The GODDESS IN A COTTAGE
Kanuparti Varalakshmamma (1887-1978)
(Translated by Malathi Nidadavolu)
000
It was fourteen days since the kartika month began. The moon was waxing each day and
its intensely chilling beams were making the whole world shiver.
For the rich who were living in their exquisite mansions it was not a big problem. They
would close all the windows and doors tight, put on wool clothes, and enjoy deep sleep,
curled up under warm rugs. However, for the poor who had no clothes to cover their bodies
well in this severe cold and no well-built house to live in, the life was tormenting.
In that cold winter night, when the poor, the mendicants, and the wanderers were
miserable, Ramalakshmi lay down on a palm leaf mat in a hut with her two children on
either side of her. The roof was run down diminishing its value as roof. She was crying and
wiping tears with the tattered end of her saree. The tears were flowing endlessly. The
children were complaining “mother, it is cold,” and she was trying to reassure them in a
husky voice, “Hug me tight my children. In this world all you have is this wretched mother
only.”
It was past three in the morning. The blistering winds were blowing horrendously.
Ramalakshmi and the children rolled closer to the wall; they lay there facing the moon. The
moonbeams crept on them. The blowing winds and the cool moonbeams together made
the chills even more severe.
Ramalakshmi’s younger son, Rangadu, screamed, “Amma! I am cold.”
“Don’t cry, my child” Ramalakshmi said, pulling him closer. His body felt cold like a stick.
Ramalakshmi became nervous and yelled, “Oh, no. He is like a stick, oh god, what
happened?” She called out worriedly, “Ranga! Ranga!” a few times. Ranga did not
respond.
Ramalakshmi was drained up. “Oh, my child, why don’t you talk to me?” she started crying
loudly.
The eldest son was woken by mother’s cries and asked, “Mother, why are you crying?”
“Son, your little brother is stiff; he is not talking. It seems he is not alive,” she said, crying.
What else is there to say? Mother and son kept crying loudly, calling “Ranga, Ranga”.
The neighbors were woken by their cries. “Poor Ramalakshmi, she is crying. We do not
know the reason though,” they told each other and came running to her.
“Ramalakshmi, why are crying?” they asked.
“What can I say? My family has gone from riches to rags, my husband died, yet I am living
only for the sake of these two babies. I thought that these two boys are my wealth. Today
god pokes my eye, robs me of even this bit of luck. He set fire in my heart,” she said,
showing Rangadu and wailing.
“Alas,” some said and approached the body and felt his pulse. What’s there? Just a stick.
Somebody suggested, “Maybe it is the baby syndrome . He will come back to life if you
burn his forehead.”
Somebody else dismissed it saying, “How can the baby syndrome afflict a seven-year-old?”
A few others defended the first argument, “Sure it will. The baby syndrome may afflict a
child even at ten or twelve-year.”
“Alright. Let me burn him with my cigar,” one man came forward with his cigar lit up.
An old man stopped him and reprimanded all of them, “Have you all lost your minds? Why
brand him? Look around. The cold blast is freezing our cheeks. See how the moon is
spreading his cold beams; the boy is lying on a nippy mat with no sheets under or over
him. Especially tonight it hopelessly cold! Poor child; he is freezing. No need to burn him.
Make fire with dried palm leaves and give him some warmness. He will wake up.”
They all agreed that the old man’s words sounded right. Immediately, they made fire, and
applied warmth to the child’s body using their palms as heating pads. After ten minutes, the
boy’s body softened slightly. He moved a bit. People around felt relieved. They said to the
mother, “Ramalakshmi! Your child has come to.”
After a few minutes, Ranga opened his eyes and said, “Amma, why is it hot in here?”
“Oh, my little child, you are alive,” Ramalakshmi said and hugged him with immeasurable
joy.
2
For several generations, dyeing had been the family calling for Venkataswami,
[Ramalakshmi’s husband]. In the past, it had been a small business in the times of his
father and grandfather. His father and grandfather had never been to the coastal areas to
do business. In their time, they dyed the yarn and the clothes given by the businessmen in
their own village and returned to the same people after they had finished dyeing. Because
they were pliant, they were able to make a little money; they never suffered huge losses.
They had owned a little land and chattel, which earned them the title, “respectable family.”
Ramaswami was twenty-year-old young man when his father died. He was studying the
Intermediate first year along with the other Vaisya boys in his village. After his father’s
death, the family business became his responsibility. Venkataswami took up the family
vocation. His friendship with the Vaisya boys helped him to develop an interest in business
and his English education contributed to foster independent views.
After he started in business, Venkataswami did not appreciate the independent contract
system, by which he bought the dyes from the local merchants and used them to dye
clothes and returned them to the same merchants. He entertained another thought—he
could buy the dyes and the clothes from merchants in Bombay, produce clothes in various
colors, imprint several beautiful designs and borders with dots and vines, and not only sell
them in the Telugu region but also export to other areas like Bombay, Hyderabad,
Rangoon, and Simhalam [Sri Lanka]. At once, he took out several thousand rupees in loan
and made arrangements to go to Bombay, with great enthusiasm and without knowing
consequences—a trait so common in youth.
Several of his friends and relatives tried to dissuade him. They said, “You are young and
unfamiliar with the tricks of the trade. These kinds of huge business dealings are befitting
only to those merchants but not for us.” Venkataswami was so excited about his business
prospects he would not listen to any of their pleas.
Venkataswami went to Bombay, made arrangements to have bundles of clothes and dyes
delivered to his place, paid a sum in advance and returned home. After he returned from
Bombay, his aspirations for business became even keener. He got carried away by the
business acumen he had noticed in the merchants in Bombay. He decided that if he
wanted to become rich, the only way was to do business on a large scale.
After he returned from Bombay, he set up huge stalls in the open area on the outskirts of
the village. He went around to other cities like Bandar [Masulipatam], Nellore, Kakinada,
and Madhurai and recruited workers highly skilled in dyeing beautifully, and creating
fascinating dotted designs and borders.
By the end of the first year, the decorated clothes produced by Venkataswami became
popular all over the country. Big advertisements in magazines such as, “Fast colors that
stay even after the clothes are worn out; lightweight clothes; and, reasonable prices” made
his name spread even more. Usually, things do not stack up to the ads in the papers and
for the same reason people do not trust them. In the case of Venkataswami however it was
different. His clothes were as good as the ads. There was no compromise in the colors or
the prices. For that reason, merchants and the public trusted him.
Venkataswami was successful because of his integrity. The loan he had taken was paid off.
His business grew like phases of the moon, and much to the dismay of those who had
ridiculed him at the outset.
3
Ten years went by like this without fail. The dyed clothes of Venkataswami & Sons
company were famous all over the world. His business started with a loan of five thousand
rupees, and everybody said, as if their blessing for him was fail. “Sure to fail, sure to fail”,
they said yet his business spread even to the remote villages in all regions. Venkataswami’
s painted clothes adorned every gorgeous woman and every dandy man.
Where is the shortage for money when the business is booming? Venkataswami became a
wealthy man with all the things he would wish to have. His old home with tiled roof turned
into a three-storey mansion. It was filled with several modern fancy items such as silk sofas,
full-length mirrors, tape cots, swings, tables, chairs, silverware, brought from big cities like
Madras and Bombay. The beauty of the house was enhanced by several exuberant items.
That being the case, no need to mention the ornaments the wife and children had on them!
Now Venkataswami was a prominent businessman. In the hallway of his house, you would
always find two clerks sitting with two boxes in front of them and busy noting down the
income and expenses related to his business. Venkataswami would sit in a chair in front of
a desk, spending his time answering the business-related questions asked by the clerks,
talking with the people who came to pay a visit to him, and giving donations to the people in
a befitting manner. Recently, based on his wealth and influence, Venkataswami was also
given some positions in local organization, although he never asked for them. He carried
out his duties in those positions courteously and thus earned the respect of one and all.
Ramalakshmi was a befitting wife to Venkataswami. There was some resemblance between
the two possibly because they were cousins. Ramalakshmi was just as honest as
Venkataswami. She was as modest as her husband; and, was just as generous as he was.
The hungry might not get food anywhere else but they always received food in
Ramalakshmi’s home. Babies might not be able to receive milk in other houses but their
stomachs were always filled in Ramalakshmi’s home. There was no dearth for chattel in
their house. She would pour buttermilk to every one that came to her door. Thus people
from all castes were getting something or other every day from dawn to dusk when they
came to her home. Thus the young couple had good life with limitless riches, and the good
qualities untainted by pride or greed. Everybody in the village, young and old alike loved
them.
4
Two more years passed. It was the year …. [Sic.]. The horrendous war started in Europe.
In India where the country was dependent on other countries for everything, even for a
small thing like a pin, every thing became more expensive. Especially for the dyes made in
Germany and the clothes made in Manchester and Lancaster, the prices went up
exceedingly high. The Mull cloth, which was sold six yards for one rupee earlier, was now
selling one yard for one rupee. The dye bottles which sold thirty rupees a piece were now
three hundred rupees.
In big businesses, there are not many variations. If you make it you are a prince, if not, you
are pauper. One must possess the quality needed to weather these two variants.
Venkataswami was flabbergasted by this unforeseen disaster in prices. He had guaranteed
the same price for three years to the merchants in Bombay. The merchants had paid
advances for the same. Therefore, regardless of the high prices he was forced to pay for
the dyes, he was required to sell the clothes for the same price previously agreed upon.
Venkataswami’s heart flustered as he mulled over of his situation. On the other side, he
had made the same kind of arrangement with the people from whom he was buying clothes
and so he would be able to pay the same cost for the clothes as well. He felt a little
consolation in the thought that he might be able to break even if not earn profits. His
business continued thus for a while.
In the face of unfavorable winds, the sail would not go as smoothly as one would hope for.
He thought he would be paying high prices for the dyes only and would be buying clothes
at the old rates. But when the prices for the dyes went up several times higher, how could
the business be as usual? The boat called ‘business’ was caught up in the upsetting
current of the capital and began encountering hurdles. As the heat from the battle became
unbearable, how could the rivulet called ‘cash’ go on? When there was no enough water,
how could the boat stay afloat? For a few months now, Venkataswami’s heart was sinking.
He went on mulling over endlessly.
His rivals who could not relish his success reveled in the thought that he was nearly
crushed to the netherworld.
His friends felt sorry for him and said, “Poor man! Sad he had to go through these
hardships.”
When the Lord Siva was on his side, there was no reason to think of the other minor gods.
But now Siva himself became his challenger.
Venkataswami was a smart man. One could even say that his business acumen was much
better than that of any Vaisya boy. Venkataswami came up with an idea. He thought that
this would be a good time to revive the locally grown blue pigment crops. The local
pigments were neglected up until now because of the recent craze for the foreign dyes.
Venkataswami decided that using the local blue pigment would help him in carrying on his
business without break. He started using them, and also came up with a few other tricks but
nothing helped him to regain the success he had enjoyed previously.
5
It was half-way through the Vaisakha month. The summer days were blistering hot. It was
not letting people to show their faces outside even at four in the afternoon. The sun was
spitting fire. The wind was sizzling hot.
On one such scorching hot day, Venkataswami lay on his expensive bed, fanning himself
with a palm-leaf fan and sipping cold water from the clay water jug. A vetiver [khas] mat
hung from the top of the window was kept wet by water sprinkled on it. He was enjoying the
cool breeze coming from the mat and was lost deep in thought.
Ramalakshmi sat close by on a small mat. Her eldest son was sleeping next to her. The
second son would not sleep. She sat him in her lap and was playing with him. She did not
want him to run into the sun outside.
Suddenly they heard footsteps on the staircase. Ramalakshmi picked up her little child and
stood up to see who was coming. Venkataswami, jolted out of his thoughts by the
footsteps, sat up on the bed.
The man came in. He broke into sobs and said, “Ayya! Somebody set fire to our dyes
sheds. The flames are overwhelming.”
“Ah, God! What is this? A ringworm clobbered by a pestle,” he said and collapsed on the
bed.
“Oh god!” said Ramalakshmi and collapsed on the floor.
Ramalakshmi’s life was somehow saved after people sprinkled water on her face and
fanned gently, but Venkataswami’s life ended.
The bundles of the Mull cloth stacked up to the roof, bundles of yarn and the dyed
clothes—all were burned to ashes along with the pigment barrels. What a heartbreaking
occurrence!
“Oh God! Both the life and the riches are gone in one stroke!” they all cried. Not only
Ramalakshmi but the entire village, the young and the old alike, wept inconsolably.
Venkataswami’s life spelled out the transient nature of wealth and breath. Those dim-witted
people who pride themselves on their earthly possessions may take a good hard look at
this occurrence and open their eyes!
6
There were debts to collect and the debts to pay. Some of them were given as hand-loans
(unsecured loans) and others backed by promissory notes. Some of the down payments
were paid while others yet to be paid. Venkataswami expanded his business to all corners
of the country and breathed his last.
The woman was wailing miserably. She was helpless and vulnerable. Poor woman! What
could Ramalakshmi do? Her sons were still babies. Who could protect Venkataswami’s
property?
Bombay merchants were extremely shrewd. After Venkataswami died, within a week, they
came and auctioned everything down to the pans. They dragged Ramalakshmi, who’d
never been exposed to the sun, into the street along with her little kids. They seized the
mansion, the gardens and the fields.
Amidst this horrific scene, there was not one person Ramalakshmi could count on. What a
heartrending situation! Neither Venkataswami nor Ramalakshmi had parents or siblings.
Ramalakshmi had a step-brother but he was a farmer; he had no knowledge of business
dealings.
Ramalakshmi had given a few items to the neighbors for safekeeping and they
disappeared on the spot. The pieces of jewelry left in the care of relatives were gone the
same way. What happened to all those friends and relatives who had groveled for help in
the past? Not one person came to her door and consoled her. In these frightening times,
even the Brahmin accountants who had worked for Venkataswami grabbed as much as
they could. Additionally, they gave away various details of his possessions to his creditors
in exchange for gifts. Is it not what we call swamidroham [cheating the benefactor]?
In all, the ultimate result was, there was nothing left of Venkataswami but Ramalakshmi and
her two sons. His riches were wrecked one hundred thousand times as fast as accumulated.
Thus the entire world of Ramalakshmi crumbled. While she was careworn thus, a man
came to her door.
He said, “Amma! Your husband had a great heart. When I was struggling for money to
perform my son’s wedding, he gave me five hundred rupees. He did not ask for a note but I
accepted it as a loan only. I could not repay him while he was alive. Now your family is
ruined. I feel comfort in the thought that I have repaid his debt if this money helps you any
way.” So saying, he gave her the five hundred rupees and three hundred more in interest.
Of all the debts Ramalakshmi was supposed to receive, this amount of eight-hundred was
the only one repaid. Ramalakshmi received it not as a loan repaid but as a huge gift.
Out of the eight hundred rupees she had received, she spent one hundred rupees to buy
a strip of land, and another hundred to build a small hut and buy the necessary pots, pan,
rice, dal and other items for the home. She moved into her the hut. She found a man she
could trust and handed over the rest of the money to him for safekeeping.
7
There is no way to describe the hardships the poor in India suffered because of the severe
shortage of food and clothing caused by the European War. For those who could barely
afford the grains at three sers [quantitative measurement] for a rupee, it became even
harder to buy clothes. The poor people suffered unbearable pain; they wore tattered
clothes, wrapped straw mats to cover themselves, even jute rags at times.
In these horrendous conditions, Ramalakshmi and her children who had enjoyed a wealthy
life before had to anguish beyond words. They had a few rupees but how long that money
would last for a mother and two children? The children had been raised with tender loving
care up until now; they were still green. So they would bother the mother for this and that.
Poor Ramalakshmi, she would try to tell them with tearful eyes that they could not afford
those things anymore.
Ramalakshmi was a gentle woman who cherished her dignity. She was waited on by others
but never waited on others herself. She had given things to others but never asked others
for anything. It was so hard for such a woman of high self-esteem to go begging. Yet, bad
times befell her. As the saying goes, stomach knows no bounds and poverty knows no
shame. She had to do whatever it took to protect her children. She was able to manage for
one and a half years with the six hundred rupees she had. After that, she had to accept
whatever work she could get; it was like selling wood in the same town where she sold
flowers. Now she was going door to door and beseeching housewives, “Amma, I will grind
flour for you or sew blouses. Please, let me do whatever work you can and save my
children.”
The women, who had seen Ramalakshmi in the best of times, were moved by her
entreaties. They agreed to give her work and pay her accordingly.
Ramalakshmi’s and the children’s clothes were all falling apart. Where could she find the
money to buy clothes? It was hard enough to eat, how could she buy clothes? On top of it,
due to the gusty winds and the rains at the beginning of the kartika month, some of the
palm leaves on the roof were damaged. Was Ramalakshmi in a position to have the roof
repaired? Was it not the reason her child turned stiff? Oh readers! Do you remember the
incident that had been described in the first chapter?
8
In the morning after her child had thus become stiff, Ramalakshmi woke up early, cooked
food and gave it to the two children; she was constantly worried about their situation. She
was grinding flour for money. She was deeply perturbed about her stressful circumstances,
“I do not have a red paisa to buy a sheet to cover my kids. If I do not buy the sheets, how
can I protect these little kids from this treacherous cold?”
For Ramalakshmi, to step outside seeking day-labor was humiliating but grinding flour was
not an easy task and the money was not much either. Ramalakshmi being weak could not
grind more than two sers of grain a day. For grinding one ser of the grains, the pay was
one anaa. The pay was the same for sewing a blouse; for ordinary blouse the charge was
one half of an anaa; for buttoned blouse one anaa; and, one anaa for a small shirt. Even if
she worked day and night, she wound not be able to earn more than two anaas. She could
not make even three anaas in all yet three stomachs were to be filled. See how terrible
their situation was!
Ramalakshmi was grinding flour and brooding over her heartrending conditions. She heard
the sounds of drums from outside. Lost in her own misery, Ramalakshmi did not pay
attention to what the drummer was shouting about.
Her two children, each holding a piece of paper, came in running. Each was screaming
jubilantly, “Amma, see, paper … paper … I got it from the drummer.”
However difficult the situation is, for mothers, seeing their children’s faces is always a relief
from sorrow!
Ramalakshmi asked the little one gently, “Ranga! Am I not your mother? Won’t you show
me your paper?”
Ranga held the paper to his chest tight and said with a pout, “Why can’t brother show you
his paper?”
The older son showed the paper in his hand and said, “Here is my paper, read this first,
Amma!”
Ranga who had said mother should read the brother’s paper first interfered again.
Ramalakshmi was touched by Ranga’s mischief, pulled him to her bosom and said lovingly,
“Ranga! You are such a naughty boy.”
Ramalakshmi was good at reading. She hoped that the paper brought in by her sons would
provide some respite from her penury conditions.
9
That was … [Sic.] year. In Andhra Pradesh, the passive resistance movement was at its
peak. Whichever way you turned, there was a khadi society! Wherever you laid eyes, there
was a handloom industry set up; anti-liquor protests were everywhere; schools for
nationalist education; village fairs for indigenous items, meetings; charka, spindles, and
cotton yarn in every house— everywhere that was all one could hear about!
This movement which had spread throughout the country reached naturally Ramalakshmi’s
village also. A branch of nationalist movement was established in her village too. They
started a nationalist school also. A khadi industry was set up. Flyers distributed all over the
village. The flyers stated that they would supply the spinning wheels, yarn, and spindles;
also promised to pay a quarter of a rupee per veesa [measurement by weight]; they would
also pick up the finished products themselves. They also promised one more quarter if the
if the whorls were wound, more if the yarn was fine; they also offered to teach those who
were new at the wheel. They announced that the spinning wheel would be a golden
opportunity, a wish-granting tree, for the poor women who preferred to stay home and
make a living.
The papers Ramalakshmi’s sons brought into the home were the same flyers.
Ramalakshmi read it and thought, “I work all day and yet cannot make two annas. I may
make that much by working on the wheel. Also, if I work on the spinning wheel, I will be
spared the trouble of going from home to home, bringing the grains, grinding and again
going back to those homes to deliver the flour. If I work at night and spin more yarn,
maybe, I will have clothes for the children too. Let me try and see what happens!”
Ramalakshmi reflected on these lines and had a letter drafted by Ramu (the eldest son)
saying, “I am willing to work on the spinning wheel. Kindly send me a spinning wheel,
whorls, and a person to teach me how to use it.” She sent the letter with Ramu to the
industry office.
The next day, Reddy Kotamma brought a spinning wheel and cotton whorls to
Ramalakshmi’s house. Ramalakshmi learned how to use the wheel from that woman in ten
days. Even the first day she laid hand on the wheel, she could spin the thread easily.
Ten days passed by. She became quite skilled at her work. The handloom officer noticed
the very fine thread Ramalakshmi had produced, was very happy and sent word to
Ramalakshmi, “We would display your yarn in the khadi exhibition at the national
conference to be held in Ahmedabad in a couple of months. You use these two months to
practice to produce very beautiful yarn.”
Ramalakshmi continued to work on the spinning wheel with great enthusiasm. The industry
office started paying more money for Ramalakshmi’s yarn. Ramalakshmi put her children in
the native school. Since she did not have to go around door to door collecting grain and
grinding flour, she stayed home and kept spinning yarn continually.
10
It was Sankranti day, the festival day of all festivals. In our Telugu country, Sankranti is a
joyous festival. This is the time when the farmer brings the produce, after a year-long hard
work on the fields and sees the results of his labor; this is the time the poor who yearn for
rice will have a good meal. This is the festival when the rich and the poor feel contented
equally. During this festival, the walls are painted, the doors are decorated with turmeric
and kumkum, and mango leaves are hung on door frames—each house is made to look a
delightfully welcome place. This is the time people can watch the abounding riches and the
unparalleled beauty of nature and revel in. The extent of this festival is seen more in the
villages than in the cities.
All the houses were dazzlingly beautiful. Everybody was happy. The festive spirit was
obvious all over the place. Yet, the hut of our Ramalakshmi remained the same. It was still
the hut with tattered roof, and her clothes the same worn out rags. There was no difference.
It was nine o’clock in the morning. Ramalakshmi was at the spinning wheel. The little son
was hanging on to her back and whimpering, “Amma, won’t you get me a new shirt? Won’t
you celebrate the festival in our home?”
Ramalakshmi was trying to persuade him, “My child Ranga! Don’t interrupt my work on the
spinning wheel.”
The little boy would not listen. “You won’t make sweets for any festival, and no new clothes
either. All the others have new clothes,” he started crying aloud.
Poor Ramalakshmi could not control her grief. The thought of good times in the past came
to her mind. Her heart anguished immensely, like the great ocean subjected to riotous,
gusty winds. The sorrow within her rose like the waves in the sea. With tears streaming
down her cheeks, she hugged her son and said, “Child, what can I do? By the time you are
old enough to ask, my hands are like this, helpless. If your father was alive, he would have
rewarded many Brahmins in the name of our forefathers, would have donated clothes to
several people, food to the poor, and clothes to many more. Brahmins used to come to our
home for gifts even from the neighboring villages. I don’t know what happened to all the
blessings showered by all those Brahmins in his time. Where are the fruits of those
charitable acts—those donations of clothes, foods and money. Today the children of that
generous man are wanting for clothes and a piece of sweets. He was a born king; that is
why his life went well. God took him away in a snap so he did not have to suffer poverty.
They say that a man’s way of dying speaks for his good deeds. Your father’s death
certainly vouches for his integrity. How can we, the wretched, receive that golden state?
We barely have gruel to eat; how can we expect sumptuous meals and new clothes?” So
saying, Ramalakshmi broke into huge sobs. Ranga also started crying along with his
mother.
Poor mother! Where are the people who would comfort her?
[End]
(The Telugu original, kuteeralakshmi, was published in Andhra Patrika, ugaadi issue,
1924.)