The Tharwad

THE THARWAD*
(A Story)

K. M. PANIKKAR, M. A. (Oxon) Bar-at-Law
(Translated by the Author from Malayalam)

Now since her youngest daughter, Sarada, was duly married to a young university graduate with good prospects of getting a suitable Government job, Kalyani Amma was quite agreeable to the suggestion of her other children that the family property should be partitioned. Of course, that would mean the break-up of their old Tharwad; but she had got accustomed to that idea through the unending discussion of her children about the matter. The law had provided that, as long as the common mother was living, partition could not be legally enforced but could come only with her consent. But why should she not consent? She only wanted her children’s happiness. All her three girls were married, and her only son had a post somewhere in North India. If the partition would give them greater freedom, let them by all means, have it.

Kalyani Amma prided herself on being broadminded. Besides, she thought, as all her children had in any case left her, they might as well have their share of the property. Their husbands were after all not very well off. The husband of the eldest girl, Nalini, was a lawyer in the neighbouring town and his income was precarious. The second daughter Lila was married to one of the younger members of a reputedly rich family but their affairs seemed to be none too prosperous. Sarada’s young man had not got a job, so the share of each would mean something to them. They had twenty acres of paddy fields and a number of plots covered with cocoanut trees. Let them have it while she was living instead of quarrelling about it when she was dead.

Kalyani Amma was agreeable to every suggestion except to one, and that was that her own share should be allotted among the children in her lifetime, “I will decide in due course,” she said. “Perhaps I would like to leave it to the orphanage. After all, I am one of its founders.” Though the children did not quite appreciate it, they made no objection, knowing the keen interest the old lady took in the work of the orphanage. But she equally vehemently resisted the suggestion of the Secretary of the orphanage that her share of the property may be given over to them, and that she might receive for her life an annuity and the use of the house. That would also save her all the bother of management.

“Oh, no,” she said firmly, “only too often have I seen what that means. Once the property belongs to the orphanage, why should my voice count? Now you come to me because you know that my subscription depends upon my pleasure.”

“But, my good lady,” said the Secretary, “please take over the management also. You will now be alone. It will provide you with some work.”

“Yes, I will think about all that,” was her only reply.

The partition took place without any further argument and the old lady kept the house and the property adjoining it as her share. “Now, mother,” said the eldest, who was also the mother’s favourite “why do you not come to stay with us? Why do you want to stay in this big house, all by yourself? We can easily accommodate you, and if you are living in the town, you can see a lot of new things.” The second daughter would also have liked to invite her, but she was living in her husband’s family house along with numerous relations. But she also was not to be outdone. “We are going to have a new house built near here,” she said, “Mother, you must then take up residence with us. After all, we belong to this village.”

Kalyani Amma knew that her children were genuinely fond of her and were really earnest in their requests. She also realised that, as she had her own money, these importunities were not entirely disinterested. Seeing the rivalry between the children; she said, “Well, the question does not arise just now Till Sarada’s husband finds an appointment, and she is able to set up her own house, she will stay with me. Besides, she is only a child, though she does not think so.”

With this they had to be content. Sarada and her mother lived together, but both of them knew that this was only a temporary arrangement. Sarada was naturally looking forward to her life in town, when her husband got the promised appoint­ment. That would not take long to come, and, as days passed by, her life at home seemed to her to be dull and uninteresting. Besides, as her share of the property now belonged to her, she was financially not dependent on her mother as hithertofore. Gradually she began showing signs of impatience, which in time grew into bickerings.

Kalyani Amma also realised with some surprise that with the partition of property a bond had snapped, though she could not make out what it was. She did not feel the same exclusive interest in her children. A great portion of her money she devoted to the work of the orphanage, and she became angry once ortwice when Sarada told her that her children had greater claims on her money than the orphanage.

When the news of the appointment of Sarada’s husband to a junior post in the capital was received, the girl was beside herself with joy.

“Oh! mother, he has got the post. Now I shall be able to live with him in the town. I hope youwill come to stay with us often.”

“Yes, my child. I hope youwill be happy there.”

The happy news spread all over the village and everyone came to congratulate the mother and the daughter. The mother, though she kept up a brave show, was extremely, unhappy. It was only then that she began to realise what the partition of the property meant. While she was the matriarch and the property was undivided, even her married children, though, living away, always looked upon her house as their home. Though living apart, she knew that mentally each one belonged there. She was the head of the family. On one excuse or another, they were always visiting her. Now it was different. She knew that they loved her as much as before! but something, she did not know what, had gone.

It is not the same world, she thought. “How can they be so different! In my time, the Tharwad was everything; the idea of going away from the mother and the Tharwad, except for short periods, would have shocked the most advanced among us. But now, the Tharwad has ceased to have any significance. It might as well be a rented house. And the mother!” She was lost in thought trying to understand something which eluded her. Her thoughts wandered to the days when she was young and life was so different. There were so many people in the house–­grandmothers, mothers, young girls, children and the uncle at whose word everyone trembled. When the other branches of the family demanded partition over 20 years ago, how the old man who was then Karnavan flew into a rage and said, “You want to partition this family which is one of the oldest and richest in the land and held in such high esteem!” But they did not heed his words. What a time it was then! Everyday like a festival: but now, even her own children were leaving her.

Among those who visited the house to congratulate Sarada was the Secretary of the orphanage. She realised what the old lady was feeling and quietly said, “Well, why do you not come and take up the management? You are one of the committee. You won’t be like a paid manager.” The old lady only laughed and said, “I have had sufficient work in bringing up my own children. What I want is a peaceful old age. I will stay for sometime with my eldest daughter. I know she can’t afford to keep proper servants and there are little ones growing up. I shall be happy there.” Nothing further was said.

Before Sarada left, intimation came that the first birthday of Nalini’s boy was falling on the following Monday and that the parents were most anxious to have the old lady and Sarada with them. Kalyani Amma’s orthodoxy had so far prevented her from going into towns where the strict rules of caste and pollution could not be observed. Besides, till Sarada’s marriage she had always had much to do in the house. Even now she was in two minds about going, but Sarada pressed her and she finally agreed.

Nalini and her husband received them with genuine affection. They were given the best room in the house and the mother was treated with all the respect which she used to receive in her own house. Kalyani Amma had also taken with her plenty of sweet­meats and a special gold ornament for her grandchild. The old grandmother’s heart went out to the little one and in the course of a few hours they became great friends. In the evening, Nalini again opened the subject of her mother’s future residence. “Well, mother, when Sarada goes, you will be alone. Why not come to us? You see, you will have every convenience here. Besides, you have the little one to keep you amused.”

“Yes, but what will your husband say?”

“Kuttan’s father** is as keen as I am. He says we shall be keeping company with each other and it will give him more time to work.”

“All right, my dear, if that is how both of you feel, I shall think about it when Sarada goes away.”

In fact Kalyani Amma herself was getting worried about loneliness in her old age When she saw her little grandchild, all the old memories of her own early motherhood came to her and her heart began to melt. She saw something which, in the circumstances under which she herself was brought up, would have given her work, joy and interest–the care of her grand­children. That would have been her primary duty, and in that work she would have had her fulfilment. But the new system had given the children to the mother, instead of to the grand­mother. While she was prepared to adjust herself almost to anything, from this her mind revolted. It was this feeling that made her agree cautiously to stay with Nalini.

The next day was the celebration. The grandmother was greatly excited. She insisted on bathing the baby and decking him up with new clothes and jewels. Then cautiously she approached her daughter and suggested that she also should accompany the child for worship to the temple–in fact, that the grandmother was the person most suitable for the job.

“But,” said Nalini, “his father does not like the child to be taken to the temple. He says that the money spent in offering only goes to the Brahmins.”

This time, the old lady was shocked. “What! No offerings even! Have you ever heard! Even now, on your birthday the offering is regularly sent to the temple. I see to it myself; and now, on the very first birthday!”

The old lady could not contain herself and began to weep.
“Please, mother,” said Nalini, “What can I do? It is Kuttan’s father’s wish.”       .

“But is he not your child?” said the grandmother. “Is he not of our family? He can put into practice all these new­fangled ideas in his own mother’s house.”

“But, mother, how can you say such a thing? You know the old law is changed. The child now does not belong to our Tharwad. It belongs to him. The husband and wife belong to one family now; not, as before, to two families.”

This explanation only caused greater pain to the old lady. “You mean to say that your son, my daughter’s son, does not belong to my family but to his father’s! It is immoral, it is un­natural. How can you conceive so ridiculous an idea and say it, of all people, to me? He belongs to my Tharwad, as you do.”

“Yes, mother, I did, before the partition took place. Now there is no Tharwad. It is Kuttan’s father and me that make the family. That is the law.”

Nalini thought that it was best to leave her mother for some­time and she went, taking the child with her, to look after the preparations for the party. With some effort the old lady composed herself, but the shock was too much for her. What, her Tharwad, one of the most famous in the country, had ceased to exist when she herself had given birth to three girls. That could not be. Her Tharwad was still in the village, though the girls may disown it. This led her on to other thoughts. “So, she is inviting me to stay in hishouse! Not in her own, or mine! She wants me to hang on his words and look upon him as I would on the men of my family, to wait on him at meals and perhaps to wash his plates. Not when there is life in this body.”

When the party took place in the evening, the old lady had a slight fever and was confined to bed. But she could not resist the temptation to look at the gathering. Like all functions in town, it was a mixed gathering containing Hindus of all castes, Muslims and Christians and, from their conversation, Kalyani Amma could easily see that people who by strict Hindu custom are not permitted to enter the house, much less share food with them were sitting and partaking refreshments without distinction. The old lady thought to herself, “Nalini was certainly right. This is not and cannot be my house, where such forbidden and unnatural things are permitted; also she has ceased to belong to me It is better that God takes me away before I have to see other things.”

That evening she pretended that she had a headache and would not eat. The real reason, which neither Nalini nor her husband guessed, was her firm belief that by eating with prohibited people, the household had lost caste. Late before going to bed, when Nalini came to enquire, her mother opened the conversation without preliminaries. “Nalini, I want to go tomorrow. My house may not be your Tharwad now, but it is still mine and I want to die there, as all my people have done before me.”

“But why, mother, you are not going to die and only this morning you agreed to stay on with us.”

Her mother was firm. “No use talking about this, my child. I want to go home, that is all.”

She came to her old family house and, within a few days, Sarada left with her husband. The old lady blessed her, but made no further comments. Alone in the large house, with only one servant, she lived like a ghost, hugging the memory of an age now past beyond recall. To her that house was more than a house: it was a temple of her ancestors. Daily she used to go from room to room, remembering that in this, so and so was born; in that, so and so died. She seemed to hear the laughter of children running about in the courtyard and of women quarrelling in the kitchen as they will when many live together. She lived with her memories and with men and women created out of dreams, but never once did she complain of her life. She was happy in the feeling that the spirit of the Tharwad lived in her and would die only with her. She lost all outside interest: the orphanage committee did not see her, though the subscription was regularly paid. She received news that Sarada was about to become a mother. Strange, the news did not move her; nor did she invite her to come to the Tharwad for her childbirth, as was always the strict rule. “Well, she belongs to him, not to this Tharwad; that is the law,” she thought.

It was not long after that she fell ill. She was certain that she was not going to live. The will to live had left her. News was duly sent to the children, including the son who was in North India. All of them arrived in due time and surrounded her bed, ministering to her last needs. But did she speak to them? She looked at them, but seemed to speak to others who were dead long ago. Once she addressed her grandmother, another time some relation at whose death-bed she had attended. Addressing Nalini, she spoke lovingly to her own mother. Neither the daughters who were standing on one side, nor the son who was standing on the other, could understand this. They thought, that she was in delirium; but there was a beatific smile on her face and her last words were: “Please have me carried to the eastern room where I was born and where my mother died.” There was she taken and in all happiness she departed.
–Reprinted from Triveni, Sept.–Oct. 1935

* Till about 15 years ago (1920), the Nayar community followed the Marumakkathayam (Mother-line descent) Law. Under this system, all men and women descended from a common ances­tress in the female line, lived in a Tharwad, which was an impartible joint family. Loyalty to the Tharwad, above all other things, was the characteristic of the Nayar community, Fifteen years ago, the law was changed in Travancore and Cochin. The Tharwad became partible and the matriarchal system ceased to exist.
** An expression denoting “husband,” which is used in Malabar.