Uma was beginning to sprout breasts. Omana noticed it and wrung her hands in frustration, as this meant fear for her safety. She was relieved that Sajitha and Sathi the two girls who followed Uma had chests like washboards. There were just Usha and Uma to guard for now. Omana surveyed the land around their thatched hut lush with cassava which afforded the hungry family their sustenance. They were hungry but very proud and took care to appear clean and well groomed at all times. There was no electricity in their home or running water. But she and the children had built a little bathing enclosure with thatched coconut palms, right beside the well. Often they ran into their makeshift bathroom with a towel wrapped around them and let the rain wash their long black hair and supple bodies, as the water fell unimpeded from the clear Kerala sky, in columns, clear, cool and pristine. They were all very fit because they walked everywhere. Getting on a bus meant spending money which they could use to buy soap or even fish for a special meal. Their bodies and hair were shiny from the oil they massaged on themselves before every bath. Their sense of well being was accentuated by their penchant for telling jokes and laughing all the time. They also had an abundance of faith in their God. They walked 5 miles to the temple every Tuesday to fulfill some penance for some good that had befallen them. If the jackfruit on the tree ripened, they went to make an offering and also to give thanks for the gift of fruit. Their simplicity was innocent and touching, their joy in little pleasures infectious. Omana’s brother visited from Kuwait and gave them a few yards of cheap shiny fabric. They made it into four knee length skirts and wore them to the temple, with a spring in their step, uncaring about the garish colours or the “uniform-like” look.
It was Onam, a special day of festivity. The family awaited this day with great eagerness. They saved up money to buy staples so they could invite neighbours and feed them a grand meal. Every year, on this occasion, Monita and Anita who lived in the beautiful brick house next door were special guests. Monita looked forward to the meal, since her mother, a busy doctor, hated to cook and the servant made indifferent meals which were insipid and uninspiring. Whenever she went to Uma’s at mealtimes, the family seemed to have such fun eating hot rice that came out of a pot on the firewood stove. The sparse meal of rice and curry made from cassava was so tempting, she salivated and stared. The family, always generous, apologizing profusly for the simplicity of the offering, made her a plate, which she guiltily ate with great relish. She never touched cassava when it was served at home and knew that the family was giving up their portion to share with her. On Onam day she could take her rightful place on the mud floor of that hut and partake of the feast that the family took care to prepare. Omana who only bought a glass of milk from the milkman everyday, to make tea for her husband and herself, bought 3 extra bottles the day before Onam to make yoghurt for cooking and to serve as buttermilk. For this special occasion, she bought cashews, raisins and cardamoms in little newspaper packets and jaggery for the adai pradaman (dessert); pappadams and enough oil to fry them in; fine, long grain rice, vegetables for the thuvarans (sauteed vegetables), kaalan (yoghurt based stew), olan (coconut milk based stew), chillies and ginger for puli inji (tamarind ginger). They had trees that yielded coconut for the pradaman. Omana cleaned the firewood stoves at 7:00 a.m., and then set the pots early so the meal would be ready by noon. Uma took out the 2 stainless steel plates that they reserved for guests on this occasion and washed and dried them. The four girls had picked wild flowers that grew all over the grounds and on the other side of the paddy fields that abutted their home, gathered cowdung from Kumari's dairy next door and made a beautiful athappu (floral decoration on a bed of patted dung) in front of that home. If the house was usually clean, on Onam day, it was spotless, the mudfloor smooth like sandwood, the cobwebs all cleared from the ceilings, the whitewashed mud walls wiped clean.
Omana was a skinny nervous woman. She wore a “kaili” with a tight fitting blouse. Modesty and notions of shame compelled her to cover her blouse with a white towel which she hitched onto her lungi and slung over her left shoulder. Her hair was prematurely grey and worn in a lose bun. She spoke in a soft conspiratorial voice with a mild stutter and in short halting sentences. As a Nair she looked down upon members of the “lower castes”, and with every utterance found some way to establish how she and her family were in fact upper caste and were not uncouth and unrefined like other members of her class. She felt trapped by her poverty and encouraged her children to fraternize with the likes of Monita and Anita rather than with Kumari’s daughter Amini with whose lifestyle they had much more in common. For Omana, the most important virtue a human could possess was self reliance and she toiled alongside her daughters from dawn to dusk with a hope of liberating the family from penury. Her pride would never allow her to fall prey to some pawnbroker’s wily ways. She, however, did not have a grand plan. She just prodded on from one day to the next tending to the grounds and her chores.
Uma was the tomboy and caught butterflies which she stored in jars. If she found a rare fruit growing on a tree at the far side of the house she would eat it with great daring. She climbed mango trees with a flourish, plucking and eating the half ripened fruit as she did, uncaring about the scratches on her legs from the rough barks. She knew from looking at the Cassava plants, which ones had reached their prime, ready to be felled. She had a perpetual giggle, always making jokes about someone, laughing at how they walked or talked, or how they had tripped and fallen into the paddy field while balancing along the narrow ledge. Monita looked up to Uma whom she trailed, constantly seeking her attention and approval. She found her company exciting and challenging in that any minute she knew she could be the butt of her jokes, for the way she spoke Malayalam or shrieked in horror at some harmless insect. She admired Uma’s strong limbs, her sixth sense about everything and the way she relished every little experience with her whole being her full mouth which could not quite contain her teeth sucking it all in with a slurping sound. She marveled at her hardened calloused hands which appeared to know a lifetime of hard labour, compared to her soft silk like ones and at the nimble manner in which she caught the chicks they tended to for a rare chicken meal and the deft manner in which she fed and nourished injured and dying creatures to restore them back to their health. In comparison to Uma’s, Monita felt her life had no relevance. She also admired how Uma was undaunted by the darkness that fell like a thick blanket on that little hut at 7 p.m. each night and at how she squished centipedes and scorpions under her rubber hawai slippers, chased mongooses, knew the benign snakes from the poisonous ones and jumped into the well to retrieve coconuts that fell in.
Monita felt safe around Uma and wished to do something that would impress her. Little did she know that Uma secretly envied her fair skin, and straight silky hair. Everything about Monita spoke of her privileged upbringing, something Uma craved but did not let on, given how self respecting she was. On Onam day Uma took care to dress in her polyester skirt stitched, from one of her mother’s old but unused sarees, specially for this occasion. Monita chose a lovely chungudi skirt, white with an elegant red and gold border with matching white blouse. She tied her hair in a pony tail, wore matching pearl jewellery.
Lunch time was heralded with great expectation. The wonderful smell of the Sadya feast permeated that hut and hunger gnawed at Monita’s tummy. Suddenly, Uma grabbed Monita’s hand and tore outside with her into the yard overgrown with lush vegetation telling her mother she would cut banana leaves for the family to eat off. When they were behind the tree, Uma cupped Monita’s face in her hands and stared into her eyes. She murmured in Malayalam “ you are so sweet, I want to eat you”. Monita’s heart began to pound with excitement and her cheeks flushed pink. Uma said “you are so pretty like a rose bud” pinching her on both cheeks and then slowly bringing her lips to each cheek. Monita had never known such intimate physical touch. Her parents were undemonstrative and their show of affection was limited to an absent-minded gentle ruffle of her hair. Uma brought all her passion for life to her kisses and slowly daringly moved to Monita’s lips. Monita felt faint from the intense feelings of pleasure that cursed through her every nerve. At the deep recesses of her mind, a voice which she chose not to heed, told her this was not right. She stood there glorying in the munificence of this sensual bounty. Uma’s hands now moved to her full breasts arousing her nipples causing them to pout. Slowly, she began to experience an ache right near the part from where she peed. She felt confused and a little scared. They were both startled out of their reverie by a crow that began cawing loudly just above them. They hurried to gather the banana leaves and returned, breathless and awkward, avoiding each other’s eyes. Monita barely tasted her lunch. She stole glances at Uma who also partook of her meal rather indifferently. The moment had passed and she did not know if it would ever return. She dared not initiate the contact. But would Uma, knowing the social chasm that lay between them, not to mention all the societal taboos around girls not kissing other girls? She knew that no future experience would ever come close to this one, when she was sensually awakened, made to feel utterly desirable.
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