URULI

Sathi and Sudha had grown up like two vines twining around the same trellis. Distinct in colour and fragrance, yet inseparable in their upward climb. Through school corridors and college verandas, they had walked side by side, sharing books, secrets, and the quiet certainties of girlhood.

Sudha, with her sharp mind and restless curiosity, had travelled north to Delhi, where she completed her master’s in chemistry at Lady Hardinge College. She returned home with a degree, a fierce commitment to women’s freedom, and a modern, questioning spirit that made her a beloved, if occasionally provocative, assistant professor at the women’s college.

Sathi, meanwhile, had followed the call of words. Malayalam literature had been her refuge since childhood, and she embraced it with devotion. She wrote poetry in the margins of her notebooks, prayed with the same sincerity with which she composed her verses, and carried tradition like a shawl draped lightly but firmly around her shoulders.

It was a quiet delight to both when Sudha fell in love with Jaidev, Sathi’s elder brother. The two had met in Delhi, where Jaidev, a contemplative soul with a philosopher’s gaze, was studying at JNU. He later became a professor at the local University, known for his gentle intellect and unhurried speech.

Sathi had married young. Her husband, Sathish, worked at the local bank, and together they lived with her parents, tending to her ailing mother until her final days. Two years before our tale begins, both Sathi and Jaidev had lost their mother, a grief that still lingered like incense in the corners of their homes.

After his marriage, Jaidev built a house next to Sathi’s. Sudha moved in with him, and the two friends rejoiced at the nearness—two homes, two kitchens, two hearts separated only by a narrow courtyard.

The Spark

The story begins on the morning of a pooja at Sathi’s home. The fragrance of sandalwood still hung in the air as the two women stood in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, bangles pushed back, the rhythm of washing and wiping echoing their old companionship.

Sudha washed the uruli, its bronze surface catching the light. Sathi dried it and placed it on the table. The unspoken rhythm bound the two till Sudha t paused her washing.

“Sathi” she said gently, “the vessels should be kept face down. The water drains better.”

Sathi looked up, surprised. “No, no. Amma always kept the uruli facing upwards.”

“I don’t doubt that” Sudha replied, smiling. “But scientifically—”

“You and your science,” Sathi cut in, her voice tightening. “Science cannot explain everything. This uruli is sacred. It has been in my family for decades. What would you know of such things, Sudha? You don’t even believe in them.”

Sudha blinked. “What does belief have to do with hygiene? If you place any vessel, glass, bowl, uruli, face down, the water drains and the chance of infection is less.”

“Infection?” Sathi’s laugh was sharp. “In a sacred uruli? Impossible. Unless you haven’t washed it properly.”

The words struck like a slap.

“What nonsense!” Sudha’s voice rose, and Jaidev and Sathish hurried in, from the adjoining room, alarmed.

“We’re the same age, Sathi,” Sudha said, trembling. “I know as much as you do. Perhaps more.”

Sathi’s eyes filled. She turned and fled the room. Sudha stood rigid, anger and hurt warring within her.

“I think we should leave,” she told Jaidev.

He nodded, understanding more than she said. He went up to Satish and said quietly” Go to her, I will call you later.”

The Long Winter

The quarrel did not dissolve. It hardened.

Sathi wept in the bedroom. “Amma always placed the uruli face upwards. I even asked the Nambisan at the temple. He confirmed it.”

Sudha armed herself with research. “Did you see the links I sent?” she asked Jaidev. “There’s even a French study. That should settle it.”

Two months passed in a cold, brittle silence. The courtyard between their homes felt wider than a river.

The Intervention

At last, Jaidev sought help from his old friend Brahmadathan, a psychiatrist with a calm, perceptive manner. Together with Sathish, they devised a plan.

They told their wives that the Nambudiri from Chennas Mana would be coming to Sathi’s ancestral home to perform a prashna parihara pooja. Sathi agreed at once. Sudha hesitated, then relented, exhausted by the weight of unspoken words.

The next morning, Sudha was startled to find Brahmadathan himself preparing for the rituals.

“Appan is unwell,” he explained. “He asked me to come. I’ve assisted him for years.”

Sudha remembered long conversations with him at the AIIMS campus, debates on women’s rights over cups of coffee, his thoughtful nods, his quiet humour.

After the pooja and the prashnam, Brahmadathan asked, “Do you use one uruli or two?”

“One,” Sathi replied.

“There should be another,” he said. “The prashnam shows a pair.”

A murmur of confusion passed through the room.

Jaidev and Sathish searched the house, opening cupboards, peering into lofts, rummaging through old trunks. Nothing.

“Could it be with someone else?” Brahmadathan asked.

Sathi paused. “Ammayi might know. Possibly Amma might have given it to her.”

A phone call later, Jaidev returned with a triumphant smile. “Ammayi has it. She’ll bring it next week.”

“Good,” Brahmadathan said. “When you have both, wash them. Place one with its mouth facing upwards and the other facing downwards.”

The words hung in the air like a benediction.

Sathi stared at him, first puzzled, then slowly illuminated by understanding. Sudha’s lips curved into a small, trembling smile. She stepped forward and took Sathi’s hand.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I never meant to hurt you.”

Sathi clasped her hand tightly. “No, Sudha. I was the one clinging too hard.”

The courtyard between their homes felt small again, small enough for two friends to cross in a single step.

Dr. Arun Kishore is a Psychiatrist working with the NHS , in the UK, for the past 20 years. Kozhikode Medical College, MD from NIMHANS, Bengaluru worked at Thrissur Medical College as Professor before emigrating to UK. Avid stage performer, director at local Kerala Association in London. Lives and practices at Little Hampton, Surrey.