Tyagu

By Sivasankari

Sivasankari (born October 14, 1942) is a renowned Tamil writer and activist. She has carved a niche for herself in the Tamil literary world during the last four decades with her works that reflect an awareness on social issues, a special sensitivity to social problems, and a commitment to set people thinking.

She has many novels, novellas, short stories, travelogues, articles and biographies to her credit. Her works have been translated into several Indian languages, English, Japanese and Ukrainian. Eight of her novels have been made into films, having directed by renowned directors like K. Balachander, SP Muthuraman and Mahendran. Her novel 'Kutti' on girl child labour, filmed by the director Janaki Viswanathan, won the President's Award. Sivasankari's novels have also been made as teleserials, and have won the national as well as regional 'Best Mega Serial' awards.

As a multi-faceted personality, she has won many prestigious awards including Kasturi Srinivasan Award, Raja Sir Annamalai Chettiyar Award, Bharatiya Bhasha Parishad Award, 'Woman of the year 1999-2000' by the International Women's Association, and so on.

'Knit India Through Literature' is her mega-project involving intense sourcing, research and translations of literature from 18 Indian languages, with a mission to introduce Indians to other Indians through culture and literature.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pustaka Digital Media
• Release date: Aug 12, 2019
• ISBN: 6580501803708

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Tyagu

Author:

Sivasankari

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Tyagu

Oru Manithanin Kathai

Translated from the Tamil Novel Oru Manithanin Kathai

by Uma Narayanan

Sivasankari

About The Author

Sivasankari has written with great awareness on social issues and problems. Globally recognised and honoured for her writings, she is the recipient of several awards. These include the Kasturi Srinivasan Award; the Raja Sir Annamalai Chettiar Award; the Bharatiya Bhasha Parishad Award; Premchand Rastriya Sahitya Samman and the Tamil Annai Award. Her books have been translated into many Indian languages, English, Japanese and Ukrainian. Some of her major works are Oru Manithanin Kathai, Paalangal, Avan, Nandu, Verillatha Marangal, Amma Sonna Kathaikal.

Knit India Through Literature is her mega-project involving intense sourcing, research and translation of literature from 18 Indian languages, with a mission to introduce Indians to other Indians through culture and literature.

About The Translator

Uma Narayanan, is a graduate in Home Science, has translated works from French and Tamil into English. She has translated Rose Vincent's Le temps d'un royaume for Affiliated EastWest Press, Rajam Krishnan's Kurinjithen for Orient Longman, and Works of Ambai for Katha.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

It was the year 1976. An unusual advertisement in 'The Hindu' caught my attention. There were just four lines:

Are you an alcoholic?

Do you want to get rid of the habit?

Do not worry.

We are here to help you.

The address of Alcoholics Anonymous was given below.

Alcoholics Anonymous. What was that? Did it refer to anonymous drinkers? Who were they?

I wanted to know more about them, so I immediately wrote to them.

I received a reply within four days. The secretary of the association had assumed that either my husband or I drank. He had enclosed several pamphlets on the ills of drinking and how to get out of its clutches. He suggested that the next time we came to Madras we should visit their office, and they would help.

I spent the next two days poring over the pamphlets.

How was an alcoholic different from a drunkard?

Why was alcoholism referred to as a disease?

How could it be detected?

How and when was Alcoholics Anonymous Established?

A.A. explained the twelve do's and don'ts for those who wanted to shed the habit. Alcholism is a family disease; and the alcoholic requires the support of family and friends to come out of the disease.

I was ignorant of the facts, till I read the pamphlet.

So, was alcoholism really a disease?

Was alcohol to alcoholics like sugar to diabetics?

This was a new perspective of alcoholism. Why had no one written about in detail till now?

Society looked with disgust at a drunkard. Why had efforts not been made to make the public aware that alcoholism had to be treated aggressively and that it needed special treatment?

I remembered the drunkards whom I had met over the years. One of them, normally docile, would begin to insult his wife, call her an arrogant bitch and pick up a quarrel with her in public, after a couple of pegs.

Another one used to stuff greasy vadais in his pockets, refuse food and sing all night after drinking.

Yet another friend would cry in self-pity after he had imbibed alcohol. 'Me? I don't remember to have said all those things. He would exclaim, wide eyed with surprise.

There were others who would skip office, drink for twenty four hours, act foolishly losing all self respect.

I knew many others like them. I had thought of them all as excessive drinkers. Were they not cowards who lacked strength of mind and became drunkards? Did they not behave in such a lowly fashion because drinking had become a disease in them?

Didn't their friends realise they were alcoholics? Did their wives ever think, 'My husband is a sick man; He needs my help to get better?'

My mind was beset with many doubts and questions. So, when I was next in Madras, I met the secretary of the A.A. I asked him a lot of questions. I read exhaustively on the subject. I met Dr V Ramachandran, a psychiatrist, and discussed case histories of alcoholics with him. I made an effort to grasp all that he said.

As I learnt more, I began to see alcoholics in a new light. I wanted to share with others what I had learnt and felt. I felt an intense desire to do something constructive about it.

When I was invited to write a serial in 'Ananda Vikatan', I talked about alcoholism to Mr Balasubramanian, the editor, the topic which had been foremost in my mind and which I had been wanting to fictionalise.

He listened to me with his eyes closed. When he opened them, they were misted over and he accepted my suggestion. Tyagu was born, Ganga was born, and the story was born.

I believe that if Tyagu's story touches a chord in even one alcoholic and makes him sit up and think, I would consider my writing to be a success. When I receive letters, which says 'I was Tyagu, I have changed' or 'My husband was like Tyagu, he is now a new man' or even 'I was like Ganga, I've learnt my lesson', I'm greatly moved.

When I realise that God used my writing and me as instruments I feel a lump in my throat.

I'm grateful to 'Ananda Vikatan' and its editor for not only serialising the story, but also bringing it out as a book.

My special thanks to Dr Ramachandran and the A.A for their inputs, which have helped me to write this book.

It was telecast as a serial in Doordarshan. I have received letters from hundreds of people working in alcoholic rehabilitation centres all over the state saying that they were impressed by its impact.

I was happy when my good friend Uma Narayanan, inspired by the topic and sharing the same concerns, offered to translate the story. I'm indebted to 'New Horizon Media' for publishing this English translation under their 'Indian Writing’ imprint.

It is not my intention to preach. I have written this novel to share my concern. What I learnt and wrote was a process of caring and sharing. I sincerely hope this sharing is well received.

Sivasankari

***

1

Tyagu closed his eyes.

His throat was parched. His tongue felt like cardboard. A woodpecker was pecking away inside his brain. Birds fluttered inside his ears.

How much longer would he have to suffer like this?

He looked around without lifting his head. He made sure that no one was looking his way. He extended his right hand and unclenched his fingers. He felt them tremble and he quickly tucked the hand firmly between his thigh and the chair.

How long would he have to suffer?

He could easily nip upstairs, gulp down a mouthful of whisky and rush back, without being detected.

Just a mouthful.

A small gulp. It would be a boon to his parched throat.

Even if he could have just a little drop, his throat would feel better. He would not suffer. The woodpecker would stop pecking.

Just a mouthful.

He struggled to get up, but felt himself being pushed down.

What damned torture to undergo while his father's body lay stretched on the floor! Tyagu cursed himself. What sort of man was he, that he could not hold himself together even for a few hours?

He gripped the chair with both hands.

No, not now.

Chithi, his stepmother, would arrive any moment with the children. After consigning his father's remains to the flames, he would have to return and have the ritual purification bath. He could then be sure that Ganga, his wife, would not come up, since she would be busy with the children, and he would be free to have his drink. He consoled himself and tried to divert his mind from drink by looking all around.

He saw his father Swaminathan's body, which had been placed in the north-south direction in the middle of the living room with its toes tied together. Chithi would be late in arriving. To ensure that the body did not decay, they had put two large blocks of ice on either side of it. They had wedged coarse gunny sacking all around the ice to absorb the water trickling from it as it melted. To avoid the stench of death, eau-de-cologne had been sprinkled generously and its scent mingled with the fragrance of the rose and jasmine garlands.

A cynical smile curved Tyagu's tightly closed lips as his mind dwelt on Ganga. Ganga, who had disliked serving even a cup of hot coffee to her father-in-law when he was alive, was now bending over backwards to perform the customary rituals and observe the right traditions like a dutiful daughter in law.

How could he smile now?

Does the heart have no feelings?

Could a son smile while his father's body lay stretched out?

But then, he did feel like smiling. What could he do?

Tyagu's eyes shifted from his father to the door.

The priests were there and the place was littered with green bamboo poles, palm leaves and other miscellany. Seshan, Ganga's father stood earnestly supervising the work. Anger seared Tyagu when he saw his tall, pot-bellied father-in-law engrossed in the preparations for the funeral.

Was he not the cause of all this?

Had he not goaded Ganga to get his father to come to his house? Was it not because of him that his father, who had been going about his business as usual till the day before, was a corpse today? Why then this pretence of grief?

Seshan and his daughter had exaggerated what had been a simple matter and brought his father here. They had provoked his father, who had a heart problem, to lose his temper and shout. And now they wore a mournful look on their faces. What a shame!

His fingers, which were tightly held between his thighs and the chair, began to tremble and he had to press hard to keep them still.

Suddenly his throat seemed to have become more parched; he breathed with difficulty. He swallowed the saliva in his mouth.

No. It was no use. He was afraid that the deafening sound in his ears was audible to everyone.

Just a peg. A small one. A thimbleful.

When he felt he could stand it no longer, Tyagu got up. He climbed the stairs, two at a time, dashed across the bedroom, ran into the bathroom and bolted the door.

His chest heaved with the strain, and he breathed heavily.

His hands trembled so violently that he found it difficult to lift the lid off the water cistern, but he finally managed it. His hands groped in the water and eventually gripped the bottle that lay flat beside the float and lifted it out.

He hastily unscrewed the cap, sniffed its contents appreciatively and took a gulp.

Mm... what a delicious flavour. What bliss!

Just as milk about to boil over settles when sprinkled with a few drops of water, the palpitations in his heart and the deafening noise in his ears disappeared as if by magic. The woodpecker pecking at his brain flew away.

Peace, which had eluded him the last few hours, enveloped him completely

He was not allowed to enjoy this for long. There was a tap on the door.

'Who is it?' he asked.

It was Kannan, his son.

'Uncle Visu is here. Amma wants you to come down immediately.’

'Okay.'

He gulped down another large mouthful, screwed the cap back, gently replaced the bottle and noiselessly lowered the lid of the cistern.

His face flushed with pleasure, when he realised how clever he had been in choosing the cistern as a hiding place. He had been fooling Ganga easily all these years.

Ganga did not like to use the western-style water closet.

‘Like sitting on a stool! Thoo! That's not for me!' she had declared.

She used the Indian-style closet downstairs and hardly ever entered his bathroom.

When she realised that her husband was becoming too fond of his drink, she began to search all the rooms regularly. To this day, this hiding place had eluded her.

Before leaving the bathroom, he lit a cigarette, took a few puffs to mask the smell of drink, and then threw it away. He stood in front of the dressing table, trying to decide what would be best, the perfume, the after-shave lotion or eucalyptus oil. He felt that the first two were inappropriate while his father lay dead. He rubbed a few drops of eucalyptus oil around his neck and on his forehead.

Uncle Visu was one of the few relatives who lived in Madras. Ganga was standing beside him. Her eyes brimmed with tears. She looked grief-stricken, and she clutched the end of her sari.

'He kept talking about his sixtieth birthday which was a year away, and how he would like to celebrate it in a traditional manner. How could I have expected him to die so suddenly? I cannot bear it. He arrived last night by train as though he was determined to die in his son's house. It's hard for me to believe he's gone. How will I face my mother-in-law? The grief is too much!’

Tyagu felt that there was a false note in her voice, so he turned his face away. Uncle Visu left after ten minutes.

Ganga made sure there was no one around, and then asked him in a harsh voice, 'What's the smell?’

‘I have a headache, so I applied some eucalyptus oil.'

He feared that the smell of drink would give him away, if he lingered. So he slunk away and sat in the veranda.

A few friends, relatives and neighbours called on him and left. The body would be taken away as soon as Chithi arrived.

Ganga whispered in her father's ear. 'Eat just a little, Appa, before the next caller comes', she urged and both went in.

What about him sitting like a stone? When she can be so courteous to her father, why is there no concern for him, her husband?

Pig! Conceited pig!

The arrogance of a wealthy woman!

Tyagu looked impatiently at his watch. It was two in the afternoon. There had been a message to say that his stepmother had left at ten. The journey normally took six hours. So she would not arrive before four o'clock.

Why not go upstairs for another drink?

He had had his first drink for the day and he was dying for another.

'I have a severe headache. I'm going upstairs. Call me when Chithi comes', he told Ganga, and without waiting for her reply, went upstairs.

He bolted the bathroom door. He began to drink, resolving to stop with one.

His mind dwelt on the contempt Ganga displayed towards him.

Over the second peg, his mind raced back to his mother.

As he sipped, a kaleidoscope of events flashed across his mind. He remembered the scene when his father had thrown scalding rasam on his mother's face; the time he had pinched him hard on his thighs. He recalled how within a year of his mother's death, his father had shamelessly married Chithi and brought her home. Sadness constricted his throat. The level in the bottle dropped steadily and soon it was only a quarter full.

Kannan came upstairs and kept knocking on the door. Ganga also came up and called out in a peremptory tone, 'what on earth are you doing in the bathroom? Chithi is here. Come out. Tyagu showed no signs of emerging from the bathroom.

Who is she to push him around? Was he a puppy to run when she calls? He seethed with uncontrollable rage. Usually he became quite bold after a couple of drinks, but this time a fiercer and much more savage Tyagu was born.

***

2

‘Dey Tyagu!’

Tyagu, hurrying home from school, with his schoolbag slung across his shoulder, paused.

Gopu, Kasi and Naana, who were playing ‘gilli thandu', beckoned him. 'Come here, da.'

Tyagu hesitated a moment before going towards them.

'Where are you going in such a hurry? Didn't you hear us?’

‘Why do you have to go straight home from school? Can't you play gilli with us for a while?'

'Is he the type to play gilli and marbles? He's a class topper. He won't play with dunces like us.'

Tyagu was silent. Wasn't this teasing a daily affair?

'We are going to pluck mangoes from the landlord's grove. Will you come?'

‘No, I can't.’

‘Why not? Are you afraid of being caught? You're a coward! A sissy! You needn't enter the grove. You can stay outside the fence.’

‘No. I'm not coming.'

'Why?'

'My father will scold me.'

'Why should he scold you? What will we do to you?'

'Nothing, Kasi, but...'

Sensing the hesitation on Tyagu's part, Naana came to his rescue.

'Why do you keep teasing him? Let him join us if he wants to. If he doesn't, let him go. Why keep on and on at him?’

‘You're also a Brahmin like him Naana, but that doesn't stop you from playing with us, and enjoying yourself. Why should he be so stand offish?'

'I'm not stand offish, da. I also want to play with you. But if I get home late, Appa will thrash me. If I don't do sandhi – evening prayer ritual — and settle down to study, he'll skin my arse.'

Those who understood Tyagu's predicament kept quiet.

'Can I go?' he asked. Naana nodded and Tyagu turned to go home. He had hardly taken a few steps when Kasi called out loudly.

'Hey! Do you know the story of the green chilli? A father and mother had no children. One day, the mother went to the kitchen garden and saw the chilli plant full of chillies. She lamented, 'How I wish I could have a child even if he were to be like this chilli!' Soon afterwards, she gave birth to a son who turned out to be a green chilli. Wait and see. The same thing will happen to you. Your