I was on the terrace watching the clouds which were roaming freely westward–jet black clouds like big black boulders, like water buffalos trying to hide the sunset. The Sun like a mischievous child was spreading his rays from behind the clouds. Possibly, the lord Krishna, shining in his divine glory had the same brightness,… childlike Radha, looking from the ground, unable to reach such heights, was probably asking sadly, ”Should I be the one for you to pick on, the innocent victim of your divine pranks?”…

 …The woman, my imaginary Radha, standing between me and the chain of clouds—on the terrace across from me—moved slowly and vanished into the background. Her gait was like that of a stately princess, conscious and graceful.

***

 As far as I know, there is only one old lady living in that house, located back to back from ours. She owns it. The only evidence that the two houses were owned by the same person some three generations back, is the parapet wall, three-feet high, separating the two terraces. If one wants to reach the main entrance using the main streets, one has to walk hundred paces and turn round two corners.

I said to amma [mother] at dinnertime, “I saw somebody in that house, at the back of ours…”

“Yeah. He is that old lady’s grandson or something. Got married on the 10^th last month. The bride is a doll. What’s the point? Some unknown disease. Won’t talk. Won’t eat. A gal who used to jump around like a dancing horse turned into a cadaver. Her family members are crying their hearts out.” I watched Amma amusingly as she explained with her hand gestures and expressions in tune with her words like a seasoned dancer. However, even more surprising to me was the gal who wouldn’t utter a single word, even after one week of the ceremony. Her silence was more confusing to me than the question how amma could have collected this much information about them in such a short time.

“May be she is dumb!” I said.

“You are too much…”

I looked at amma. Why not?

“It seems she sang an ashtapadi[1] when the groom’s party went to see her.[2] And were just enthralled by her music That’s how the marriage was agreed upon.”

“Ha! Whatever that song could be?” I asked with a laugh.

“Dheera sameere…”[3]

I was dumbstruck. I know one girl who could sing that particular song with such enchanting melody. That was Vakula, my classmate in third grade in my school days in Guntur. Marrying Vakula after listening her to music is neither a big news nor a favor. Even snakes would dance to her tune. I remember the time when she was in a school play. It was Khadga Tikkana.[4] Vakula played the role of a messenger. It was a one-minute appearance on the stage, yet she made a permanent mark in the hearts of the audience with her sweet voice. Her role in the scene was to announce that Thikkana died in the battlefield and Chanamma(his wife) will be credited with the title veerapatni [a great warrior’s wife] as long as the moon and stars shine in the sky. When Vakula finished reciting her verse, the audience were awestruck by her voice and clamored ‘once more,’ poor Chanamma hadn’t had a chance to say so much as “Oh!” Obviously it is that Vakula I saw on the terrace earlier in the evening..

After our school was closed for summer, I was bored and came here to spend my vacation. There wasn’t much to do here either. Now I am glad that I found a friend after my heart. Then it occurred to me suddenly—don’t know whether she had lost her mind or heart or afflicted with some unknown disease or hurt. How could I expect her to talk to me, when she was not talking to her husband, not even to her parents? Am I better than they to her? Furthermore, our relationship goes way back, it wa so long ago!!

I showed my irritation on amma, ”this place is a jungle, no humans, not even to pick up a fight, let alone chatting. I told you I don’t want to come here. You wouldn’t listen.”

***

I didn’t see Vakula all thru in the daytime. She however came up on to the terrace just about the same time as yesterday, in the evening. The sky was cloudy. I was with amma helping her to pick up the mango pickles kept in the sun for drying[5]. Amma wanted to move the pickles to the room in case it rains at night.

I was about to call Vakula when a man, short and dark-complexioned, showed up. He said to her, “Nobody’s home. I am going out.” Vakula glanced at him briefly and turned away.

“Did you hear?” he said again. Vakula didn’t even look at him this time.

“Cha. What kind of a person! worthless for the  mother-in-law, unnecessary burden for the daughter-in-law[6], he left, murmuring.

Quite a charmer!! I couldn’t help wondering.

Vakula and I had a unique bond in our childhood days. We never played together. Can’t even say we ate off of the same plate and slept in the same bed[7]. But if Vakula felt bad about something, she’d just come and sit next to me. Further, we never felt a void even when we had nothing to chit-chat, no problems, and no solutions. Vakula was so sensitive, she could feel others’ pain as her own … and now, living a life so scornful that somebody could say cha? I couldn’t believe it. Something big must have happened. The question is what is that big thing? I have no illusions that she would tell her problem to me, the problem she would not discuss with her own mother. But to me, a writer of one or two stories, the reason for Vakula’s silence is like a puzzle sans clue. I thought it through all night yet couldn’t figure it out.

Next morning, I finished bathing and went on to the terrace with amma again. Vakula was drying wet clothes on their terrace. I mustered courage and called her. She looked up, startled, saw me for a second and went away.

“Ha!! You thought you are better than us?!!” said amma, referring to Vakula’s indifference to me.

“Whatever could be bothering her?” I said, talking to myself.

“What a botheration?!! A big game, if you ask me!!” said amma. I was taken aback. She was so concerned about Vakula until two days back, and now is so harsh?! What is the crime Vakula has committed within these two days?

Here is the story I finally got to learn from amma: On the previous evening, Vakula’s mother-in-law went to neighbor’s house to play a board game, and her husband Narahari went out after informing Vakula. I know. I was there, witnessing his departure. During that time, a passerby seized the opportunity, and walked away with the radio in the living room and a saree that was neatly pressed and ironed and sitting on a chair.

Vakula was sitting on the cot in the porch and watched him from the moment he entered the house to the minute he walked away with the radio and the saree. She sat there with the calmness that could put even Paramanandayya’s pupil[8] to shame.

“Really? Incredible!!” I said laughing.

“Is that a laughing matter for you? Aarani saree worth 150 rupees at the least,” said amma, as if that was her own saree.

Why shouldn’t I laugh? After all, the owner of the saree herself sat there and watched while it was being stolen? Amma says we should not laugh at the people who slip and fall. I would laugh even if it were my own saree under the circumstances.

“Coffee colored saree with orange border. They said it was such a beautiful one,” said amma again. That was a shock to me.

“Vakula saw that saree after they had finished all the wedding purchases and insisted on buying it.”

I lapsed into a reverie. A wise man once stated that most of the squabbles in marriages arise from the fact that, women are not as crazy about their husbands as they are about their sarees. This time I couldn’t laugh at amma’s words. The fact that Vakula lost “the saree she loved so much” without blinking an eye got my attention. I know her love of the orange colored border.

Every evening, we’ve gotten used to reaching on to our terraces at the same time. After three days, she looked at me for a second. I smiled as I saw a trace of recognition on her face. She turned back immediately and was gone. I came down and lay down on the cot. My short nap was disturbed by the conversation in the next room. The voice is familiar. That is Vakula’s mother, Varalakshmamma garu.

”Oh! Kalyani!! You have grown up, really!!” she exclaimed as she saw me. She came, after learning about the stolen saree. Even she couldn’t understand Vakula’s state of mind.

Vakula was being shown to a different doctor each day—having x-rays taken, consulting specialists, so on and on. What could any doctor do when the patient doesn’t tell what her problem is? Even the God doesn’t grant wishes without asking. They made a vow to offer niluvu dopidi [9] to the lord Venkateswara.

They even took her to a mental hospital, suspecting if she were demented. The doctor suggested to keep her in the clinic for two days for observation. Vakula’s husband, Narahari agreed and signed up for a room in the special ward. Vakula didn’t break her silence. In fact she has shown no signs of any other problem but for keeping silent. The doctor completed all the tests and said, “Whoever has called her crazy? That person must be crazy, if you ask me. She is deeply disturbed by something. Find out what she really was looking for!!”

“You must be crazy to say that. If she were suffering only from some unfulfilled desire, why wouldn’t she say so? Why would she come to every doctor we are taking to?” said Vakula’s mother, Varalakshmamma garu.

The doctor laughed and said, “I will put it in writing, if you will. She has no medical problem. Even if you take her to England, you will get the same diagnosis. Probably she didn’t like this marriage.” Varalakshmamma garu returned home with Vakula.

Vakula didn’t dance with joy at the time of fixing this marriage but she had not shown any signs of disagreement or displeasure either. There was no indication that she was not happy with this marriage. Vakula was brought up by her grandmother–which rules out things like falling in love and/or hollering freedom of choice and such. … Furthermore, she took to silence after three days after her wedding!

Vakula was attending to all the household chores without any complaint or signs of unhappiness. She was managing her part very efficiently while her mother-in-law took care of the chores in the kitchen.

At last Narahari said, “What do you really want? You tell me and I will get it!”

Narahari took her to a psychologist. The shrink asked million questions—about the environment she was raised in, about her parents’ attitude, her hobbies, likes, dislikes … Narahari answered him as much as he could, but not up to the satisfaction of the psychologist. Narahari also mentioned that Vakula watches the sunset every day. The psychologist wanted to see her at that particular time. He came in the evening when both of us were standing on either side of the parapet wall.

I was about to turn around and leave, thinking it might be improper for me to stay. Vakula grabbed my hand and stopped me. I stood there sensing her thought in a strange way. I wasn’t sure whether she felt incapable of answering the endless questions of that doctor or did not want to answer them at all. Or, may be she wanted me to tell him to get lost—meaning he was there to destroy the only few pleasurable moments she was left with …

“Today, the sky is not beautiful,” he said. Vakula stared at him for a second, crossed over the short parapet wall and came into our house! In the next minute I and that psychologist were standing there facing each other!

“How long since you have known her?” he asked me.

“Not long. When I was in the fourth form [ninth grade] she was in the third form [eighth grade],” I answered. He asked me to tell everything I knew about her. I turned around to see what was she doing. She was lying on my cot with her eyes shut.

“Well, you are the psychologist and you are asking me. I’ll tell you whatever I know. This could be just my imagination. As far as I know, Vakula is delicate like a flower, innocent like a child. So childlike, she honestly thinks that things like deception, jealousy, and ill-will exist only in the books and not in real life. When I think of her, there is a passage that comes to my mind. Probably you have read it too. That was–if a woman had lost her mind, it means we have lost a great writer/poet; and, if a woman is roaming around in the jungle collecting herbs, probably we have a great mind wasted.[10] That is what comes to my mind when I see Vakula,” I said.

“You might be right. But, please, try to find out the incident that has changed her into who she is now. It is just as natural for a human being to go into a shock as to come out of it. We can think of a remedy only after knowing the reason.”

I didn’t have the courage to go near Vakula even after he was gone. I was still standing there. I didn’t notice when she came up to me and stood behind me. She was looking at the beauty of the evening sun she loved so much. I felt guilty on seeing her face.

I felt sorry for her mother. It was like asking a woman to choose between a son with a short life-span or a daughter accursed with widowhood[11]–a no win situation for any mother, and particularly a tough one for a mother who had the child in her late forties. Varalakshmamma garu decided to take her daughter back to her village. She didn’t see any point in leaving Vakula in a marriage that apparently was not her choice. Poor soul, she is so desperate!!

I remembered the confidence with which Vakula stood beside me. How can I ask her what is her mystery? Further how can I reveal that to others? All the names associated with treason, starting from Vibheeshana[12] came to my mind. If I had done that, there would be no punishment for my treason. On the other hand, how many people would be happy if Vakula becomes normal again! In that case, wouldn’t that be okay? I couldn’t make up my mind—what is right, what is wrong?

***

Next morning, I finished my coffee and said to amma, ”I am going to their home.”

“Not necessary,” she said. Then she told me that Vakula was suspected of being possessed. They called Parapsychic healer. He examined Vakula from head to toe, walked around her like in a ritual. “Dumb ghost,” he said. Made them pour down a heap of five hundred rupees and drew a circle around it. Uttered some strange sounds. “Speak” he said. Vakula didn’t speak. He beat her with neem sticks, sprinkled turmeric and kumkuma[13] all over the house. “Talk,” he said. She did not talk. After he had left, they all noticed a red scar on Vakula’s hand, from wrist to the ring finger. They were astounded. … God knows what the disease is or the extent of her suffering. All I could see is only the torture she is put through in the name of treatment.

“To hell with all these treatments? In all possibility, she might be hurting more from these treatments than from the real problem. Leave her alone for sometime. Things could resolve on their own,” I said.

“We are also thinking the same thing. Yesterday he started bashing us; said we cheated him and plunked a beast on to him. We are worried sick about our little darling’s life, a real gem. Our baby is in shambles and we have to put up with his snide remarks too?!! Whatever happens happens. We will take her back  with us. Will send her back only after she gets better,” said Vakula’s mother.

Vakula is the luckiest if she does not understand what is happening around her, I told myself.

That evening I went to see Vakula since she will be going back the next day. I entered the house. Narahari came in right behind me.

“What can you do for her in that village of yours? Let me take her with me. I have a friend, a specialist in this kind of things. Will show her to him,” he said.

He wants to take Vakula, innocent like a child, with him to a place nine hundred miles away. Varalakshmamma garu stared at him as if she couldn’t believe what she had heard.

“Yes, I will take her with me, I will arrange for her treatment.”

Till that moment, Vakula was there as if it didn’t concern her. For the first time, she turned her head and looked at her husband. Her glance was like the blazing third eye of Siva—the eye that opened on manmatha [cupid] when he tried to disturb Siva’s dhyana [meditation]. It was the glance of the divine Cobra that bedecked Shiva’s neck, and that could look up at Garuda [divine Eagle] in defiance. It was the glance of a woman who remained submissive and patient and took all the abuse of men for centuries and finally opened her eye and spoke. There was no ambiguity in her gaze. Narahari lowered his head, turned around and left.

It was hopelessly humid that night. I moved my cot on to the open terrace. Thoughts about Vakula crowded my head, I couldn’t sleep. There was no doubt that she did not like this marriage. It was almost like challenging the laws of our times and customs. He may not be handsome as cupid, but she was not pressured in to this marriage. Why didn’t she speak up?

The clock chimed two and I woke up to the sounds. I opened my eyes feeling that somebody was sitting on my cot. Vakula!!! I sat up. Moon was showing all his glory. Her eyes were sparkling in the moonlit night, like beautiful fish in water.

I wanted to speak something. Give her courage. But in that tranquil night —Vakula looked like a part of the nature, like Jada Bharata[14] in that still night. What can I tell her? I am not qualified to interpret the zodiac chart to the angels.

“Kalyani!…”

“Vakula!…” Vakula is speaking! My heart leapt to my throat. My head was spinning with hundred questions. Which one first? What next?…

Vakula quietly took my hand in to hers.

“Kalyani! He is impotent.”

The words, so helplessly uttered by Vakula sounded horrific in the thick of that dark night. There is nothing more to tell. There is no more mystery about her. She was like a tender flower crushed and thrown out, a frostbitten flower, wilted forever, with no chance of resurgence.

I don’t know when she has gone. English news was being broadcast by the time I woke up again. I was walking toward bathroom to brush my teeth.

“Vakula …” amma said.

I was about to say “yes” and stopped, watching amma’s face.

Vakula is dead.

The family members gathered around her dead body in the porch and were crying in anguish. I sighed involuntarily. Vakula developed a severe stomach ache in the middle of the night and died on the way to the hospital. Vakula is  freed from her suffering at last. Varalakshmamma garu was wailing in heartrending sobs. It seems Vakula’s grandmother predicted her own death, and the mother was thinking may be Vakula also knew the time of her death. I couldn’t stand there any more and watch them. I turned around to leave. Narahari stood at the gate, shedding crocodile tears. I wanted to slap him across his face with all the might.

***

Vakula’s life ended like that. Don’t ask me questions like–Why did Narahari marry? Why did he squander money like that? May be, there are people who could answer the question—those who lie just for fun, ruin the lives of others for no reason, donate two rupees and have engraved the names of three generations and many more of the sorts!!

(End)

Click on manchudebba to read the Telugu original.

(Translators note:  Marital abuse leaves sensitive woman numb to shock. It is effectively comparable to frostbite which leaves no visible bruises. Even today many women are frostbitten in more subtle ways and environments. The most pathetic thing is that they are going thru all this, with benumbed existence like Vakula, in trapped conditions. I wonder sometimes–it’s like entering in to a room where all possible doors of escape are closed shut after you have entered)

The Telugu original mancudebba published in mid-sixties in rachana.)

Translated by Sai Padma Murthy (Sai Padma Anand) and published on thulika.net, March 2003.

 

 Balaiah brought in the day’s mail, stamped the date on each piece, put them in the tray, and left.

 Kamala, a Telugu lecturer, from a local college, was in the chair, across from me. She came to borrow some books, from our library. I was going through the mail, Balaiah brought in.

“Wherever did you get this fellow,” Kamala said, watching him leave quietly.

“What do you mean?” I said, casually.

Balaiah started here a month ago. I didn’t find anything wrong with him, as far as I could see.

“Is he behaving?” Kamala threw in a second question, adding to the first.

I didn’t care to respond. During the course of my service, the one thing I have learned is – some people are careless at first, and then come around; then, there are others, who would start like fireworks and then dawdle away. Some people would listen to a few; and throw a tantrum in the presence of others.

Kamala continued, “He used to work for us, until he was twelve years old.”

“Then, what happened?” I asked, feeling obliged to say something.

“We threw him out; he was acting like a jerk.”

Kamala appeared to be more interested in belittling Balaiah than in the books she came for. Her rambling didn’t make much sense to me; but I managed to gather, that Balaiah started working for them, at the age of 8. At first, he was all fired up, would jump on it, even before, the line was finished. After a couple of years, however, he started playing hooky; was disappearing for a precious few hours, in the morning, and, again, in the mid-afternoon. He, never, had an explanation, for this fudging; it was as if the word accountability was not in his books. He wouldn’t change his habit, either…

“May be, he was looking for some fun. He was, just, a kid at the age of ten, you know,” I said, looking for an explanation myself.

“The fellow has no sense of responsibility, not interested in hard work; and that’s all there is to it,” Kamala said.

THAT was amusing to me. I couldn’t help, thinking about all the fanfare around her ‘walk to work’. Short of a palanquin, it was a royal parade–her walking to the college, just about two hundred yards– she, carrying a parasol, wearing sunglasses, her face glistening with Ponds cream, her father on her side, and a servant behind her, carrying her books… Whoever could be better qualified if not Kamala to comment on hard work?

“We hired him to help us, and it was more like we were attending on him. So, we let him go,” Kamala said, again.

We went to the stacks, Kamala picked up the books, she needed, and we returned to my office. Balaiah was waiting, with two cups of coffee. I gave him the books, and told him, to have them checked out in my name.

Kamala thanked me for the books and the coffee, and left.

I had better things to do than worry about Balaiah; I didn’t give much thought to Kamala’s comments. In the following few days, however, I couldn’t help myself; I was paying special attention to Balaiah; like, an involuntary reaction. A couple of times I went to his section. I was checking upon him.

One day, I caught him reading a book. “We didn’t hire you, to read books, you know,” I said. There was no need for me to be so harsh.

“Sorry, madam,” Balaiah said, looking down. After that incident, I went to his section several times, but never saw him, with a book, again.

I got busy, with new grants; and, I had no time, to check upon Balaiah; he could be reading, singing, or dancing, for all I knew.

Then, the trouble surfaced again. “Balaiah is not paying attention to work, madam,” his supervisor complained, one day.

“What happened?”

“He was sleeping, in the section, during working hours. I woke him up, and questioned. He says, he went to a late night show, and so, was a kind of dozed off.”

I told him to send Balaiah to me. The supervisor went away, and sent Balaiah to my office.

“Is it true, that you were sleeping in the section,” I asked him, straight.

“Nodded off, just for a second, madam,” he said.

“I am not asking you, whether you nodded, or, slept like a log. I am asking you, what were you doing, during library hours. You can watch all the three shows on the same day, for all I care. But, you must attend to the library work, during library hours,” I said.

“I didn’t go to the movies, madam,” Balaiah said.

I was ruffled. “That is beside the point. If, I hear a complaint, again, I will have to take action. Do you understand? Go back to work.”

Balaiah left, without a word. Something was telling me that I should believe him; what if he were telling the truth?

The supervisor, however, continued to complain. I talked to Balaiah, several times. He never talked back to me. The supervisor says Balaiah was rude to him.

How can I ask Balaiah, “Are you rude to your supervisor?” or,  “What are your reasons, for being rude to your supervisor?”

One day, Balaiah, took a day off, saying, he had a splitting headache. The supervisor said, Balaiah was lying and that, the real reason was, a new movie was released on that day.

“Mr. Rama Rao, remember the Pancatantra story[1]? The ever-suspecting person is never happy,” I mentioned, suggesting he should learn to be open-minded.

“Okay, madam,” he said, and left.

That evening, on my way to shopping, I saw Balaiah at the movie theater, in the line, for one-rupee tickets. Balaiah saw me, and looked away. My trust in Balaiah went down by a shade.

The medical college warden, Dr. Gopal, came to see me. He saw Balaiah, and said, “You’d better be careful, he is light-fingered.”

“Fill me in,” I said.

In my mind, we should not call a needle and a spike, by the same name, although, by nature, the two serve similar purpose.

“You didn’t notice anything missing, around here?”

“Not to my knowledge,” I said.

“How is his work?”

I did not like this line of questioning. To speak the truth, may be, there were some lapses in the smallest of things, but, I never found any grounds for complaint. He never refused any job assigned to him, not even when it wa beyond his call of duty; there were no indications, that he was expecting any cash rewards, either.

“So, how do you know him?” I asked Dr. Gopal.

It seems Balaiah was working in the medical college dorm, before joining our staff. At the dorm, he was hired to help the chef in the kitchen. Within a few days, they found out, that he was stealing rice, and so, fired him. Gopal said, he had seen, with his own eyes, the man, who saw, with his own eyes, Balaiah stealing rice! I couldn’t follow his logic. Gopal, himself, did not catch him in the act; he only saw the man, who claims to have seen…

Why would Balaiah steal rice? Did he steal anything else? Was there any other occasion to confirm such suspicions? No, Gopal didn’t think it was necessary to go into such minutiae…

I, however, wanted to discuss the matter, with the Principal, and ask him to transfer Balaiah to another department, if possible. I went to the Principal.

The Principal did not see it my way. He argued that, if Balaiah wanted to steal books, he could do so, while working in another department, as well; he also lectured to me, on the beauty of handing over, the keys to a thief. I couldn’t convince him of my reasons, and so I left. I never told the supervisor to keep an eye on Balaiah.

A few days later, I reassigned Balaiah, to my office. He was good; actually, was great, in getting a job done. He amazed me with his unusual skills. For example, at one time there was a kerosene shortage in town. Even the people in power, like the senior doctor and the district judge, could not get a liter of kerosene, for all the muscle, they could pull. Balaiah got me a whole tin, in a heartbeat; there was not a thing– sugar, rice, reservations in trains, permits from the city office, not a thing, Balaiah could not conjure up, if asked. At the same time, the things, I heard from the elite of our township, were anything, but pleasant.

“He has no respect for work.”

“He is a crook.”

“He is a loner; eats at a shelter, and sleeps on the sidewalk. Keep an eye on him.”

“I didn’t find anything wrong with him,” I’d try to argue with them, but to no avail. They all reminded me of another Pancatantra story, and said, “You know, the rice grits are not thrown around, without a good reason.”[2]

I was sure of one thing, Balaiah never expected a reward from me, wouldn’t take it, even when I offered it, on my own.

Summer vacation started. All the students went home.

It was two years, since I joined the college. We never conducted stock verification. I issued necessary instructions to the staff, and left for my hometown. I took a leave of absence for two weeks.

I returned after two weeks, and found out, that Balaiah was suspended. I was stunned.

“Why?”

Stock verification was completed; and twenty-five books were found missing. The Principal ordered Balaiah, to stay away from the library, until I returned, and submitted my report.

Balaiah never showed up, not even, after my return. I sent a couple of peons to look for him. They couldn’t find him, anywhere.

I couldn’t believe that Balaiah would steal twenty-five books, but what can I do without him to offer an explanation.

I took the list of missing books, and tried to locate them, one more time. We could find ten books. In addition, eight more books were accounted for. For a number of years, the Principal, the college correspondent, and the committee members, were in the habit of jotting down titles of books on slips of paper, with a request, to send the books to their homes; but they never cared to return them to the library. They could keep the books, for any length of time. Two more weeks passed, by the time, this much was clarified. No sign of Balaiah!

Since it was my duty, I prepared a report, and submitted to the Principal. Seven books were missing. My heart felt a jab, when I heard that the college committee reported it to the police; Balaiah was the prime suspect. There was no mention of the books, borrowed by the committee members. Nobody cared to raise questions, like, when was the last time a stock verification done? Is it possible, that some of the books were lost, long before Balaiah, and I started working, here? What can I say? This kind of reasoning is unhealthy for the likes of me.

The police acted upon the report from the committee members; did their duty, and located the little hut, in which Balaiah was living. It was on the outskirts, six miles away from the town. The police asked us, me and the Principal, to accompany him, to identify our property.

The thatched door fell, at the slightest touch. I looked around. There were very few items, in that little hut. An old lungi[3], a shirt, and a pair of pants, were hanging from a loosely tied rope; a clay pot, an aluminum tumbler, were kept in a corner; and near the door, on one side, there was a kerosene lamp, a few books, a pen.

“Will you, please, check the books, madam,” The Sub Inspector suggested.

I was feeling a bitter taste in my mouth. I sat down to look at the books. The Sub Inspector was explaining to the Principal, that, he had seen, during his service, any number of fellows “doing this kind of business”; he has seen them all, he said.

I was looking at the titles, one by one– “War and Peace”, “Crime and Punishment”, Krishnapaksham[4], Gonaganna Reddy[5], Allo Neredu[6], and Krishnatheeram.[7] For a few moments, I forgot about the question, how Balaiah got these books; I was so pleased with his taste! I was also feeling relieved, that none of the books carried our library stamp. I opened the notebook that was lying next to the books. My heart quivered, as I started reading the quotes, jotted down in the notebook…

aidu rekula deepakalikanu

  aarpa juchedarevvaru

 taarakaa nava taila binduvulaara nicchune brathuku divvenu?

 [Whoever would want to stifle the pentagonal luminary of life?

Would the bursting beams of celestial bodies permit the extinction of life’s glow?]

 vraatha vrasedu hasthammu vraasi

  kadali vraayuchunu povuchunda

 a vraathaloni pankti sagamaina

 mari raddu paracha levu 

 [The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,

Moves on; nor all your Piety nor Wit

Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line

Nor all your Tears ash out a Word of it – Rubayait of Omar Khayyam][8]

kanne evato chanipoyi

   mannu kaaga

  poochinadi summu

  aa mallepoovu sogasu

 [A little maid died and turned into dust; thus blossomed the elegance of this jasmine flower]

I could hardly contain my excitement. Is Balaiah a scholar of this caliber? Are these books, really, his?

“Yes, madam?” Sub Inspector, alerted me, about the job on hand.

“Yes,” I said, as I put down the notebook, and picked up the last one, “veyi paDagalu”[9] (Thousand Hooded Cobra). I opened the book. Suddenly, the page looked hazy; it carried our library stamp, and there was no indication that it was checked out. A small piece of paper was in the book, as a bookmark.

“Only, this one book, belongs to our library,” I said, as I got up.

I was hoping and praying that this would not happen, but it did. I was annoyed, God knows, at what. At a distance, somebody was slaughtering a pig, and, her harrowing cries were turning my stomach.

“I can’t take this anymore. Let’s go, please” I begged the Principal.

After returning home, from Balaiah’s hut, I couldn’t focus on anything for a couple of days. I kept thinking, and something else occurred to me. A couple of times, when I was looking for a specific book in the library, the book was not on the shelf, nor checked out; and, after one or two days, the book would, reappear, mysteriously, on the shelf. Nobody could explain such disappearance, and reappearance of books. Now, I found some quotes from those very books. There was one more angle to it; the list of missing books did not contain the title “veyi paDagalu”, we found in Balaiah’s hut. Is it possible, that Balaiah was “borrowing without authorization”, and returning them, after he finished reading? A tall order!

Apart from all this, one important question, the most intriguing part, was Balaiah’s scholarship and sophistication; could Balaiah read books like “veyi paDagalu”? And nobody knew about it?

The police could not find Balaiah. The college committee concluded that Balaiah stole all the twenty-five books; his current month’s paycheck was credited towards the cost of the books; and he was fired from his job.

I couldn’t dismiss my thoughts, that easily, however. I kept thinking about the books in his hut, and the quotes in his notebook, and wondering, what a great scholar he could have become, only if he had the opportunity?

I was convinced, eventually, that I would never see Balaiah, again, not until after three years.

I saw him in Madras, while I was looking for some rare and out-of-print books. In Madras, there is a place called Moore Market, a kind of flea market, where we can find all the things, we can’t find anywhere else.

I was strolling down the street, and saw Balaiah, walking towards me. Actually, he saw me, walked toward me, with a big smile, and said, “namaste,” raising one hand. Lately, it has become common to raise one hand and say, “namaste”, a hybrid variety of Western salutation and Eastern way of folding both hands. That amused me.

Balaiah, lifted one hand, and said, “namaste, madam”. I was thrilled to see him; it was like, finding a long-lost, little brother, after many years. I couldn’t speak for a few seconds.

“How are you?” I asked him, feeling, genuinely, happy.

“I am fine, madam,” he replied politely. Then, he showed me a second-hand bookstore round the corner, and said that he owned it.

Suddenly, I heard a thump in my heart. Almost involuntarily, the Sub Inspector’s words flashed across my mind.

Balaiah didn’t notice my waning enthusiasm.

“Please, come, madam, see my store,” he extended a warm invitation, zealously.

I followed him, making a desperate attempt, at some small talk.

I started browsing his collection. I must give it to him; his collection was impressive. I asked him for the price list.

“Take whatever you want, madam,” he said politely.

I continued to browse, and said, “How do you get all these books,” and then, I bit my tongue. I shouldn’t have said that.

Balaiah laughed. “They are not stolen, madam,” he said. His words lashed out in my face.

“No, Balaiah, I mean…” I fumbled for words.

“I am sorry, madam, I am not blaming you. I heard, what happened at the college after I left. But, I do want to assure you, that, contrary to the belief of you all, I did not steal those books…”

I noticed, for the first time, that, Balaiah was articulate; he was making a conscious effort to speak the language of the polite society.

I was listening.

He continued, “It’s true, I took that book, “veyi paDagalu”, without your permission, like several other books, I admit that; but, I did not steal it. I would have returned it, after I finished reading. To tell you the truth, that was my last resort; I wanted to read, so badly. I would have borrowed, if only, we, Class IV employees[10], also, had the borrowing privileges, like everybody else. I had to find a way; I wanted to read so badly. I was always interested in reading, as long as I could remember. Kamala [11]garu said I was ducking work. That was not true. A new branch library opened in our town, and I used to go to the library to read, during my spare time. I never really ducked work. I was going to the library, only after I finished all my chores; and, that was not good enough for them. At the medical college, I was not fired; I quit. I saw an opportunity in your library, and, I hoped, that a job at the library, would give me an opportunity to read…”

“And, I didn’t make it any easier for you, either,” I said.

Balaiah smiled, embarrassed a little. “No, madam. You were right; Like you said, you did not hire me for my reading pleasure. It was bad enough I could not borrow books because I was a Class IV employee. I tried asking others, to get the books checked out, in their name. Can you imagine what they would say? And, the way in which they say it? They would look at me, those funny looks, you know, and say, “You? Want to read? These books?” So, may be, I was wrong, but, couldn’t help myself. I did not steal any books. I took that one book, “veyi paDagalu”, without your knowledge, but, I did not steal it; I would have returned it, after I finished reading.”

I could feel his consuming desire to read. I could understand his method, his last resort, to satisfy his thirst for books. His plan did not work, not for long. So, he ran away to Madras, started out as an errand boy in a second-hand bookstore, became a partner, and, eventually, opened his own store. What an accomplishment!

“I am so glad for you, Balaiah! I am proud of you. Now, you are not accountable to anybody. You can read all you want,” I said, feeling genuinely, happy for him.

Balaiah laughed. “That is the funny part, madam. Now, the books are only commodity for me. I don’t feel like reading, not any more than a candy man enjoys his candy.”

(End)

(Author’s note:  System is a mark of civilization. We pride ourselves on creating rules, and following the system to the letter, while the very persons, for whose benefit the rules are created, pay the price–all in the name of the same game, called the system.

In 1960, late Abburi Ramakrishna Rao garu, a well-known poet, and ex-librarian, quipped about the literary pursuits of librarians. I owe my last line in the story, –comparing librarians to candy men– to Ramakrishna Rao garu.)

This story, was originally published in Andhra Jyoti Weekly, 10 April 1970, under the title trushna and was awarded a special prize in 1970 Telugu New Year Short Story Competition.

The translation by author has been published on thulika.net, June 2002.)