Fiction: Poorani’s life turns into an endless crisis after her father dies, till she meets Aravindan

Poorani took her medicines and then returned to her easy chair. She was in an agony of indecision. Should she accept these invitations to speak, which would involve long journeys and even crossing oceans? She wished she could discuss it with someone. If Aravindan had been available, she could have talked it over with him. She thought she could confidently hand over to him the responsibility for making difficult decisions on her behalf. But the very next moment, she started on a different train of thought.

“What special ability does Aravindan really have? Every time I have a thought, he comes along with it as if he is an equal part of me in both mind and body. In every cell of my body in every breath, in every thought in my mind, how did you mingle into me and become a part of me? Unknown to my own consciousness, you are there in my mind, directing me to choose right from wrong. Great poets have sung of the exalted emotions that arise from the meeting of minds between man and woman. Is this what Aravindan and me share?” The thought made her skin tingle, and deep in her heart, a lotus of emotion bloomed.

“Maybe in a previous life Aravindan and I were birds who perished without being able to express their love for each other. Maybe a cruel hunter’s arrows extinguished our lives – and with them, our dreams and our love.” Poorani was beginning to understand what it meant to yearn desperately for something.

A soft, cool mountain breeze wafted in gently. After the soothing oil bath, leaning back in the comfort of the easy chair, Poorani’s eyelids closed in relaxation. In her mind and body, she felt a strange urge. She wished she could run and leap across the mountains and confront Aravindan. She would say, “You are a thief! Give back what you have stolen from me! Give my heart back to me.”

Poorani was highly educated. Her mind had been strengthened in the fire of various deep anxieties. She had even learnt to segregate her innermost emotions from the routine of her daily life. Yet, what she was feeling at this moment, this deep yearning, she doubted that any woman anywhere could have the power to quell it. The emotions that had lain dormant during her hectic routine of travelling to deliver lectures and perform social service had now surfaced during this calm period of rest. Like fire consuming a parched tree, her emotions raged through her. She realised that the capacity to feel emotions is a hallmark of humans, and it is no easy matter to suppress them.

Vasantha woke Poorani when it was time for lunch. Afterwards, she sat Poorani down and adorned her arms with the bangles she had bought for her. They covered her forearms entirely and tinkled as they moved like a jalatarangam.

“Akka, decked up like this, you look like a bride,” remarked Vasantha and smiled. Vasantha’s words stoked the flames of Poorani’s emotions even further instead of distracting her. She felt so overwhelmed by her own feelings that she felt she would burst. How was she to bear this turmoil? With whom could she share those thoughts?

Poorani hit upon a solution to sublimate her emotional state. She decided that for the next two days, she would not stir out of the house and would just read the Tamil Sangam books from end to end. She immersed herself in Tagore’s Gitanjali, and the works of Rama Thirthar, Vivekananda’s speeches in English and the English philosopher CEM Joad’s essays. There were a few books by H.G. Wells, Bernard Shaw and others too. On the evening of the second day, when she was deeply absorbed in the explanatory notes on the last page of CEM Joad’s The Story of Civilization, the telegraph peon called out from the front door. Vasantha ran and signed for the telegram. It was the one that Meenakshisundaram had sent: I am sending Aravindan to meet you tomorrow to discuss an important matter.

Poorani was stunned. It was almost as if her innermost thoughts had somehow acquired magical abilities! The one whose presence she had yearned for was coming without her calling for him. It was as if the universe was arranging events to fit in with her desires. Her night was filled with pleasant dreams.

The next morning, Poorani rose early, took a bath and seated herself with a book at a spot from which she could see cars approaching the house. Kodaikanal is brimming with beauty, perhaps in honour of Aravindan’s arrival, she thought. That morning, she had paid special attention to her appearance. She had plaited her hair and adorned it with a string of fresh jasmines. “Am I also following the path of all those empty-headed girls who are obsessed with how they look and want to adorn themselves?” she wondered. The thought made her squirm a little. Yet something had made her overcome her inhibitions that day. She had consciously chosen a sky-blue handloom sari, patterned with white flowers, and draped it so that it flowed gracefully, like the spread-out plumage of a peacock.

At eleven o’clock, Meenakshisundaram’s car entered the driveway of the house. Poorani jumped to her feet, bangles tinkling merrily on her arms and her heart brimming with joy. Her eyes widened in anticipation of seeing Aravindan any moment. With a smile on her lips that was specially meant for him, she hurried to the car. Her heart was pounding with excitement. Some mischievous imp had placed a lump of ice somewhere deep inside her and it was spreading a mist. Meenakshisundaram alighted from the car. Aravindan was missing. He had not come! The flowers of joy in her heart withered and began to fade.

Excerpted with permission from Kurinji Malar, Na Parthasarathy, translated from the Tamil by Malini Seshadri, Hachette India.