When she entered Revathi’s room, Amaravathi’s body was trembling slightly. She gritted her teeth. She glared at Revathi as if she wanted to set her on fire. With her eyes tearing up, she asked, “Is what your father says true?” Since Revathi didn’t say anything, neither no nor yes, it was clear to her that Natesan had spoken the truth. So, she became even more enraged than before.
“Are you even my daughter?” she shouted in anger.
Revathi’s mind was not so much on giving an answer to Amaravathi as on figuring out who must have tattled on her to her father.
“Who is he? The whole town seems to know about it!” Revathi did not open her mouth.
“Where is he from?” After being asked this many times, she opened her mouth, “Burma.”
“Is he working in Burma?”
“...”
“What caste?”
“Refugee.”
“Refugee?” There was so much disdain in Amaravathi’s voice. She glared at Revathi as if she were saying, “Why couldn’t you have died?” As if it had struck her just then, she asked with hatred and bitterness in her tone, “Is refugee a caste?”
Amaravathi couldn’t stand any longer. Her body was shaking in anger. So, she sat on a corner of Revathi’s bed.
“Are they Thamizh folks?”
“Mmm.”
“Those who went from Tamil Nadu, and came back as refugees?”
“Mmm.”
“Then, how can he be without caste?”
“...”
“Is he a Muslim?”
“No.”
“Christian?”
“No.”
“What’s his name?”
“Ravi.”
“What a lovely name,” Amaravathi looked at Revathi as if she was seeing a disgusting object. Then she asked as if she was taunting her, “What has saar studied?”
“...”
“What does saar do?”
“He drives an autorickshaw.”
“What? He drives an autorickshaw?” She asked loudly. “Thoo,” she hawked and spat. Even though she was uncontrollably angry now, she still spoke in a measured tone, “It is the highest job in the country. You have caught a good groom. It is so wonderful to get such a groom. Everyone will praise you for this.”
She sat for a while without saying anything. As if she didn’t even like to look at Revathi, she kept staring at the wall in front of her. Even though she didn’t speak a word, her eyes were watering all the time. “Do you know what your father was asking me for the past one hour?” Revathi didn’t open her mouth. She didn’t look even once at Amaravathi. She sat still like a stone sculpture. Amaravathi and Natesan had been married for 26 years. In all these years he had never spoken to her in anger, scolded her, or spoken to her disrespectfully, or shoved her around, or told her to get lost. He had done all this in one hour.
While she had been shocked by his words and action, she was even more shocked by what Revathi had said. “How could you do this to us? How did you have the guts to do this? When did you learn to lie? Don’t you have any shame?” Revathi didn’t open her mouth. “Where did you see the guy; how did you meet saar?”
She piled on the questions one after another. As she asked each question, Amaravathi used the word “saar” to refer to him deliberately. She said it with as much disdain as possible. She looked at the silent Revathi and said, “This is not so uncommon in the world. Just tell that boy that my family will not agree to our relationship. The problem will be solved. Will you do it?” Amaravathi asked. Not a peep out of Revathi. “Just tell him, ‘I am not that kind of girl. I can’t do this. My father and mother will die if they come to hear of it.’ Will you say this?” Amaravathi asked. Revathi’s lips didn’t move at all
“I am asking you, the mother who gave birth to you, will you tell him?” When Amaravathi asked this, it was five am, early in the morning. Even then, not a word escaped from Revathi’s mouth.
“I have given birth to a stone,” saying this Amaravathi began to weep.
Whatever struck Natesan’s mind when he was about to leave for school, he paused and sat down on the chair placed in the hall. He checked the time. Then he gazed at the framed photos hung on the wall in front of him. He looked at the photo of his parents, his wedding photo, and Revathi’s photo. The photo taken when Revathi turned one, the photo of hers when they had ritually shaved her head, the one taken when her ears had been pierced, the photo taken when they had celebrated her reaching puberty – he looked at all her photos one after another. For some reason, he kept looking again and again, only at her photos. He sighed deeply, as if looking at the photos had induced great fatigue in him. Then he wondered whether to talk to Revathi. In his anger, he hadn’t spoken to her for a week. How could the problem be resolved if he didn’t talk to her? He thought that it would be good to talk to her and bring the issue to a close. So, he called Amaravathi who was making coffee in the kitchen. When she came, he said, “Call Revathi”. Her face changed immediately.
Excerpted with permission from A Woman Burnt, Imayam, translated from the Thamizh by GJV Prasad, Simon and Schuster India.
