Who is the Sinner

Who is the Sinner?

(A Story)

(Translated from the ‘ANANDA VIKATAN’–Tamil

–By SRIMATHI K. SAVITRI AMMAL)

Since the cruel waters had snatched away her man, strong and in the prime of his life, Murugayi preferred to remain single. She couldn't think of living with another. For was there any other in the world to equal her Irula? ‘Here, get me the ashes (sacred) Murugayi,’ he would call to her before going out; who would say so and be all that to her now? And indeed, how could she forget him who never failed to take her to a fair or festival anywhere within fifty miles? Poor woman!

Irula had tremendous faith in the Lord Kailasnath, the presiding deity of the village temple. For a long time he had been childless. He worshipped and made many devout sacrifices to the innumerable gods of his clan. But all in vain. He then prayed and vowed to offer two wooden bars of his own making, to Kailasnath, and lo! within a year Murugayi was the mother of a fine boy.

From the day the child was born Irula was a changed man. He gave up drinking, never touched fish, beaf or anything. He was content with the gruel and the plain meal Murugayi cooked for him. His master too felt kindly towards him on account of his simple honest ways. Thus all was well and happy with Irula and Murugayi.

‘What if we be low in caste? Weare none the less the children of God. If we be honest He would serve us well,’ he preached, and to hear him say it, the rest of the people in the ‘cheri’ blessed him and called him the ‘saint.’

One day Irula was sitting with his boy on the bank of the river, teaching him nursery rhymes. Suddenly there arose a hue and cry further up the bank that a Brahmin girl had fallen into the river by accident. On hearing this, Irula ran over to that place, and seeing none of the higher caste made for the rescue of the drowning girl, threw in himself after her. But he never came again.

Murugayi was down with unutterable grief. She could never recover from that blow. One thing, however, cheered up a bit her broken heart. It was the sight of her darling Vela. In his face she forgot something of the keenness of her anguish. But even this perhaps was too much for the gods. For Vela was ill–very ill for the past three days, and the mother, foodless and with streaming face, sat by his side.

It was a black night. A few stars shone in the sky, as if in contempt at the inferiority of the world below. All was silence in the ‘cheri.’ Not a leaf stirred. The frogs lay in wait for the glow-worms while the snakes pursued the chase after their prey.

Inside the hut of Irula the ‘saint’ a small earthen lamp was burning. Murugayi who had lain down a bit in sheer fatigue awoke all of a sudden, ran out and looked up and around her a little excitedly. Then she went in and with fervour applied the sacred ashes on the face and hands of the sick child.

During the brief while she slept, Murugayi dreamt a very vivid dream. After four years Irula came to see her for the first time. He told her to look after Vela carefully. No treatment was necessary, he said, and added if their boy was to live she should take him to the temple and prostrate him near the Balipeetam of Kailasnath and do the simple worship of burning camphor in the sacred Presence. He then stepped over the child in order that his demand may be rendered solemn.

At this Murugayi awoke. She was at a loss to think what she should do. ‘God, temple,’ all belonged to those of the higher caste. They–the untouchables–could never dream of getting near the temple within short of a furlong’s distance. And any one who dared beyond the limits did so at the peril of being tied, to the tree and flayed alive in front of the house of the big Mirasdar of the village. But, had not Irula come after these four years on purpose to acquaint her with his wish? What if they took off her skin? Nothing mattered if only darling Vela could live! ‘What’ll become of me if he dies and me not doing anything to save him!’ she thought wildly, and at last came to a conclusion.

It was about eight O’clock next morning. The priest, coming out of the temple for the purpose of spitting out the tobacco juice in his mouth, saw a Panchama woman with a child clasped in her arms within ten yards of the doorsteps. Lord! how the sight struck him! The worthy man got into a violent rage and poured forth the vilest abuse he could find in the sacred hearing of Kailasnath. ‘That man they call Gandhi,’ he cried in angry tones, ‘has been responsible for such audacity. I have got to wash myself now. Here, Muthumari, go and inform the big Pannai.’He gave the order and went inside. The sanctity of the temple was profaned! His mind was busy with thoughts of the purification ceremony, his own share in the income, and other things.

Soon there gathered a large crowd in front of the temple. Murugayi was sitting with the child on her lap. She was confident there was justice in her cause. But the whip was brought with all dispatch, and there stood the big Pannai ready to give the order. Murugayi went through her sorrows, the vivid dream she dreamt, and all in a way that would melt the very stones to pity. She begged; she implored.

‘The hussy has gone mad,’ bawled the big Pannai. ‘She simply raves. Ramu, close the door; else she will get inside. Go, bring four men from the cheri.’

A dog had been discovered inside the temple. It was driven out and the door was shut. A man from the crowd set the animal against Murugayi and another picked up a stone and flunk it at her.

‘Is the wretched Pariah woman even lower than the dog? You may kill me; I don’t mind. But save the life of my child,’ she sobbed.

Meanwhile the ‘cheri’ men had come and she would be forcibly led from that place to receive her punishment. At that moment the child gave one piercing shriek ‘Amma!’

‘God! they are killing my child, my Vela!’ screamed the frantic woman. The little body shook convulsively twice, and then all was still.

The mother placed her hand on the forehead of the child. There came a sudden change over her. Her tears had ceased, and she stood up with fierce, flashing eyes. They shot out real sparks of fire. Like Mariamman she flared up, an image of fury.

‘Close your temple now. Lock your god up and keep watch over him as you please. I don’t want him anymore. I’ll follow my Vela,’ she cried and ran away throwing the corpse down. A dead silence fell on the crowd. The extremity of sorrow softens the hardness of man. But, pride, conceit and other evils take possession of him again.

The dead body was taken away by the ‘cheri’ men. The whole ‘cheri’ mourned the death of the child. The question as to who was responsible for it was being asked secretly in the Brahmin quarters. A search was made for Murugayi. But nowhere could she be found. It was concluded she was very likely gone to the other world to plead her cause before God. Indeed! Who was the miserable sinner who bore the burden of Murugayi’s wrongs?