Village Goddesses, Tomatoes and Onions

Yesterday I posted an article about the Tamil village deities. One of the most powerful, who exists in the north as well as the south, is Mariamman, who used to rule over smallpox. (The north Indian equivalent is named Sheetal, which means 'coolness.') Now that smallpox has been eradicated, she must content herself with measles and chicken-pox.

When my old cook's grandson came down with one or the other of those, she told me that he 'had' Mariamman. She treated it by pouring water on his body for coolness, and applying turmeric paste. She knew that it would go away in ten days.

Later, our gardener came down with Mariamman. He treated it by wrapping a cloth around his shoulders and carrying a sprig of neem leaves near his face; the air which passes neem is supposed to be cooler and more salubrious than ordinary air.

(This gardener, Rajamanikkam, later caused us a lot of pain. He was with us for ten years, from when he was about 16. He was the most intelligent and resourceful of the people who have worked in our house, but at some stage he decided to steal. Padding the vegetable prices a little is almost universal, and one generally overlooks it; but tools began to disappear, and then it became clear that he was taking a commission from the repairmen who came to the house. Finally, he stole money from a drawer I had left unlocked, and we realised that we had to fire him.

He had married the housemaid, Pungudi, so she went with him. Worse than that, Pungudi's relatives in the nearby slum were known to practise black magic. Rajamanikkam went to the cook and told her that she had to quit too, or they would put a spell on her. The house emptied overnight. Only the Nepali watchman remained. He was frightened, but one of his hands is clenched up and paralysed, and he probably can't get another job.

I had to hire new staff, the people who are with us now. The cook came back after six months, and worked for us until she died of a heart attack last year. It's still hard to think about Rajamanikkam, and I miss his small son, Shanmugam. Rajamanikkam took Shanmugam vegetable shopping on his bicycle every day. One day when he was still a toddler I walked into the kitchen, and found him waving the cloth shopping bag and chanting "Thakkali vengayam! Thakkali vengayam!" ("Tomatoes and onions! Tomatoes and onions!")

our current cook, Mary, buys vegetables at the gate;
the land across the street is shown on the map as 'open jungle',
but it's been filled in and levelled for a building site
(sorry, it's an awful photograph -- unless one admires garbage dumpsters)