Kanchanambaazh studiously bent over the simmering clay pot, throwing in various ingredients with a carelessness that comes only with long habit and expertise. The mezhaghu rasam or the mulligatawny soup as the English called it in their wierd accent, boiled over and over like a mini whirlpool, feeding on itself. Kanchana stared into it mesmerised, remembering the day, Sir Sebestian Hook, the new officer from the East India Company had walked into their village and her house…
Kanchana had just finished cooking when her kids had rushed in,”Amma, Amma some Hook aiyyah has come. He is thirsty.”
She had laden a tray with water and a mammoth tumbler of mizhagu rasam and had extended to him,” Aiyyah, for you…”
The thirsty officer grabbed the water and then the rasam gratefully, “Thank you.”
After that day, he often got thirsty and visited her frequently. But this morning, his true intentions had leapt out like a poisonous snake would out of a thicket,” When all are gone, I will come for some more mulligatawny soup and YOU…!”
She had clutched her pallu tightly and put a hand over her mouth in horror.
He had come very close to her and whispered menacingly in her ears, “Darling, you don’t comply then I can do a lot of nasty things to your husband and your charming kids! Be a good girl, okay!”
She had just stood there, her head bent and her beautiful face, displaying absolutely no emotion.
Her limbs and brain had stopped working. His words in perfect but accented Tamil hung like a refrain in her consciousness. She prayed to all the gods, begging for some help, some direction. She looked around like a panic-stricken deer when a strange kind of solace seemed to emanate from the simmering mizhagu rasam. She closed her eyes.
She had then sent off her family and had gotten ready for him…
Hook aiyyah came later, beaming and excited like a testesterone-ridden teen boy. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She looked like a goddess in her red saree and flowers.
She had unfailingly offered his favourite mulligatawny soup and had invited him in to her bed room.
He but ran into the room and beamed at the way she had set up everything neatly and at the simple but wholesome flower decorations.
“But, what is this huge knife doing on the bed dear?” He asked her with a puzzled look.
He turned to look at her and saw an inhuman look in her eyes and demeanor and recoiled in horror.
A tug at her saree, jolted her back to the present, “Amma, I’m hungry. Aiyyo, why is the mizhagu rasam looking so red today and what are those things floating in it?”
Kanchana kissed her child lovingly,” It got spoilt. I will throw it in the gutter. Here, I have made Pongal for you.”
And then the most beautiful smile in the world spread across her already stunning features…
Mulligatawny soup is the borrowed word.
