Chapter 105அதிகாரம் 105 சடங்கு Ritual

She took up the bow, and took up the bow; when she had forgotten the bow, her hand stood as the bow.

Though the kolam they drew is wiped away, the kolam they keep on drawing is itself the vow.

A kolam is a rice-flour pattern drawn at the threshold each morning; by evening, feet have scuffed it away.

The man who sprinkled water on the courtyard sprinkles it today as well; tomorrow the son sprinkles it.

Each time she joins her palms before the crescent of Aadi, she knows that many Aadis have gone by.

Aadi is a month of the Tamil calendar; each year its new crescent moon is greeted with joined palms.

Once an act has become what they do, that act becomes the maker of those who do it.

Every key word grows from one Tamil root, sey, meaning both ‘do’ and ‘make’: the doers, the doing, and what the deed does to them.

Like a channel cut along a field, ritual becomes a swift outlet for tears.

They do not ask whether the ancestors’ word is false or true: it is a fire, kept alive with poured ghee.

A lullaby a thousand mothers have sung is new to the child’s ear.

In the upper room he lit a fire, poured ghee on it and called it a sacrifice; a fire lit in the hall is a house fire.

Ghee poured on a fire is an offering. The closing Tamil word, tee, means both fire and harm.

No one is without ritual; some say there is no ritual, and on that saying they set up a ritual.