Karuthamma suddenly had a new awareness of life. All her values changed with a new indefinable logic. Until now she had been afraid of life. She was afraid of everybody and everything. She had no will of her own. And that was because she wanted to cling to life.
When her secret was out, there was nothing left to hide, noting to be afraid of. The urge for security disappeared. And she was not alone in her insecurity. She had Panchami with her.
She repeated her old pledges to her husband, but spoke frankly and freely of her life. Palani asked her what else there was between her and Pareekutti apart from the innocent friendship of their childhood days. She answered that she had never done anything wrong. That wasn’t what Palani wanted to know.
“Did you love him?” He asked.
The figure of Pareekutti wandering about the seafront like a madman singing that old song, everything in his life gone, the picture that Panchami described so vividly, seemed to appear before her. His words, “I shall sing this song forever. I shall sing it so that you can hear it at Trikunnapuzha,” echoed in her ears. “When you buy your boat and net, will you trade with us?” She could still hear that question.
Because she hesitated for a moment before answering, Palani repeated his question. Something inside her asked her why she should hide it any longer. She hadn’t done anything wrong.
She loved someone before she was married. What was wrong with that?
“Yes, I loved him,” Karuthamma said.
A heavy deep silence fell over the room until Palani’s next question destroyed it.
“Did you bid farewell to him before you left?”
She said nothing. And he asked another question.
“When did you say you would meet again?”
“I never say anything about meeting again.”
The baby woke up and began to cry. Karuthamma picked it up and suckled it.
That day she didn’t try to reach his heart. But again and again she appealed to his good sense. A wife’s promises. Others made such pledges silently through the ceremony of marriage. Karuthamma made her pledges in so many words.
Palani got up early in the morning and went out.
“Was Palani annoyed with you?” Panchami asked.
Karuthamma said, “we are the two castaways. We have no one.”
“You have something, “ Panchami said. “It is I who have nothing.”
“No, Panchami. We are both alike. But together we can manage. We are the daughters of the great Chemban Kunju.”
When Palani returned home in the afternoon, Karuthamma appealed to him.
“I must go to Nirkunnam.”
He said nothing. She described to him Chemban Kunju’s state.
“My father has no one.”
He didn’t answer that either.
That day, too, he strung up the hooks with baits as usual. She put his supper in a bowl. Palani walked to the beach with the hooks. Karuthamma followed him with the baby in one arm and his food in the other.
The baby raised her hands and waved good-bye. When he had gone past the waves as they broke, he turned and looked back. The baby was still waving.
Karuthamma waited at the seafront for some time. Dusk was falling. The western horizon looked like a huge red girdle over the waterline. What a lovely color it was! Where the blue sea and that shining golden horizon met there was a black line. Beyond that was the unknown. The greatest secret of all.
Palani’s boat was speeding south on that unending expanse of water. He was standing up and rowing with short brisk strokes. The boat would occasionally go low as he strained himself, and then a little water would splash it.
It was a long time since he had stood in a boat and stroke hard like that. All his dormant strength awakened. He couldn’t contain himself. The oar wasn’t heavy enough, nor the boat large enough. With his eye on the dark line of the horizon he rowed forward, hardly noticing the water trickling into the boat.
What could have awakened that strength? What force could control it now? It was as if an uncontrollable power had been let loose. And he rowed forward.
A group of sea monsters appeared and disappeared around the boat. The boat hit one of them and it rose and charged. The boat left the water. The next moment it looked as if the boat might turn over. Palani’s eyes burned. He clenched his teeth and grunted.
“No,” he roared.
With an effort, he brought the boat that had risen well above the water down on the back of the sea monster. All in a second. The boat did not turn over. The sea monster went down, its back broken. Again, Palani rowed forward. He was going west, farther and farther west. Was there no limit to the west?
On the seashore, the baby cried listlessly. Perhaps the baby with her innocent mind may have sensed her father’s madness and frenzy. The roar with which Palani smashed the back of the sea monster was carried eastward by the breeze. Did Karuthamma hear it? No, it wouldn’t have reached her ears. She was not pure and clean enough for that.
Palani’s boat was moving toward the unknown. He saw the moon rise from the sea. He had entered a new world. The wide blue expanse of the sea was bathed in silver moonlight. Suddenly fear engulfed him. On all sides the water rose and it was as if he were surrounded by a wall of water. It seemed to encircle him. He must row forward hard and break that wall.
Sea snakes crawled into his boat. They were crawling all over the silvery surface of the sea. They were dancing, poised on the edge of the boat and falling again into the water. Two snakes twined themselves in the boat itself.
Palani saw a huge wave approaching from the west, covering the whole horizon. He felt a queer desire to dive into the water and emerge on the other side of it. But the wave raised the little boat to its crest and flung it onto the other side, where there were no waves. There was something extraordinary about the calm. The sea looked dark instead of blue. From the southwest it seemed as if a long tongue was stretching under the water. The boat was not behaving normally. It had been caught in a current. Somewhere there was a big whirlpool and the bottom of the sea seemed to be churning.
He must fight the current. He dared the current to drag his boat into it. He rowed against the current. Beyond, he could see the moonlight glitter on the calm sea. He rowed toward it.
Among the small waves, a group of sea gulls lay and rocked as if in a cradle. They were asleep. Suddenly they rose upward with a deathly cry. They were not frightened by the boat. Something else could be heard splashing in the sea.
It was a shark. It had caught a sea gull.
Palani threw the hook. He did that with the dexterity of a master.
***
The sisters talked for a long time. They did not talk of what happened that day. Their mother and Pareekutti were things of the past. Chemban Kunju was the problem now. Their situation was also a problem. And so they talked and talked until Panchami fell asleep.
Karuthamma could not sleep. A wind was blowing steadily and there seemed to be a peculiar music in that breeze. To Karuthamma, Pareekutti’s song seemed to be mingling with it. She listened carefully; again and again she listened. And so once again her thoughts turned to Pareekutti.
Her husband had gone out to sea alone. He was fishing on the deep sea. At that time, like the first fisherwoman of them all, she should be praying for him. Instead, she was thinking of Pareekutti.
She wasn’t fully conscious of it. She wasn’t awake; nor was she asleep. Pareekutti was gentle, good, full of love for her. And she loved him. She wouldn’t be able to forget him in this life of hers. Pareekutti was hers, and she his. In her heart of hearts she had no regrets. In that semiconscious state she half talked to herself.
She lay waiting. Pareekutti would come. Pareekutti would call out to her. She must not miss his call.
“Karuthamma!”
Did someone call her?
“Karuthamma!”
Only one man knocked at her door at night and called her. Palani would call her like that when he came home from fishing. It was about time for him to return.
“Karuthamma!”
Was it Palani’s voice? Who else was there to call her?
“Yes,” she answered.
The voice did not ask her to open the door. It was usual for Palani to ask that. But she got up, opened the door and came out. The wind was blowing harder than ever, but the clear moonlight was overflowing on all sides. There was no one in front of the house. She went to the seashore to look toward the sea.
A man stood in the moonlight. It was Pareekutti.
Karuthamma was not afraid. She didn’t cry out. She stood as if she had come out in answer to his call. He walked slowly toward her.
She looked at him carefully. He wasn’t her old Kochumuthalali. He had changed.
When he came closer to her, she used to worry because he would stare at her longingly. Now she was not worried. Her breasts were no longer as shapely as before. The soft lips of the baby had smeared her mother’s milk over these nipples. When Palani was away at sea, was it right that she should stand talking to a stranger? Karuthamma, however, was not afraid. She had met him before alone in the darkness of night. If she could give a man whose life she had crushed at least a moment’s happiness, shouldn’t she grant it?
They stood face to face looking to each other. The man that she had ruined stood before her. She knew for certain that he would love her forever. He would always understand her and forgive her. She could do anything to him. He would put up with anything from her.
In those few seconds Karuthamma forgot all the sorrows of her life. She felt she had not been vanquished. She had the strength few had. She was under the protection of a strong man, life was secure. Palani would see to it that the world outside wouldn’t dare touch her or hurt her. And she also had something else which gave her spirit sustenance. A man loved her as no man had loved a woman. Between these two, her life was full. Now the man who loved her stood in front of her.
She entered his extended arms and her body became one with his. Their faces met. He whispered in her ears.
“My Karuthamma!”
“ Yes!”
He stroke her all over and his hands slowly moved to where he and the rude young boatmen of the seafront used to stare.
“Karuthamma!”
Again she answered him obediently in that semiconscious state of ecstasy.
“Yes-”
“What am I to you?”
She took his face in both her hands and looking at him with half-closed eyes, she said, “everything. My pot of gold.”
Again they became one. And in that state he whispered gently in her ears.
She could not break herself away from that embrace.
***
Far out at sea Palani baited a shark, a really big shark. Until that day so huge a shark had never swallowed any bait of his or of anyone else’s. No fisherman had ever caught as big a fish in that sea.
The moment it was baited, the shark struck hard. The sea churned and the water splashed upward into the sky. Then it came charging up. Palani saw it come above the water. He could see the line coming out of its mouth.
Palani realized that he had caught the biggest fish of that seacoast. He shouted forth his happiness at the catch. He must make a quick decision. Should he hold fast to the line and stop the fish or should he let it go for some time? If the bait had gone right into its throat, one pull of the line would be sufficient to stop that dangerous beast. But it might charge at the boat and smash it. But if he let it go, the boat would speed after it. And it was difficult to say how far the boat would be dragged along with it.
Palani couldn’t see the shore. He had no idea in which direction the coast lay. He held the line with one hand and with the other guided the boat, and looked toward the sky to find his bearing by the stars. He couldn’t find the star he looked for. Stray clouds had covered the sky.
The boat was being drawn along at an unimaginable speed. It furrowed through the water. There were no waves. The sea was calm. But the sea had darkened and assumed an ominous character. He looked carefully at the water to find the direction of the current. But he couldn’t judge it, however hard he tried.
The shark was pulling the boat with the speed of wind. Where was it going? How far had he gone?
Palani cried out.
“Stop, stop there. Stop before you drag me to the palace of the sea goddess.”
He pulled hard at the line. Suddenly the boat stopped. Then Palani laughed wildly.
“Ha ha ha-stop there like that.”
A short distance away from the boat the fish was charging in its death throes. Once more Palani, excited, pulled the line. The fish jumped up and fell into the sea again. Though the boat seemed motionless, Palani realized that it had been caught up in a current and was drawing a pattern on the expansive rea. The current was going round and round in circles. Again Palani watched it carefully. Was he caught in a whirlpool? He was sure now that he was going round in a wide circle. But he held the line firmly. Palani looked up at the sky. There wasn’t a single star to be seen.
He stood in his boat and looked all round him. He could only see the sea round him. But now the water was assuming a different contour. Now it seemed that all around him was a mountain, a circular mountain of water. He and his boat were in a depression. The head of the boat seemed to rise.
The palace of the goddess of the sea was at the bottom of the deep sea. There the sea goddess was enshrined. Palani had heard descriptions of that palace. He had to get there through a whirlpool, a whirlpool which made the whole sea churn round in circles, knocking at the gates of the sea goddess’ abode.
Palani thought that the mountains encircling him were getting taller and taller. He loosened the line a little. Again the boat speeded forward.
From somewhere Palani heard a terrifying roar. He had never heard a noise like that. It was a storm rising.
The waves rose as high as mountains. Close on one after the other the waves rose. Palani had never seen the like of such waves. Those waves were not moving in lines. They were rising all around him in a circle, the two ends joining and making a pattern.
Palani looked round him and studied in a moment the nature of that spectacular angry sea. He knew how to ride his boat over the waves. And he knew too how to join forces with a storm. He had sailed a boat on the darkest of dark nights.
There was a bright flash of lightning, followed by terrifying thunder. Palani let loose the line. If he held fast the line and the boat stopped, the boat would be smashed. He let the fish pull the boat as it liked.
When the head of the boat mounted the crest of the high waves, he balanced himself with the aid of his oar and jumped upward so as to lighten the weight of the boat. When he reached the top, the boat again suddenly came down. The boat became almost vertical. Then there was another huge wave ready to swallow up the boat with its gaping mouth.
The sea roared. It roared with its anger against that poor fisherman. The storm provided a drone for that roar. The thunder provided the rhythm. What a terrible devilish dance it was. A minute human being. Should the goddess of the sea unleash such a fury to smash him? How quickly could she drag him to her depths if she wanted.
Perhaps these huge waves were making their way to the shore. Perhaps they were riding over the houses on the beach. Perhaps poisonous sea snakes were crawling over the beach. In the distance something rose very high. Was it the crest of some spectacular high wave, or was it some sea monster raising his head with gaping mouth like a cave? Was that poor fisherman’s spirit being broken? Palani tried to jump over the wave. But he couldn’t rise high. That huge gaping wave went right over him and his boat.
Not only had the clouds covered the sky with thunder and lightning, the very sky seemed to split. All the water in the sea seemed to have gathered in one spot. The storm roared as if it was going to smash all. Yet the head of the boat could be seen over the crest of still another wave. When that had passed, Palani was clinging to the boat, now turned upside down. In a second he found his breath and shouted.
“Karuthamma!”
Palani’s cry rose above the roar of the storm.
Why did he cry out for Karuthamma? The guardian angel of the fisherman at sea is his wife at home. He was begging her to pray for his safety. Didn’t the first fisherman come safely home in spite of the storm because of the power of a fisherwoman’s prayer? Palani, too, believed he could be saved. He had a wife. She would pray for him. Hadn’t she given him her word even the night before?
The fury of the storm increased. Palani fought it. But it joined forces with the waves. Another huge wave came rolling. By the time he could say “Karu----” the wave had rolled on.
There was nothing to be seen. The storm and the thunder and the lightning joined together in the destruction.
The water churned devilishly and blew up to the skies. The whole sea became a kind of cave. The storm became an entity. The boat reappeared on top of the waves. Palani was lying on top of it. He was clinging to it.
Wouldn’t that merciless slaughter ever end?
The boat then got caught up in a whirlpool and sank like a stone.
One single star came out and shone. It was the fisherman’s Arundhati1, the star which showed them their way, but that night the star seemed to lack in luster.
1 Arundhati was the symbol of chastity.
***
The next morning day dawned on the calm sea as if nothing had happened. Some of the fishermen said that there had been a great storm in mid-ocean during the night. The waves came right up to the front of some of the houses. And there were sea snakes to be seen on the white sands.
Panchami stood on the seashore, the tears running down her cheeks. The baby in her arms was crying bitterly for her father and mother. Palani, who had gone out fishing the evening before, had not come home, Karuthamma was not to be seen.
Panchami wept and as she wept she tried to comfort the baby.
Two days later the bodies of a man and woman locked in embrace were washed on the shore. They were the bodies of Pareekutti and Karuthamma.
And at the Cheriyazhikkil seafront a dead shark that had been baited was also cast on the shore.