Yashna

By Balasubha Baskaran

Nine-year-old Yashna is a girl ready for adventure. Her exploits are witty and humorous. She takes you with her on a journey during a holiday at her grandparents house in Sengottai. You will laugh, and you will cry, experiencing moments rendered by a host of lovable and familiar characters. This is a story for all ages that touches on family, relationships, and our immutable human bond with nature.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Partridge Publishing India
• Release date: Nov 27, 2017
• ISBN: 9781543701326

Balasubha Baskaran

Balasubha Baskaran lives in Chennai, India. She values culture and traditions especially those connected to nature. Her hobbies are gardening, painting and writing poetry. Her dream is to bring her stories to life for readers around the globe.

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Copyright © 2017 by Balasubha Baskaran.

ISBN:                   Hardcover                  978-1-5437-0131-9

                            Softcover                    978-1-5437-0133-3

                            eBook                           978-1-5437-0132-6

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CONTENTS

Grandparents Home

On The Terrace With Grandpa

The Weensy Coin Box

Under The Breadfruit Tree

Moon Rice

Coloring Up Orange

Poignant Truths

Into A Peevish Disposition

The Bullock Cart Ride

In The Ghats

Eventful

Afterwards

This work is a humble acknowledgement and a way to say a simple thank you to the villages and communities that served as an inspiration for the book.

In loving memory of my grandparents.

GRANDPARENTS HOME

I looked through the window from my grandma’s kitchen. It started to drizzle though the sky was clear. A green hue spread over the plants and trees, making them look healthy, fresh, and pure. Dark grey clouds approached nearer and there blew a strong gust of wind. The rain began to fall more heavily. I peeked out, leant my face against the grill, and observed the small puddles of water collected near the window. I was a witness to the panorama of nature’s music and dance. A fine spray of rain fell on my cheeks and I smiled. Midsummer shower! I love the monsoon season, as it sets in a month, upon my grandparents’ town, Sengottai. It means rain, rain, and lots of rain. Their home is situated in the foothills of the Western Ghats in the southern state of Tamilnadu, India. I am Yashna. I am nine and half years old.

I watched the rain from a couch cum cot made of teak that was fringed in fancy iron railings. Grandma often uses it to rest during the afternoons and sometimes we use it as a mock dining table. The kitchen was built in the olden style, wide and of considerable size, fitted with square shaped windows. It was mainly used to prepare food, store groceries, and casually entertain people. I was about to have my breakfast of hot ghee roasted dosa with chutney made of raw coconut ground with green chillies and day old curry heated for hours in a mud pot on a wooden stove. I am alone today. My sisters and cousins went to visit our Aunt who lived a few miles away. They may return by evening, or my Aunt may persuade them to stay overnight. They usually do. I got up suddenly and entered the main kitchen. I felt heat emanating strongly from the stoves that burned the firewood. Dried coconut leaf stalks and felled trees fueled the cooking fires. The maids were helping grandma to wash the vessels, cut vegetables and grind curry paste on stone. I was sweating profusely despite the downpour outside. Grandma poured lemon yellow ghee around the dosa, waited till it was golden brown and crisp, and removed quickly from the pan using a flat ladle of stainless steel. I rushed over to where she stood and hugged her close to me with both my arms.

My grandma wore saris of purest cotton, woven so soft, in colors of lighter shades in the traditional way. Her hair, almost half grey, was tied like a bundle behind her neck, her face had never known makeup, but her calm smile was the only accessory needed to add light and glow. It has surprised me many a time to see her use minimal jewelry compared to the other ladies, who decked themselves heavily from head to toe. I could inhale the smell of onions, garlic and all the flavors of Indian ingredients on her which somehow pleased my senses and I hugged her all the more tightly.

Grandma held my chin in her right hand and gently exclaimed

"yennada? (It was an expression of love meaning what is it?").

I kept quiet. I remained still for a few seconds and slowly lifted my face and looked at her with adoring eyes. She smiled indulgently at me. I savored these private moments with her. I ran out happily.

I finished my breakfast while chatting in between chews about my so called aspirations and ambitions. Even though, she never understood what I said, she was aware that it was all young child talk.

I ran out of the dining section into an open area which separated the kitchens, from the main house. I passed through a side door towards the west part of the house that had a cowshed and a small, one roomed cottage that stood all alone, under a cotton tree. We were told it was built specially for our paternal great grandmother, when she recuperated from an unidentified illness. We did not attempt to venture into it, as the cottage looked dark and gloomy inside and out, with no lights…besides, it remained permanently locked anyway. The grounds from the shed to the front yard, leading to the gates, were covered in well manicured lawns. The whole house was bordered and surrounded by huge neem and gulmohar trees.

It had stopped raining. A small walk on the lawn took me to the cow shed. Here, there were two cows and a baby calf, just a year old. As soon as the calf saw me, it became slightly bewildered and confused. I bent forward and lightly touched the glistening brown and white patched head to calm her down. Her soulful eyes gleamed like two big brown marbles and she kept twitching her tail often not to allow any wayward fly near her.

I pushed her and remarked genially,

Now you better be clean and tidy today as that boy is not coming to clean your shed, ok?

She turned frolicsome in a moment, raised her hind legs, leapt and bound to her mother, and nuzzled up closer to seek a sense of protection from her.

The mother cow gave me a benign stare. I stroked her forehead in a mild way which she received quietly.

A maid came by with a pot of porridge to feed the cows. The shed had wooden poles from one end to another which helped the cows to be tied to it. A white picket fence was used to store the hay. The cows could have access to chew on it anytime they wished. She filled two empty barrels with the porridge made of rice and millets.

I asked her why do they have to drink this stuff? Why don’t you give them food?

She answered Feeding this porridge helps them to produce more milk. Don’t you feel that the milk here is tastier than in your city?

I murmured yes, yes of course.

I was reminded of the plastic milk sachets, delivered at home, and of my mother adding tinned powder of various names into it as she expounded that it was supposed to keep us in good health. Whether we liked it or not, this concoction was forced upon us every morning and evening. I had seen my younger sister Arna pour it down the kitchen sink, as soon as my mother turned away. Contrarily, we drink it plain here, it is really tastier, and we actually enjoy drinking the milk.

In silent gratitude, I thanked both the mother cows for giving us back so much in return.

I questioned the departing maid Where is Mutu boy gone today?

I have no idea. He must be lazing around on a haystack after watching a movie at midnight. You know, he watches two continuous shows sometimes, and he is brazen enough to boast about it to us. It’s too much I say. That boy needs a real whacking, and he deserves it all the more for making me do more work. She did not stop talking, till she disappeared into the orchard.

I liked hearing Mutu’s street stories, and how he related the movie drama and action. He liked to play mischief on others a lot. I missed him now.

Crossing the shed, I went past a breadfruit tree fully laden with its fruits that seemed as large as a mountain. It was a pretty sight. I walked towards the orchard in the backyard. It had been planted with a variety of fruit trees including coconut, mangoes, papaya, jackfruit, pomegranate, grapefruit, starfruit, gooseberry and more. A