Warp and Weft is set in the 1930s in a fictitious village called Zarivaram in India. The book details the unique traditions and customs of the region and highlights the art of handloom weaving.
God made man
Man made money
Money made man mad
Narayana, the protagonist, is orphaned at an early age. He is looked after by his aunt. His aunt dies due to an illness, making Narayana homeless. He wanders on the streets of Zarivaram like a vagrant looking for something to eat. He cannot escape from poverty, which sticks to him like a leech. When drought strikes his village, he witnesses people dying in hordes in front of his eyes. Death brings a new reality; he begins to see life differently. He is shocked to see the Silk Street people untouched by the calamity - they seem to be selfishly enjoying the pleasures that money brings with it. He observes how destiny changes the fortunes of rich people. He makes a selfish pledge to himself: to earn money and become the richest person in his village. He ruminates a lot, patiently listens to astrologers, wise men and fools too. He strives to achieve the impossible. Will fortune favour Narayana?
Excerpt
INTRODUCTION
The novel begins in the 1930s, and is set in Zarivaram – a fictitious village in the midst of rocky, barren mountains in south India.
Zarivaram, better known as the ‘cradle of silk’, is a major producer of the famous Zarivaram Saris known for its broad zari borders and ornate motifs, with each sari weighing about six hundred grams.
The climate in this part of the world is dry and warm. There is hardly any change even during the changing seasons – it’s consistently hot throughout the year. However, there is some respite during the harvest festival of Ugadi. People rejoice themselves on this day by feasting on sugarcane, sweet potatoes and beans.
Generally, people bear the brunt of heat and quench their thirst by drinking water stored in earthen pots. These earthen pots have a story of their own – they not only help in cooling the water stored in them but also act as safe hiding places for the black scorpions that are natural habitats of the region.
Some men of Zarivaram quench their thirst by drinking a liquid of a different kind. Commonly known as kallu, it is a white, fizzy alcoholic drink (toddy) prepared by collecting sap from the Palmyra tree. The agile toddy-tappers climb the tall, slender palm trees like garden lizards. The sap, known as neera, drips into small earthenware mud pots
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that are tied to the tree. After fermentation, neera becomes kallu – the elixir of Zarivaram men.
Most of the houses in Zarivaram are built with mud and straw, and lime-washed white. Above the door of every house hangs a pregnant net, which holds a coconut. It acts as a good omen, keeping demons at bay. In front of the threshold of every home you can see floral designs called muggulu drawn by the women first thing in the morning. It is a meticulous process wherein finely ground white powder is directed between the thumb and the forefinger, resulting in an ornate pattern on the floor.
Chaapal river is the lifeblood of Zarivaram. It is home for hundreds of fish, a few water snakes and plenty of crabs. The water is mainly used for irrigation. During Ugadi the paddy fields are so rich and green that they shine like emeralds.
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CHAPTER 1
It was Monday or Thursday or Friday.
“Hey, you worthless woman!” Venkataiah brawled, as he entered the house, holding a bottle of toddy in his hand. Nagalamma came hurrying, leaving the chore she was doing, at the service of her husband. She wiped her brow with the pallu of her sari and stood timidly in front of him. Venkataiah asked, “What were you doing inside? Is somebody there with you? I don’t trust you at all!” He waited for no inspiration to start an argument over something or the other. And soon this verbal cruelty would turn into physical abuse. Domestic violence was a regular feature in their marital life. He would beat her almost every day and she would sulk in a corner for hours.
Venkataiah took a swill from the bottle and hurled vile abuses at his wife. The curses filled the air, “You need to be kicked left and right. Your mother was a whore and you are no less.” Nagalamma did not utter a word. She just stood there and took the blows. She just prayed, hoping he would calm down soon.
“Tell me, you worthless woman!” he went on, “Who’s that man who went out of our house before I came in. Who? Tell me who was it otherwise I’ll auction you at the market square. You will be ogled by every man in the village.”
“Please stop it,” Nagalamma pleaded. “Whom are you talking about? There’s no man in my life except you. What have I done to receive such rude remarks from you?” She held his feet and said, “Why do you taunt me and my
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mother every day. You are my God,” and broke down.
He kicked her aside and lay huddled in one corner of the two-room house. He wriggled about for a while and soon fell asleep.
Nagalamma washed her face and thought of preparing the mid-day meal. There were no vegetables in the kitchen. She had to go to the market to buy some with whatever little money she had. She never had enough money to run the household.
Nagalamma walked to her neighbour’s house to borrow some money. The scene was no different there. In fact, it was worse. Gowramma’s husband had knocked down Gowramma with a pounding stick and the poor woman’s head was bleeding.
Nagalamma tiptoed inside Gowramma’s one-room house. Her cruel husband was not around. Gowramma looked at her neighbour with tear-stained eyes and asked, “Why are all men alike?”
Nagalamma replied with a sense of deep sympathy, “Because all women are alike.”
Gowramma continued, “Yesterday he went to the temple and vowed in front of Lord Venkateswara that he would not touch the toddy bottle again…but today he seems to have forgotten his promise...”
Nagalamma sighed and said, “I think we shouldn’t try too hard to understand men. It’s wise to just accept them, especially when they are under the influence of alcohol.
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Anyway, get up; I’ll tie a cloth around your head.”
Gowramma refused her hospitality, but Nagalamma insisted, “Now stop being stubborn. I’ll make a turmeric paste and apply it on the wound. It’ll heal in no time.” She then bandaged the wound with a clean piece of cloth and smiled approvingly at her first-aid handiwork. She then asked, “So what have you prepared for lunch?”
Gowramma sighed and said, “Well, I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it at all. We were so busy fighting.” She managed a wry smile. “Thanks for reminding me. He will come back soon and demand food like a hungry lion. I better have something ready before he comes. I have to go to the market. Luckily the baby is sleeping. I can’t carry her in this hot weather.” She patted her daughter who was sleeping soundly in the hammock. “I’ll prepare fresh-water fish curry. He likes it so much…”
“We wives take so much care of them,” said Nagalamma. “We prepare what they relish but still the treatment is… Listen, even my husband likes fresh-water fish curry. But I’ve got no money. I’ll cook some lentils instead…”
Gowramma held her head and got up uneasily, “Don’t worry about the money. I’ve had my day's share of beatings. And yes, I’ve got some money. I'll walk with you to the market.”
The Sunday market in Zarivaram was crowded with tent-like structures planted haphazardly all over the field. Fruit sellers, fishmongers, toy vendors, cloth merchants and several other sellers sold their wares amidst plenty of
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noise and babble.
The fishmongers had a roaring time. The best fish were displayed on Palmyra leaves. Each seller was trying to shout harder than the other. “Small fish, fresh-water fish… ten for two annas. Come here! Our fish are still alive!”
The sun was throwing its heat with force. With sweat gleaming on their faces, both the buyers and sellers played a healthy game of bargain until a fair deal was reached. It was always the Zarivaram women who won the bargain battle. They seemed to possess a knack of dealing with the vendors who wanted to make a fortune on a Sunday afternoon.
Gowramma bought two medium-sized fresh-water fish for an anna each. She handed over one to Nagalamma. Nagalamma was thankful. She said curtly, “Gowramma, you are so kind.”
The two women came home and prepared the fish curry. It was an elaborate process. The fish had to be scrapped on a rough slab of stone to get rid of the external gills. Then they had to be salted with rock salt, sliced vertically in circles and cooked for a full one hour with all the traditional spices. When it was finally ready to be served the strong vapours wafted and woke up the drunken men.
