The gods that moved away

This story titled "Vilagi Pona Kadavulgal" is from the collection 'Posal’ by Kavitha Sornavalli published in 2014 by Nilamisai Publishers. The story has been translated by Jsutice (Retd.) Prabha Sridevan

January 17, 2017 03:45 pm | Updated 04:53 pm IST

I wet my feet in Tamiraparani2 to wet my feet, I rinsed my hands in Paapanaasam3, I washed my hair in Thenpothigai4 while the golden grains stroked my cheeks, this was the world I had grown. It was no wonder that I disliked Chennai, me a girl from this greenness.

I could not be myself with the gods here. I was very sad that I could not feel an affinity to the roadside Pillayar5.

All the gods in this city are beautiful and huge. But, I was sure they do not have the nearness that created an intimacy. I respected them, but they were not mine like my village gods.

When I entered my village, there was Sudalaimadan,6 whose moustache shone with majesty, holding an aruval7 that was polished bright; there was Bhagavathi inside the oil-blackened sanctum in the grimy 6 pillar mandapam; and there was Vanapecchi made just with terracotta. When I saw the city gods I did not feel the love, friendship, intimacy and anger with which I responded to my own gods. They were not just the gods of our village, they were our own ….gods just for us. This closeness was not born of fear or belief in god or an awareness of an omnipotent force. I do not know why. It may be because right from childhood I had seen them, heard of them, experienced them and touched them.

When I was a child I was less enthralled by the moon than I was by the valour of Sudalaimadan, the unbridled wrath of Vanapecchi and the purity of Bhagavathi. Starting from my beautiful Ammaachi8, Amma, Manvizhi Chithi,Madaththi paatti, Susila Athai, Kala Madini, Mavadi Periyamma and our kith and kin in Kozhundhu Vizhundhaan Malai, and South Fourth Street, and even in the riverside, the hills, the railway tracks and in the nooks and corners of every streets there were stories in abundance about our gods.

Even little children had extra-ordinary stories about gods, much better than the stories of the best story-teller. It was stories all the time, stories about gods, gods who protected, gods who destroyed, gods who forgave, stories about gods all the time.

My days were like that too story-filled. I woke up, brushed my teeth, bathed, and did everything listening to stories all the while. I had sweet memories of an annual holiday I spent in Cheranmahadevi. It was the centre hall in my Ammachi’s house and I was lying on her lap listening to her stories. I have not forgotten even one word of what I heard. One such story that remained imprinted in my heart is this one about the unparalleled valour of Sudalaimadan.

It was full moon. It was midnight. The moon shone with such radiance it seemed as if it was day. Ezhumalai Mama went out to pee. He thought the day had dawned because it was so bright and also because he was half-asleep.

He decided he should go to the river to catch fish, before the bathing crowd came. He rushed inside picked up the fishing bait and stepped out.

On the way there was not a living soul, quickly he reached the river. He stepped slowly into the still river and waded to the deep. When he reached a tall rock, he climbed on it and sat with the fishing line. He waited for the fish and the lonely seconds, turned into minutes and then into eons. The hum of the darkness, the silence of the wind and occasionally the other-wordly smell of the tazhampoo brushed past him. The river water was warm with the moonlight.

The story was moving steadily when Ammachi suddenly stopped and looked into my eyes.

“Never ever look at the moon in the river. The Mohini will grab you.”

The story continued.

As time went by, something began to bother Ezhumalai Mama. Why had no one come to bathe for so long? It hit him that he had come out in the midnight. He was afraid to return. Nor had a single fish been caught. His stomach churned at the thought that this experience had never happened to him before.

His thoughts stood still, when he saw a female figure in the distance, a figure that was so beautiful, so fair.

“She is so fair, she must be a Brahmin girl.” he thought.

He heaved a sigh of relief for at last someone was coming to bathe. She stood near the bank and her eyes asked him, “Shall I come closer… and closer?” Her smile opened out and she entered the water. She moved, rather glided and it was difficult to say if she was really walking.

Mama broke out in a sweat of fear. That was a depth that women cannot reach. It was a depth that only pearl-fishing divers could plumb. She had crossed the wading stretch and stood at the edge where the river deepened.

When she came closer he could see her clearly, she was heart-stoppingly lovely, capable of enticing anyone to follow her thoughtlessly. Mama froze ….she was not a woman...she was Mohini. He murmured several prayers for someone to come and save him. There was the gentle, smiling scent of Shenbagam9 and thazhampoo10. She crossed the river with swift ease. And then a miracle happened. Mama saw a figure that came running from the opposite bank.. he was dark and thick-set, he wore a cap on his head and pants that rustled, he carried a spear and bells jingled at his feet.

Ammachi’s eyes were fierce when she came to this point. She probably felt she was that figure wearing pants and holding the spear.

Mama started breathing. The black figure sprang like a lightning as if even a moment was too long to leap from the shore to the depth. Quicker than the speed of thought, the black figure grazed Mama’s side with the spear.

The female figure vanished then.

Mama just fainted.

In the morning they brought him from the rock where he lay unconscious. The fever raged for a week. The whole village was wide-eyed with this news. They were overjoyed that it was Sudalaimadan. He was the black figure which saved Mama from Mohini. When Mama got better, he celebrated his gratitude to Sudalaimadan by holding a mini temple festival - a goat and a rooster were sacrificed, rum, beer and beedi were distributed, there was melam11, Karagattam, pongal, cinema savukkadi and samiyattam.. the whole works.

After listening to this story, I held Sudalaimadan in an unquestionably high respect.

I never knew that Ammachi would now and then be possessed by spirits especially by Parvathi Amman. I had never seen her in a trance like others on the streets, temple or even at home. Once, our temple festival was being celebrated grandly. All the family members, the neighbours and even outsiders had gathered in our village with great enthusiasm. I noticed suddenly, Ammachi was not to be seen.

Since our house was close by I went in search of her. It was locked. I went by the rear kitchen door that too was locked. On a strange impulse, I peered inside and saw my six foot tall Ammachi lying on the floor all curled and shrunk to 3 feet.

I knocked the door.

I shouted.

She did not get up.

I sat outside, waiting. She came out after a while. She was covered with sweat. She slowly sat down next to me. We were silent.

“I felt I was being possessed by a spirit. That is why I came in, not wanting to make a scene in front of so many people.” She broke the silence.

“Did it continue at home, also?”

“Mmm, Parvathi Amman will listen to me. I kept pleading to her all this while to leave me and go. Thankfully she peacefully left me and went away without making me dance vehemently in my trance.”

I was wonder-struck. When I realized that it was only in the village there were deities who listened to their devotees and devotees who commanded the deities, I loved Parvathi Amman intensely … and my Ammachi too.

Such incidents would happen only when I went to my village during my annual holidays. But a somewhat different, but almost unworldly event happened when I was in my home with my parents. It was a big Agraharam house.. so long that if one was at the front door one would not know what was happening behind the rear door.

Appa and I had gone out. Amma was alone cooking in the kitchen. She heard someone shout, “Thaayov, Thaayov12!” clearly and loudly, five or six times. Amma was startled.

It was the voice of her father! She rushed out in agitation, but there was no one. Not a living creature was to be seen and she was confused. Still, she stepped out into the street.

“Ayya, ayya” she called out in search.

But there was no one.

A swirling confusion remained with her throughout the day.

Sometime later, she had gone to Ammachi’s village to see her parents. On hearing her experience Thatha said “That must be our Sudalaimadan. He must have called on you to see how you are and if you are happy.”

“Sudalai madan will take care of his people… he will see that they are not unhappy. Even though your daughter lives far away, he will still take care of her.” These were the soothsayer’s words. Difficult to believe, but what else could I do? Amma’s face was beaming with pride.

I wondered then if only the village gods went in search of their children where ever they were, and looked after them.

Amma, Appa, Thaatha Paatti, my family, my village people, all of them had many many such stories about Sudalaimadan, Parvathi, Bhagavathi and Vanapecchi.

I have a story too. In Ambasamuthiram, on the far side of my village there is a small Ramaswami temple with thatched roof. Between me and that terracotta idol Ramaswami, there was a conflict and then we made peace. It is a secret that cannot be shared. It is just between me and my own Ramaswami.

I have a question to ask these huge gods sitting in the big temples that I see everywhere in Chennai. Not just me, this question must be niggling in the hearts of all those who migrated from the villages to big towns.

Oh! Gods of the City! Can you match the stories of my Sudalaimadan, my Vanapecchi, my Bhagavathi and my Parvathi?

-----

1 ‘Vilagip pona kadavulgal from the collection Posal by Kavitha Sornavalli . published by Nilamisai padippagam 2014,

2 A river

3 Another river

4 Another river

5 Ganesha , The Tamils refer to him by this name

6 Sudalai madan, Bhagavathi, Vanapechi are village deities different from the gods like Shiva, Vishnu

7 sickle

8 Grandmother, mother, aunt Manvizhi, grandmother Madaththi, aunt Susila, sisterin law Kala, aunt Mavadi

9 magnolia

10 Screw pine

11 Drums and different dances

12 Thaai is a word for mother, when you shout you say Thaayov

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