The Disappearing Uncle. D. K. Rajagopalan
by Kummi, but what about poor Lacchu?
Kummi Paati – back when she was just Kummi – did not know when she first worked out that there was something different about her sister. She had always felt protective of her. It was possible that all older siblings felt this way, but no, there was something more than protectiveness. After all, their older brother, Ram, was fond of them but he didn’t look after Lacchu the way Kummi felt she had to.
She remembered the first time she’d heard someone else say, out loud, what she had known for a long time.
It was during the lunch break at school. Kummi and Lacchu would meet every day and have lunch together under a banyan tree. The tree was in the corner of the small, dirt schoolyard, as far away from the single-storey brick school building as possible, and provided shelter from the hot summer sun. It was constantly in demand, but Kummi and Lacchu could always find a spot there.
Kummi had other friends, of course, but Lacchu did not. She was kind and quiet, but the other children intimidated her.
One day, as they ate, three boys came and sat near them. They were whispering amongst themselves and giggling. Kummi took no notice of them. Boys often behaved in that silly way. She continued to ask Lacchu about what they had studied in class that day. Kummi usually helped Lacchu with her schoolwork, and she’d found it was easier to stay on top of it if she helped her sister every day.
But the boys’ whispering was getting louder and more annoying.
‘You say it!’
‘No, you!’
‘I dared you first!’
‘No way, I dared you. But of course you don’t have the guts!’
‘Okay, okay, what about together?’
‘Okay together! Countdown from three?’
A few seconds later, a cruel chorus rent the air.
‘Simple! Simple! SIMPLE!’
At first, Kummi was startled. She barely had time to react when the three boys ran off.
She looked around the playground. Some other people were laughing too. Others were looking at her pityingly.
She looked at her eight-year-old sister. Lacchu looked up at her.
‘What are they saying, Akka? I don’t understand,’ she said. Lacchu always used the Tamil word for older sister – Akka – when addressing Kummi.
Kummi’s face was flushed by this point. She would speak to the schoolmaster after lunch, she thought. Except that she hadn’t noticed which boys they were ... still, he should know that his pupils were saying such horrible, untrue things.
‘Never mind, Lacchu. Don’t listen to them. Come on, finish your lunch. We don’t have much time left.’
That night, lying in bed after her sister was asleep, she thought about the taunt. Was it untrue, after all? She had never had a word for why her sister was different. And she didn’t think ‘simple’ was it. Her sister struggled with some basic things, yes. But she was also the kindest, most gentle person Kummi had ever met.
It was perhaps six months or so after that that her father decided to take Lacchu to see an astrologer. The astrologer looked at her star chart, which identified the planetary positions at the time of her birth, to identify the source of the problem.
It seemed Saturn was the problem.
‘Don’t worry,’ the astrologer said. ‘The solution is very simple. There is a temple dedicated to Saturn in Thirunallar. You go there with your daughter. You will have to stay there for three days and offer prayers every morning at first light. Then make a donation to the temple – it doesn’t have to be much, just whatever you can give. Within six months everything will be fine.’
The three of them – Kummi, Lacchu and their father – took an overnight train to Kumbhakonam, while her brother Ram, stepmother and stepsisters stayed home. Kumbhakonam was on the way to Thirunallar and the temple of their family deity was on the outskirts of the town.
Uppiliappan temple was dedicated to Lord Vishnu, one of the three main Hindu deities. Lacchu loved hearing the story of this temple.
‘Sage Markandeya prayed to Vishnu, asking that Vishnu’s wife be born to him as a blessing,’ Kummi said, for the third time during their overnight trip. Lacchu was having trouble sleeping. ‘What is Vishnu’s wife’s name?’
Lacchu giggled.
‘Lakshmi! Like me.’
‘Yes, Lakshmi, like you. So Vishnu granted his wish and the Sage Markandeya raised Lakshmi as his daughter for many years, until she was of marriageable age. Then Lord Vishnu came to the sage and asked for his daughter’s hand in marriage so he could take his wife back to heaven.’
‘And then what happened?’
‘Sage Markandeya did not want his daughter to leave him so soon. So he tried to dissuade Lord Vishnu, saying his daughter was too young and didn’t even know how to cook properly. She always left out the salt.’
‘Then what did Lord Vishnu say?’
‘He said that if she cooked without salt, he would eat it without complaint.’
‘And that is why all the food offerings to the temple are still made without salt!’
‘Yes, that is why, kanna. Now try to sleep. It is late and we have an early start in the morning.’
They paid their respects to their family deity and then took a bus to Thirunallar. They had some relatives there, distant ones who they had not spoken to in years, but relatives were relatives, and they had invited themselves over for the period of their stay. They offered prayers at the temple every morning, as instructed. Lacchu was, as usual, compliant. She did whatever was asked of her without asking questions. On the fourth day, they took the bus and train back home and waited for things to change.
Six months later, Lacchu was still Lacchu. Kummi overheard her father speaking to her stepmother about it one day.
‘I was thinking of taking her to the doctor.’
The doctor lived in the next town.
‘For what?’ her stepmother had asked.
‘Just to see if there is anything we can do.’
‘What do you think the doctor will do? Give you medicines to change her brain? Listen, this kind of thing happens in families. Don’t waste time and money visiting doctors. You took her to our family deity, and to the temple the astrologer suggested, didn’t you? Just leave it in God’s hands. If it is His will, He will change her. If not, she can learn how to cook and we will get her married to someone who is not too particular.’
The marriage, when it happened, was far worse than Kummi had expected.
It had all started when Kummi turned fifteen. Many of her friends were already married, but the few people who had been interested in Kummi had wanted dowry – a bride price, paid by the girl’s parents to the boy’s parents – as well. They would ask for this indirectly in the form of jewellery and household items. Kummi’s father was willing to consider it, but her stepmother was adamant that this should not be done.
‘Why should we pay money? Kummi is educated, she is a good cook, she will manage the house well, she is good looking ... they will be lucky to get a girl like her!’
Eventually, they heard of a man who did not want dowry. The marriage broker visited one Sunday morning. Kummi hid in the next room and listened.
‘The man’s first wife died one year ago. She had three sons. The man is a bit on the older side, I agree, but he does not want any jewellery or anything. He wants a nice girl to run the house and manage the kitchen. That’s the most important thing.’
‘How old are the sons?’
‘The oldest