
display the certain knowledge that I did not belong  to  the
place.  They  had  not  decided  that  the stranger they saw
deserved atleast to be barked if not bitten. The deep  growl
in the throats did not develop into loud barking.  Confident
that there was little danger to my leg or  to  my  dress,  I
continued my progress towards the house. Courage should make
one forget the enemy ; erase him from thought. Being  coura-
geous  after setting up spies to assess the enemy's strength
and position is meaningless. Barking dogs do not bite.  Does
it  mean that biting dogs do not bark ? This was my brand of
courage. I continued to walk, looking back  frequently.  One
of the dogs followed me for about ten feet ; another fifteen
feet, then burrowed into the earth  in  the  middle  of  the
street and lay down. We like our beds raised. For the dog it
should be hollow. Can one say that ups  and  downs  are  the
same ? Nevertheless my courage was confirmed.  The house was
near.
    Was the house near or  had  I  neared  the  house  ?  Is
language  always topsy turvy when there is meaning ? Perhaps
concealment of meaning is high style. Or is it the sense  of
sound ?
    The house looked the  same.  In  the  space  of  fifteen
years,  it had not undergone changes as a girl's form does ;
nor did  it show  decay like a old woman.  The same old pial  
was there.
    The teacher was seated on the pial. I assumed he  was  a
teacher  from  the  presence  of the boy in front of him - a
deduction much of the same as looking for fire  where  there
is smoke. I hesitated a little.
    ` Whom are you looking for ? '
    ` Saami. '
    ` He is not in. '
    ` His wife ? '
    ` She is not either. '
   Discerning my decision to leave the  place,  the  teacher
removed his spectacles and placed them on the pial.
    ` Please have your seat. He will be back soon. '
   I had only pretended to  leave  the  place  ;  I  had  no
thought  of  leaving.  I  caught at the words of the teacher
like a drowning man clutching at the  proverbial  straw  and
seated myself on the pial.
    ` Chinnaswami, close the book. I will have a  word  with
this gentleman. '
   Chinnaswami placed the open book face downwards, snatched
his playthings from the roof and ran out.
   My eyes travelled to the spot from where the boy had  re-
moved his playthings.  I saw four or five wasps' nests look-
ing like empty houses left by poor farmers  going  to  work.
They looked like surplus houses built beyond normal needs.
   ` Excuse me. Do wasps lay eggs or  do  they  bring  forth
their young like all of us ? '
   ` That is not a part of the syllabus. I  understand  your
point.  This  Saami  is  rather lethargic. Like a buffalo. I
should not say that perhaps. But the fact  is,  he  is  just
that. He has no attachment for the home. He has no desire to
be clean. Please come and have a look at my  house.  Perhaps
you  are  too  busy.  It  is  just off the temple nearby. Of
course, it is rented. Like a parrot cage. These wasps' nests
are  there for the past three years. He is not answerable to
anyone. It never occurs to him even in his  dream  that  the
house should be kept neat, bereft of cobwebs. '
   ` It may not be that bad. I have heard that children  are
born only in houses where there are wasps' nests. '
   ` I do not know about that. '
   ` The syllabus may not contain these things. Nests  built
of  mud  are said to result in the birth of girls. Nests  of
wax are supposed to bring boys. '
   ` Quite possible. There should be a limit to  everything.
This man has already three nests of mud. The boy taking les-
sons from the wax is the eldest.  Should  he  not  keep  the
house clean atleast from now on ? '
   I stared at him pointlessly, wondering whether the teach-
er was a family planning propagandist.
   The neighbour entered the empty site in front of the  en-
closed  square.  He  drew  strand of straw from the haystack
there and left with them.
   ` Has he rented the house ? '
   ` That is what I was saying. Pennywise and pound foolish.
I  wanted five rupees ; I had no other go. So I accepted the
fees for the tuition. He has lost the site. '
   I was suddenly enraged. I smashed all the wasps' nests on
the rafter. Were there young ones in the nests ?
   Does the gadfly show mercy to the cow ? Does  the  earth-
quake  show mercy to anyone ? Mercy is a trick played by the
loser to win. The nests lay scattered like houses smashed by
an earthquake.
   The teacher stared at me in horror.
   ` What is the name of that neighbour ? '
   ` Samisa. '
   ` What is that ? '
   ` Yes, that is his name. That is the name  found  on  all
letters addressed to him. '
   ` So you are in the habit of looking at letters addressed
to  others  ? ' I commented and left the pial. I hastened to
Samisa's house.
   From Samisa's threshold one can see the courtyard in  the
centre. Samisa was feeding the cow with lay. I kept on look-
ing at him, at the cow and at the courtyard without uttering
a  word.  It lasted for an eternity. Neither the cow nor the
courtyard was visible.
   ` Who was it ? '
   The noise nudged me into wakefulness.
   ` Who are you ? ' I asked, meaning to say that I had come
to see the opposite house.
   ` I am the owner of this house ? '
   He inclined his head slightly as he replied. The hair  on
his head bristled like that on the neck of a fighting cock.
   ` Who are you to ask ? None of your business. '
   ` I - I am the owner of that house. '
   ` I know all that. ' He shouted and was about to chuck me
out.
   Our altercation brought other neighbours  who  intervened
before  words turned into action. I was boiling with rage. A
weakling has no control over whether  it  is,  house,  land,
wife,  or  money  .  Discretion should not be limited to the
disbursement of charity alone. My anger  was  about  to  ex-
plode.
   Just then, someone thrust  his  head  inside  the  crowd.
Looking  at  me,  in  tears, in the midst of the rumpus, was
Saami. I looked back at him - in silence.
   ` When did you come ? Why did you get into  trouble  with
him , of all people ? '
   I did not ask.
   ` Who is this fellow in the woolens ? He claims  he  owns
the house. If he does , what about you ? '
   Saami did not reply to him. ` Come with me  please  '  he
said and took me away. In fact he dragged me away.
   On the pial, the teacher was continuing his lesson to the
boy.
   ` Mr.Teacher, what did you tell to this gentleman ? '
   ` I told him you had gone out. '
   ` Do you know who he is ? '
   ` I bought this house from him. '
   I exploded at last. ` You do not deserve this  house.  It
is like marrying agirl to an eunuch. '
   ` You can take back the house. Have you come for that ? '
   I was floored. I did not have the means.
   `He was sitting at the pial when he saw the wasps' nests.
He  smashed them.  He saw the empty site in front. He picked
up a quarrel with the neighbour. I told him that Samisa mis-
behaved. ' the teacher explained.
   ` I am just coming from the lawyer's after issuing notice
to him. '
   ` Notice, rubbish. You should burn his  house  and  hays-
tack. '
   ` Those who could not afford all that  should  depend  on
law. '
   ` Forget at all that. Let us have a talk in my  house  in
peace. '
   ` I have no heart to sit in that house. It was  built  by
my  grandfather  through  bricks  purchased  when  they were
cheap. The site in front was acquired by my  grandmother  by
selling buttermilk and cowdung cakes. '
   ` All right. You can sit on that pial. Why  do  you  keep
standing ? '
   ` Even a dog will not sit on your pial with  people  like
you who have no shame and self-respect. '
   He did not get angry.
   ` I am ready to give you the house even if you  pay  half
the  amount.  You  can pay the balance later. I am pained to
see you suffering on my account. '
   Only then I realized my going off the rails. It  was  ten
years  since I sold the house. I had taken roots in Delhi. A
nostalgic desire to see the old house had brought  me  back.
And  now  there  was  anger and chagrin at not being able to
fulfil the desire. ` Serve you right. You would  not  listen
when  I  told you there was no need to go to this village at
all. " I chided my mind.
   ` I will get the money presently " I said and turned  to-
wards  the railway station. Each man thinks the other fellow
is a fool. But ..........


                            - A short story by N.Pichamurthy
 
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 [ Posted by : S.Pandian ( sp2@cec1.wustl.edu ) ]
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