IN VAISAKH men plough the fields of Kanthapura. The rains have come, the fine, first-footing rains that skip over the bronze mountains, tiptoe the crags, and leaping into the valleys, go splashing and wind-swung, a winnowed pour, and the coconuts and the betel-nuts and the cardamom plants choke with it and hiss back. And there, there it comes over the Bebbur Hill and the Kanthur Hill and begins to paw upon the tiles, and the cattle come running home, their ears stretched back, and the drover lurches behind some bel-tree or pipal-tree, and people leave their querns and rush to the courtyard, and turning towards the Kenchamma Temple, send forth a prayer, saying, 'There, there, the rains have come, Kenchamma; may our houses be white as silver,' and the lightning flashes and the thunder stirs the tiles, and children rush to the gutter- slabs to sail paper boats down to Kashi. And Agent Nanjundia's wife Chennamma and Subba Chetty's Putti are already in the street, filtering the waters for the gold-dust; and Priest Rangappa opens his book bundle and looks into the calendar and says, 'Oh, tomorrow is the rohini star, and people will yoke their bulls to the plough'. And, umbrella in hand, there is Range Gowda, a coconut and betel leaves in his arms, and he goes to Priest Rangappa and says, 'And when, learned sir?' and Rangappa looks this side and that, for the beadles were no more Rangè Gowda's, and the village was no more Rangè Gowda's, but the voice, it was for ever Rangè Gowda's, and so Rangappa looks at the ground and says, 'Why, tomorrow, Range Gowda'. And Range Gowda goes home and swears at the beadles and Beadle Chenna says, 'And when is it, Patel? Why, tomorrow, you rat of a woman,' and Beadle Chenna goes home and sleeps, and when the frogs have stopped croaking there is Chenna with his drum in his hand crying, 'Oh, Ohè, this morning the plough will be blessed,' and people say, 'Oh, this morning already,' and Satanna rises up and says, Why, my right eye winks, we shall have a grand harvest,' and Weaver Chennayya rushes up and washes himself, and puts oil on his hair, and his wife goes to the back yard to pick flowers in the garden, and Chandrayya puts on the velvet coat he had made in town, when he won his case against Sidda, and Ramayya opens his eyes wide and looks between the tiles and says, 'Oh, Sun-god, give us a fine harvest this year and I'll pay up Bhatta's 375 rupees, and marry my last daughter and offer to Kenchamma the goat that I promised her for my woman's cure,' and Pariah Timmayya says, 'Oh, why shall I wake? My yoke is without bulls, and my field without grain,' but his wife, strong woman that she is, she says, 'Go, man, the gods are not so unkind,' and Timmayya grumbles and groans, and with neither flower nor caste-mark he goes into the street-while men and boys drive the bulls out, ploughs on their shoulders and whips in their hands, and when they come to the river, they rub the bulls and wash them and tie flowers to their horns, and 'Hè, hè,' they say as they drive them to the temple courtyard. 'Hè, hè,' the rains have sunk into the earth, and Gap-tooth Siddayya drives his stick into the earth and says, 'Why, she has gone four fingers deep,' and they all say, 'Why, it rained as though the goddess had asked for it. And then, when the day is all wide and the men and the bulls are all come, there comes Priest Rangappa with his holy jug on his head and his wet clothes in his hands, and says, 'You are all here! hè?' and they answer, 'Yes, learned sir,' and he opens the door, pulls wide the holy curtain, bathes the goddess and adorns her, and Trumpet Lingayya and Pipc Ramayya are there, and they stand by the champak and they blow the horn to the east and the west and the north and the south, and from the east and the west and the north and the south, in the ringing rain- cleared air, there comes back the rasp and roar of the horn, and people are seen rushing with their ploughs and bulls, and the bells of the yoke go ringing through the temple grove. They are coming, Rachanna and Madanna, and even Potter Ranga and Pariah Sidda and Timmayya's son Bhima, and Mota and Tippa, who had neither bulls nor fields, they, too, come with flowers in their hair. And Priest Rangappa says with his gruff voice, And you are all ready, you sons of my woman?' and they all cry out, 'Of course! Of course!' And where is he?' and they answer, 'The Patel is coming, there he is!' and the Patel is seen coming on his horse, his filigree shawl thrown over his shoulders, his durbar turban on his head and his English reins in his hands, and Mada running behind him, as though Collector and Governor could wipe the saliva off their mouths, but never would Rangè Gowda be anything but Patel in Kanthapura. And when he reaches the Black-serpent's ant-hill he gets down, throws the reins into Mada's hands and walks up unhurriedly to the courtyard. And Priest Rangappa is heard to ring the bell in the sanctum, and all eyes grow dim and the eyelids droop and everyone says, 'There, there the goddess is going to show her face,' and they tremble and press against each other, and when the legs itch they do not scratch, when the waters drip they do not shake, and then suddenly the curtain is drawn, and Mother Kenchamma is there straight, bright and benign, and the candelabras weave their lights around her, and they say, 'Maybe, she has passed a good night!' Then Priest Rangappa lights the camphor and lifts it up to her jewelled face and takes it round her diamond-hands and ruby feet, and then flowers quietly roll down her face, and they all say, 'There, she has sent us her blessings. Oh, Kenchamma, give us a fine harvest and no sickness, Kenchamma, Kenchamma, goddess,' and even the bulls stand without waving their tails. And then Rangappa comes with a pot of holy water and splashes it now on this bull and now on that, and they shiver and slouch back, waving their bells to the goddess, and the camphor and the sandal are brought, and men take the camphor and the sandal, and they all look up to see if the sun is visible somewhere, and there, beyond the temple grove over the Horse-head Hill, there is a ruddy streak as wide as a sari hem, and they tremble and fold their hands and whisper. And then Rangè Gowda whispers to Priest Rangappa and Priest Rangappa to Subbe Gowda, Why, yours are the youngest bulls. You will tie them to the yoke,' and he is so proud, and he comes forward to his three-year-old Amrithamahal bulls, that he had bought at the Santur cattle fair, and the plough is clean and sharp, and everybody looks up again and again for the goddess' vehicle Eagle to show itself, and as Priest Rangappa goes on chanting the hymns and ringing the bell, there he comes from over the temple spire, there he comes, the feather of God, and turns once, twice, thrice round the temple and the men and the bulls, and the horns shout across the grove and the valley to the mountain-tops. And Priest Rangappa breaks a coconut on the rock and they throw flowers and coloured rice as Subbè Gowda cries out, 'Hèhè, hèhè, ho!', and the plough cuts the carth and spatters the clods, and the farther they go the lighter docs it cut. And when the Serpent field and the village common and the tank gardens are done, Subba lifts its straight out, and the bulls run the faster, and they cry, Hoyla! Hoyla!' and throwing the flowers and splashing the rice, they rush past the Skeffington Estate, and Bhatta's Devil fields, and the river-bank, and once the temple tank is reached, Subba staggers and swirls round, and going down the mound comes straight into the courtyard, and he stops-and they all stop and cough and wipe away their sweat, while Temple Rangappa breaks a coconut again and offers it to the bulls. And they all throw puffed rice at each other and they offer Rangappa a nickel coin each, and then Rangappa goes in and comes out with a silver pot of holy water, and he throws a handful in each of the eight directions, and they say, 'Now, we can till the earth,' and with the sacred flower behind their ears, and their hearts rich with holiness, the women rush back to their homes and men to their fields, crying 'Hoye! Hoye! Hoyeee-la!' And Siddanna's neighbour shouts to Madanna, and Madanna's neighbour shouts to Rachanna, 'Hè, the dame is soft, hè, brother? Oh yes, soft as a pump- kin's kernel.'-'Hè, the river is rising, brother, do you see the brownish waters?' And then there is a grunt and gurgle from over the Blue Mountains, and a fine, swishing rain pours down upon the earth. They stop the bulls, and seated beneath the tamarind trees, they light their bidies, and when the cows are milked, women take them their food. Today there will be sweetmeats and fresh rice. 'Oh, you prostitute of a wind! She's showing her tricks again. Stop, you bitch!' There! The winds die over the river, and the rain pours on.
O Kenchamma, in a week we shall have ploughed and manured and sowed. Send us rain for three days, dry weather for two days, and rain again, a fine, soft rain, Kenchamma. And when Moorthappa comes, let the rice be fine as filigree and the mangoes yellow as gold, and we shall go out, horn and trumpet and gong before us, and break coconuts at his feet. O Moorthappa, Kenchamma will protect us all. .
They say he'll come, Moorthy, when the winds will have risen.
Then everybody said, 'We shall do this for Moorthy's coming and that for Moorthy's coming,' and Rangamma said she would offer a feast at the river, a moonlight feast, and Nanjamma said she would offer a syrup- and-banana libation at the temple, and some said they would spin more and more, and Pariah Lingayya said he would offer Moorthy a red khadi shawl, and Seenu said, Why, I shall make the boys sing, "Oh, such were our men of 1857 "." But Vasudev said Badè Khan was looking strange lately, and that something must be in his head, but Rangamma said, 'Well, so be it, what does it matter? We are so many now," and everybody said, 'Well, it will be fine when Moorthy comes'; and Chinnamma's mother-in-law was happy that she said, "The rice-eating ceremony of the child, well it will be when Moorthy is our guest'. Pariah Rachanna says, 'Why not build a pandal at the entrance of the village, like we do when the Collector comes?' And they go to see Rangamma: 'Mother Rangamma, when is he coming, our Moor- thappa?' and Rangamma says, 'I do not know, it must be on Saturday or Tuesday,' and Lingayya says, 'Then you'll tell us poor folk, Mother, and we shall make it bright, and have a pandal and have the camphor lighted to the village-gate goddess,' and Rangamma feels so happy that she says, 'Why, it shall be grand'.
And that afternoon, Postman Subbayya, who had no fire in his stomach and was red with red and blue with blue, comes running with the Blue paper in his hand and says, 'Rangamma, Rangamma, your Moorthy is released,' and we all say, 'Show us that, show us!' and Rangamma snatches the paper and reads out that Moorthy has been released from prison, and that he has said this and that, and Sankar had organized a huge meeting to receive him, and we all said, 'So he's coming now, he's coming,' and we left our vermicelli paste and cotton wicks and we sang, 'The Blue-god he comes, prancing and playing,' and the pariahs went to the mango grove and tore down young leaves and twigs, and Patel Range Gowda said, 'Take two banana trunks from my garden,' and they slew two banana trunks, and when evening came there swung over the Karwar Road a yellow arch of banana leaves and a green festoon of mango leaves, and the two candelabras stood like Brahma's guardians of the twin portals, and everybody said, 'It will be so fine on Tuesday, it will be like the Swing festival of the Goddess'.
But when Venkamma hears of this she says, 'Oh, you polluted ones, this is what you are going to do! Well, well!', and she rushes straight to Rangappa to consult him about her daughter's nuptial date, for young Nanja had come of age a few days before, and she says, 'Can it be this Tuesday, Rangappa?' and Rangappa finishes his evening prayers, and takes a pinch of snuff and, opening the calendar, he says, 'Why, it may be; but they say that fellow Moorthy is coming,' and she says, 'It is just that Rangappa- don't you see?', and she sends messengers to Alur to inform her gap-toothed son-in-law of the nuptial ceremony, and the next morning at the river she says, 'I want my daughter to go to her husband's house, soon. Tuesday will be the nuptial day, and you are all welcome, sisters, and the invitation will be sent on to you,' and we all say, 'But that's the day Moorthy is coming,' and she says, 'Well, choose between a brahminic feast and a feast for a polluted pig,' and they say, 'Why, of course, Moorthy was excommunicated; but how funny that we forgot all about it since he's been in prison!', and Venkamma cries out, 'That's it, sister. You forget it. But this stomach that has borne eight children cannot forget it. If you had a daughter to marry, you would notforget it, would you?'
