A rangOli story - Part X
The child was named SAradA (Sarada) after Chandru’s mother. In fact, Chandru began to boast that he was privileged to use the names of both his mothers (his real mother who is no more and after whom he named his daughter and me whom he always called by my name skipping the relationship of chikkammA)! As usual, being the obstinate self, my father did not attend the naming ceremony. But he was kind enough to send my chikkammA and Rama. chikkammA told us that he drew the child’s horoscope and made a prediction that she would be endowed with the qualities of bravery and fearlessness. That is a sign which indicated that he still remembered and loved all of us. I drew the rangOli of a swan on that day. The white swan is supposed to be the vehicle of sarasvatI whose another name is Sarada. I always like the prayers to the goddess of knowledge. They always contain words and phrases that indicate the whiteness and unblemished purity like the jasmine, the moon, the moonlight in autumn, the snowdrops, the camphor, the lily, the white swan, etc. In fact, the eighth day of the daSarAtri (or dasara for short) is reserved for worshipping her.
Days passed and Chandru had to leave. A day before that was born ravi (Ravi) to me. As usual, that day dawned. I got up early, swept the yard, drew the rangOli, a simple one as I was finding it difficult to stand for long periods to draw complicated patterns. We had our morning coffee. For those of you who do not know this south Indian ritual, let me explain. It is an elaborate affair. Fresh roasted beans were ground in a small machine operated by hand and this coffee powder was added to the boiling water and was allowed to simmer for a time. Then it was poured into a big brass filter and to the percolated coffee decoction was added sugar and milk. At times, if it is not sufficiently hot, it was reheated. Then the hot coffee was poured into several “tumblers†and some drank it immediately and some sipping every drop ever so slowly as if it were the divine nectar! The nature of people’s hospitality was judged by the quality of the coffee they prepared. I know of cases where the pursuit of marriage alliances came to naught because the coffee offered to the groom’s party did not pass muster. After the coffee, I rested for a minute and then the pains started, stabs I never knew existed! Word went to my chikkammA. By the time she arrived helter-skelter, the child was born, a beautiful boy with dense black hair. When Usha was born, her mother Sarada chose the name ravi, if the child were to be a boy. That is the name I too chose. I believed her spirits will bless my child too. After so many years, we had another baby in the house, a brother to Chandru and Usha. We always have peals of laughter when I say that my child is younger than my son’s child! Having never been to a college, my education is limited and I cannot express my feelings in a poetic way as mallI did. But to every woman, the birth of a child, wanted and dreamed of, is a much celebrated event, an event that would stay evergreen in her memory. Time will not erase it nor diminish its worth.
Chandru felt lucky to have been there when Ravi was born. He had to leave the next day as he had already booked the tickets. Two mothers and two babies in the house! There was always commotion and the wail of the babies filled the rooms. mallI and I used to take turns to sleep. Usha used to close her ears when both of them used to cry together in a loud and shrill voice. We used to remind her that a day will arrive when the baby’s cry will be the sweetest music to her ears!
... to be continued
