Fresh, forever.

My translation of Tamil Writer Pudumaippithhan’s short story வாடா மல்லிகை (Vaadaa mallikai — Unfading Jasmine). The original story was published on 07.09.1934.

Her name was Sarasu. She was a Brahmin girl. The society probably decided that she should be true to her name*, so clothed her in white even before she turned seventeen. Yes, she was a widow. What can the society do if her husband was enamored with the God of death and left her?

She was blooming now. Nature had blessed her with its bounty . She was like poetry in motion.

If a rose withered away in a forest, nobody worries too much about it. But if it is destined to be alone in a park, where other people stroll around blissfully, how can one not be affected by the suffocating loneliness?

By controlling her natural instincts, she was sacrificing herself. It was the society’s blood thirstiness that praised her as a pure woman. Didn’t she have any rights in the society? Was she doomed to be like a slave in an empire? But what can the society do? The society that pontificates - Vedas say so, Dharma Shastra says so..?

Sarasu did not know all this. She was a Hindu woman. A voiceless object. She lived her life believing the words of her parents, husband, and ancestors. Her parents got her married. Her husband gave her a brief glimpse of the pleasures of married life and vanished from her life before her thirst could be quenched. He was not to be found in this world anymore. Then..forget it. The ancestors who defined how one should live, were now with her husband. She had never spoken against even her parents. Then how could she defy her ancestors? She was a woman. Fear and submission were her adornments, the society told her. How else could she be? She wasn’t a girl with higher education. She did not have the capacity to reason things by herself. Nature’s urge had not imbued her with brute passion. Even if it had done so, the society was ever ready to abuse her.

We can pontificate that in any institution, minorities who are an exception have to suffer. Such statements sound easy on the ears. Sarasu was an exception. She did not have the right to quench her passion.

She came to the terrace at 7’O clock every morning to dry her hair. She had to bathe early. Thankfully, due to her parents’ affection, she did not have to tonsure her head like Jain monks and disfigure her beauty. Even if she had lost her hair, she would not have bothered. When there was no life to live, of what value were her tresses?

Anyone’s eyes would moisten on seeing her. A permanent grief, an indelible stain of sadness was ever present in her eyes. She did laugh, talk happily — but behind all that was a pall of gloom.

Have you ever been a celibate, a real celibate? If another higher ideal doesn’t consume you and you just remained celibate, the celibacy will eat you alive. It will awaken your primal instincts and destroy your mind. How to explain this situation where she had to remain celibate due to society’s compulsions?

Sarasu’s brother Duraisamy was to consummate his marriage that day. Initially Sarasu was full of joy, at the celebrations in her house. It was due to her unbridled affection as a sister.

That day came.

The night duly followed. Darkness engulfed the village. The house was well lit.

The house was well lit. But Sarasu’s heart?

So many memories crowded in her mind. Three years ago, her husband too was about to touch her for the first time… so many thoughts. As the clock ticked away, she tried to remember each moment of that joyous night three years ago, when her life was about to blossom — how shy he was initially! Then he became bold as she was his by right .. Did she expect then that her life will be darkened so soon? She had thought that the pleasure of that night would be everlasting, eternal…

Duraisamy and his wife were taken to the room. She couldn’t withstand the joyous sounds and jokes of those who were around.

She felt an uncontrollable force pushing her, breaking her self-restraint. She went to the garden behind the house.

I followed her. I could understand her emotions to an extent. I felt sorry for her..

I heard a girl crying silently. I went closer. It was her.

“Sarasu”

There was no reply. I went a little more closer and touched her shoulder. She didn’t react, just stood there — her body heaved as she was crying.

“Sarasu. Don’t worry, I am there for you”

“I am a Hindu woman” she replied forcefully and went inside the house.

I was stunned. Did a Hindu woman not have a right to live?

I don’t know how long I was standing there.

She came back.

“Sarasu. Forgive me. I meant something else. You misunderstood me. I will marry you”

“You want to sacrifice for your ideals. I don’t want that. At best I will be an instrument to satisfy your ego, your ideal of sacrifice. I am not asking for love or sacrifice. All I want is affection”

“That I have” I said. I hadn’t expected her to be so articulate.

“Then there’s no need of marriage. Affection is enough” she said, looking down.

“What are you saying Sarasu? Illicit relationship is a sin. A marriage will solemnize our relationship”

“I don’t want your sacrifice. Just your affection!”

“You are a whore!”

“I will not become a victim of your sacrifice. You expect to garner a good name by this. You will be hailed as a revolutionary. That is what you expect. I am not a whore — I am a woman. I just want to satisfy nature’s urge” she said

I was shocked. I left that place.

Her body was found in the well next day. With a letter that said “Just as I expected”

* clad in White Saree like Goddess Saraswati, after whom she was named