Sivakami is not in a mood to discuss her reservations, and Gayatri leaves soon afterward, clearly hoping she has not said anything to contravene the match.
Sivakami broods. So many Brahmin families have lost their properties in the last thirty years, including many on their own Brahmin quarter, including Goli’s family, because they failed to keep up with the times, thinking their wealth would continue to perpetuate itself. Perhaps this Baskaran is canny, a man, such as Vairum, able to recognize that Brahmins’ old wealth must be transformed into new money, given new life through new methods of management. Her observations suggest, though, that Vairum is exceptional. She would feel so much better if Baskaran earned a wage.
It’s both too early and perhaps too late for her to object. Perhaps Baskaran’s family will not be taken in; perhaps they will demand a horoscope and it will be unsuitable; perhaps some other obstacle will arise.
But if Vairum has decided on this match, she says later to Muchami, as they go over grocery lists, it’s probably too late for her to do anything about it. Muchami tells her she’s right.
“If Vairum decides on it, though,” she says, “he will do everything to make sure it does turn out for the best. His pride will never let a match he makes go wrong.” She shrugs and sighs. “At least I have that insurance.”
On the morning of the birthday party, Janaki, Kamalam, Radhai, Krishnan and Raghavan walk down the Brahmin quarter to Minister’s house. Radhai is under specific instructions, which Janaki and Kamalam are charged with enforcing, to behave in a ladylike manner. Radhai, ten, is never deliberately disobedient, but the force of her personality is such that she is easily distracted. At the height of Kamalam’s coming-of-age ceremony three weeks earlier, for instance, Radhai burst into the courtyard covered in mud, a frog in each hand, clamouring for a pot to put them in. Raghavan, at three, worships her.
The girls are welcomed by Gayatri’s youngest daughter, Akila. While Raghavan and Krishnan run to the back to play with the other little boys, Akila invites Radhai to help her greet guests, offering them rock sugar, sprinkling them with rosewater. Akila is a placid girl, and Kamalam and Janaki encourage Radhai to spend time with her, while they seat themselves against a wall and examine, with disguised curiosity, the family Vairum has targeted. They whisper to one another: the family looks familiar, they must have seen them sometime; they may even have seen the groom—oh! They used the word! Now it can’t be taken back! Janaki hits her sister unconvincingly and frowns, holding her braid in front of her mouth and trying to keep out of the sightlines of her potential in-laws.
Only the matron and her daughters have come. The daughters’ saris are of a rich silk, with heavily embroidered pallus that slimmer bodies would not support. Fortunately the sisters are unvaryingly large, one plump and squishy, another bustling and broad, another solidly stout as though a slap to her thighs would ring like a brass pot. They all carry additional weight in the form of large gold ornaments and hairpieces. Their mother trumps them, though. She might be the largest person Janaki has ever seen, sitting in soft mounds that roll and break with each of her movements, though she moves rarely and slowly. Her eyes are small and sharp between rising cheeks and drooping forehead.
Watching them, Janaki feels skinny and unadorned. She is barely ninety pounds, wrapped in a conservative sari of serviceable silk, wearing a complete but understated set of earrings, nose rings, chains and bangles. Her thick braid, which she fingers as she watches them, is probably the weightiest of her ornaments, its end hitting just above her knees.
That afternoon, Janaki goes back to Gayatri’s house, this time with only Kamalam as an escort. It is the hour when she normally practises veena. Vairum, on his trips through Cholapatti for overseeing purposes, will often sit in the hall and listen. Her playing has none of Vani’s unsettling genius, Janaki is far too sane and conventional for that, but it is very good. She has a light, fresh touch, the quality of mornings in the cool seasons after the rains, pleasing and restorative.
Gayatri presents Janaki to Baskaran’s mother, whom everyone calls Senior Mami. She lies on her side on a bamboo mat. Akila’s veena, the one on which Janaki and Sita learned to play all those years before, has been set up. Baskaran’s sisters, also gathered around, compliment Janaki’s slenderness and her hair, while the great woman’s eyes glint blades of taste and discernment.
Janaki sits at the veena and tunes it. She has thought for days about what she will play, and decided to start with “Sami Varnam,” a reliable favourite. She is aware, as she plays the varnam, that she is using it to demonstrate her level of command: she is not a concert artist, but she has some deserved confidence. As she concludes it and prepares to play “Sakala Kala Vani,” she senses that she has won her audience’s interest.
She has been practising “Sakala Kala Vani” hard for some months and begins with an aalapanai, not so ambitious or lengthy a one as a concert performer, but one that she knows demonstrates a degree of erudition. She plays, even to her own ear, very well. She has never really played for an audience and is surprised at how it heightens the emotional charge of the music—perhaps because she feels she has a message she must communicate—and makes her less conscious of those technical points she knows she has mastered yet still obsesses on. As she concludes the finale, an improvisational charanam, she begins sweating and blushing, the moisture on her fingers threatening her playing. She manages to finish, wipes her hands and doesn’t look up.
The sisters burst into chatter, full of compliments and questions. Janaki plays divinely! Did Vani teach her? Who is teaching her now? She is too inspired—a real talent! Janaki ducks her head and bites her lip while Kamalam proudly answers the inquiries on her behalf.
Senior Mami says nothing, but looks approving. Gayatri urges Janaki to play one more piece. Janaki is uncertain, but the sisters press her until she gives in and plays “Jaggadhodharana,” explaining it is a tribute to Vani, the first person she heard play it. When Janaki departs, she thinks she sees Senior Mami, faintly, smile.
“The sisters all seem nice. Unpretentious,” Kamalam comments cautiously, as they return home.
“They do, don’t they?” Janaki feels as though she is waiting for exam results, except that she’s not really sure whether she wants to pass or fail. She has sensed that Sivakami might not feel as enthusiastic as Vairum about this potential alliance, though she can’t guess why.
She passed: a letter arrives, written and signed by Baskaran’s father, saying he has a son of marriageable age and understands Sivakami has a granddaughter, a beautiful girl of good reputation, and could they arrange a girl-seeing?
Vairum makes the arrangements and is in Cholapatti to greet Baskaran, who comes with his father, Dhoraisamy, one of the elder sons, a sister, whom Janaki has met before, and two nephews. Vairum ushers the party into the main hall with a tinge of the false heartiness Janaki so strongly associates with her father. Seeing him like this perplexes her. Baskaran, who is fair and chubby, balding a little and wearing round black-framed spectacles, seems quiet and well-behaved. He smiles deferentially at Vairum and, palms together, does a deep obeisance to Sivakami, who lurks at the entrance to the pantry.
In the kitchen, Janaki adjusts her sari, which is lush and appropriate, a maroon silk bordered in teal. She takes the refreshment tray from Sivakami. Her hands and feet have been hennaed for the occasion—the leaves, which Kamalam gathered and crushed, had been so fresh and potent that Janaki’s palms and fingertips are nearly black. As she serves, she tries not to look at Baskaran.
Dhoraisamy, in contrast with his son, is animated and talkative, wiry and long-fingered. His daughters clearly inherited their bubbliness from him, if not their physiques.
“Such a good house—certainly it would be our great fortune to have an alliance,” he assures Vairum, abasing himself. “Gayatri has assured us of how well brought up the children are, as though we didn’t already know. We know! We know!”
Fathers-in-law are supposed to be aloof and difficult to interest, Janaki
thinks, trying not to giggle.
Doesn’t he know he’s reducing his bargaining power?
She returns to the kitchen and sees Radhai, arms out, walking the perimeter of the courtyard well. Janaki bids her angrily, sotto voce, get down, then returns to the hall entrance and, with Kamalam, peeks around the corner at the visitors. Just then Baskaran looks in their direction and Kamalam yanks Janaki out of sight. Janaki is not able to tell how he’s feeling—curious? amused? He has a pleasant look about him, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s having a good time.
And now, as is customary at these things, and since they have reverted to custom as though the early part of this process had not been quite unconventional, Janaki comes to play and sing for them. She goes to the veena, head down, knees rubbing as she walks. Her potential father-in-law is leaning toward her, nodding and smiling. Janaki keeps her eyes fixed on the floor, biting her lip as though she were shy, instead of trying to hold in her giggles at her prospective father-in-law’s manner.
Dhoraisamy is simpering to Vairum, “Tch—we hardly need to hear her play for ourselves. I mean, of course it is an enormous pleasure, but her reputation precedes her. My wife couldn’t stop talking about her.”
Vairum raises his eyebrows above a long, slow smile. He says to the man, while looking at Janaki, “Is that so? Well, let’s hope the real thing is not a disappointment.”
“Ah! No, no!” Dhoraisamy tosses his head back with a hearty laugh. “How could that be? Oh, to have a musician in the family! You are too, too fortunate!”
Janaki seats herself gingerly at her instrument, barely able to move her head for trying not to laugh, and commences “Sami Varnam.” She is a little distracted at first, trying to imagine this man’s wife, who did not say one word in her presence, going on and on to her husband. Probably she said something like, “She plays veena,” and sent the entire house into an uproar over her unusual loquaciousness.
She sinks into her playing and feels the party float slightly away from her. Dhoraisamy exaggeratedly beats time, flipping his palm up and down and touching each finger to his thumb with extravagant waves of his wrist, crying, “Vah, vah!” and “Sabash!” as though this is a Mughal court. Janaki tries not to let it distract her. She can just imagine what her grandmother thinks of him, though it is nice to be so spectacularly appreciated.
Sivakami watches from her spot, remembering herself at ten, singing for Hanumarathnam, her eyes screwed shut as though to demonstrate how little she cared what he thought. She actually thought she didn’t care. Janaki is evidently concerned with playing well, but to what end? Is she destined to find contentment with this family? Could this Dhoraisamy be sincere, with all his exclaiming and arm-waving?
He will be lucky to get one of my granddaughters,
she thinks, in a rare moment of arrogance.
They are exceptionally well
brought up girls. She happens at that moment to glance back out at the courtyard, but doesn’t see Radhai, just out of sight, now balancing on a brass pot, one foot on either side of the lip.
When Janaki finishes playing, there is a strong feeling in the room that those present are merely performing the final scenes of a drama whose conclusion has been thoroughly foreshadowed. There will be no final twists in this plot. The guests part with friendly, matter-of-fact assurances that they will contact one another shortly. As they go out the door, Baskaran looks back at Janaki. She covers her grin with her braid. And he smiles at her, sweetly.
Vairum folds his arms and leans victoriously against the closed door. He points at Janaki and says, “I always knew you were the smart one. You did it. You deserve to marry this family, Janaki. You got them, just like I knew you would, given a chance. Ha-haaa!” He claps his hands just once and holds them together as though shaking his own hand. “Oh, my girl, you are going to have a good life. Just the life your mother would have wanted for you.”
Janaki smiles warily at him. Kamalam turns and goes upstairs. Janaki leaves her uncle and grandmother to talk to each other. This is none of her business. She goes and changes out of her sari, smoothes its folds a last time and uses a stick in the corner to hang it tidily on the sari rod above her head. She goes to find Kamalam on the roof.
Kamalam is looking off the roof at the street and doesn’t look when Janaki joins her. Her voice sounds funny when she asks, “So when do you think it’s going to happen?”
“What, the wedding?” Janaki frowns.
“What else?”
“I don’t know,” Janaki shrugs.
“You’re so lucky,” Kamalam murmurs. “You’re so lucky.”
“Why? Because they’re rich?”
“Everything, Janaki Akka.”
Janaki doesn’t say anything. She feels apprehensive, despite liking Baskaran. Being rich doesn’t seem like a guarantee of anything. Minister’s mother went mad; the people three doors down had to sell their grand house and move into a flat in Thiruchi where they share a bathroom with three other families; she even thinks her paternal grandparents once were rich. Where is her father in all this? Shouldn’t he be making these arrangements?
Downstairs, Sivakami has screwed up her courage to the point of recklessness.
“This boy.” She clears her throat. “He is not even a graduate. Rich boys have less motivation to work than boys from the middle class.”
“His elder brothers are working.” Vairum looks up from where he lies on a bamboo mat. This is exceptional—he never rests—so the morning’s triumph must have worn him out, or maybe he is scheming further.
“We don’t know under what circumstances.” Sivakami gathers momentum. “So many families are losing their lands these days. Not everyone has done as well as we have. We have done well because of your efforts and your uncles’. What if they lose their wealth, like so many have?”