Mohan was  telling his wife Leela about his impending official tour to Coimbatore for 3 days, when his 7 year old son interrupted their talk:

“Daddy, where are we going this vacation?

“I have a conference at Coimbatore for 3 days Beta.  So, on my way I will leave you in Kollu Patti’s (great grandmother) house.  You will get to know briefly what a village life is.”

“Village?  Oh, no Daddy!! I want to go abroad”

”Abroad?  Where to, abroad?” Leela’s voice butted in.” Whoever put that into your mind?”

Leela had heard about this latest fad of vacationing abroad, but she hadn't thought that it would have caught up on her little boy.

“But mummy, everyone’s going abroad.  Rahul is going to Singapore; Shweta is going to London...”

“But, to go abroad, one needs a passport ...”

“..And lots of money” Leela emphasized.

“Okay, okay…..” Arun mumbled, his interest now having waned, he went back to his computer game which had been briefly set aside.  His deft fingers once again started maneuvering the left-right, up-down arrows on the keyboard.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Finally, the good day dawned, and father and son ambled into a typical agraharam in Palghat.  The agraharam had two rows of houses, one on either side of the street.  At one end there was a temple while on the other end there was a huge Arasa Maram (Peepal tree) - these two defined the boundaries of the village.

Patti was there, waiting eagerly in the Thinnai (raised platform) outside.  The moment she saw them, she descended the steps and welcomed them warmly with her toothy smile saying “Vaango..vaa da Kanna, vaa da Konde..” (Come my child, come my baby) and grinning from cheek to cheek.  At 79, Patti was sprightly, full of verve and a bagful of energy.

“Patti, I could smell the gama-gama aroma of your sambhar 7 houses away” Mohan said, grabbing Patti’s hands and taking a deep whiff out of her palms. “What magic do you carry in your hands Patti?” He asked in all seriousness.

“There is neither maya nor marmam in it” Patti said matter-of –factly. “The reason is simple.  The vegetables, coconut and the Puli(tamarind) are all grown in the Kollai (backyard).  No harmful chemicals, no pesticides, see….” she concluded.

“But Patti, you are being too modest.  Your hands do make a difference.”

“Po Da Chaapaatraman!! ( Go, you glutton)” she said, and dismissed the compliment with mock exasperation.

Meantime, Arun had already gone into the Koodam (the main rectangular hall) and was enjoying a ride on the Attukattil (a wooden swing that can double up as a cot).

Though Mohan wished, he couldn’t linger much longer, as the conference was slated to begin the same evening. So, after a sumptuous and satisfying meal, he patted his patti on the shoulder, gave a peck to his son and bustled off.

Minutes later, a little boy of about Arun’s age peered in, his large inquisitive eyes eager to find out who the new guest was.

“Come  ...Come…Suraj, meet Arun, our baby” Patti welcomed.

“Is he the same one who stays on the 21^st floor in a skyscraper in Mumbai” Suraj wanted to know.

“Tower, not skyscraper” Arun corrected.  Very tall buildings were referred to as ‘tower’ in Mumbai’s local lingo.

“Can you touch the clouds from your house,” Suraj asked, now getting curiouser.

“Of course not, clouds are much higher,” Arun said, assuming a pedantic air.

“Come, let’s play in the Kollai (backyard)” said Suraj abruptly, as he pulled and goaded Arun out of the attukattil.  They exited the Koodam to the open courtyard which had a Tulsi Madom in the centre.  At the far end there was a well abutting the kitchen. Ahead of them was the cowshed, which they had to cross to reach the Kollai.

 On reaching the cowshed, Suraj got immediately absorbed with Rashati, the lone cow, which was sitting quietly chewing the cud. First, he picked up some hay and offered it to her, persuading Arun also to do so.  Then he began pampering, rubbing and patting her and poor Rashati had no alternative but to patiently tolerate all his antics. Arun, on the other hand was not quite enjoying all this.  Nervous and unsteady, he half expected the cow to come menacingly at him, the smell of the dung adding to his discomfiture. Suraj barely seemed to notice Arun’s subdued enthusiasm.  He went about saying “Don’t fear, Rashati does not harm anyone” and as if to prove his point lifted Arun’s hand and gently guided it over the cow’s head. Arun, on a reflex, immediately withdrew his hand and stood away.  Suraj was reluctant to leave the cow alone and only after what seemed an interminably long time did they venture out into the Kollai or backyard.

The backyard proved to be a veritable Eden for the children.  Arun had never seen so many mangoes hanging from long stalks, nor had he seen such giant sized jackfruits bunched together along the length of the jackfruit tree. It was all very enchanting.  The coconut trees swayed above them enticingly.  The chickoo tree and the guava tree heavily laden with fruits were the closely guarded undisputed properties of the birds and their cacophony was deafening.  A few squirrels scooted about helter-skelter in their hunt for goodies.

Presently, Patti’s voice could be heard in the distance calling out to Rashati, and Rashati’s clear voice meeting it enthusiastically with a ‘moo....’  Before long, Patti had joined them educating them on the flora and fauna around.  It did not take her long to divert their attention towards her pet project - the patch where she grew her vegetables.  She proudly showed them and identified to them the lady’s finger, its trumpet-like bell shaped yellow flowers, the raw green tomatoes, the brinjals, the gourds, the Keerai (Indian spinach), the drumsticks that hung in hundreds on the drumstick tree, the yam plant … “All vegetables except the English vegetables can be grown easily,” she declared, “And the only fertilizer I use is Rashati’s dung” she said, pointing to the dung cakes stuck on the wall for drying.

Then, since the afternoon sun was scorching, she beckoned the children inside, after sufficiently whetting their appetite to explore the treasures of the first floor. The wooden steps in the thavaram (staircase room) led to the first floor. The children climbed the steps and landed on to the first floor.  The ceiling was low and the large hall was dusty with cobwebs all around.  The furniture was sparse with only a bench, an easy chair and a broken stool.  At one end there was a wooden cupboard.  Tentatively, Arun approached the creaky cupboard expecting a genie to pop out, but instead a lizard hopped out making them jump.  They saw that three shelves of the cupboard were stacked with books- books in English, Tamil, Sanskrit and Malayalam – books yellowed with age and crumbling to bits on touch, some of them moth eaten.  Arun spotted the book ‘Swami and Friends’ and immediately pulled it out.  The top two shelves contained the Navarathri dolls-colourful dolls of Gods and Goddesses, carved of clay.  There were also dolls of fragile china which were beautiful and delicate, and then, there were the traditional wooden dolls – the Marapachi bommai, which however didn’t appeal to Arun’s taste. The Chettiar with a rounded tummy caught the children’s attention and they brought it out amidst peals of laughter.  Before they could explore any further, Patti called out to them for having their coffee. The boys trooped back noisily into the Koodam and flung themselves on the swing again and coffee it was for them – rich creamy coffee with Murukku, Banana chips, and Mysore Pak. 

Presently, Patti went into the Machukullu (store room) and the children followed suit. The Machu was dark and Arun’s eyes took a few moments to adjust to the darkness. The room was a hotchpotch of eatables, utensils, grains and vegetables.  There were huge steel and brass utensils, big bharanis( jars) containing pickles and tamarind(as explained by Patti), and so many other things.  Ash gourd, pumpkin, yam, bananas etc.hung precariously on pouches supported by hooks hanging from the ceiling. A strong smell of roasted coffee seeds hung in the air, dominating the smell of ripening mangoes kept covered in hay. Arun dipped his hand into the bottles of achu vellam (Jaggery) and Kalkandu (sugar candy) and filled his pockets with the booty. When Patti came out of the Machu, the children came out too.

Patti then decided to show Arun the ‘ arai’ or the granary, the only room that Arun hadn’t seen yet. She opened the latch of the ‘arai’, helped Arun climb up the footstool and take a peek inside. It was pitch dark inside and Arun immediately cried, ’Dark Room’,  a picture of the dreaded ‘dark room’ in his school conjuring up in his mind. “No” said Patti, ‘this is the granary where we used to store the harvested paddy in the days when your great grandfather was alive. Now of course we don’t own any paddy field.” She said the last line more to herself than to him. Arun however heard it and said “Don’t worry Patti, I will grow up and buy you paddy fields” and this made Patti grin.

“This house made of lime and mortar is more than 100 years old” Patti said.  “Hundred Years?” the children echoed disbelievingly, ‘You mean a century?” Arun asked for confirmation.

And Patti, are you also a 100 years old?” Suraj asked pertinently.

“Well, almost” Patti said with a chuckle.

Evening came and people started thronging the temple. Suraj took Arun for the darshan. As was the custom, in the outer ring of the temple, there were always one or two devotees who would smash coconuts, and children would rush to collect the scattered pieces.  Suraj was proud to exhibit his quickness at picking up a sizeable portion of the coconut shreds, which he handed magnanimously to Arun for taking it home.  They returned home after the ‘Deeparadhana’ (worship with lights -aarthi), the last ritual after which the temple doors closed.

On the way back Suraj extracted a promise from Arun to accompany him to the river for a bath the next day. ”You can collect shells and rounded pebbles at the river bank. And the fish will nibble at your feet when you wade in the water.  It will be fun” he said.

That night when Arun slept clinging to his Kollu Patti, he dreamt of so many things…  It was a fun filled and eventful day indeed.

 
(Dear Reader,
Melody Queen has contributed a picture of the famous heritage village  'The Kalpathy Agraharam'. I am sure you would like to  see the picture.  To see the picture may I kindly request you to go to page 2 of Melody's comment in the comments section.Thanks.)