“MOTHER!”

(Short story translated from the original in Tamil, by the author)

K. CHANDRASEKHARAN

Tagore Professor of Humanities, Madras University

The boy was glued to the spot where he stood. His gaze was fixed on the figure of a feminine film star in a huge, coloured poster in front.

In an instant he felt Someone was also watching him and he turned his attention to where it came from. He saw a lady gracefully poised on a seat in a grand, fresh limousine, She was peeping out of the window actually. As soon as he realised that her entire preoccupation was with himself, he tried to move away.

Sukumaran–that was his name–had just been returning from the pharmacy in the morning after purchasing medicine for his father. He looked not more than ten years of age. Much burdened as he was with domestic responsibilities of a kind unusual for his tender years, he could still evince a lot of curiosity, so very natural to one of his age. Due to apprehension of his father’s irritation and abuses at such consuming passion for motion pictures that he possessed, he had to bundle up his tastes and desires and keep them at arm’s length.

Stirred to activity by the rays of the rising sun, he was acutely sensing pleasure in gazing at the picture in front, despite the previous night’s depressing effects on his spirits.

‘Ha! whose touch is it?’. Somebody’s fingers pressed him on the shoulders, and he turned round to find it out.

He beheld the same car, in which was seated the woman decorated and dressed in her fineries, drawn up by his side. He could make out that it was the driver under her instructions trying to wean his attention. Though not quite comfortable of feeling he looked somewhat unembarrassed.

‘Dear lad, your name please! Look at the lady there in the car; she wants me to bring you to her’ said the man.

Sukumaran felt himself losing control of his temper. Without pausing to learn who that lady was and what for she required him, he uttered in disgust ‘No, I can’t give my name; I don’t want also to meet her, your mistress’. He fled from the place.

Within a few minutes he had crossed four or five narrow lanes and reached a house with a varandah in the first floor encircled by iron railings. Hardly had he ascended a few steps of the staircase leading from outside to it, when he heard in low tones a voice saying something which became audible because of the half-opened doorway. “Oh God, Hm...What an ill-fate to have brought her to me….Enough, enough...I have suffered…but, should she happen to know of this boy’s existence, everything will get ruined...”

It was followed by a prolonged sigh. It was still silence afterwards. Sukumaran slowly pushed the door and entered in. The sick man enquired without opening his eyes ‘Suku, why are you late?’

‘No father, a big cinema poster leaning against the street wall attracted me on my way and I stopped awhile to see it. Further I knew the pharmacy too would not have opened so early. I have got the medicine all right.’

His father opened his eyes. His face was wan with pallor set in. The doctor who attended on him suspected cancer of the stomach as the cause of his illness. The diet of the patient could be of little help as the intake of food itself had considerably got reduced. Medicine also stood little chance of absorption in the system because of the tendency frequently for him to vomit everything.

There was no elderly person in the house to attend to the patient’s needs. The servant woman, Ponni, happened to be the only adult to visit the place in the mornings. Whenever the patient felt any need for help, it was Sukumaran that had to answer the requirements of a nurse. All time of the day he was by the bedside doing everything his father wanted of him to do. If at any time of the day, he had to leave the sick man to fetch medicine or the doctor, Nanu, who was an occupant of the portion on the ground floor, was sought for acting as his substitute during his absence.

‘Well, may I know what picture attracted you?’, the question emanated from the sick man.’

It is the same ‘The Daughter of the Huntsman’ which has been advertised as produced by “The Dhanalakshmi Productions.” Dhanalakshmi herself has taken the heroine’s role.’

A shadow creeped on the face of Sukumaran’s father. ‘No, no, it is harmful to visit cinemas frequently. Your studies will go to dogs. Assure me, dear fellow, that you will no more allow this tendency to grow.’ Before he could finish the sentence, signs were visible of the rising gorge within him and his attempt to vomit it out. The boy ran for the basin on the window-sill to receive the vomits in it. Slight traces of blood also were found in the matter thrown out and the bad smell conveyed putridity inside. The boy emptied the contents outside and brought the basin after cleaning it. The patient seemed exhausted by the effort.

Two days went by. Again Sukumaran happened to go out to fetch medicine for his father. The same poster was again receiving his absorbed gaze. Yes, he felt something confirming him that the face of the heroine and that of the lady of the big limousine resembled each other exactly. There could be no mistake in his impressions. He gazed and gazed and gazed only to be stronger of his conviction that the heroine and the lady were one and the same.

Steps soon were heard behind, and before he could turn round, a lady’s arm, with lovely bracelets tinkling, encircled his neck with a caressing pressure. The Sweet sound of the bracelets and the aroma of her scents caused the boy to forget himself a minute, only to reawaken in a flood of confusion.

‘Child, who are you? By what name are you addressed? Won’t you tell me?’–an alluring tenderness pervaded her voice.

Sukumaran felt no inclination to answer at first, though something kept him from running away from her. An inexpressible sense of comfort was experienced by him when her bejewelled fingers touched his body. His mind was revolving within at the strange feelings she had been overwhelmed with.

She was also straining herself against the little fellow’s body. A fresh light spread over his face. His eyes sparkling with intelligence were suffused with greater glow. Her palm was passing over his neck, shoulder and chest and still down to his waist. She asked him once more: ‘Speak to me, won’t you?’

Poor fellow, his determination gave away. He noticed the softness and sheen of her cheeks. Ah! What an amount of love her words contain!

His lips refrained from further silence. He, in his turn, queried her: ‘Tell me first, who you are?’

She laughed with apparent delight. Her embrace tightened round him. The boy suddenly thought of his father.

‘I have to go home; my time is up’ said he, as he tried to liberate himself from her.

‘Where do you live? Come along with me; I’ll drop you at your place’ she said.

Sukumaran alternately gazed at her and at her vehicle. He wanted much to get into the car. But the street where he was living was so narrow that he thought the car might find it difficult to negotiate its entry.

‘No, not necessary; my father will scold me if I were to do it’ said he in a flurried voice.

Meanwhile her hands were pushing his little body inside the car and into the rear seat. An overpowering sense of being lifted to heaven drove the boy to an extreme state of gratification. So he remained there with no further protest.

She sat by him. The car sped noicelessly along the streets.

She nestled close to him and asked him ‘You have not yet revealed your name?’.

The growing gratitude in him would not permit of any more refusal to her request. He said: ‘My name is Sukumaran My father always calls me Suku’. I have no mother. She was dead even before I reached my second year. My father is all for me. But, but...he is ill now for the past three or four months. He vomits everything he takes. A doctor is giving him medicines. But I am afraid...’ he could no longer keep up his narration, for his voice became choked with sobs.

Dhanalakshmi was a very famous film-star. Sighting her car, crowds gathered in the streets. In more than one voice people were talking to each other and passing her name from mouth to mouth. Sukamaran did not fail to notice all their amazed looks and wisperings. But he was wondering what made her so much care for him. The driver was also equally intrigued at her concern for the boy. ‘The car cannot proceed further into these narrow lanes’ was the caution that the driver tried to impress on his mistress.

‘Well, Suku, can I also call you by the pet name?’ she asked him.

‘No, no, you dare not’ he burst out. He felt it wrong to allow her such familiarities.

‘There is my house’: he showed her pointing it out. Without any more formalities, he jumped from the car and ran like a hare to his destination. Two tear drops glistened in her eyes as she watched him running. After wiping them away, she called the driver by name and bade him note down the door number of the house and the name of the street.

The driver did as he was ordered and she carefully noted them in her diary.

‘Father, a letter for you! Do you think it could be from your office regarding your application for extension of leave?’ asked the boy as he handed a postal cover to the sick man.

The patient lifted the envelope to his face, but smelling something strange about it he showed much disturbance on his face. He closed his eyes with apparent alarm even.

‘Shall I open it for you, father?’ asked the son.

There was no response. But the trembling fingers were not unnoticed by the boy.

‘No, it can wait, father’ saying it, he tried to remove the letter from his father’s hand.

The father shook his head. His eyes ran again and again through the writing on the cover. Everything of the address was correct; the door number and street name were correct. He slowly opend the cover and took out the Contents.

Sukumaran’s quick eye ran over the first line.

‘Sir,

Since I have not the good fortune to claim any liberty with you…

His father did not allow further the contents to be read by the son. He closed with his hand the paper and read the rest without being followed by the other. He then called his son to his side.

‘You did not tell me, Suku, with whom you travelled home in a car.’

‘Yes, father, a lady, a cinema actress, I believe, she was. But she was very fond of me. She took the trouble to bring me home. She even wished me to go with her to her home’

Pasupati–that was his name–heaved a long sigh. He drew his son near and said: ‘Suku, she writes that she will engage a tutor for you and pay your school fees etc. Do you feel like staying with her?’ Before he could finish, he was overpowered by feelings rendering him unable to speak.

Sukumaran was wild with rising anger. She must have written something in the letter to have caused such an amount of anguish to his father. He could not excuse her for her behaviour.

‘She is an utter stranger, father, why do you ask me to go to her? I don’t want to have anything to do with her,’ and he ran away without waiting for his father’s continuation of the conversation.

Pasupati’s eyes again slowly traversed the lines of the letter. Old memories collected in his mind throwing him back in a mood of reverie. He recalled the day when she first entered his life and home after marriage, as a young girl. He remembered how much he cared for educating her and her tastes by getting her good books from the lending libraries. He was a bit disturbed when she evinced a strong liking for pictures. She also showed a bias for acting. Then it was she became adamant in her resolve to take to film acting, and left him and her two year old child against all dissuasions. He was everything of a father and a mother to the lonely child she left behind. He had since devoted his entire time to the rearing up of the boy. His indifferent health broke down under pressure of work and anxieties. He now cogitated, over the prospects of the boy’s future and decided upon not standing in the way of the boy’s progress in life. She had entreated him in the letter she had written, to allow the boy to stay away from him, purely for the sake of the boy’s future well-being.

With his mind made up, Pasupati scribbled a few lines on a paper, folded it, thrust it into an envelope and handed it to the servant woman to post it.

A day after that. Sukumaran’s surprise was incrcased when he saw the big car stop near his street. His first impulse was one of glee at the sight of such a fine car. But when he learnt that It had come to fetch him and heard his father asking him to get into it and leave him, his heart began to pound within. He refused to start. He was definite in his mind not to leave his father. Pasupati repeated to him his earlier request: ‘Suku, she has deep affection for you; Go to her. You will be delighted by the many things she possesses. Once you get there you may even dislike leaving the place soon.’

Sukumaran’s tears flowed down his cheeks as if his heart would break. Witnessing the scene, the driver was also moved, and he hastened to say: “I’ll come again, master, pray do not crush the child’s heart.” He left the place.

A week rolled by. One morning, early, Sukumaran found a new bicycle on the verandah of his house and a slip bearing his name attached to the handle-bar. He enquired of his father how it came there. His father did not reply. But he could guess that it was a gift from that film star.

He loved riding a cycle. His chum, Balu, living in the opposite house owned one on which he had made small trips round the streets. Now possessing his own, he could compete with him on the rounds. He felt a sense of deep gratitude towards the lady in the same way as he had felt on the day when she first gave him a lift in her beautiful car.

‘Father, I’ll run to her to convey my thanks’ said he, as he rose to leave the house.

He did not fail to observe again tears gathering in his father’s eyes. The head-shake alone indicated his approval. The boy soon left the house on the bicycle.

It took not long to find her place. He was vacillating on arriving at the gate of the mansion where Gurkha watchmen were posted. Afraid he was first to seek admission and stood gaping the big garden and the white palace-like building in the centre. But before he could muster courage to enter, Dhanalakshmi herself observing from her window the boy on his cycle, ran down to reach him at the gate.

‘Come on, Suku,’ said she almost enveloping him in her clasp.

‘Many thanks, lady, for the fine present’, he said with slight embarrassment. But before he completed the sentence, she could not restrain herself from adding: ‘Say once again your thanks, dear fellow’, and she drew him with intense joy and kissed him on the cheek.

Sukumaran did not like her endearments. His mind flew back to his father lying on the sick-bed. While his father was ailing at home, should he continue enjoying the comfort of the sofa in her luxuriously furnished house? He could no longer restrain himself. He rushed with speed on his cycle.

“Why have you returned? Did she not ask you to stay?” his father demanded of him an answer with concern.

‘Why should I stay with her at all?’ was the puzzled reply from the youngster.

‘It is all for your good’ assured Pasupati, as he closed his eyes and remained speechless in bed.

The hooting of a car-horn was heard rousing them both from the enshrouding silence. Dhanalakshmi herself was found stepping down from her car. She climbed the stairs and stood at the doorway. Pasupati’s eyeballs protruded from out of their sockets.

‘Don’t trouble me; if he is agreeable, take him with you. I have no more need for anyone here.’ He signed for the basin to be brought, and Sukumaran ran for it and stood with it before him. Dhanalakshmi seized it from the boy’s hand and herself acted in his place, receiving the vomits in the basin. She washed the basin after he had resumed his lying posture.

Sukumaran’s surprise at her alertness and help exceeded all bounds. He could only blubber: ‘Why do you exert, lady?’

Pasupati caught his son in his arms and whispered in his ear: ‘Suku, I don’t require anyone hereafter. You have to leave me for making good your lost studies. You must grow into a man. My only ambition is to see you grow into a fine fellow. Go with her. Shall I disclose to you a secret? She is your own mother.’ He could not proceed further; his voice grew husky, shaken with emotions. Tears coursed down his cheeks in a stream. Sukumaran wiped them with a towel.

‘Mother! You!...You are an actress and you call yourself my mother! No, no, father, you are trying to get rid of me by a lie. I won’t believe it. It is all false, false’ and he cried to his heart’s content.

The scene was over. Dhanalakshmi’s heart found no peace. She was at a loss to engage herself in any work. She felt she must get the boy to herself by any means. Her entire wealth and belongings were his and his alone. She strove her best to win him over.

Pasupati’s disease was getting rampant. His condition betrayed signs of alarm. He could not take in a morsel of food even. He had little sleep. Awaiting his end, he was a bit relieved at the thought that Sukumaran would not be adversely affected in his future life. However the boy’s behaviour showed great obstinacy. He would not be pacified. The news that Dhanalakshmi was his mother did not comfort him at all. He could hardly comprehend why when she was so wealthy and living well, his father should rot like this and waste away without comfort. Nevertheless, he expected that by her presence at least, his father’s condition might become better. So he asked her one day, “Why do you always want me to accompany you? Why not you take father also with us in which case I shall not say ‘no’ to you.”

Dhanalakshtti found no opportunity to make such a request to Pasupati. His condition was worsening day by day. He was not even conscious sometimes. Frequently, he would sign to his son to come near and ask him to go to her. The boy’s total refusal only reminded him of his own youthful follies and obstinacy.

Everything must have an end in life. Slowly the stage was nearing for Pasupati’s end. His breathing too was done with great difficulty. Sukumaran began to perceive with alarm that something unhappy might engulf him soon.

Dhanalakshmi stayed with them both night and day, relieving the patient in his painful process of slow death of much of his physical disabilities.

Sukumaran bent down to his father’s face and said: ‘Father, father, pray tell me what is it you want?’ He could not restrain sobs. Pasupati could only shake his head, as his speech became inaudible owing to extreme exhaustion. Dhanalakshmi had no other thought except to see Sukumaran secure with herself. She was devoured by that one passion.

Pasupati looked fixedly for long at his son and closed his eyes from which he never awakened.

Forlorn and feeling helpless, Sukumaran turned to her with tears blinding him, and said:

‘Where to go; my father has left me and he screamed in utter anguish.

‘I am here with you, my darling’ she cried as she caught him in her arms.

‘Mother!’ for once he burst out the word and plunged his head in her bosom.

She felt a strange comfort in her heart even in that hour of sorrowing for a dead husband.

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