அந்த முகம்

Translated from the original Tamil short story anta mukam (அந்த முகம்) by M. S. Kanakaratnam which appeared in the July 1959 issue of the magazine kalaimati (கலைமதி). The magazine issue is available at noolaham.org. If you have any questions, please contact ez.iniyavan@gmail.com.

The melody of the harmonium blended with the rhythms of the percussion instrument mridangam wafted through the air.

The cacophonous voice of the background singer followed, over the loudspeaker.

These were the signs foretelling the imminent arrival of the popular sinnamēḷam dance performance.

A sudden bustle started to sizzle among the temple-goers.

People who were bored by the mēḷaccamā — the playful back-and-forth between the thavil drummers — and were lounging on their sālvais spread out on the sand, woke up abruptly and started to swarm towards the temple hall.

Commotion and cheering ensued.

What the crowd has been staying awake for, until two in the morning in this cold weather, was about to begin.

The temple hall was filled within half a second. Crowds teemed everywhere.

The famous Kamalā-Vimalā dance troupe was set to perform that day. No wonder that the hall was full.

The sound of salaṅkai — the ankle ornament with little bells — drifted over. The entire crowd forgot to blink and turned their heads towards the direction whence the salaṅkai sound came.

Two dancers walked elegantly like swans, towards the center of the stage. Once they reached the center, they glanced around at the crowds surrounding the center stage and graced them with a smile.

The smile had the power to enchant every single person in the audience.

“āḷai āḷaip pārkkiṟār ….,” the loudspeaker started blaring a popular cinema song.

The dance began. As the harmonium player kept the tune and the mridangam drummer showcased his skill, the two dancers twisted and swirled.

Their contortions captivated the hearts of the audience and enthralled them.

The crowd jostled, hoping eagerly to catch a glimpse of the sinnamēḷam dance.

Outside, under a tree a little distance away from the temple building, there was a crowd that had come to witness the festivities.

Surely, they, too, would want to enjoy the dance performance, wouldn’t they?

They would, with all their heart. But …

They could not step inside the temple with the others to participate in the festivities. They did not have that privilege.

They were dalits, people from the downtrodden, segregated, lower castes …

They could not see anything that was going on within the temple. They merely heard the songs and the sounds of salaṅkai over the loudspeakers. From the sounds, they had to fill in the gaps by imagining the dance performance.

2

Kandasāmi was dissatisfied. He had stayed up till two in the morning to watch the sinnamēḷam performance. How could he settle for merely watching the thronging masses instead?

He fumed at his mother Vaḷḷi. He wanted to go near the temple to get a better look at the dance performance. But she forbade it.

She, too, was angry. When all the poor souls under the tree were content to enjoy the festivities from a distance, why was he so impatient?

No one could fault him. He was just an eight-year-old tot who did not understand the intricacies and distortions of society.

Vaḷḷi had been very firm. He was not to move even an inch from where he was standing.

Kandasāmi was equally firm: he had resolved to himself that he would somehow give his mother the slip to go watch sinnamēḷam.

When Vaḷḷi dozed off momentarily, Kandasāmi saw his chance and made his move.

He rushed towards the temple and blended into the crowd that was enjoying the dance.

But no matter how he allowed himself to be crushed and trodden on, he could not see what was going on inside. He circled the crowd to no avail.

Frustrated, he was ready to give up and return back to where he came from, when he spotted a good vantage point.

There, in the women’s section, on the side of the ceremonial temple flagpole.

Somehow, he reached that spot, climbing over some people, being trodden on by others, and squeezing himself through between yet others.

As he sat there and watched the dance, he marveled at its novelty and beauty.

He was thoroughly absorbed in enjoying the performance.

Then —

“Dēy, you low-caste scoundrel, who let you in. Get out at once, you dog…”

— This was the voice of vithāṉaiyār Veluppiḷḷai, the government official in the village.

Kandasāmi did not remember what happened thereafter. He was dragged outside brutally. Everyone had a go at him. They beat him until he fainted.

Someone dragged Vaḷḷi by her wrist to where he lay.

— “Look at what your kid has done. He has stepped inside the temple…. The devil…..”

— “He has done something that no one has ever done before…..”

— “How can we continue the festival without a ritual atonement?…..”

Vaḷḷi’s world was spinning around her….

Kandasāmi lay unconscious on the ground, like a corpse. Blood was oozing out of his face and mouth, making his tender face look grotesque. No one sympathized with his situation. Instead, there was plenty of abuse, scorn, and swearing….

But it did not stop there.

— “Take him away, the devil, the dog…,” vithāṉaiyār Veluppiḷḷai again kicked the curled up body of Kandasāmi.

Even after Kandasāmi was unconscious, oblivious to everything around him, vithāṉaiyār’s anger did not subside. “Vaḷḷi, I am letting him go just for your sake, just for the sake of your face. Had he been anyone else’s child, he would be lying dead now for what he has done… I held myself back for your sake…. Mmm.. lift him up,” he growled.

Without a word, like a lifeless machine, Vaḷḷi lifted Kandasāmi over her shoulder and walked away.

3

Kandasāmi lay on a torn straw mat, moaning. Vaḷḷi sat next to him, gently stroking his body.

They had no one to help them…. They only had each other. Vaḷḷi’s husband Siṉṉathampi had passed away two years earlier.

Vaḷḷi stared at Kandasāmi’s face.

That face….

— The memory brought out a surge of sadness in her. Tears streamed down her cheeks. The face rekindled memories that she had long forgotten.

The memories trampled on by time slowly raised their heads.

Her thoughts zoomed back to several years prior.

It must have been just a year or two after Siṉṉathampi married her. Her beauty and his masculinity entwined in each other. They led a happy life.

The livelihood of that family depended entirely on vithāṉaiyār Veluppiḷḷai. Siṉṉathampi worked his land. Vaḷḷi did his household chores. Veluppiḷḷai paid very little for their work. They were used to living their lives within that meager income.

That day, vithāṉaiyār had sent Siṉṉathampi off to another village on some errand.

Vaḷḷi would have had to sleep alone that night.

When she finished her chores and prepared to leave, vithāṉaiyār said, “Why don’t you sleep here, Vaḷḷi? How would you sleep at home, alone without anyone to help?”

“No, sāmi… why would I need any help… I can sleep alone.,” Vaḷḷi said as she left.

At around eleven that evening, Vaḷḷi shut her front door tight, put the lamp out, and was about to go to bed. She heard someone calling out her name.

“Vaḷḷi … Vaḷḷi …”

Who would that be? It sounded like the voice of vithāṉaiyār.

She opened the door a little. She was right, vithāṉaiyār Veluppiḷḷai stood outside.

“Why sāmi… at this hour?”

“Nothing. You were going to go to bed alone. I came to check if you were afraid…”

Vaḷḷi was overcome with joy. What a kindhearted person!

Vaḷḷi came out onto the front yard.

The blackness of the moonless night reigned supreme.

It was then that it happened.

“Vaḷḷi,” Veluppiḷḷai said, as he grabbed her wrist.

She instantly understood the reason for his visit, and the hidden motive that lurked beneath his kindness.

She jerked her wrist free and ran inside the house.

Like lightning, he followed her inside.

Then? ….

She sobbed into her pillow until dawn. She wept until the sorrow within her heart was exhausted.

4

Kandasāmi’s moaning put an end to Vaḷḷi’s reverie.

She chastened herself for allowing her stray thoughts to confuse her mind.

Even in the middle of his unbearable pain, a gentle smile formed on Kandasāmi’s lips.

That face… that smile…

— It was as if vithāṉaiyār Veluppiḷḷai stood there smiling.