Our Favourite Indian Stories (39 page)

As the festival days went by, relatives and friends from all around started descending one by one on the village. As usual they would first visit the Mari temple and then go about their business. Some would forget everything and settle down there to gossip. All the old scandals from the various villages would be dug up and updated. While all this was going on, in the yard Basanna was warming up the drum over a straw fire and turning it. A bunch of kids was jumping around him like an army of monkeys. Amasa was one among them. As Basanna raised the drum to his chest and beat it, its sound rang through
chad, chad, nakuna nakuna nakuna
, like a gong to the four corners of the village. Unable to resist, the kids around him started to dance. Basanna was inspired too and started to dance, beating his drum
dangu dangu dangu chuki
. The kids danced, Basanna kept step, all of them falling over each other and the passers by.

Heaven only knows who had taught Amasa to dance. He was easily the best of all. Everyone watched him in amazement. By then the women too had gathered around to watch. Bangari just couldn't take her eyes off Amasa. As she watched him, she once again felt a deep desire to have a child of her own in her arms. It had been six or seven years since she had been married; but so far nothing had come to fruit. Raging at people's taunts, she had even slept around a bit. Yet nothing had borne fruit. She couldn't afford medicine men and things like that; she and her husband were too poor for that. While women like her were already old by their thirties, she was one who could pass off for a new bride. Men who saw her couldn't help wanting her, even if for a moment— such was her bearing. And yet, nothing had come to fruit. Things couldn't go on like this forever. For a long time, as the night set in stones would start falling on her house, one after the other. Her husband would raise welts on her back, and hide himself in the house. The stones had since stopped falling, and the people had begun to forget. Now, in her eyes, Amasa continued to dance.

While all this was going on, two landlords dragged in two fattened goats. The crowd instantly split into two. Children ran about this way and that. The goats panicked at the beating drum and started to pull away frantically. As the men holding them faltered, two more men joined in and holding on tight, stood them in front of the Mari temple. The frenzied drumbeat continued. The goats stood frozen, only their eyes rolled round and round. The temple stood in front, the silver deity shining through the open door. From within, billows of incense smoke wafted out. A man, wearing only a piece of cloth between his waist and knees, came out with holy water and a garland of flowers in his hands. He stood in front of the goats, closed his eyes and started to mumble. His dark body was covered with veins. They seemed to throb in time to his mumbling. He then cut the garland into two and tied them around the goats' neck.

Then he placed the loose flowers on their foreheads, sprinkled the holy water on their bodies and, joining his hands in prayer, said, 'If we've done anything wrong please swallow it, Mother, and accept this.'

His shrill voice resounded throughout the temple. But for the distant din, everyone around the temple stood with bated breaths. For a while everything stood still, except for the eyes of the goats, which were rolling round, and round. All of a sudden the goats quivered. The drumbeat rose again and drowned all other noise. The group moved on. A bunch of kids, including Amasa, ran behind it. The elders drove them away, but the kids returned the moment their backs were turned. The procession reached an open field. There, a well-built man stood casually by a tree stump, a knife in his hand. As two men held the goats by their fore and hind legs and stretched out their necks on the stump, the man brought down the waiting knife and severed the heads from the bodies in one stroke. Someone poured holy water into the mouths of the severed heads. They gulped a couple of times and then closed shut. On the other side the bodies were writhing. By now the heads lay still, eyes turned upwards. Blood spurted from the writhing bodies as they thrashed around drenching the earth red.

An adventurous on-looker shot into the middle and pulled from the goats' necks the garlands of flowers dripping with blood. Not satisfied with that, he draped them around Amasa's neck and instructed: 'Dance!' As the blood drenched his throat and started to drip down, Amasa panicked and ran. A few others followed. Even in his sleep Amasa saw only this sight. Several times that night Amasa sat up, frightened. They kept the lamps burning all through the night. The outsiders slept all around the temple, curled up in their white shawls. That night the Mari temple was lit up enchantingly.

That was also the night the railway gangman Siddappa had one too many. He had come with his belly full of spirits. It wasn't actually his fault. It was the spirit in him that played around with him that night. If he closed his eyes a storm raged within him. So he staggered around leaning on his stick, weaving aimlessly through the streets. When he came to a lamp-post he flew into a rage. He lashed out at it kicking and flogging it with his stick. The fury of it shook the entire neighbourhood.

Not content, he made it take on the role of the local politician, the contractor, his railway boss or the moneylender Madappa, and yelled at it; 'Bastard!' You think you are a big shot just because you go around in white clothes? You hide your face when you see me. Forget us, we are loafers. We hang out on any street corner. He let out a long wail and wept.

And then he continued with renewed vigour. 'Don't vent your anger on me. Look at him laugh at my words... Laugh, laugh away. It's your time to laugh. What else would you do but laugh? You are, after all, the one who uplifts the poor. Laugh... let the communists come. They'll put an end to your laughter. Till then you can laugh, so laugh, laugh....' His laughter and shouts rose and fell as he stumbled down the village street and whined through the cold, dark night. Unable to sleep through all this Amasa woke up with a start every now and then. This must have gone on for a long while. Nobody quite knows when or where Siddappa finally fell. His laughter, his shouts, simply died out.

It was dawn again. The village spent the morning yawning. Every verandah was filled with people. But still there were many who hadn't woken up. For instance, Siddappa. At noon, the Tiger dancers arrived at the Mari temple.

The headman's bond-servant came and said, 'The headman's house needs coconuts.' and before Kuriyayya could say yes, he had climbed the tree, plucked the coconuts, and was gone. Back at the houses, the women had oiled and combed their hair, decked it with flowers and were running in and out. The young men teased the passing girls and were chided in turn. The drumbeat of the Tiger Dance drew everyone to the Mari temple. Everyone was eagerly awaiting the arrival of the Tiger dancers. All of a sudden the Tiger's cage flew open. All eyes fell on it. A huge Tiger leapt out, holding a lemon in its teeth. The startled crowd moved back and formed a circle around him. A few more Tigers, a Hyena and a Clown emerged one after the other. Among them was a Tiger Cub too. After all of them had come out, they stood in a row, joined their hands in prayer to the deity and accepted the holy water. The dance began immediately after. The Hyena was the best of all, and his costume fitted him perfectly. Remember the man who had sported the knife so casually at the sacrifice yesterday? It was he. The crowds would run away when he strode towards them, keeping step with the drumbeat. When the dance came down the street, women and children clambered up the parapets and watched it, with their lives in their hands. The dancers had only to turn towards them, and they would dash into their houses and bolt the doors. The dancer continued, entered the landlord's street and danced in front of the village-hall. All the worthies, even the upper-caste ones, like the headman and the priest, had gathered there to watch the dance. They presented gifts to the dancers according to their status and expressed their appreciation.

Long after night had fallen and the dance was over, everyone in the village continued to see the dance and hear the drumbeats. Those who fell asleep and closed their eyes, as well as the men as they undressed their wives, saw only the Tiger Dance along with the drumbeat
dangu dangu dangu chuki
. The village headman, unable to sleep, came out for a stroll. The bondservant, who was awake, saw him and stood up. The headman put a
beedi
between his lips and struck a match. For a moment his face glowed red in the dark and flickered out. He gulped the smoke in silence for a while and then turned to the servant.

'The one who played the Tiger Cub. Whose boy is it?'

'That's Amasa,' came the reply.

'Who's Amasa?' enquired the headman.

'That's him. The orphan boy who lives there with Kuriyayya. That's him.'

The headman was astonished. 'My, when did he grow up so?'

Before his eyes, Amasa's Tiger Dance came dancing in its many and wondrous forms.

Translated by
A. K. Ramanujan
and
Manu Shetty

P. Padmaraju

After sundown the world was enveloped in a melancholy haze. The boat glided softly on the still river.

The water lapped against the sides of the boat in soft ripples. No life stirred as far as the eye could see, and the dead world hummed soundlessly. The hum was inaudible but the body felt it and it filled the mind with its reverberations. A feeling of life coming to an end, of peace inexorable and devoid of all hope, crept over one's consciousness. The vague, mysterious figures of distant trees moved along with the boat motionlessly. The trees, which were nearer, moved backwards, like devils with dishevelled hair. The boat did not move. The canal bank moved backwards.

My eyes looked deep into the still waters penetrating the darkness. The stars relaxed on the bed of water swinging dreamily on the slow ripples and slept with eyes wide open.

There was no stir in the air. The rope by which the boatman pulled the boat sagged and tautened rhythmically and the bells on the guide-stick in the hand of the leader tinkled at each step. At one end of the boat, there was the red glare of a fire in the oven, alternately glowing into a flame and subsiding. With a small bucket, a boy baled out the water percolating into the boat through small leaks. Sacks filled with paddy, jaggery, tamarind and other produce of the land were stacked in the boat.

I lay down on the top of the boat, staring at the sky. From inside the boat, tobacco smoke mingled with soft inaudible voices, spread in all directions. In the small room where the clerk sat, there was a tiny oil lamp, blinking in the darkness. The boat moved on.

A voice hailed us from the distance, 'Please bring the boat to this bank-this bank!'

As the boat drew near the bank, two figures jumped on the footboard. The boat tilted slightly to that side.

'Please do not mind us. We'll sit here on the top,' said a woman's voice.

The man at the rudder asked her, 'Where were you all these days, Rangi? I have not seen you for a long time.'

'My man took me to many places-Vijayanagaram, Visakhapatnam and we climbed together the Hill of Appanna.'