THE KUDU KUDU PANDI

(Short story)

T. R. RAJAGOPALA AIYER

I have been the doctor in the Government dispensary at Mangalapuram. Sometime back, day after day, during the early hours before dawn, a Kudu Kudu Pandi played on his Kudu Kudu, the onomatopoeic appellation for the most dimunitive drumlet in existence in the world, but unlike brethren of his tribe, he neither halted before every door and prognostigated the palpable lie of an auspicious future for its inhabitant, nor tried to wherdle and dun old cloths and alms. He walked up' and. down the street merely repeating “Anandam Anandam Brahmanandam” (Joy, joy, the joy of God) in an arresting musical voice. Though my curiosity was excited I did not muster sufficient resolution to quit my bed, go out into the street, and make out the identity of the beggar. It tickled my imagination also to wrap the figure in a veil of mystery and make all sorts of guesses.

One evening a person was admitted into the hospital with high fever. He became delirious and unconscious by turns and I expected him to die any minute. But he rallied surprisingly towards the end of the second day and he sent for me. When I went he was sitting on his bed. I felt his pulse and it was normal.

I looked more closely and with interest at him. He was well-proportioned, with a statuesque manly Greek beauty. He had the long dark South Indian eyes which haunt one over after. “You are all right, my man” I said trying to cheer him.

“No, Doctor” he said brusquely. “My time is come and I sent for you to have a talk in private. Please give me some drink.”

I gave him a large quantity of hot coffee which he drank with avidity and relish. I cleared the room so that we were alone.

“I want to tell you my life-story before I pass away” began the patient. “You have been kind and you deserve my confidence. I am the Kudu Kudu Pandi who came here a week back.

“That’s interesting” I said feeling intrigued. “I wanted to find out who it was that sang the unusual accompaniment of Anaadam Brahmanandam.”

“I was directed to adopt that refrain as I am a Brahmin” continued the man. “You may well start. I was born and bred up in the village of Viyar on the banks of the Palar, which is shut in by hills all around and can be reached only with difficulty. My parents died early and I grew up on the charity of the village. I picked up some Tamil, Sanskrit and English in the village school, got by rote the necessary Vedic portions in the Pathasala and became a Purohit for my and the surrounding villages which I went round on a bike. I had no relations and was care-free. This, my splendid youth, and an open-air life imbued such health and strength in me that I was looked upon as the athletic champion of the district.

“Thus I passed more than 22 years of my life. One day on my rounds I found a crowd gathered round a man seated under a grove of trees with dense foliage and huge serpentine creepers intertwined, dedicated to some village god. The man was behaving in the eccentric fashion of a person under divine affatus. He fixed his wild and roving eyes upon me and guffawed “Ha, ha! Child of Brahmin parents, born to wed out of caste! Thou wilt have a strange, undreamt of destiny. Thou wilt wander over the face of the earth. Thou wilt taste the sweets and pangs of love.” The man turned his eyes suddenly to another and took no notice of me thereafter. I was at first startled and a bit disturbed but I soon regained composure, laughed derisively and passed on.

“A short time thereafter the monotony of our life was broken by the advent of a Kudu Kudu Pandi. I do not know whether you or others have seriously considered this aspect of Indian life, that caste runs in our blood, that even beggars and mendicants tend to form sub-sects and that strict rules govern, not the upstart promiscuous beggars who will steal and lie and are a menace to society, but the hereditary respectable classes of ancient recognised beggars in this land like the Kudu Kudu Pandi, the Ambulimadu, the Karagamadi, the Nari Kuravan, etc.

“Reverting now to the new arrival in our village, from the quaver in his voice, I inferred that he must be old and infirm. The sound of the Kudu Kudu held, from my birth, an unnatural fascination over me. It set my heart-strings throbbing and awoke mystic visions of a free and easy life of ever wandering under novel horizons, untrammelled by time and space, and the bonds which tie and root men to one place and deaden them. I was always a standing and interested auditor of the Kudu Kudu and now too I used to come out betimes and listen entranced in his daily visit to my house. This interest of mine, so unusual, seemed to provoke the player who made it a habit to stop longer and play variations. At the end of it I rewarded the mendicant with a larger handful of rice, vegetables or coins. In the dim twilight I could just make out in profile only the figures of a bent decrepit old man and a youthful female figure; and they silhouted against the doorway. We desired not to know one another more clearly.

One day the old man rested against the pillar in my pial and if topped playing in the middle. The musical voice of the girl which I heard for the first time enquired anxiously, ‘Are you unwell, father? Shall I ask Aiya to give you some water?’

“ ‘No, no, It is nothing. It will pass off. We should not trouble Aiya who has been uniformly kind to such wandering beggars as we’ remonstrated the old man. He made an effort to rise but sank against the pillar.

“Has Aiya some cold-rice water to spare?’ asked the girl timidly. ‘Father had nothing to eat for two days.’

“I read the situation at once and pity arose in me. ‘Wait. I have got some cold-rice to spare.’ I laid and was about to enter my house.

“ ‘Aiya is overkind. I do not want anything for myself. Enough if my weak old father is fed’ said the girl, her eyes filling with tears.

“I went in, lit a lamp, brought two plantain leaves and spread them on the pial. And lo! when I lifted my head, the girl was a vision of sudden glory. My breath came in short catches. Even today, I cannot describe the shock of my first sight of her. It was not so much her physical beauty that overpowered me, great though it was, but there was something unearthly, ethereal about her which transcended it, which one associated only with divine beings, with our goddesses. She seemed to be all soul, not flesh, and her soul lived in her long dark eyes and spake in a more direct and unmistakable manner than her words or gestures. For her part, the girl gave me one long sidelook which swallowed my whole being. How long I stood there powerless to move, I do not know, had not the girl blushed and turned her head. I then directed my attention to the elder who was very aged and shrivelled up but still preserved the remnants of finely chiselled features. I hastened inside and brought out plenty of cold-rice, curds and pickles. The two did justice which showed their famished condition and then cleaned the place.

“ ‘The blessings of gods be upon you,’ faltered the old man. ‘You have today acquired the merit of saving the lives of two castaways dying of hunger. May Aiya have a noble woman for wife who will be able to appreciate and prize his heart of gold.’

“ ‘Amen’ echoed I unconsciously and was surprised, for I had never bestowed a thought of marriage or wife before.

“ ‘The words of genuine Kudu Kudus never miscarry and I feel that mine are going to fulfil themselves like those of Brahma himself’ said the old man moving away.

“My life was an altered one from the moment. Not many days thence the girl appeared shortly after sunset. ‘My father is unwell. Will Aiya take some physician and accompany me?’ she asked. I took the village physician and the girl led me to a room in the Kali temple on the outskirts of our village. It was kept in a neat and tidy fashion, and the grateful smell of sandal sticks and frankincense welcomed us. The patient lay on a mat. The physician felt his pulse and gave him some medicine which seemed to revive him. ‘There is no immediate danger but the sands of life are running out’ warned the doctor.

“From that day I had practically to go twice or thrice a day to the sanctuary and had opportunities of watching the pair at close quarters. Not a single complaint escaped the lips of the patient who was hastening towards his end. His eyes always followed and rested on the figure of his daughter with an inexpressible tenderness. Her whole being responded instinctively to the slightest thought of her parent, so that surprisingly little was spoken between the two. For a week following I maintained the pair, purchasing medicines, supplying provisions and arranging for their necessities and comforts. As there was no condescension or selfishness on my part, similarly there was no servility or false pride on the part of the recipients; what was whole-heartedly offered in a human manner, was silently and gratefully accepted in the same spirit. Now and then I thought the old man looked at me in a quizzical way and wanted to say something but did not do so, for whatever reason.

“Like a true daughter of the road, Padma–for that was the name of this girl–was absolutely fearless physically and mentally, but of one thing she was in dread of which I had read in Sanskrit literature only, of thunder and lightning; and this I learned unexpectedly. One night following, there was a sudden sweltering hush in the air which was broken by a violent thunder-storm and swirling gusts of wind and rain. The flickering light of the hand lamp was blown out. There was a sudden blinding flash of lightning followed by the loud crash of thunder. I heard a piercing scream and the next moment Padma threw herself into my arms like a frightened child. The temple we were in was evidently the centre of the storm which lasted for one full hour. The thunder rumbled and growled overhead with occasional explosions and the lightning flashed and lit up the heavens and the earth, every other minute, plunging both into deeper gloom. All the time Padma lay in my arms, with her hands over her eyes which were shut in terror, her breath coming in gasps, and her heart throbbing more quickly and responsively to the thunder, when she would hug me convulsively. I preened and patted her head to remove this unreasoning fear and tried to soothe her shaken nerves. Her warm and fragrant breath played round my face. I kissed her often and tenderly and in all innocence, which she accepted with the implicit confidence of a child or a maid in love. Had not this thunder-storm occurred, probably our lives may have drifted apart. Both of us felt the intervention of Providence in this grand drama of the elements. Whenever the blaze of the lightning illumined the room, I found the old man regarding me and Padma fondly and with evident satisfaction.

“Three nights after, Padma stood at my door and said to me in a whisper, ‘Father wants you to come immediately.’

“We reached the temple quickly. The old man lay gasping. ‘Quick my child’ he ordered his daughter. ‘Sprinkle some water, draw a Kolam and light a fire.’ Padma did so. ‘If I guess aright, Brahma has destined you both to be man and wife, and you two are fond of one another. Now is the time for soleminising the marriage rites. Shall we start?’ queried the old man turning to me.

“What was it that made me tongue-tied? I felt like one in a dream who moves towards an end foreseen. I mutely nodded.

“None but a Kudu Kudu can wed a Kudu Kudu maid. So, before marriage, you should be initiated and become a qualified Kudu Kudu Pandi. Perform Achamana and draw near commanded he and I complied. He initiated me into the Mahabhairava Mantra and handed me his small instrument teaching me how to use it.

“ ‘Since you were born a Brahmin, you should not, repeat the lying cant of the impostors amongst us, but should have your own distinctive announcement’, said he thoughtfully. After a pause he cried triumphantly, ‘I have found it. I have heard verses in Sanskrit which ended with ‘Anandam, Brahmanandam.’ That is the refrain for you. You will have the gift of prophecy and the spirit of the first of Kudu Kudus, the great Lord Siva, will stir you as you stand betimes before the doors of men. Now that you are initiated and are fit to be married to Padma, both of you sit before the fire and sip water,’ rasped the old man in true Purohit style. ‘Clasp Padma’s right hand in yours, come round the sacred fire thrice, take seven steps, go outside and look at Arundhati, the wife of the great sage Vasishtha and the ideal of chastity for women. Tie this Tali round her neck and exchange your rings.’ We did as we were bid to the accompaniment of the rat-a-tat of the Kudu Kudu.

“ ‘Now listen to the last words I speak’ enjoined the old man. ‘I was a Kshatriya Raju living near Rajapalayam. One day I went to Srivilliputtur where I found a band of Kudu Kudu Pandis cooking their Pongal and other votive offerings in the compound of the temple of Andal. In my perambulation around the temple I came across a young girl of that tribe who I thought, was a gift from Andal to me. We eloped and for love of her I turned a Kudu Kudu Pandi and Padma was our only offspring. The women folk of that community are staunch as steel and we led a happy life. My wife died leaving Padma young and my only solace lay in looking at the features of my innocent daughter and tracing the lineaments of my beloved in them. I have given my daughter a good education in Tamil and Telugu and the number of songs she has picked up in both is astonishing.

“Of one thing I may assure you, if such were needed. It is very rarely that a man gets a wife in the real sense of the word. The instances have been so few and far between that art, religion and literature have seized upon them and built them up into song, and myth, verse and image. I trust that you may have the depth and fineness of character requisite to understand and appreciate aright a noble girl like my daughter. In understanding her, you will be able to realise the greatness of the Pativratas of our land, of Sita and Draupadi, of Damayanti and Anasuya.

“Of one thing however I must forewarn you. A great danger has been hanging over us ever since Padma reached womanhood. Do you know that we Kudu Kudus have a prince of our own who is an absolute autocrat? Our present chief is one Samban who is young, ambitious, handsome, strong, brave, generous, but entirely unscrupulous. There never was and never will be another leader of our tribe like him. He has got a harem of his own, for he simply annexes and walks off with any pretty girl who takes his fancy. He was much struck by Padma–who would not for that matter of that?–and wanted to marry her, but neither she nor I would agree. Fearing his wrath and vengeance, we have fled and have hidden ourselves in this remote village. After my death, you cannot remain here, but must go about for very many reasons. Therein also lies your safety. But be wary and ascertain beforehand the whereabouts of Samban and give him a wide berth. Prize and protect Padma. Now that I have handed her over to you, my mind is at rest. It is time for you to retire, children, and leave me to God!”

“The old man sank into his peaceful end the next day. After his obsequies were over, I disposed of all that belonged to me and completely cut myself off from my past moorings, and turned into a homeless wanderer. Acting on the advice of the old man we undertook a pilgrimage of India from the Himalayas to Cape Comorin. Thrown entirely upon one another, I realised what Sita must have meant to Rama as an inimitable travelling companion, more than as a queen at Ayodhya, and why they both prized their wandering life in the forest as their most golden period. I often thought, what can heaven offer to me better than just wandering about with Padma, both of us young, healthy, wrapped up in one another?

“Half a dozen years thus fleeted on golden wings when the dream of our unalloyed happiness was rudely disturbed. We walked to a lonely Kali temple among the Western Ghats and walked straight into the lion’s den. What was the surprise and joy of Sam ban at meeting Padma, of whom he had lost all traces! My rival also sized me up and a smile and a nod of approving admiration lit up his features for a minute, but the sight of Padma in the queenly flush of her womanhood standing by my side aroused his fury and jealousy and a dark and ominous scowl overspread his features. Throughout the day we were spectators of the Darbar held by this strange man. In any assembly of men Samban would easily have been the most notable. There was something proud and majestic about the man and he meted out justice, settled disputes and issued commands not only to his own tribes but to the hill-folk also among whom he was famous, in a kingly manner. But this stopped short where the interests of others were concerned; where his own were concerned he was a veritable Ravana; he was selfish, mean, unscrupulous, pitiless, vindictive and blown about by violent fits of passion and prejudice.

“Alternating cajolery with threats Samban said to Padma, ‘Abandon this good-for-nothing fellow. Live with me as the queen of my harem and the Kudu Kudu folk whose kingdom extends all over India. You can have whatever you like. If you agree, I shall spare the life of this fellow, and drive him away scott-free.’ Me he sternly warned, ‘Padma has been mine ever since her birth and none dare take her away from me. Flee away this instant and come not across my sight any more. If you do, you die.

“Padma and I looked at one another, a derisive smile indicating our mute and emphatic rejection of bill unworthy offer. In a moment Samban was convulsed with rage. He rose and took a few steps towards us, clenching his fists, as if he would strangle us then and there. The veins stood up in his forehead, his eyes became bloodshot, he foamed at the mouth and said in sharp staccato, ‘You both deserve to die this minute, but I do not want to lose Padma thereby. I will keep you in detention for the day. Think well over my offer the whole night. If by tomorrow morning you do not agree, I offer this fellow as a human offering to Kali. And Padma, I forcibly make mine whether she likes it or not.’ He gave a signal and stalwart arms seized and removed us to a room in the temple and left us in the dark. There, while a guard kept watch outside, we were left to cogitate our future. That Samban was remorseless and would literally carry out his threats, we made no doubt. Escape seemed impossible and we determined to kill one another before day-break and baulk Samban.

“Amidst the entourage of Samban was one of his wives or paramours who had been beholding us with more than ordinary interest. After every one had gone to sleep we heard low whispers outside our room and our guard quaffing drink with relish. Shortly after we heard him snore. A figure glided silently into our room and a voice whispered, ‘I am one of the wives of Samban. I took pity upon you. Besides, when Samban has got us in large numbers, why should he run after new women? It is intolerable. I have made the guard drunk. Run along the path due south and you will escape.’ She led us outside, pointed out the path and disappeared. We ran and walked as fast as we could for one hour and then rested for a while, in an open shade. Suddenly we heard the bark of a dog, the sound of a horse coming at great pace, and Samban stood before us in the moonlight, a javelin gleaming in his hand.

“‘So you thought you could make your guard drunk and escape Samban,’ he roared boisterously, from which it was evident he had not entirely cast off the effects of his drink. He slid from his horse, lifted his arm, and with a sudden jerk hurled his javelin at me. The movement was so sudden that I could not do anything, but with a woman’s instinctive apprehension, Padma took a step forward, and before I know what had happened, she received the missile full in her breast and collapsed all in a heap. I stooped to lift Padma up, but with a snarl of revenge as of some wild animal Samban catapulted himself upon me. Such was the violence of his onset that he bore me down, sat upon my chest, and began to squeeze my neck. I scarcely had hopes of or desired to free myself, but wished to die before Padma. But a shrill and impetuous cry startled us and both of us instinctively turned in that direction. By a supreme and agonising effort Padma had collected herself, stood up, and walked towards Samban with a menacing finger saying, ‘Leave my husband, alone. Otherwise I will plunge this javelin of yours into your side.’ With hair dishevelled, with blood spurting from her wound and with fiery eyes, Padma appeared like some goddess of vengeance incarnate. Instinctively Samban let go his hold and half rose. My senses which were half-dazed cleared in a moment. I threw back Samban with force and pounded his head on the earth several times. Then both of us gripped one another in a deadly fight and wrestled long and furiously. Samban even tried to scratch and bite me.

“Padma had attempted to draw the javelin and to kill Samban with it, pursuant to her threat, but the weapon was imbedded too deep for her feeble dying hands to pluck it out and the effort had proved too much for her and she had fallen down in a faint. But the apparition of her standing up in the moonlight with glittering unearthly eyes and her menacing voice had unnerved my enemy, whose strength was immense. By a sudden feint I tripped my formidable enemy, smote him strongly on the head, clutched at his throat and squeezed the life out of him.

“I lifted Padma and laid her head on my lap. With tears dimming my eyes and in a voice shaken with sobs, I besought her to open her eyes and speak to me. After many efforts she opened her eyes and said in a feeble voice, ‘The javelin is burning my flesh. Draw it out so that the blood may flow freely and I may talk to you and die in peace.’ I plucked the javelin and she felt the relief and smiled bravely and said, ‘Beloved, grieve not. Do not think we are husband and wife only in this birth. We have been so in many past births and will be so in all future ones too. I felt it when I first set my eyes on you. Do you think I will leave you to another stranger woman in this or in future births?’ She smiled playfully. ‘Well; have we not been happy as far as mortals can be? What is there to regret? My father warned us. But alas! Fate proved too strong. I do not regret my dying thus. I have been longing to give you an undeniable proof of my love. I am glad that it came and that I did not fail. Beloved! Kiss my eyes. They grow heavy. I want you to join me early. I will appear before you and beckon you. Fail not then to follow and join me.’ There were a few convulsive gasps, blood spurted from the open wound and Padma lay dead on my lap with a smile on her lips.

“I shed no tears thereafter. I became a convert to the firm faith of Padma. She was not dead unto me but has been an ever-living presence. The Kudu Kudus made me their chief. I gave them just laws, reformed many abuses, but the position gave me little pleasure.

“You, Doctor, thought that I would die yesterday. Do you know who healed me? Padma came and touched me with her healing hand and I am able to sit up. She asked me to narrate to you the story of our life and I have done so. Today is the exact anniversary of her death. Look there, she stands in the garden and beckons me to come and I hasten to obey. One last play on this little instrument of my fate” said he and chanted in his clear haunting voice, “Anandam, Anandam, Brahmanandam” to the accompaniment of his tiny drum. “Take this and preserve it in memory of your strange patient and Padma.” I received it from him. “Padma, my beloved, life of my life, I will tarry no longer. I obey your call and I come” said he with a far-away look. The next moment he sank back and was dead.

I preserve his Kudu Kudu still and on lonely nights when I gaze at it and recall the story of its owner, I distinctively hear the d-rr-rr of the stringed knocker and the clarion call of “Anandam, Anandam, Brahmanandam.”

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