Sivakami strokes her head. What else has Thangam seen, been changed by, fallen in love with without her mother noticing? “Maybe next year you can get a couple more for our golu.”
“Puppets.” Thangam has clearly thought this through. “Not the big ones, the small ones.”
In contrast with his sister, Vairum’s joys and sorrows are all too evident: she sometimes wishes she could notice his unhappiness less, along with the way he blames her, for his exclusion, for his nostalgia, for noticing his skin problems. She knows she is to blame. She didn’t bring him back here so that he could be happy; she brought him so that he would be fulfilled. She just wishes she weren’t reminded of this every time she looks at him.
Now IT IS EARLY NOVEMBER and time for the next festivaclass="underline" Deepavali, the festival of lights, when oil lamps are lit and fireworks shot off, perhaps to celebrate Rama’s triumphant return from defeating the demon king of Lanka, perhaps to celebrate one of Krishna’s many victories, perhaps to celebrate a victory of the god Vishnu, of whom both Rama and Krishna are earthly incarnations. Regardless, it’s a chance to celebrate, and why should any god or incarnation be excluded?
This Deepavali is the first of Thangam’s life as a wife, Sivakami’s first great act as a mother-in-law. Custom dictates it should be half as grand as the wedding, but many make it grander than that, hoping attendees will double it in their heads and be even more impressed with the wedding in retrospect.
Sivakami’s preparations are anxious and exacting. In-laws have been known to make demands on the spot-for extra dowry items, saris or jewellery. Thangam’s in-laws don’t seem the type, but maybe she should hold something in reserve, just in case? Like what? No, she will give what is appropriate; she has never done less, nor more. If they make demands, she will meet them.
Murthy travels to the in-laws’ village to extend the invitation, thrilled to be the family envoy. He thinks of himself as fastidious and preaches this almost as a kind of morality, but he always overlooks some detail of his grooming. The day he embarks, for instance, bright with the honour of his mission, Sivakami notices a line of red betel-stained spittle marking a trail down his chin. She works hard to overlook his flaws, which are almost endearing: he is quite genuine in his affection for her family, as he was in his fondness for Hanumarathnam, and he sincerely desires to help.
Murthy returns home three days before the Deepavali celebration, gushing over Thangam’s husband’s beauty, of which he had, sadly, only a glimpse toward the end of his trip. It’s a shame, Goli’s parents had said, he must have mistaken the time. They sent someone to fetch him, but he’d been unavoidably detained. Guess Murthy would have to greet him at Deepavali in Cholapatti, with the rest of the Brahmin quarter. When Murthy was being taken to the station, the driver pointed to a tall boy crossing the street, and Murthy recognized him from the wedding-high colour, immaculate clothes. But Goli disappeared before they could catch him. “As with our Thangam,” Murthy says, “just a sight of him is enough to fill a heart with peace and gladness. What a couple they will make!”
Sivakami thinks, But that’s inexcusable! and wonders if Murthy is being honest or trying to make her feel better about her son-in-law’s rudeness. Surely guileless Murthy is not capable of dissembling?
The day before the festival, Muchami takes Vairum, Murthy and a cotillion of garland-bearers to greet the in-laws. Sivakami is so hoping that this meeting between the brothers-in-law might go better than the last. It would be so nice for Vairum to have a friend in the family. Thirty minutes later, Vairum tears into their vestibule, kicks off his shoes so hard they hit the ceiling, ducks out of the way of their descent and shoots into the farthest corner of the cowshed. Sivakami guesses he still has no such friend.
The rest of the party is half an hour behind him, slowed by the many who come out to greet them. Goli’s parents look wan and wary, but Goli is fresher, shinier and handsomer even than before. Sivakami wonders again why she cannot see his charms and resolves to try harder, if only for Thangam’s sake.
The next day, the house is crowded with feasters and gawkers who come to see the new son-in-law. Hanumarathnam’s sisters come. They ask nothing about matters related to the house. Sivakami’s brothers come. They ask nothing about matters related to the children. Sivakami greets them with affection and respect, enhanced by the feeling that she is, truly, mistress of this home.
Happily, Thangam’s in-laws make no extra demands. They meekly, mutely receive their gifts and, in turn, present Thangam with a sari. Various matrons rub it between their fingers and pronounce it, among themselves, not gorgeous, but respectable. Goli is as pleased as a child with the diamond ring he receives from Sivakami, the ring her father had presented to his own son-in-law. As Goli leaps about the room displaying it, Sivakami squints to blur the crowd and see, for a moment, only the light of the jewel, as though it were still winking from her husband’s hand.
Then Sivakami instructs Thangam to lay banana leaves for the feast. But in the brief interval between diamond and dinner, Goli vanishes. His wife and parents dine without him. Everyone is uneasy, but they proceed. He is not back for the second seating. Several packs of youngsters and a posse of men volunteer to look for him. He remains unlocated. His parents remain mum. Sivakami begs everyone to sit for the third seating, but no one will. She walks to the back of the kitchen and leans in the doorway facing the courtyard, where Mari and Muchami are nervously conferring, and Vairum, who insisted on taking his supper out back and alone, is playing palanguzhi against himself. Sivakami beckons Muchami, and after hearing what she has to say, he goes, quick and solemn, through the cowshed to the northernmost garden door.
Sivakami comes to the door of the main hall with an optimistic look at Gayatri and says, so that she can be overheard, “Please, Gayatri, make them sit. The poor boy has just gone to the chattram to lie down. Some stomach problem, it seems. Not my cooking-at least I know that! Your husband sent Muchami to tell us.” Sivakami emits a brittle laugh. Minister’s schedule is strict, including tea and a constitutional in late afternoon, and a snifter of brandy before bed, and he had departed following the first seating.
Several men look confused and protest hesitantly, “But we asked at the chattram.”
Muchami now offers the definitive version from the garden entrance. “Bah! They didn’t know anything. We asked, too, and they told us he had not returned, but luckily Minister Sahr bade them move aside so he could have a look in the room.” They can almost hear Minister’s commanding tone as Muchami continues. “He even insisted that I come too.”
This is pushing credulity, but all are too interested in the story’s outcome to challenge the servant on whether he would have been invited into this Brahmin bastion. Muchami waves his arms. “There he was, curled up in a ball, holding his… his stomach?”
Sivakami blinks confirmation, and Muchami goes on. “Holding his stomach. Don’t know how he got in without them noticing.”
“Just the way he left here without anyone noticing, I guess,” Gayatri offers, and she and Muchami look just as mystified and impressed as the gathering. Gayatri continues, encouraged, “Strange that such an eye-catching young man…” She fades out at Sivakami’s disapproving look-Gayatri is too young to be commenting on the attractiveness of others’ husbands-but the party, bewildered at its own blindness, is meekly seating itself for food.
Muchami takes two steps back into the garden where Vairum has just completed a celebratory dance, kicking his heels out and punching his fists in the air. With a fiercely cheerful grin for Muchami, he goes in search of flowers to offer Lord Krishna, child hero and perpetrator of mischief, to whom he has been praying all day for the disappearance of his brother-in-law.