There was neither lightning nor thunder. It was as if the rain had made a pact with the earth to demolish anything deemed unnecessary. The rain was coming down steady and heavy. It had been raining for two days. Now, it seemed that it might finally cease by afternoon, by which time the sun was scorching. By the evening, the clouds were roaming around like soldiers. Then, as if it had been waiting for everyone to fall asleep, the rain bore down again with a new vengeance. The mayhem unleashed by the skies over the past two days had left the people and the land exhausted.
As the rain finally died down in the afternoon and nightfall approached, they rejoiced saying, “It will not rain anymore, we have survived.” In that confidence, they slept peacefully. Then, suddenly, when the rain started assaulting them again, they were stunned. One of the elements of nature was teasing them; the people could not take that anymore, and the fearful earth wept.
Kausalai woke up first. The roof had sprung a leak, which gradually drenched the mat that she was sleeping on. It seeped through her blouse, touched her breasts and woke her up. She opened her eyes at the refreshingly cool sensation. Half-asleep, in the pitch darkness, she could not see anything.
Darkness concealed everything like maya, yet the furore of the rain was palpable. She sensed that the rain had entered the house. Fear engulfed her. She reached out to Kannan, her husband, lying beside her. He was dead to the world. She instantly realised that the rain had invaded their home like an uninvited guest and was ravaging everything.
“Please wake up, it’s raining hard,” she muttered, trying to wake her husband up.
Kannan, oblivious even to the fast-invading sogginess, woke up and clasped Kausalai’s hands.
“Water is entering the house; how can you sleep, unaware of the dampness?” she yanked herself away from him and jumped up.
“Turn on the lights!” Kannan called out as he got up. Only then did he notice the darkness and damp that had enveloped them. “How did the water get in here? Is it leaking? Don’t we need to check on the looms? Kausalai, quickly turn on the light!”
She was not waiting for his orders. Wading through the darkness, she exclaimed, “No lights!”
“How can there be electricity in this rain?” replied Kannan, now wide awake. Instead of the usual dull patter of the rain, he heard it gushing down. He could feel the rivulets of water streaming about his feet. Worry overcame him when he thought of the plight of his looms.
“This cursed rain will stop only after destroying our town! Kausalai, have you picked up the baby?”
“Yes, I’ve picked her up; good thing Raji is not wet.” Feeling his way through the darkness, he opened the almirah and took out the matchbox and night lamp. With the help of that tiny light, he found the flashlight and inspected the leaking roof. The two glass roof tiles had dislodged. Rainwater was entering the house freely through this gaping hole, bathing the two looms and their platforms. Kannan was stunned for a second. He snapped out of it when he heard Kausalai shouting, “Aiyyo amma!” Worried that something had happened to their baby, he rushed toward his wife.
“Kausalai, Raji?”
“Nothing has happened to Raji; water is pouring down the looms – we’re going to be ruined!”
“Did you yell because of that? Is Raji asleep or awake?”
“She’s wide awake,” she said, pointing to the baby snuggling against her breasts. She was nursing the baby while standing there.
“Okay, leave the baby in the hammock and come here. The hammock didn’t get wet, did it?”
“No.”
“Leave the baby and come here. Let’s roll up both the looms and put them away.”
Kausalai laid the baby back in the hammock. Since she had abruptly stopped nursing Raji, the baby started kicking and screaming. Ignoring the baby, she raced to help her husband. Wielding the flashlight, they both approached the loom.
Theirs was a tile-roofed house. But the torrential rains had soaked the tiles and the water had begun to seep through. Like a thief searching for the most valuable items, the water was heading toward the silk spools and the jari on the looms, staining them. These two silk looms were Kannan’s livelihood; he owned both of them, of which he was immensely proud. He had endured great hardships to acquire them. He was now dreaming of expanding from two looms to three and even five.
This damn rain was dissolving those dreams!
Excerpted with permission from Weaving Fire, MV Venkatram, Translated from the Tamil by Sumi Kailasapathy, Rupa Publications.
