He was blotting off the copious sweat with the tip of his vaetti. A horrible premonition began to haunt him as he could not sense any sign of life all around. He had never seen such a dry land of parched and caked mud. Howling storms, carrying dust and dirt, were assaulting the land. A giant banyan tree provided a canopy of shade and a cool spot underneath. It had a few crows and mynas playing on its branches. The leaves were swinging in the wind and a gentle breeze stroked him to rest. He looked at the path ahead. He couldn’t spot another tree as far as he could see. There were a few clothes drying on hardy fence plants denoting human habitat. The sight of dry soil resembling the bare chest of an old farmer made him gloomy.
“Those rotten rogues! They said it was just eight miles! I’ve been walking for four long hours now! I can’t even spot the village!” he sighed. He could see a cart with two bullocks tethered to it grazing in the shade at a distance. Their ribcages showed and their skin had lost its sheen; the animals were constantly shaking their heads to escape the flies that were irritating them.
On the northern side of the banyan tree was a dried-up water tank and an old lanky farmer was digging up the silt from it. Suddenly, a giant dust storm picked up and started advancing with a funnel tip, ripping off the soil, swirling dusty wind all around. It whirled in one place for a while and then headed towards the south. Kannappan stared at it fixedly. Another gust of wind that arose in a great fury attempted to uproot the giant banyan, and this caught his attention. The baby birds that had
sheltered in the banyan flew around in fright. The dusty wind engulfed the landscape like a mountain fog.
Kannappan clamped his hands over his eyes as the wind tugged at him. Within moment, his head, ears and nose were filled with dust. The wind carried the fodder away and the farmer who was digging the silt of the water tank ran behind it. It was mid-day. The farmer shifted to the banyan shade. He took out his small clay pot hanging from the trees aerial roots and sat on a hardy root. The clay pot kindled Kannappan’s thirst and made his throat dry.
“Do you have some water to drink?”
“No, Ayya! This is Khammam kanji!”
The farmer wiped his hands clean on his loin cloth and dipped them into the clay pot, mixed the kanji well, and started drinking it in gulps, holding his breath, along with thuvaiyal, the relish stuck on its outer surface. Watching him, Kannappan began to salivate. He asked, “How far is Perumalpuram?”
“It’s nearby! Around one to one and a half hours ahead.”
Tearing through the dust, from the north came a cart. Kannappan stood in its way, as if in welcome. The silt-digger shouted so Kannappan could hear, “Yoav...You...! This cart is heading towards Perumalpuram! Get into it and go!”
The cart stopped as it approached Kannappan. He couldn’t see anything until the clouds of dust settled. The sturdy oxen were taking deep breaths and raised their heads as the driver pulled the ropes hard.
The silt-digger spoke with the cart driver from afar.
“Aei! Veerayya. . .”
“Oy. . .”
“Where are you coming from?”
“Where else? From the market. Had to exchange some raw cotton for goods. How many trips have you made with the silt?”
“Three so far. The fourth one now. I can do only three more.”
“Enough. . .Enough. . .spread the fertilizer all over properly.”
“Are you coming?”
“I have some other things to do. Those manjanathi shrubs cut down in Periyakaadu are getting ruined. Ought to get them back. I should finish it off today.”
“Veerayya! My wife, your mayini, will be coming! Give her at least one measure of millet. Children were starving yesterday.”
“Why didn’t you come yesterday?”
“Nadukattu Chinnamma expired. I thought of offering condolences and returning early but the burial somehow got delayed and it was night by the time it was done. I was looking for you on return. Your aatha told me you’ve gone to Nagalapuram. Having no other choice, I asked our master! He nearly beat me up. Mere rice water gone sour filled our stomachs yesterday. In the morning, wife borrowed two balls of cooked rice from Subbiah and sent it to me here. Whatever you give her will make our day.”
“All right! I’ll give her,” said Veerayyan. Kannappan asked, “Are you going to Perumalpuram?”
“Where do you want to go?” asked the cart driver in reply.
“Perumalpuram,” he said.
“Do you have some work there?”
“I’m the new teacher posted in the government school there.”
“Oh! Is that so?” Veeryyan jumped down eagerly.
“Annae! Look who has come! Our teacher. . .” he shouted and turned to Kannappan, “I belong to the same place, Ayya! Get into the cart! You’ll be there in a minute.”
Kannappan turned to get his bag. Veerayyan overtook him and placed the trunk in the cart. There were already five bundled up gunny bags inside. Once Kannappan got in, Veerayyan jumped into the cart. As he touched the tail of the ox, it was if it started flying off the ground taking along all the dust in the air.
“Ayya! Where are you from?”
“Near Madurai.”
“Where did you work before?”
“I worked in Madurai for a few months. Where’s the school?”
“It is in the village. I’ll show you, Ayya.”
“How many students, roughly?”
“Fifteen to twenty pupils.”
“Number of houses in your village?”
“House, as such is only one. It belongs to the landlord. Others live in shanties and huts, which may account to around eighty.”
“How about food facilities?”
“As if they exist! We have to make do with rye or corn whatever we find. Our cultivation is rain-dependent. There is food only during harvest.”
“Not that, Ayya. Is there any facility for outsiders?”
“A food stall just for name’s sake. Only toddy and brandy will be available and rarely some snacks like vadai, whenever the owner feels so.”
“Then how did the previous teacher survive?”
“He used to cook his own food. An expert he was! He was a unique fellow. He could starve himself for ten days or so!”
“Where did he stay?”
“Near my house there is another small house that belongs to the landlord. He used to stay there.”
“Will they give it to me?”
“Let’s ask him! He’s quite unpredictable though.”
“What if I don’t get a house?” Kannappan murmured hastily.
“Don’t be afraid, Ayya! This land shelters everyone! We’ll ask the landlord. In case he denies, we will figure out some other way.”
Veerayyan’s words energised Kannappan. He couldn’t take his eyes off the poor farmers toiling in the strange black soil of karisal. He felt a spike of hunger hitting him like a streak of fire. He felt like the hot sun would melt his head. It seemed to him as if the earth was a circular ground enclosed in a blue tent. Emptiness stretched till the horizon; and at the horizon was the mirage of a sea with waves. There were shredded pieces of red, thick clouds in the sky.
Excerpted with permission from Black Soil, Ponneelan, translated from the Tamil by J Priyadarshini, Penguin.
