கோடை மழை

Translated from the original Tamil short story kōdaimaḷai (கோடை மழை) from the 1964 collection of short stories titled akkā (அக்கா) by A. Muttulingam. The original collection is available at noolaham.org. If you have any questions or feedback, please contact ez.iniyavan@gmail.com

This Facebook post provides some context behind these translations.

Our village is not so renowned that it warrants spreading out a map of Sri Lanka, looking for Jaffna on its head, and marking a big cross with a red pencil, boasting “This is Kokuvil”.

But it is also not so unremarkable that one wouldn’t spread out a map and draw a line on it to declare this is Kokuvil.

One must say that like the half-male, half-female artanārisvara form of Lord Siva, Kokuvil has its own unique culture without swaying to this side or the other.

For some, the name Kokuvil conjures up memories of the kōda-coated shiny K.S. brand country cigars. For some, it could bring up the scent of meticulously prepared spicy moonshine arrack. For those unfortunate enough to have been acquainted with neither, it could be the vicarious pleasure of reminiscing about some of those notorious murder cases.

But if anyone who had ever visited Kokuvil says that it is known for only one of those things above, one must wonder if they were totally vision impaired.

Kokuvil is famous for its lanes. How many different kinds of lanes? Cart tracks, sand roads, limestone paths, stone roads, corner lanes, tiny lanes, footpaths, foot-and-a-half paths, and on and on.

These lanes are known for dust. Not only that, but they can also sometimes deceive even those who were born and brought up in those very lanes. If you were distracted even momentarily, they had the extraordinary ability to take you back where you started from!

One should have in-depth practice to be able to ride a bicycle along these lanes. If someone started from KKS road that bifurcates Kokuvil, travels along the set of lanes that look like intertwined tobacco leaf stems and manages to surface on Palaly road at the other end, we can daresay that his stroke of luck was so large that he should have bought a lottery ticket that day.

In such a village, where fashion trends go up and down like the temperature chart of a feverish patient, recent fashion imports from Colombo quickly become very trendy. The general women’s fashion trend has grown so far that at four in the evening, Kokuvil women change from their sarees into dressing gowns and loiter around by the front gate, but scamper indoors as soon as they spot a youngster on a bicycle turning the corner by the front gate of Whitefoot Kandaiya’s house.

Men who violate government-imposed curfews to sit on culverts chit chatting, had so much bravery and courage that they disappear into thin air when the headlights of a military jeep half a mile away flicker into sight.

Children! One doesn’t need to talk about them!

Children born in generous numbers, in complete disregard to family planning, infested the lanes.

When there is a 6-month-old in a mother’s arms, the next in line will already be in the mother’s tummy imploring to be admitted into the world. The gullies by the railroad tracks are the children’s playground.

Their early childhood play ends with lining up soda bottle lids along the tracks and looking on from their hiding places when the express train speeds past.

* * *

Readers who are new to Kokuvil may wonder where Kokuvil begins.

As the 6:20 am Colombo train departs Jaffna station and passes the cemetery, those in the train wouldn’t have failed to notice the hundreds of cloth turbans floating behind the tall palmyra trees, having given the slip to the health inspectors.

Without a doubt, that is where Kokuvil begins.

Although the leading cottage industry in Kokuvil is cigar manufacture, if you want to count the number of those who got rich by making cigars, you don’t need hands.

Education is in the same state.

The pinnacle of everyone’s hope is a “clerical” job. If by chance someone got through secondary school, it meant that the deity in the Nallur temple, Lord Kandasamy, is going to get a special pūja.

If men are like this, there is no need to talk about the state of women.

Their educational attainments are such that they could compose a telegram message in English with at least four mistakes such that it will not reach the recipient.

Whatever said and done, those who value trendiness never acknowledged Kokuvil’s fame.

* * *

The old woman Sinnaachi looked like a sexagenarian and a half! But her physique, toned from watering a thousand tobacco plants, was still intact. Her profession was village gossip; with a side hustle on collecting jak leaves for her goats. She had no shortage of all the stereotypical attributes of old women, nagging, stinginess, whining about hardship etc.

If you ignore the “Beware of coaches” warning sign and go past the railway crossing and turn left at the junction, there is a signboard announcing, “Harmonium repair here”, putting the language itself in need of repair.

Opposite to that sign is a narrow lane.

Even at the height of noon, one’s heart will pound if one were to walk alone along that lane, greeted only by the cacti and thorn shrubs that had grown right in the middle of the footpath unaccustomed to foot traffic.

If we muster up our courage and go further, we will encounter a giant cactus adorned with umal bags woven from palmyra leaves, bearing witness to recent increase in Kokuvil’s livestock.

Those blessed with handkerchiefs can provide some respite to their noses and venture further to see the ‘hallowed spot’ where Attaḷai Murukesar was murdered. If you glance east from that vantage point, you can see the old woman’s dilapidated cottage.

But you cannot really get there directly anymore. Because the village court had to intervene in a dispute between the mother and the child over a tamarind tree and put up a temporary fence, you must turn around, swallow the inconvenience and walk along Pillaiyar Kovil Lane that the old woman routinely takes.

An old poster put up by someone during the election campaign season was still loyally hanging on to the old woman’s gate.

The gate was held in place with a rock tied to a taut rope. If you let go of the gate, it will shut itself with a bang. The surprising thing is that neither the old woman nor the gate was aware of the fact that such a mechanism has the fancy English term “automatic shutter”!

The rickety old gate doesn’t easily inspire confidence. Therefore, let us crawl through the poṭṭu in the fence like the old woman does.

Some palmyra sprouts were drying on a winnowing basket. Next to it, a ripe chilli on a stick was keeping the crows at bay. A little further, there was a tethered goat by the entrance. A bundle of grass and a hoe handle lay next to it.

Neither the goat nor the hoe seemed to pay attention to the grass.

There was a raised veranda porch wide enough to dry half a sack of paddy. On the mud wall next to it, in the tiny space not already covered by charcoal scribbles, an old picture calendar without dates was hanging pitifully. Judging from the attire that Lord Murugan’s consort Theivanai was sporting in the picture, it must date back to the time when puffed sleeves were in fashion in women’s blouses.

The old woman was cleaning prawns in the backyard. A sad-looking twentyish young man stood next to her.

“My goodness! How could you? Your mother’s heart must be burning up.”

“What can I do Aachchi? I have to pay up for a job in Colombo. I tried my best to explain to her, but it was all in vain. What else can I do? As soon as I get my first salary, I will redeem the jewelry. Don’t forsake me! The police have been to my house to search.”

“What! Did you come here after reporting the missing jewelry to the police! I don’t need this hassle. If the police come to question me tomorrow, I would be at a loss to explain …”

The young man knew the ways of the world.

“Aachchi, why are you unnecessarily scared? Could I not have pawned this in the big pawnshop in town? I thought if I pawned to a neighbor like you, you too would get a five or ten percent cut.”

The mention of ‘a five or ten percent cut’ had the intended effect.

The old woman took the washed prawns inside. The stray dog that frequently visits the old woman came out of nowhere to thwart the crow that had been patiently waiting, and helped the old woman out by licking the sickle clean.

Wiping her hands on her saree’s border, she held out her hand “Let’s see.”

It was quite heavy. With the years of experience behind it, the old woman’s hand told her it was worth at least four hundred.

“It doesn’t look like it will measure up to even two and a half sovereigns. How much are you asking?”

“Maybe three hundred …”

“Who is going to lend money now? Sellachchi had to spend a lot for her eldest daughter’s childbirth. Sinnamonai is bedridden… “, the old woman continued to mumble inaudibly.

She tightened her saree around the waist, pulled out a sitting mat from the roof truss and laid it on the porch. “Sit here, makaṉ! I will be back in five minutes … the cursed cow might wander in … watch out for it”. She took the kuththusi, the leaf collecting spear, and left mumbling to herself.

“That scoundrel! He has stolen from his own mother. I don’t know how he is going to reform himself. The whole world has gone to the dogs … Kanakam’s eldest son is a type .. but she deserves it … she is so vain that she is the only one in Kokuvil with a gemstone gold necklace … when she came by for Muththachchi’s funeral, she didn’t even join me in the lamentations!”

By the time the old woman returned after doing her rounds, the young man was almost exhausted. He had been breaking off all the splinters from the roof truss and absentmindedly cleaning his teeth with them.

Oblivious to his state of mind, the large red ants trooping away on their way occasionally bit him.

A woman carrying a bundle of grass passed by looking back suspiciously at him.

She comes by often.

He was thoroughly embarrassed to be sitting on the porch while wearing pants.

At around noon, the old woman returned cursing someone or the other, listing all the maladies that they and their descendants for seven generations will succumb to.

The kuththusi was full of jak leaves.

She sat down leisurely and started feeding the leaves to the goat.

The young man waited patiently. It didn’t look as if the old woman was going to talk! He felt like he was sitting on fire.

“What happened, Aachchi?”

“What can I do? All the cursed women are whining about their poverty… did you know.. the granddaughter of Kandaiya… the newly rich woman… showed the true colors of her caste … like a cat that climbed up the areca palm…”

He ran out of patience. “Ok, I am leaving, give that back to me!”

“Why are you getting upset so quickly? Is she the only rich woman in Kokuvil? Has everyone else perished? Here… this is what I managed to get … no one else has anything to give now!”

“How much did you get?”

“Count it yourself. She gave me twenty seven, the cursed woman! I took two. The remaining two hundred and fifty are there. Make sure to redeem your pawn by the end of the month”.

“Monster” the young man mumbled as he put the money in his pocket and began to leave.

* * *

The season changed. Western monsoon gave way to the Southern monsoon.

There was no sign of the young man returning from Colombo.

The old woman had anticipated just that.

Was she so crazy as to pawn such a valuable piece of jewelry with someone else? She had in fact lent him the money herself, money that she had saved so diligently, often going without everything but just the bare necessities. If the young man had ever returned, her plan was to bluster her way out.

That day the old woman’s eldest daughter dropped by.

“Aachchi, I am going to have a grand puberty ceremony for my daughter, inviting everyone. Will you borrow four hundred from someone for me? I will return right after the ceremony.”

“What on earth is this! Who will give you money at the drop of a hat? Besides, will anyone lend you money for free?”

“What are you saying Aachchi! All my money is tied up in loans I have given to the village folk. My girl’s ceremony will net me at least five or six hundred rupees… what do I need your money for, I will return it to you with a five percent interest.”

“All right, go home! I will go look around here”, the old woman said, pointing to the east.

Pakkiyam is the old woman’s daughter after all. If the old woman is pointing to the east, it means she is going to finagle something from the west.

Pakkiyam got up to leave, guessing “could it be Senior’s Sellachchi?”

* * *

The sun was scorching. But the old woman’s instincts hinted at impending rain showers.

She hurriedly gathered the drying firewood and stacked them under the eaves.

Picking up the kuththusi, she left, feeling the pouch in her saree around the waist.

She had never before enjoyed the excitement of lending money to her own daughter.

Sellachchi will instantly pony up four hundred when she sees the gold necklace.

Something bothered the old woman at the back of her mind. She opened the pouch and inspected the item. Something was not quite right.

She held the necklace to the light and peered.

Her stomach churned!

The world was spinning around her. She slumped down in the middle of the path.

The necklace in her trembling hand grinned at her.

Bronze, after all, is bronze.

Somewhere a rooster flapped its wings noisily.

There was no lightning, no thunder. Outsized raindrops started dropping down here and there and splattered.

One couldn’t tell where the dry tears of the old woman fell.

The characteristic scent of Kokuvil dust wafted in the air.

The transliteration uses the ISO15919 notation https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ISO_15919.

Glossary

artanārisvara A half-male/half-female manifestation of Siva and his consort Parvati.
kōda A concoction made by boiling tobacco stems for several days, and then mixed with arrack, sugar, and spices. It is used in Jaffna to coat bundles of rolled cigars while they are packed.
poṭṭu A small opening left in a fence as a shortcut.
umal A bag woven from a palmyrah leaf. When a cow or other livestock gives birth in Jaffna, the umbilical cord is put in an umal and left to hang from a branch of a tree far away from residential areas.
makaṉ An affectionate way to address a much younger man. Literally, “son.”
Kuththusi kuttūci (A long thick metal needle used to collect fallen leaves to feed livestock. The needle acts like a stack: to pick up a new leaf on the ground, one pierces it, which pushes up the leaves already on the needle, thus making room for the new leaf.)

Transliteration guide for proper names

Places

Kokuvil kokkuvil
Nallur nallūr
Attalai attāḷai
Palaly palāli
Kovil kōvil

People, Things and Expressions

Sinnamonai ciṉṉamōṉai 
Sinnaachi ciṉṉācci
Sellaachi cellācci
Kandiya kantaiyā
Murugesar murukēsar

Pillaiyar piḷḷaiyār 
Murukan murukaṉ

Theivanai teivāṉai 
Kanakam kaṉakam
Muththachchi muttācci
Pakkiyam pākkiyam
Aachchi ācci (A respectful way of addressing an old woman.)
Kuththusi kuttūci (A long thick metal needle used to collect fallen leaves to feed livestock. The needle acts like a stack: to pick up a new leaf on the ground, one pierces it, which pushes up the leaves already on the needle, thus making room for the new leaf.)