Nandini | My Beloved

3|| Vishu

⚠️WARNING⚠️: Some triggering Sequence may occur in the extract below. (self-harm)

||Vishu||

"I fell for you when we first met, but each day you make me fall for you all over again, my love"

Today is the day I came for. The day I fulfill the purpose of my visit to my homeland. The same unfortunate day, I lost my Amma (mother). The day, I became a apashakunnam (cursed omen), a cursed child with absolute irreproachability.

Though I have no fond memory of my Amma (mother). It's streneous to compensate a motherly affection.  Absence of it dawned over me dreadfully. Despite that, I wasn't keen about my Amma (mother). Obviously the resentment received from my family aided my vex towards her. She became the rationale for all my sufferings.

Do I despise her? I don't know, maybe. But I'd like to blame my parivar (family) for all my despondency. Being critical over all my actions for that fallacy.

I lay on my bed, reluctant to get off from the solace acquired. My sanctuary that absorbs my anguishness. I've been awake possibly for more than two hours. Thanks to the commotion from downstairs. The clamour emanating from below didn't fail to disrupt me and my gloom, adding to it as if that nuisance was not enough, I hear a knock on my door.

Grudging, I drag myself to the door. "What is it?"

The door open to expose Nandini. She has groomed herself in a beautiful half patu (a fabric) saree (a garment worn by women in India). Unconsciously, a smile creep onto my face plastering over my temper.

She frowns seeing me beaming at her, showcasing my 14 pair of teeth. "Akka (sister), wants you to wear this for shraddha (a ritual carried out, performing homage to one's dead parents)"

She extends a kerala-mundu (a garment worn by men, below one's waist) and golden-rod kurta (a long clothe worn waist above). My smile disappears witnessing the garment, I receive it and abruptly slam the door at her face. There's no way out of this ritual now. I hear her huff at my attitude, but it's not about her, it'd never be about her. It's between me and my ignorant family. I've spend all my 25 years to dodge every prompt of my Amma (mother), of this day. Back in Banglore I'd be drunk in some pub at the moment.

I clad myself in the clothes Nandini brought me. It'd be rude if I don't mention how neatly she has smoothed out the wrinkles. Rolling up my sleeves I descend the stairs. My ettanmar (elder brothers) had already invited nambudiris (priests, high profiled caste in hindu varna systems) for the homam (hindu fire ritual).

"You look handsome" my patti (grandmother) complements ruffling my hair.

Sometimes I wonder if she genuinely likes me when she sides denouncing me. I jovially walk past her. When it's been years since a person attended something religious, it's habitual you slip out the etiquette, everything becomes awkward. I'm unaware of where to position myself in the commotion. Finally, I fiddly lean against the pillar in the spacious hall. Our illam (house) is an inherited ancestral property which my Appa (father) vowed to persevere it, as it was till the end of time. Therefore, it had an indoor rain-water harvesting system, which existed in the times of Rajas and Princes. The hollow roof lead to a grassy field where a monument erected. My beloved Amma (mother) rested there.

The homam (hindu fire ritual) started in the grassy field. I stand there with no life in me. Nandini rushes in and out the place, bringing in basmam (sacred ash) and other items. I smile at her clumsy stroll. This girl has no rest.

Feeding nambudiris (priests) was another customary in practice. As I lay the palm leaf for serving sadya (it's a meal specially served in Kerala, with vegetables curry and rice) after the homam that is, all those seated people eye me with an unfriendly gaze.

"You might be Vishu the youngest son" one of the nambudiri pondered out loud.

I nod, sensing the condemning glint in his eyes hiding behind his beaming smile. Officially speaking, 21st century has changed nothing, maybe build new flats and elected new governments but the irrationality in social norms prevailed.

I stormed upstairs after the said duty and banged my bedroom door behind me. Dang it, pity me for actually falling to the belief that they all forget, that the superstition was finally understood.

I scream out my frustration, it's been 25 freaking years for crying out loud. How hard is to understand the science behind it? Crouching against the door, I hold my face feeling immense pressure mounting them. Warmth embraces my body as droplets roll down my face. My temper manifest in frequent hitting of my noggin against the wall. The pain endured is boundless, it aid to pull down my rising fury. I can feel my head throbbing at my deeds, but this is the only solution to my torment.

Before the process stregthen and reach destructive outcomes, someone knocks on the door. I sit there idling, ignoring the distraction, but the person is persistent.

"Entha? (What?)" I practically scream at the individual opening my door.

Nandini squint her eyes at my raised vocals. But nonchantly, she barges her way into my room after I've quietened down. I quickly hide the red spot on my forehead ruffling my hair.

"Entha? (what?)" I reiterate finding it hard to reduce the thickness of my voice.

"Everyone's wondering about your disappearance" she says sternly looking into my eye, my soul becomes transparent before those Hazel orbs. I avert my eyes experienceling difficulty holding her gaze. Where did she acquire this attitude to barge into someone's room without consent?

"I've a headache" I reason with a cliché excuse looking away from her.

She advances towards me and close the gap between us. She stretch herself on her toes to align with my height and pushes back my hair revealing the throbbing scarlet spot. Her countenance hardens.

"You fell?" such dumb query. I'm too old to fall and get a bump but her mannerism tells me that she's aware of it.

"My mom once told me about the unloved son of Nayanar" she continues gently caressing the spot. "It'll be alright, Vishu"

That was the very first time Nandini called me by just my name. I melt into her touch, her palm is soft, comfort and soothening better than my made up sanctuary. She pulls her hand off my head, creating an enormous space between us after which she walks to the door.

"I'll tell Akka (sister) you are sick" she informs pausing at the threshold. "By the way, Happy Birthday young master Vishu"

Her anglets dangle as she strolled away through the veranda. Did She just wish me 'happy birthday'? My birth day that I vigirously made myself forget. That I feared to acknowledge, that everyone purposefully disregarded.

A sudden spark of joy overflowed my insides. I felt a flury of emotions pour into me, the same one's I had when I first saw her, when she uttered those audacious words.

What are you doing to me servant girl?

______________________

Thank you soo much for supporting me and reading my book so far.

All your votes and comments are my prompt, they mean a lot to me.

So please do vote and do express your views.

- Love Chigi