Leaving Othara

Susamma could not sleep that night. The light drizzle since the evening had taken on the mood of a thunderstorm and Othara had huddled into a collective sleep earlier than the usual nine of ten in the night. The raindrops fell in a steady stream on the thatched roof and made muffled sounds. Almost as if they suddenly realized that there were people sleeping under the roof and decided to land on tiptoes and then run down to the ground and then around the logs of jackfruit tree and then gush soundlessly into the stream that ran beyond the paved road. That stream fed the paddy fields and she could see the shimmering lights from the houses across the fields. She sat in the small veranda space alone and then realized that the stray cat belonging to Molly had curled around her feet and was purring gently.

Susamma looked at the letter once again. She could not believe that she was actually leaving her village and going to the big city somewhere in the north. The wind blew water onto her face; somewhere along that time she felt like crying and gave up trying to hold it all within her. She looked at the hands full of calluses and wondered if they would ever again cut grass in the fields behind her small home. She looked at the home, she was going to come back and rebuild it with bricks and cement like the houses that her uncles had built. She had never invited the girls in her class to her home for Christmas or for Onam, she was ashamed of the smoky interior and the mud floor. The utensils were dark from the wood fire and her ever-coughing mother stooping over the stove trying to coax the wet wood to catch on to the fire. It would all change she promised.

She collected her things in the iron truck and started to pack for the journey. She was not to carry the pavada and blouse that she normally wore in the village to the city. Her mother hovered around her like a protective hen, clucking and scratching at everything. “Do not talk to strangers, do not talk with boys, don’t be seen with men in the city, don’t get a bad name for your father or he will die of shame”, she went on and on. Maria parted with her new sari and Sara with her new bottle of Cutex nail polish, which she had got in exchange for completing the homework of her classmate for a month. Susamma gave up trying to convince her mother that she was not going to do anything wrong and went and finally sat at her favorite corner. She wanted to talk to her father. He was to borrow some money from his brother for her fees, which he would return when the crop of the year was ripe and he could sell it for a profit.

Her father finally returned with the money and a bag full of things for her to take along. Kappa chips and banana chips for her cousin and three new sarees and cloth that she could get stitched in Pune. He had also found a kind soul at the railway station, an old man visiting his son in Pune to keep an eye on Susamma. She burst into tears and embraced her father and the two sat and spoke quietly while the others left them alone. He told her how much he would miss her and that it was upto her to find a path for herself. She nodded and felt at peace.

The white Ambassador car was at the paved path an hour before the time for her to leave and the curious neighbours all stood around watching Susamma as she picked up her iron truck and walked down the path to it. The prayer her father said filled her up like a cry welling inside her chest and she let a tear trickle down her eyes. She had never left her family before and the pain of being away from her sisters and her mother made her almost not want to go away. She stopped and told the three sisters and her brother to study well and she promised to take them along with her when she came back for the holidays. Mathew put the trunk into the boot of the car and got in along with her and her father. The drive to the Chengganur railway station was quite, no one spoke a word. Susamma kept staring out of the window at the paddy fields, the church around the corner and the tea stall with the ripe banana fruits. She suddenly seemed relieved.

The train chugged in slowly; the smell of the burning coal filled the air. It clung to her clothes like memories she was leaving behind. The reserved compartment had to be searched and then she had to get her trunk under the berth. She was grateful that she had reservations and did not have to struggle with the hordes of men in the unreserved compartment that was just after her compartment. A bright-eyed young man with a fashionable airbag had got off and had walked along to the reserved compartment. He had a think moustache and a puff of hair. He washed his face with soap and had got some lather into his eyes when the engine has sounded the warning horn. He in the hurry had dashed into her father who smiled back instead of being angry. As the train moved her father had touched her fingers in a final gesture of love and had turned and held on Mathew’s shoulders.

She kept seeing the young man at almost all the stations buying tea from the vendors or talking to two huge men who looked like the villains from the Malayalam movies she and her sisters watched at the tented cinema after persuading their mother to part with a rupee. She put him away after Palghat as a loitering young man with no sense of duty or pride. Most probably traveling without a ticket she thought.

At two that day she opened her small packet of banana leaves and ate the last meal that her mother would cook for her for a long time. The boiled rice and the curried curd had the right amount of sourness, the fried matthi fish made her mouth water for more. It was a simple meal, after which she bought a cup of tea and threw it away cursing the man under his breath for calling it tea.