எல்லைகள்

Translated from the original Tamil short story ellaikaḷ (எல்லைகள்) from the 1976 collection of short stories titled kōṭukaḷum kōlaṅkalum (கோடுகளும் கோலங்களும்) by Kuppilan Ai. Shanmugan. The original collection is available at noolaham.org. If you have any questions or feedback, please contact ez.iniyavan@gmail.com.

He woke up with the incessant tweeting of that bird. He rolled over to his left and realized that his feet were cold and pulled at his blanket to cover them. Someone yawned softly in the next room, followed by the rustling of getting up from bed. His eyes were closed in his half-awake drowsiness. He could see dark and light circles dancing on his closed eyelids. They met, blended, merged, and then separated. A certain peace, a certain stupor, an unknown weariness. The bird kept tweeting relentlessly, dring, dring.

Suddenly a bright light intruded through his closed eyelids. He woke up with a start. The light was turned on in the next room and had seeped into his room through the gap in the door and the gap between the roof and the wall. He could faintly see his friend Sivam sleeping soundly, covered by his blanket from head to toe. From the commotion in the next room, he guessed that his landlady was awake.

He stretched, opened his eyes wide, and stared at the ceiling ridge overhead. He felt he did not get a good night’s sleep. He faintly remembered the story he was reading just before falling asleep at eleven. He remembered the movie he had seen the previous day after taking the day off from work. He remembered that letter he received from his close friend the previous day, the letter that caused a momentary ripple and a strange sadness in his heart.

The bird continued to dring, dring. ‘Why is this darned bird making a ruckus?’ He thought. Immediately he was ashamed of that thought. He listened intently to the bird, sensing the unbridled joy in its birdsong. He could not but feel that he ought to be jealous of the little bird.

He sighed and leapt up from his reverie, rubbed his eyes vigorously and started doing his calisthenics, swinging his arms back and forth, up and down. He bent down and straightened up, took a step forward and then backward, repeatedly. He persuaded himself that all this exercise had washed away his weariness and imbued him with a new energy.

He opened the window slowly and looked out. Dawn was coming in fast. Floating in that half-darkness, leafy trees and coconut palms seemed as if they were a dream sequence. The bird tweeted dring, dring. He thought his heart was also filled with joy.

He turned around and was about to turn the lights on when he noticed his soundly sleeping friend and changed his mind. He, too, felt like crawling back into his bed, covering himself with a blanket and lying down with his eyes wide awake. How was it possible for his friend to write that letter as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world? He felt that all these longings, and expectant waits, and even life itself were meaningless. Wearily, he sat back down on the bed.

The bird continued to tweet incessantly, dring, dring.

He heard the bathtub being filled noisily and assumed that the landlady was getting ready for a bath. He tried to imagine taking a bath so early in the morning in this chilling weather, took his towel, soap, and tooth powder and opened the door of his room. It seemed to creak unusually noisily. His friend rolled over in his bed. A dim light was seeping out of the outside bathroom. He saw his landlady’s silhouette as she brushed her teeth in the gully between the bathroom and the house.

He went to the main entrance gate of the house and started brushing his teeth, covering his chest with his towel to ward off the cold. Leaves of the coconut palms stood still. A star or two twinkled overhead. Crows flew away noisily.

The landlady was returning from the bathroom. She looked surprised to see him but hurried past. He went into the bathroom and closed the latch. He was shivering from the cold, his teeth conducting a solo percussion performance. He dipped his hand into the water, hesitating. ‘What is the meaning of life? Is there any meaning beyond the day-to-day chores? Bathe, eat, dress, talk, laugh.

Laugh…

She laughs beautifully, her lips parting as if they want to express her joy within, her eyes lighting up, her white teeth flashing, a soft tone bubbling up from the bottom of her throat.

He hurriedly poured a few buckets of water on his body, soaped, and rinsed himself, and returned to his room toweling himself.

The light was on in the living room. The curtain that separated the door to his room from the living room was only half closed. He could see rings of smoke rising from the gap. Soft music from the radio flooded forth.

muttaṉṉa veṇṇakaiyāi muṉvantetireḻunteṉ [Her smile like a string of white pearls, awakes early]

attaṉ āṉantaṉ amutaṉ enṟraḷḷūrit [lavishly singing His praise]

tittikkap pēcuvāi…. [so sweetly…]

He heard the tiruvempāvai verse and remembered that it was the first day of tiruvempāvai observance. He felt an urge to visit a temple. He gulped down the cup of steaming tea brought to him by the family’s young servant boy. Looking at the anemic sleepy-eyed boy, he was overcome with pity.

vaṉṉak kiḷmoḻiyār ellārum vantārō [Is everyone who speaks like colorful parrots here?]

Her soft, elegant voice.

He got dressed quickly. His friend finally woke up and gaped at him. “I am going to the temple,” he said. His friend leapt up from the bed saying, “I have overslept; I only have twenty days before the exam.”

He felt his enthusiasm drain away. He wanted to give his friend a slap on the cheek and tell him to go back to bed. He hesitated for a few minutes. Then he said, “See you,” and left the room.

Mist covered the outside world. He ran into a bald man who asked, “Are you going to the temple?” When he nodded affirmatively the man put a packet of camphor in his hands and hurried away somewhere.

He walked towards the bus stand wearily.

In the silence of dawn, the road appeared to be long. Lights flickered in the houses along the road. Occasionally a vehicle went by, drawing a streak of light.

A few people were already waiting at the bus stand. Except for one or two people with luggage who might be traveling far, the rest appeared to be going to the temple. Most of these, save for a few young men, were women. They looked fresh in their colorful silk sarees. Young women wore long skirts and tops. Their faces looked like flowers that had just bloomed.

Like flowers… he remembered how when they were still innocent little tots, he and she used to pick flowers from under the coral jasmine tree along the village temple road.

The bus arrived, gasping and panting. People elbowed each other as they rushed into the bus. He boarded it last. After a few stops, he got off and walked alone towards the temple.

The temple was teeming with people. The singing of devotional songs was coming to an end. Following the last song, the priest ceremonially waved the oil lamp in front of the deity. The drummers made their mēḷams roar. The crowd chanted “arōkarā.” The person in front of him brought his hands together above his head in worship and walked around thrice in a circle. He raised his hands in worship, too. He felt a spark within, “Why do all this? Why?”

They distributed vibhūti — the holy ash — , holy water, sandalwood paste, and prasātam, food that was offered to and blessed by the deity. As the religious rituals drew to a close, people gossiped with one another in whispers. They moved around like shadows. He felt the urge to look at each and every face, to learn the sorrows they carry, to take their hands into his and console them.

He could not find any of his close friends among the crowd. He wanted to sit for a while on the short wall by the temple hall. He watched the people moving about, their smiling faces, their mouths moving non-stop, their nods and smiles, their captivating colors, the refined elegance of their movements, their sideways glances.

The crowd was thinning gradually. He heaved a sigh and stood up. When he reached the temple entrance, he debated whether to walk home or take the bus. He thought a morning walk would be a change from his routine.

The morning was now in full swing, and the city had become lively. People bustled about in a hurry. Vehicles sped past noisily.

He walked on as a feeling of distress engulfed him. He felt that the actions in this life were meaningless and full of sorrow. Meaningless actions and sorrows laden with a sweetness seemed to be the gist of this life. He hummed a song as he walked.

He came up to a bridge. Through the treeless gap formed by the canal below, he could see the smoking chimney of the factory at a distance. The smoke rose up in a spiral, as if it was seeking something. The golden rays of the morning sun drew smoky lines between the trees.

It was almost seven o’clock. He quickened his pace. He walked, swinging his arms, without looking at anything or allowing any thoughts in. Occasionally he lifted his wrist to check the time.

The factory siren sounded. He used to live on this street some months ago. He remembered the beautiful woman whom he would cross paths with right after the siren went off. She was fair-skinned, with dreamy eyes; her youth infused throughout her being. She would swing her arms daintily as she walked. Occasionally she would smile at him. Sometimes she ignored him. He saw her coming towards him at a distance and his heart fluttered. He prepared himself to meet her after a long gap. As he approached her, he saw her lifeless stare. She cast her eyes downwards and quickened her steps.

He felt something shatter within him. He wanted to break everything around him into a hundred pieces: the factory, buses, cars, wristwatches, glasses. He wanted to drag every human being and teach them to smile.

She smiled… he saw her while waiting for her at the temple festival. She who had laughed and frolicked with him earlier was now laughing heartily with another man. He saw it with his own eyes.

“Aiyā,” a hand extended towards him, seeking charity. The man was leaning against the school wall, dressed in rags, sporting a gray stubble, and eyes that were ….

He tossed a ten-cent coin towards the beggar and kept walking.

He walked, swinging his arms, with wide strides, chest thrust forward. He hated himself. Thinking about people, he felt like banging his head.

People rushed. Cars and buses rushed. He waited for the right time to cross that wide street.

The traffic light on the crossing was green. Giant vehicles rushed along making a giant ruckus.

He waited on the sidewalk for the signal light to turn red.

1973