It was a month since she had come back from her hometown. Schools were reopening and Ramu Saar was busy with admissions. He always volunteered for it as it gave him a sense of importance. Not that they ever turned down anyone who sought admission but it felt good to wield a little power and act as if it was his exertions that got the children in. Parents were always humble and supplicants when it came to authority figures like teachers after all. In truth there were very few new admissions in the older classes as the town did not attract new settlers all that much. But this year there was one important new admission. The father was an important civil servant transferred to the district collector’s office.

Of course admission for his child was an assured thing. Ramu Saar was beaming, bending almost backwards obsequiously. This was the kind of person he loved knowing, loved boasting about as an acquaintance. Gopal was a friendly person and used to the bowing and scraping that was part of his job description. Admissions over, he had decided to take a tour of the place. They had moved in only that weekend and had spent it settling down. He eyed Ramu wondering if he would serve as a guide.

Mangala peeped out of the kitchen hearing voices. Ramu Saar had brought Gopal and his son home. He was waxing eloquent on the virtues of their town, the temple,  people who lived there, dropping names. Mangala hurried in to prepare coffee and set out some murukku and thenkuazhal that she had made a few days back. Unusual for him Ramu Saar, introduced Gopal to her – he was so bursting with self-importance at having such a person visit his home that he had to share it with someone, even if it was only his wife.

Mangala retired to her post near the kitchen door and listened idly to the men talking. Her attention was wandering when she heard some talk about music and listened with more interest. Gopal was asking Ramu Saar about a teacher for his young daughter. “My mother was a good singer and I want my daughter to learn too. She is seven years old and I feel it is a good age to start. Do you know any good teacher of Carnatic music?” Ramu Saar was thrilled to be consulted. “Well there is old Viswanatha bhagavathar. Said to be very knowledgable. But he has grown old. I don’t know if he takes any students. Also he may not teach a child.  Wait what about Kamala Amma. Oh no she has gone to live with her daughter.” As he rambled on uselessly Mangala was struck by an idea. It was taking possession of her. Why could she not teach this child? It would be a good opportunity for her to exercise her vocal cords, to do something with her life beyond the regular humdrum of housekeeping and cooking.

But how could she put the idea forward. She knew it would never occur to her husband to suggest that she could teach. It was up to her to come up with an idea. This was a heaven-sent opportunity if only she could capitalize on it. Her throat was dry and choked as she contemplated her attempt to throw off years of accumulated habits and custom. She closed her eyes trying to pray for courage and the face of Bhagyam mami swam into her mind. She held onto it for a moment, her icon of fearlessness and courage. Her legs steadied and her mind calmed down. She picked a glass of water and drank it to ease her throat.

As she walked towards the men, she saw her husband look up a frown showing his displeasure at being disturbed. She turned away from that disapproving face and addressed Gopal. “Since your daughter is a beginner, it may be a good idea for you to look for someone who is not an established singer and yet someone who knows enough to teach.” She hesitated and Gopal eagerly asked, “Can you suggest somebody like that? It is exactly what I am looking for.” She closed her eyes for a minute, drew a long breath and carefully ignoring the vibes from her husband, said, “I can teach her. I have learnt enough music to say that I have sufficient knowledge to teach a beginner.” Gopal beamed, “Now that is a wonderful offer.” He turned to Ramu Saar and said jokingly, “I hope you will agree. I am surprised that you did not suggest her first. Just like you to be so humble about your wife’s talent.” He cleverly heaped more praise on Ramu Saar having got his full measure during the couple of hours they had spent together. He liked the quiet and serene face of Mangala and hoped his wife would like her too.

As he talked on, Ramu Saar relaxed, flattered to be receiving fulsome praise. Mangala watching him decided to use the opportunity and get one more thing achieved. She told Gopal, “It is always easy to learn if one has company. Our son Krishna is around your daughter’s age. I will teach him along with your daughter if you have no objection.” Gopal enthusiastically nodded and turned to bemused Ramu who was unsure as to how he should react. Gopal’s beaming countenance made him smile weakly and nod his agreement to the idea. Mangala slipped back to the kitchen, content with her day’s work.

The week passed swiftly as Mangala geared herself for her new role. A desperate appeal to Bhagyam mami had produced a battered but serviceable sruti box. It would have to do until she could save enough for a tampura, She mentally went over the basic lessons that she had learnt as a young girl and searched for long-forgotten notes. Bhagyam mami watched in amusement mixed with pride, the excited young woman taking her first independent steps. The day fixed for the first lesson dawned too soon for Mangala who was experiencing last minute fears.

Gopal came in with his family, his wife carrying a basket filled with fruit, flowers, betel leaves and all the traditional offerings that was given to a guru. As she placed it in the puja room and shyly greeted Mangala, Gopal spoke up. “You are getting another student too. That is if you are willing. My wife would also like to learn. She claims she learnt a little as a child but could never continue for some reason or other. When I told her about you and Ramu saar, she felt she could be comfortable learning from you.” Mangala eyed her doubtfully wondering if she could deal with an adult as easily as she could a child. Bhagyam mami standing hidden in the kitchen peeped out and gave her a vigorous shake of her head egging her on. Mangala smiled her acceptance.

As everyone settled down, waiting for her to start, she closed her eyes and sought her guru, Sharma’s blessings for this venture. She started with a simple song praising Vinayaka, that remover of obstacles, and as everyone listened quietly she launched into a song composed by Bharathi on goddess Sarawati, the patron goddess of arts.

….  Vellai malar misai vedha karu porulaga vilangidivai

      Tellukalai tamizh vani ninakkoru vinnappam seididuven

      Ellatanai pozhuthum payaninri irathendran naavinile

      Vellmena pozhivai sakti vel saktivel saktivel!! 

………amidst an white lotus, the secret essence of the vedhas! Vani, you are the beautiful and clear poetry of Tamil. I make a request of you. Let not an iota of time be wasted, instead pour out in a torrent (of poetry). ‘Saktivel, Saktivel, saktivel’!!!

As Mangala’s voice rose with the last lines, eyes streaming Bhagyam mami listened to her favourite poet, Bharathi the eccentric freedom fighter and poet, that champion of women and felt that it was appropriate that Mangala had chosen his song to celebrate her own freedom from fetters.

End