THE
GIRL I MURDERED *
A
Kannada short story by “ANANDA” and Translated by
V.
K. J. IYENGAR
P.
E. S. College of Science, Mandya
I
am referring to my state-wide tour of
By
the time I came to that village–Nagavalli, it was
called–I was almost on the last lap of my tour. I had clicked nearly a hundred
and fifty frames.
Kariyappa was a
prominent man of the village. It was in his house that I sojourned.
It
was somewhere around nine o’clock in the night when I reached Nagavalli. I had put my things in a bullock-cart and kept
walking behind. I thought of breaking my journey for the night, in that
village. I asked the cart-man if I could find some place to stay for the night.
He mentioned Kariyappa’s name and told me that he
would take the message to him, if I so desired. I was also promised of a
comfortable stay in his house. I nodded in assent. After a few yards we reached
Kariyappa’s house. I stood near the cart while the
cart-man brought Kariyappa and introduced him to me.
He drew near me and with folded hands requested me, in all humility, to feel
quite at home in his place. I greeted him in turn and muttered that I was
causing him a lot of inconvenience. He didn’t seem to take notice of what I
said, but thanked me for the generosity with which I had condescended to be his
guest. He said he was indeed blessed to have a guest like me. He asked the
cart-man to carry my things and led me to his house.
Both
of us sat on a mat spread on the pyol of
the house. The whole house was full of life. Two or three youngsters soon shot
out from within and stood gaping at me. My sophisticated dress and demeanour must have evidently appeared pretty clownish to
them!
There
was a room to a side on the pyol. One
of the servants swept the room clean, spread a mat and placed a hurricane-lamp.
The cart-man placed all my things there. I paid him off. The master asked me to
wash up and have a change. I went to the room and came out in my shirt and
dhoti. By then, someone had placed a potful of hot
water in my room. I had a wash. My host and I finished our supper, came out to
the pyol and sat there relaxing over a
plate of pan-supari, I explained to him all
about my tour. He was highly pleased with my stay there. This was evident in
every gesture of his. During our talk, I gathered a few details about him. He
was quite well-to-do, paying a land revenue of four
hundred rupees. There were many servants and several head of cattle. His was
the biggest house in the village. His innate humility deeply impressed me. That
must have come quite natural to such village folk, I thought. I was confident
that I would be treated with great care and love.
We
didn’t sit there for long. I was pretty exhausted because of the walk all along
to the village. I told him that, moved to my room, extinguished the lamp and
stretched on my bed.
It
was about seven in the morning, when I woke up. By then, water was kept ready
before my room. I brushed my teeth and went to the room. The master came there
with a cup of milk for me. They were not used to coffee. I was not used to a
cup of milk in the morning! However, I couldn’t refuse something that was
offered with such love. I showed him all my photographs, explaining everything
in detail. He felt immensely pleased. He added that there was a splendid temple
nearby, and that I shouldn’t miss it, if possible. I pricked my ears and asked
him:
“Is
it very far from here?”
“No, not at all. Look there, right at
the bottom of that hillock; can’t you see?”
I
had to make a note regarding some of the photographs. Also, I had to write to
my wife–my Lakshmi.
“Sure,
I shall go there tomorrow morning. Right now, I have to do a bit of writing,” I
said.
“As you please.”
It
was almost twelve o’clock by the time I completed the notes regarding the
photographs. After the meal, I sat down to write to Lakshmi. Whenever I found
leisure on my tour, I never failed to write to her. Most of my letters carried
descriptions of the temples I had visited and my experiences on my journey.
Almost every second I was possessed of her thoughts. Many a time I regretted
for not having brought her with me. The thrill would be all the more in her
company. I wrote all about my sojourn at Nagavalli,
the hospitality of my host, his people, my programme to visit the nearby temple
the next day, and wound up the letter with a reference to some of our personal
private affairs. There was no post-office in the village. I had, of course,
learnt that there was a post-box there, and that the letters were collected by
a post-man from Belur, twice or thrice a week. I
thought of sending the letter through a servant of the house and came out of my
room. Right across my room, I saw a buxom girl in her teens, squatting,
reclining against a pillar on the pyol. I
thought her to be the master’s daughter. I stood for a while not knowing what
to do. Sensing my helplessness, she came to me and asked me if I wanted
something. I felt pleased at her naivete.
“No,
nothing; I just wanted to post this letter. Will you please tell me where I can
do it?” I asked her.
All
smiles, she moved a few steps towards me and volunteered to post the letter
herself. The few words that she spoke had an irresistible spell about them and
I was tempted to continue my talk with her:
“Oh,
why should I trouble you?”
“Nothing, master!”
“Really?”
“Not
at all, master; give me the letter”, she said, stretching both her arms.
I
handed the letter, and, in the process asked her: “What’s your
name?”
With
something of a blush she answered, ‘Chenni’, (one who
is charming) and disappeared.
“What
a name!” I kept musing.
I
slept for a while, after the midday meal. It was four by the time I got up. I
came to the pyol, as I felt like having
a wash. There she was, Chenni, in the same place, I
had seen her earlier–at the pillar. Seeing me, she pulled in her legs and began
chewing the border of her sari as if lost in her own thoughts. There wasn’t
anyone else there, that I could ask water of. As I had already talked with her
once before, I felt a little free with her and told her that I wanted some
water. She coyly nodded assent and went in with enthusiasm.
She
must have been born with a radiant smile on her lips, I thought! Ever-smiling,
there was something naive, soft and soothing about her face. What a contrast, I
thought, to the smile of a sophisticated city girl! The curve of smile on Chenni’s face reminded me of a refreshing cool breeze
floating across, caressing tender shoots and flowers, sucking in their delicate
fragrance, and touching soft ripples in your heart! As I was thus musing over
her, she brought a bucketful of water. By the time I washed up and went in, she
shot into my room with something for me to eat, a cup of milk, and disappeared.
After this light snack, I left my room with my flute and camera for a casual
stroll. As I came out, there she was, at the same pillar! I walked a few yards,
but couldn’t decide where to go. I had learnt that they had a garden, somewhere
nearby. But I didn’t know the route. I turned towards her, enquiring of her
about the garden. She rose at once, took me a few yards behind the house and
pointed towards the narrow path ahead leading to the garden. I took the path
and I had moved hardly a few yards, when tossed by the wind, the edge of my
upper cloth got entangled in a thorny fence. I turned back to extricate it. She
was still there–Chenni–where she had stood when I had
left her a few seconds earlier. I thought, she must have stood there watching
me take the right path and to throw a hint or two in case I took the wrong
route.
I
reached the cool-green garden. The evening gold had lent additional splendour to the garden. There was a wide well with a
flight of steps to reach the water, and a parapet wall all-round. I sat on the
parapet breathing in the gold-green beauty.
III
What with the luxuriant creepers and flowers around me, the cool caressing breeze, and the air rich with the birds singing in full-throated ease, for sometime I felt transported to heights of ecstasy. I was tempted to play on my flute. A single shrill note filled the whole air with resonance. For sometime, I played a few tunes on my flute and then began softly humming a song. Fully aware that I was all alone by myself there, I started singing loudly. A few seconds later, I abruptly wheeled round as I heard some vague sounds emanating from the water below. It was Chenni who had immersed her copper pot in the water! She kept looking at me. I felt awfully ashamed of my behaviour–this sophisticated gentleman playing his flute like a cowherd and ‘singing’ so loudly in the presence of a village girl! As I had my back turned to the flight of steps I hadn’t noticed Chenni’s coming there. Being lost in singing, I hadn’t heard either the jingle of her bangles.
I
tried to console myself that nothing untoward had happened. Somehow, I couldn’t
regain my composure. I picked up my camera and kept looking at it trying to
conceal my embarrassment. I felt that Chenni was
slowly coming up. The sound of her footsteps ceased. I didn’t like this
intrusion on my privacy. Her bracelets tinkled. I felt ashamed of sheepishly
turning back and looking at her again; but I couldn’t resist the temptation.
She had placed the two pots of water on the parapet. She appeared to be still
smiling at my earlier singing. I felt awkward. I turned back and started to
move on. Right then I heard her speak something. I was in no mood to make out
clearly what she was saying. However it would be rude, I thought, not to
respond. I turned towards her and asked her what she was saying.
“Why
did you so abruptly stop singing, master?” she asked. Fumbling for an answer, I
managed to mutter that I had stopped because the song was done. Though her
question appeared to be taunting me, I didn’t get wild. I knew it was a stupid
act on my part–that singing!’ I tried to forget all about this, picked up my
camera and the flute and started ahead. Soon, she called me again. I stopped.
She was seen lifting one of the pots on to her head while the other was on the
parapet. She asked me, in an apologetic tone, if I would lift up to her waist,
the pot on the parapet. I readily did the job. This act on my part
seemed to have pleasantly surprised her. She was all joy. She
started homeward. It was a luxurious sight–watching this girl, bathed in the
evening gold, rhythmically moving ahead, swinging and swaying under the weight
of those copper pots of water. I felt like taking a snap of hers in that
posture. Ready with my camera, not bothering to know how she would react, I
called her: “Chennamma”. She looked back, turned
round and asked me: “Did you call me, master?” I moved towards her and said:
“Will you please remain, as you are, for a second?” That must have surprised
her a bit. It could be clearly read in her face. I clicked and told her that
she might go. With a curious look, she asked me, “What is it, you did, master?”
Not knowing how to explain to her the principles of a camera and all about
photography, I promised to tell her everything the next day.
After
supper I lay on my bed. For a long time I was tossing this way and that. The
incident in the garden was still lingering in my mind. I chuckled to myself
wondering how Lakshmi would react, on hearing all about it from me!
Eight
o’clock. I finished my bath and breakfast soon and got ready to visit the
temple at the hillock. The master sent a servant with me.
By
the time we decided to return, it was twelve o’clock. On our way back I felt
like asking the servant for more details about Chenni.
I began, “Well, who is that girl in your master’s house?”
“Which
girl, master?” he asked. It was evident that he had not caught my point–who I
was referring to.
“I mean Chennamma, who is she?” I asked again. He turned round,
kept staring at me for quite a while, moved on, and asked me again in a very
leisurely way: “Why do you ask that question, master?” I was taken aback, my
pride pricked. I was highly agitated, as the servant appeared to have
attributed wild motives to my question. How should this rascal know, I thought,
that Lakshmi was all my world! However, I tried not to get more perturbed,
remembered his meaningful question, posed with a mocking smile and managed to
answer; “Just like that…why, did my question sound strange?”
“Oh,
go ahead master, she is my master’s daughter. “By now, another question leaped
up in my mind. But somehow I suppressed it. This fellow, who had meaningfully
laughed at my first innocent question, might read any wretched thing, if I
should ask him whether Chenni
was married, I thought. It was positively not a safe thing to ask him any more
about her.
It
was pretty late when we had our lunch. Somewhere around the evening I told my host
that I didn’t feel like having my supper. I thought of having a stroll around
and left my room. By the time I returned, all of them appeared to have finished
their supper, and gone to bed. I lit up the lamp and stretched on my bed,
browsing through some novel. Hardly ten minutes had passed, when I heard some
vague sound at my door outside. I thought it to be the wind and continued
reading. I heard the sound again; this time it was a gentle knock on the door!
“Who is it?” I asked. No answer. Sitting up in my bed, I asked a little louder,
“Who is it?” The sound of tinkling bangles, followed by Chenni’s
reply in a whisper. I was rather surprised, wondering what business she had in
my room at that dark hour! However, I checked the flow of my thoughts, opened
the door a little, craned my neck and asked her what she wanted. The lamp in my
room had dimly lit her figure. She was holding a plate with a few plantains, a
little sugar and a cup of milk. To my question, she said that
she had brought all this to me as I had skipped my meal. Yes, I felt the pinch
of hunger right then. I thanked her as I took the
plate from her and moved towards my bed. She followed me into the room! I
placed the plate near the bed, turned to her and told her that I didn’t need
anything else and that she might go. She began smiling and asked me if I didn’t
feel like eating in her presence. I told her, “What if you are here! I shall be
certainly pleased to eat in your presence. But... you see, right now I don’t
want anything. That apart...well...at this odd hour all alone by yourself….”
She closed the door and bolted it even before I managed to complete my
sentence! I shuddered at this, perspiring all over. Moving towards the door in
an attempt to open it, I stammered out, “Wh…why
did...you bolt it?” She was more agile than I. She had already sprung to the
door and stood there smiling, barring the doorway. I felt the earth beneath me
sinking. I clearly realized her intent, felt it almost hammered into my heart.
I stood stupefied, wondering at the ‘naivete’ of this
village girl!
I
sat down on my bed, rubbing my temples with my palms, thinking and thinking.
It
was my Lakshmi that saved me that night. Right from the day of our wedlock she
had convinced me that she was all my world–fulfilling my expectations at all
levels. She was my nurse, guide, guardian, my angel! Without her, it wouldn’t
have sounded strange, if I had succumbed to the situation that night. After
all, I was still in my thirties, well-built and vigorous, and Chenni was hardly twenty, robust and full-blooded, an
infectious smile ever playing on her lips and her eyes gleaming with girlish
abandon. In short, she was equipped with every tool to hypnotize a young man!
Thoughts
in battalions kept churning my head, almost splitting it as it were. I was paralysed, with a parched tongue and a burning forehead. I
had never even dreamt of arousing her passions. I could honestly swear that I
hadn’t encouraged her in the least, though she was attracted towards me.
She
didn’t appear unaware of what she was doing. There was no doubt about it. I
shuddered at the thought of her parents discovering us in such privacy. She had
stealthily stolen into my room. Wasn’t she married, I wondered! I felt
restless. Now it slowly dawned upon me–the import of everyone of her gestures,
every bit of her behaviour during the previous
evening! Why had she followed me to the garden? Fetching water was a mere
pretext! Why had she asked me to lift up the pail of water on to her waist? As
I obeyed her, why did she brush her arm against mine? Then, I had thought that
it was just casual! As her sari slipped off her bosom, though I had stood
staring at her, she hadn’t shown the least bit of embarrassment. She had
leisurely pulled up the sari! I had mistaken all these to be signs of her naivete! How could I know then, that all these were
delicate fabrics of the subtle trap she was weaving for me!
I
tried to shake off all such thoughts, regain my composure, and find a way out.
It would be stupid on my part to fret and fume at her, I knew. I thought of
packing her off with some smart piece of strategy. But how? For a while I
wondered whether I should bury myself in my bed, pulling my rug allover. That
was impossible, So far as she was in my room. Another idea crossed my mind. It
appealed to me to be the only way out–to hammer home to her that what she was
doing was most sinful, most immoral. (For just a second I couldn’t but smile
within myself, at the prospect of a city-bred man like me, having to deliver a
pompous lecture on chastity to a village girl!) I looked at her. She was still
barring the doorway. Seeing me smile, she reciprocated! I shuddered at this,
wondering whether I had begun encouraging her! I grew a bit grave and beckoned
to her. “Yes, my lord?” she said, moving a few steps towards me. I asked her to
sit down. She sat right on my bed, close to me! I jerked a little aside,
moistened my throat, and addressed her. “Yes, my lord” she whispered gently.
Though her behaviour appeared to me to be
preposterous, her voice was full of rich innocence. I began,
“Look,
do you think this is proper?”
“What
‘this’, my lord?”
“At
this dark hour stealing into my room...”, she interrupted me with a mild
protest, “This is nothing secret, my lord!”
“What
do you mean by ‘nothing secret’?” She didn’t answer.
I
continued, “Look, if your people come to know this...”
“They
won’t say anything, my lord.”
I
was all the more surprised. I asked her again,
“What
are you talking?”
“Yes
my lord, my parents...won’t...say...anything...against...this…my lord.”
“Look,
whether they object to this or not, I am not ready for any such thing. I have a
wife and I don’t want to spoil another’s wife!”
“What
are you talking, my lord! I am not married and will never marry.
“What
do you mean?”
“Yes,
my lord, I shall ever be like this–unmarried. My parents have dedicated me to
the Lord.”
My
earlier fear and helplessness gave way to curiosity. I felt eager to know more
about this ‘Dedication to the Lord.’ I had merely heard about this rural custom
of dedicating virgins to the Lord. I asked her eagerly,
“But
why? Why did your parents dedicate you to the Lord? She explained to me that
some eight years ago she had taken ill. She didn’t seem to recover. Her parents
grew panicky and took a vow that they would dedicate their daughter to God, if
she should recover. She soon got well.
“That
means, you are not to marry for ever?”
“No,
my lord.”
“You
will continue like this for ever?”
“Yes,
my lord.”
“Like
a prostitute!”
She
must have felt stabbed at this. In a flash, her face got distorted with knit
eyebrows, twitching lips and dilating nostrils. She kept staring at me, as if
cruelly, and said breathing out her shock,
“You
shouldn’t say that, master; you shouldn’t.” I was at once puzzled at the sudden
transformation in her tone. However, I managed to ask her,
“Say
what?”
“Look,
we are no prostitutes!”
I
was all the more surprised. She was unmarried, her behaviour
was preposterous and yet she was denying that she was a prostitute. I couldn’t
control myself.
“What
else are you? You are no normal girl, hoping to get married and be happy with a
husband. Why then are you trying to thrust yourself on me in the dead of
night?” She answered without the least bit of agitation,
“Don’t
you know, my lord, that girls like me shouldn’t get married?”
“Why
not?”
“How
else can I serve Him? It is a sin for a girl to marry, once she is dedicated to
God; yes, my lord, a sin!”
“But
why? Don’t you think you can serve Him, even after getting married?”
“Impossible,
my lord, for after my marriage it would be a sin to serve noble ones like you,
my lord.”
‘Why
should you think of others when you have your husband?”
“But
then how can I serve Him, my lord? How can my parents fulfil
their vow?”
“So
this is how you serve God! Prostituting yourself in the holy name of….”
She
interrupted me again,
“Look,
master, please don’t utter that word again, please!”
“What
else are you doing? I am not your husband; who else but a prostitute will dare
to do such a thing as stealing into a strange man’s privacy, in the
thick of the night! Still, you say you are no such woman!”
“We
are no such women, master, we aren’t. They sell their body
for money, to anyone; they are under no holy vow. It is their profession!”
“and
you?”
“We
never think of money, my lord. We don’t entertain all and sundry. We serve only
noble ones like you, my lord, and, through such service, serve Him and keep up
our sacred vow.”
“So
your parents fully know all this. Don’t they?”
“What
a strange question, my lord! Didn’t I tell you that it was they who dedicated
me to the Lord?”
“Well
then, on what guarantee did they send you to me? What made them think that I
won’t protest?”
She
didn’t answer at once. With her eyes gleaming with mischief, she shot a
side-glance at me and referred to my having enquired of their servant about
her, on our way back from the temple. Now it dawned upon me why the servant had
strangely chuckled at my question. Cursing myself for what I had done, but
trying to look as unperturbed as possible, I told her, almost swearing
by my wife that my question had no ulterior motive behind it.
“You
seem to be upset, my lord,” she said, “after all, these are silly things, my
lord.”
“Not
that; look, chastity is a woman’s life-breath. Once she is spoiled, she is
worse than a bitch. A loose woman hasn’t a place even in hell, we are told!”
“Yes,
my lord, all that you say refers to a married woman. It is different with us,
my lord. The only way of salvation for us is to serve people like you and thus
serve Him.”
“Oh,
what are you talking! You don’t seem to have realized the enormity of your sin,
look, don’t think any more that he will be pleased at what you are doing. If
you are under a vow, serve Him directly, not like this!”
“You
are my God, my lord-noble ones like you. It is a blessing to serve you!”
I
felt like screaming to the heavens and tell Him of all this sin carried on in
His name, to please Him!
I
kept wondering at the preposterous ignorance of these village folk practising this atrocious custom of dedicating virgins to
the Lord. What of the girl, I thought! She was positively not a nymphomaniac.
She was a blind victim to the Custom. She had an unflinching faith that she was
indeed pleasing the Lord through her ‘service’. I felt pity for her parents,
who were themselves driving their innocent daughter to the abyss of hell. What
of them! What of her! They must have felt immensely happy at the thought that
their daughter had recovered because of their vow–because of her being
dedicated to the Lord. But how strange, I thought, now that she
was dying, dying by degrees every day! It would have been far better if she had
died when she had taken ill, rather than living with this
death-in-life!
I
felt my whole being shaken. Chenni was, all the
while, twisting the bit of her sari, evidently possessed of something. She
looked at me and there were already faint traces of agitation on her face. My
eyes glistened with pity at the lot of this unfortunate girl. She must have
felt slightly uneasy on seeing my tears and moved towards me. I didn’t feel
like sliding away from her as I had done earlier. I had fully realized that she
wasn’t sinning of her own accord. It was merely her body that was sin-stained,
while her soul was pure as a pearl of water on a lotus leaf. I gently took her
hand. My heart bumped a bit. I held her hand still, softly caressing her
fingers. My feelings about her must have purred their way into her heart She
drew nearer and almost whispered, “Yes, my Lord”, without lifting up her face.
It was evident that she was not her earlier self. Something seemed to be
troubling her mind. I began, “Look here Chennamma,
you have told me just now that I am your God?”
‘Yes,
my lord. You are my God.”
“Then,
don’t you think you should obey me?
“Sure,
my lord, I am your slave.”
“Listen
to me then you must no more continue this, never!”
“But….What
about my vow...How else can I serve Him?”
“Don’t
bother about all that! You have told me repeatedly that I am your Lord. Haven’t
you ‘served’ anyone so far?” She didn’t answer. She merely bent her head.
“Listen,
you have ‘served’ lots of people so far and today you want to ‘serve’ me, your
Lord! You are offering me, your God, something which hundreds have tasted of
earlier. Do you think this is proper? Look, you have no idea of the sin you are
committing. You wouldn’t have dared to do any such thing, if you had some
awareness. Just think a little; in what way are you different from a
prostitute? God will never excuse all this, never!”
She
listened to all this, all silent. Every second she was getting paler. Her whole
being appeared to be shrinking! I gently shook her. She lifted up her face and
looked into my eyes. Her eyes were glistening with the pathetic helplessness of
a child roaming about, having lost its way. I asked her,
“Look
here dear; don’t you agree with me–with all I have said?” at which she lowered
her face. Tears kept trickling down her cheeks. I was happy for having saved
this soul from damnation. She had fully realized by now, that she was chasing a
mirage all these years. She burst out sobbing, hastily gripped my feet and kept
rubbing her forehead against them. I softly lifted her up and asked her, “Right
then, will you please swear by me that you will never repeat this?” Obeying me,
she placed her palm on my chest and promised in a quivering voice.
I
felt a great load off my chest. My whole being was full of a rich calmness. She
yawned once, at which I asked her to go in and sleep. She rose to go out. I
opened the door myself, cupped her face in my palms and softly kissed her
forehead.
I
was roused all of a sudden, somewhere in the early hours of the morning. The
master was at my bed, screaming and screeching with heart-rending agony.
Rubbing my sleep off my eyes. I anxiously asked him, “What is the matter,
master?” Even before he completed his nervous answer, he collapsed. Some vague
terror tore my bosom. By now, someone had come in and begun telling me that Chenni had gone to the well in the garden...Seized by some
madness, I shot towards the garden. I threaded my way through the crowd at the
well. The ghastly sight whipped me to the core. Darkness thickened around.
That
very evening I left the village. I handed over to the master a copy of Chenni’s photograph I had made.
All
along my homeward journey, I was obsessed by something almost choking my
life-breath. After the post-mortem the police had, however, recorded it as a
case of suicide. But my sharp sense of guilt that I had murdered her kept
stabbing my whole being. By the time she had got up to leave my room death must
have been throbbing through her every nerve...if I hadn’t sent her
out of my room, right then, perhaps her determination to die might have died
down….it was I that had hypnotized her with thoughts of death!...Every word
that I had spoken to her in my room must have lashed her step for step
towards death!….how should I defend myself before the Lord on the Day of
judgment?...how?...Thoughts in roaring multitude kept swarming in.
I
knew not how she would react–my Lakshmi–on listening to all this.
* This is one of the
short stories included in an anthology of Kannada short
stories–Kannada Sanna Kathegalu–compiled
by L. S. Seshagiri Rao and published by the
Sahitya Akademi.