A Festival to Remember

"God, only five more hours left before the morning fireworks start," I was saying to Veena Chechi, my uncle's daughter who shared my irrational fear of pyrotechnics. We had planned to plug our ears with cotton pads before lying down to sleep on the colourful razai quilt spread out as a makeshift bed on the floor of the large living room of our ancestral home. The occasion was the annual temple festival 

at the Devi temple nearby. 

The old sprawling house had come alive with relatives and guests and this was the time of the summer vacation we enjoyed to the hilt.

We adored the grand procession of caparisoned elephants around the village with the idol of Devi placed on the tallest tusker and held in place reverently by the temple priest.We loved listening to the Panchavadyam, a traditional orchestra of percussion instruments like chenda, thimila, maddalam, elathalam and the lone wind instrument called the kuzhal. It was exciting to watch the balloon wallahs roaming tirelessly about the temple grounds selling their wares and the vendors of sweets and puffed rice squatting on either side of the temple Street , trying to ward off the Swarm of houseflies that came to feast on the colourful and juicy sweets that were laid out for display. Most of all, we loved the festive spirit in the air and the endless fun and frolic with our cousins and friends.

The only thing we dreaded was the vedikkettu or fireworks that happened twice, at around 10 p.m and at the conclusion of the festivities at dawn. Both of us were terrified of this mindless assault on the sensitive organ of hearing! When the going got tough, we would hide under the huge wooden cot in grandma's room, much to the amusement of the elders in the family. Our naughty neighbours Sivan and Sanjay were immune to terrible noises and could be seen climbing atop the compound wall to have a better view of the whole proceedings!!!

Veena Chechi and I would plug our ears with with the tips of our index fingers to shut off the deafening sound of the fireworks. The only thing we could watch with a semblance of courage was the bursting of 'amitts' or skyshot crackers that provided aesthetic delight to the eyes as they exploded softly in the night sky , showering down multi coloured sparks! We would remain outside till the batch of amitts were finished. After that there would be an eerie silence for a few minutes.The stage would be set for the arrival of the real villains of the show-gunds and dynamites. These were high decibel skyshot crackers and we would make our escape into the safe haven of the house before the first gund was launched! Sivan and Sanjay, standing excitedly on their favourite spots on the compound wall, could be seen rubbing their hands in anticipation of their favourite part of the show 😂

Inspite of all our precautions, the tremors that would accompany the launching of a dynamite would reach us in our hiding place and we would scream and hug each other fearing that a cracker would go off course and fall in our courtyard or on top of the house.

The fireworks at 10 p.m were over without any mishaps and the womenfolk were preparing to have a light sleep before the procession of elephants in the early morning hours began. 

We two were planning to adopt intelligent defensive measures and to sleep through the fireworks time by plugging the ears with cotton and covering our heads with two layers of clothes with enough space to breathe. My mother and aunt Sharmila began to laugh and tease us seeing our preparations on a war footing.

Cots were being arranged in the living room around the razai so that grandmother, my mother and the aunts could lie there and quickly get up and be ready to watch the morning procession and the fireworks that could be seen from the western part of our courtyard.

Most of the rooms had been occupied by the guests but the men would be spending the night at the festival ground enjoying the melams.

"Padma, please bring me the grey blanket,"Kunji Muthassi, my grandmother's elder sister was calling out to me from her room which was among the three rooms that lined the northern side of a long corridor adjacent to the living room. At the end of the corridor was a window from where Kunji Muthassi could watch the outside world, sitting on the window sill. Polio had crippled her from a young age and she was mostly confined to her room chanting mantras and reading the Bhagavat or the Ramayana. But she would venture outside her room now and then on her own, holding on to the walls carefully. I ran and fetched her the thin grey blanket which was right for the hot weather and then helped her to cover her legs with it.

"Padma, tell your mother to wake me up at 2 a .m tomorrow", said Kunji Muthassi as I ran back to the living room.

Our little cousins Radhi and Kichu were already sleeping on the razai, tired after a hectic day. Radhi was the daughter of my mother's younger sister and Kichu was Uncle Mohanan's son. Both of them were there on vacation and were inseparable companions. Their whistles, plastic watches and the pink rimmed goggles bought from the toy vendor were under the safe custody of our grandmother. All the multi coloured balloons Mohanan uncle had bought for them had either shrunk or burst in the summer heat. Grandmother had bought glass bangles for all the girls and I was looking forward to wearing them.

"Children, go to sleep now," advised grandmother from her corner and Veena Chechi and I occupied the two ends of the quilt with Radhi and Kichu in between. All the elders were sleeping around us. With the protective coverings around the head, I drifted off slowly to a troubled sleep..

I was dreaming of travelling in a ship and being attacked by some firece looking pirates. A fat pirate with an eye patch and a wooden leg was holding me down and shots were being fired in the background.Somebody was shaking me trying to wake me up and as I opened my eyes I saw the agitated face of Veena Chechi looking down at me. Suddenly the windows and the doors of the room started rattling and there was a terrible flash of light. A dynamite was exploding happily high up in the skies and my protective gear was not enough to tone down the effect.😞

I was fully awake now and asked Veena Chechi what the matter was. "Everyone has gone outside. But where are the children? Radhi and Kichu? " 

That was true. The kids were no longer sleeping on the razai. The parts of the sheet where they had slept were crumbled but there was no sign of the youngest members of our family. Could they have gone out with the elders? There was a remote chance but we didn't dare to step outside and investigate. At that moment there was another ear splitting blast and we clung to each other like drowning men holding on to the last available lifelines

It was then that we heard some childish prattle from inside the house and went to check, concerned about the safety of the children. We entered the corridor next to the living room and looked to the left end. The window sill on which Kunji Muthassi used to sit was was empty. But we could hear Kichu and Radhi talking from inside Kunji Muthassi's room. Imagine our surprise when we entered the room and found both the children sitting on the bed comfortably and eating the tiny salt biscuits that Muthassi used to keep inside a glass jar on the cupboard. She was talking to them in soothing tones and they covered their ears with their little hands and buried their heads on her lap when the next blast rattled the door. Muthassi welcomed us with a laugh and shared some biscuits with us too. Then she told us that the children had woken up hearing the terrible sounds and were further alarmed not seeing their mothers in the living room. Crying aloud, they had run to the corridor in search of the elders. From her place on the window sill, Muthassi had seen them and had carefully led them to her own room. 

"They are very brave, the darlings. They would never come near me till yesterday thinking that I was somebody to be feared.Now we have become friends, haven't we?", She asked with a beaming smile on her face.

"If you come here in the mornings, I'll tell you nice stories, okay?" Kunji Muthassi told them.

Radhi and Kichu nodded their heads vigorously and continued chatting with her till their mothers returned.

The fireworks were soon over and all was well with the world

Thinking back, I realise that it could have been one of the sweetest hours in Kunji Muthassi's crippled and dreary existence in her stuffy little room in that big old house.

We were perhaps learning that every uninvited turbulence in life has its own lighter moments too.