Translation by: Preethi Narasimhan
Original story: Seere, published in a collection of short stories ‘Tavaredetu’ in 2014
Translation: Saree, published in “Indian Literatura” No. 329, a journal by Sahitya Academi of India, 2022
Nagi had butterflies in her stomach when her mother let a few words slip, slapping the rotis harder in pregnant anger. It hit Nagi’s ears like a shot of an arrow as she sat grinding flour in the corner stone of their tattered hut. “is it? Where the hell is he now?” Nagi’s mother asked the limping boy who was the messenger to the news that churned Nagi’s gut. “He’s setting up by the banyan tree; Savantrakka, Lakshmakka and Ningaji have gone there. Duggammaji, Kemperi, Deveri are heading that way now, I’ve informed them myself.” He left as quickly as he had come in a hurry to inform more of them. He seemed blissfully unaware of the gaping hole on the backside of his patchy pants or his crooked pelvis that seemed to be rocking in sync with his uneven saunter as he dragged his limp leg behind him.
Nagi’s heart was not with her while her hands continued to grind the flour, feeding grains into the stone in an even rhythm. She was deeply disturbed as she imagined the outcome and bitterness of the encounter that all the women of the village were preparing for. Her heart fluttered as she thought about Subba, who was oblivious to what awaited him. Images of the same women looking forward to Subba’s arrival flashed from her memory like slides…
His timely arrival just before each of the village fairs, the New Year, deepavali and the harvest festivals was not just desirable but in fact a dire necessity. He was the bringer of colourful sarees, of designs and materials too exotic for this village, too inaccessible for the people who rarely had three meals a day. None of the sarees he brought were new, they were all owned, used and discarded by more fortunate women. He had been upfront about this with the women. In exchange for new plastic buckets and utensils he would take used clothes from rich homes in the city, wash and press them at the dhobi ghat and bring it in his wicker basket on his bicycle touring around impoverished villages. Girls and women, young and old would all buy these clothes for the unbelievably low prices and would wear them out. Some of these sarees would have stains on them and sometimes even be torn in places, but that was never a concern. Their priorities were different. It was far more important to have clothes at all to cover them. The only bargain was to try and select the sarees that looked tough, least damaged and seemed to last long before the other women got their hands on them. The next best option was to choose vibrant and colourful sarees for festivities and occasions. Although the women often whined about the dull garments or the extent of damage that they had failed to notice while buying, Subba always had a smiling face and managed the business with his charming ways.
He was the sweet and most wanted ‘Subbanna’, ‘Subbu’, ‘Subbappa’ to all the women of the village who looked forward to his arrival every quarter. The men folk were not particularly fond of Subba for various reasons. For one, he brought new sarees for the women every quarter which was not affordable. And much to their jealousy, Subba was far too popular with the women. They often vented their frustration out by yelling at him as he cycled past them, “Stop spoiling our women”. “Don’t you come again with your sarees”. True, he was indeed spoiling the deprived women with clothes to cover themselves. These sarees were a luxury to them. The sarees were often far more expensive than he was selling them for. It was not even remotely possible for the villagers to come across such expensive fabrics, let alone buy them new at their full price. They didn’t afford to go into the city. It was a perfect win-win. Except for that one saree…
He brought that saree to the village last ugadi. He didn’t display it when he set up his stall by the banyan tree as usual. The women took their time to select their sarees and bargain for a better deal; 15 for the saree he quoted 30, 10 for those he quoted 20, the ladies haggled until they were satisfied with the price, made payments, settled old accounts, requested credits and returned home with their new acquisitions. In a hurry to return home and try out her new saree, Nagi pleaded, “Subbappa, come on now, tell me how much is mine? I must go back quickly, Awwa is not home. I shouldn’t be leaving the hut unattended”. “Wait just a few moments now, just until these folks finish their business”, Subba said looking into her eyes intent and hopeful, delaying attending to her further. Nagi too saw a rainbow of colours in his momentary gaze. He was a charming young boy and she was a bright young girl blossoming into a woman. They had begun a silent courtship over these last few short visits marked only by their exchange of glances and a few awkward conversations.
Once the women dispersed, Subba turned his attention to Nagi. “Come Nagi, sit here”, he called her closer to his basket of sarees on the platform around the banyan tree. Reaching deep inside, he took out a saree from the bottom of the basket wrapped in jelly paper and placed it in her lap. Nagi’s face lit up and her jaw dropped as soon as she unwrapped the saree, looking at its colour and sheen. Unable to hide her amazement, “Wow! This saree! Is this for me?! How much is it?” Nagi asked in disbelief. It was a silk saree. A beautiful coral coloured saree with a bright red border. An expensive one, as anyone who saw it could tell. She continued running her hands over the soft smooth silk and ventured a guess at its price… “would it not cost at least 100 rupees?” she sounded unsure whether she’d be able to own it or not.
“100 did you say? No way! You won’t even get it for 1000 rupees” Subba clarified and asked her, “would you like it?”
“Me? Where will I get such money! No, no. I don’t want it.” Nagi put the saree down into the basket.
“I don’t need any money from you. This is for you”, Subba said thrusting the saree back into her hands. She finally let herself dream and asked him with rising excitement, “Really?!”
“Yeah” Subba ventured a step closer to her almost touching her hand. Nagi, aware of how close they were and conscious about the prying eyes of villagers, declared “I ought to be going now” and hopped off from the platform ready to return home.
“A few more minutes, Nagi”, Subba took the liberty to pull her by the arm and sit her down again by the tree insisting, “I need to talk to you”. Nagi was not at all surprised when Subba confessed, “I like you. Will you marry me?”. She didn’t allow her excitement to take flight and replied, “you’re from the agasa community and we’re from kumbara community. It’s a lost cause. Let us not bother fighting for this, it’s not possible” sounding disheartened.
“Why not Nagi?? Just wait for a year, I’ll open a new laundry in the city. If no one approves of us, lets elope and get married. You have to believe in me and make up your mind”, Subba full of hope persuaded her. Nagi’s heart betrayed her as she imagined Subba’s dream, “really?… I’ll think about it” she said as she ran towards her hut, clutching the new saree and leaving her heart behind with Subba.
Although Subba had visited a couple of times since then, they had not managed to steal away from the women for a private conversation. Nagi had lied to her mother that the saree she had from last ugadi was bought for 20 rupees, much to her delight at such a bargain.
On the eve of gowri festival, when Nagi was getting ready to visit the temple, her mother tasked her with an errand on her way, “Nagi, the hotel owner’s wife has asked me to drop by today. She said she has leftover sweets and rice from the feast at their place this morning. Take a pot with you”. Nagi was well acquainted with Ushakka, the hotel owner’s wife. Nagi would often proxy for her mother as house help at Ushakka’s on days her mother was unable to go. With tightly pleated hair conferred with woven wildflowers, Nagi took two of the largest aluminium pots from their hut and merrily trotted away to the hotel owner’s house. Nagi crossed the wide porch before entering the house through the heavy teak door which was already open, calling “Ushakka…”. Ushakka was expecting Nagi and came out of one of the rooms into the hallway where she was waiting, “There you are Nagi, I was waiting for you”. But as she got closer to Nagi and saw what she was wearing, her face turned ashen and she stared at her saree in disbelief murmuring to herself at first, ”this saree…” and then louder as her voice turned shaky when she asked Nagi, “where did you get this saree.. this saree??”, with tears already welling in her eyes. Memories of the day she had lost her only dear sister flashed in front of her eyes continuously. It was not too long ago since that tragedy had passed, and her memories were still very fresh in her mind.
Ushakka had bought that saree for her little sister Meenakshi when she was visiting her family in Mangalore for Sankranti festival. She had lovingly selected the coral colour for her beautiful light skinned and dainty Meenu. The two sisters had come to the town for some last-minute festival shopping. Ushakka wanted to buy fresh jasmine flowers for her hair and Meenu had stopped to buy oranges from a hawker by the footpath, to complete their give-away bounties of jaggery and sesame mixture. Just as Ushakka had finished her purchase and turned back to join Meenu, she saw a speeding car coming towards Meenu who had also turned back to return to her sister across the street. Ushakka shrieked at the top of her voice, “Meenu….!” to stop her but it was too late and she saw Meenu nearly flying in the air before she landed on the tarmac. She had frantically run to her and clutched at Meenu who was wriggling in pain. There was not a single drop of blood or a bruise to be seen, yet her soul was slipping out of her body wrapped in the beautiful coral saree. Perhaps she looks too beautiful in it that day. Ushakka had continued calling her name well after she had left in the hope that she would wake up again and they would walk back home as they had come, “Meenu…! Meenu…!!”
The scene of her sister dying in front of her eyes still haunted her. This saree… the same saree that her sister had helplessly wriggled in for several minutes before dying in her arms… the saree that she had personally selected as a present to her lovely Meenu… the saree Nagi was wearing now gave uncontrollable grief for Ushakka as the memories came gushing back. There was no stopping her tears now. She lost her temper for being reminded of it all when she had least expected it on the eve of a festival, “Nagi! Don’t wear this saree in front of me. Where did you get this? How did you get this saree?? Where is your mother? Get out of my sight first”, she yelled and ordered her away.
When Nagi’s mother returned from Ushakka’s house, there was no mistaking how she was feeling. Her eyes were red with rage and face swollen resembling one of the pots her husband made. She didn’t waste any time in gathering the women of the village at the panchayat to discuss what is to be done about this. “He doesn’t just bring sarees given away by the rich folk like he has been telling us all these years… he takes them off dead bodies. This saree belonged to Ushakka’s sister Meenashakka, Ushakka herself told me personally.” Nagi’s mother dropped the bomb which exploded instantly. “What! We’re not so desperate to have to wear clothes that come from dead bodies! That’s so gross!” exclaimed Kemperi.
“I’m just wondering, what if the spirits of the dead have gotten inside us through these sarees?”, asked a seriously concerned Duggamma. “I still cannot believe he has been lying to us all these years… that dirty little thief! Wait till he returns this time, I’ll show him what’s done to cheats and frauds”, Ningaji cursed, unable to hide her disappointment and hurt. “Lets all just beat him up and throw him out of the village, he should never return to our village again” said Deveri, sensing the anger and disappointment in Subba for breaking their trust was shared. They all finally decided this is the best and planned how they would tackle it when he next came.
Nagi too was quite shocked to discover this and was upset that he had lied to all the women for years. She could still not imagine him being beaten up. She could not bear the thought of him getting hurt. She wanted to protect him despite knowing the truth. She wanted to somehow inform him never to return to this village, but there was absolutely no means for her to do this until he returned!
When he finally arrived and walked to the banyan tree to set his stall up, he was greeted first with the women’s angry stares and then a rain of fists and hands along with curses for cheating them. Although he tried to defend himself and denied it all in the beginning, he accepted everything after a couple more slaps. Teary eyed and shaking, he owned up to his fraud and shared his story with the women. He was from the neighbouring village Sathenalli. Only son to his parents, his mother had left him to grow up with his uncle when his father passed away very young. His uncle didn’t have any children. It was just his uncle, aunt, a donkey and Subba at their household.
His uncle would go to the hospital every day with the donkey to bring clothes. Subba would also accompany him often. He collected bedspreads and sheets from all the wards in the hospital, took it the dhobi-ghat on his donkey, wash them clean, press and return them to the hospital by the end of the day. “On one such visits to the hospital with my uncle, I saw lots of clothes heaped outside the morgue. When I enquired about them, I was told nobody would be claiming those clothes. They were going to throw the clothes away. Most of them were in perfect good condition! I sneaked back to the hospital that day without informing my uncle and claimed those clothes. I cleaned them at the dhobi-ghat like my uncle used to and started roaming these villages. People bought them. And that’s how I have made a living for myself”, Subba reported still sobbing from the unexpected encounter.
“You, son of a bitch! If you ever come to our village with such clothes, you’ll not see the end of the day!”. Although Deveri’s words were harsh, her voice didn’t have the same anger she had harboured towards Subba before listening to his story. Afterall, she knew what poverty was and the things it made you do to survive.
“Okay then, I’ll go away. I wont come back.” Subba slowly turned to leave. Kemperi immediately stopped him, “Why now, why wont you come? We’re asking you not to bring such clothes, that is all.” Suddenly aware of their plight if Subba doesn’t bring them sarees, Ningaji turned to her friends and murmered, “what will I do without these sarees, I’ll never be able to afford a new one. If the ones I have get worn out, I’ll have nothing to wear.”
Nagi, having been ordered by her mother not to interfere, had stayed quiet until she couldn’t bear it any longer. When she saw Sullen looking Subba and the murmurings amongst the women, she dared to speak. “Do you all believe that you’ll never die? Or that nobody in your house ever dies? Or hasn’t anyone ever died in your families??”. The elders were shocked to be spoken down to and tried to snub her immediately with “Shut up Nagi. Don’t get involved”, “You shouldn’t interfere when elders are speaking”, “You’re young, behave yourself”, “How dare you talk to us this way”… One of the women even went as far as slapping her in the face and ordering her to return home. This infuriated Nagi further and words just rolled out of her mouth as she started walking away, her voice getting louder with every spoken word. “Go. Subba, you should go… and never return. Never ever bring these ungrateful people any sarees to cover themselves. They’ve forgotten how for years not a single woman in the village owned a saree long enough to fully cover up! Sarees off the dead, they say… They’ve forgotten they’re all going to die one day too! You go away Subba!”, she paced up and ran away tears streaming down her face.
Nagi’s words had wounded the women and reminded them of their plight before Subba’s sarees. In hushed tones, the women discussed among themselves as Subba stood there waiting for his fate. The eldest finally passed the verdict, “Listen Subba, we need your sarees. You bring sarees like you have always done. People with no objections will buy them as usual. You’re not forcing anybody to buy, are you? Those who have problems with it will not buy. But just remember, do not tell anyone else in the village that these sarees are off the dead, especially the men.” Subba let himself breathe a sigh of relief.
Savanthri pushed forward after everything was sorted, “Subba, what have you brought this time? Will you set your stall up yet? I’m getting late.” Waiting for this very opportunity, Saroja jumped in, “Subba, this time, you have to allow me to select first- I’d requested you over your last visit. Hope you’ve not forgotten- I’m sending away my daughter after her delivery”. As colourful sarees started flowing out of the basket, the women blissfully forgot why they had gathered here today in the first place and it was business as usual for Subba.