A book on Nidadavolu Malathi’s contribution to Telugu literature, entitled Nidadavolu Malathi rachanaa sourabhaalu has been released at Sirikona Award ceremony is now available on Amazon.com
Here is the link https://www.amazon.in/dp/B0BFQSKFRN/
Also, the link to the awards ceremony on Sept 10, 2022
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4r94rzrvexc
Nidadavolu Malathi
September 21, 2022
At the Sirikona Awards Ceremony on September 10, 2022, Sarayu Blue, Malathi’s daughter and Hollywood actress, gave a heart-warming speech.
Malathi has been honored cy Sirikona literary group and Koduru Parvathi Commemoration Committee. She was awarded a pure silk saree and a plaque on the occasion.
Here is Sarayu’s speech.
I’m so very honored to see my mother’s brilliant work, and lifelong career recognized. Thank you to the Sirikona Group, and to all who comprise it, for this important and invaluable distinction. Many of you know her as a highly revered scholar, writer, and a woman passionate about carrying on the legacy of Telugu women writers. I know her for another role I revere equally highly, my mother. So, while I’m not qualified to speak to you as a fellow scholar, I will speak to you about her impact on me as my mother.
My mother’s journey was not an easy one. You may or may not know, she moved from India to Wisconsin at 36, having never seen snow! America from India is culture shock enough, let alone trudging through mountains of snow in a sari and boots. Regardless, snow or not, nothing ever stopped her. The word that comes to mind when I think of my mother is “resilient.” With every plot twist, turn, and curveball life threw at her, my mother found her way, and somehow, she always did so creatively as well. In fact, I don’t remember my mother ever experiencing “writer’s block.” I’m sure she did, and just didn’t talk about it. She’s never been one to spend much time wallowing.
Through the years, I’ve seen that no matter where she is, or who she’s with, people flock to my mother. Malathi Nidadavolu is revered, by not only those, like this wonderful group who recognize her talents, but also, by all she meets. When my mother speaks, people listen. And who wouldn’t? She’s thoughtful, full of wisdom, she’s charismatic, and most of all, she’s genuine. She’s very honest with her boundaries- make no mistake- but she’ll never turn a blind eye to anyone in need.
Perhaps the quality I admire the most about my mom though, is her integrity. My mother will never lie, she’ll never cheat, she is steadfast in her honesty, and her work is always impeccable. She is diligent in making sure her translations honor the writer, the story, the language. And while her translations are perfectly meticulous, her stories are heartfelt and poetic.
I’ve always known my mom to be a magnificent storyteller. And as I’ve gotten older, I’ve seen firsthand, why- she’s relentlessly curious. On any walk, she’ll stop to appreciate a tree, to photograph a flower, she sees a shape in the clouds and it becomes a whole new world, a story. She’s also relentlessly curious about people, and why they behave the way they do. She cares passionately about humanity, and there is little that infuriates her like injustice. So much of who I am, is because of her. I hear her voice in mine when I advocate for someone’s rights. I feel her heart in mine when I get lost looking out a window, staring at the trees and daydreaming. I know the reason I became an actor was because of her. Ultimately, acting is just my version of storytelling, telling the story of whatever character I’m playing.
I’m overjoyed to see the legacy and work of my mother recognized, and while from the outside it might seem as though I have not followed in mother’s footsteps, to quote a line from E.E. Cummings’ poem, I carry your heart with me(I carry it in), “whatever is done by only me, is your doing.”
Hollywood Actress. Sarayu Blue.
September 10, 2022.
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(September 14, 2022)
Award Ceremony.
Nidadavolu Malathi will be awarded Koduru Parvathi Memorial Award at a meeting on September 10, 2022, organized by Siricona Whatsapp and Koduru Parvathi Memoria Award Committee.
Also, a book, Nidadavolu Malathi Rachanaa Sourabhalu (Fragrant writings of Nidadavolu Malathi), an analytical study of Malathi’s writings during past 7 decades, by Seela Subhadra Devi will be released on the same occasion.
Readers, who are knowledgeable in Telugu language) are invited to participate in the meeting.
Nidadavolu Malathi
September 4, 2022
(Translator’s note: The Telugu original, dhanatrayodasi, by Bhandaru Acchamamba(1874-1905) has been published, originally, in Hindusundari monthly, November 1902. Reprinted on www.bhumika.org in 2006.
My translation has been published in 2009 on this site, and included in the anthology, Penscape, An Anthology of Telugu Short Stories. The art work on the cover has been created by highly acclaimed artist, Seela Veerraju garu. It reflects the theme of this story. – Nidadavolu Malathi, translator.
The day of the festivity occurs two days before Diwali day, and celebrated by Hindus seeking health, wealth and prosperity. Also, referred to as Lakshmi Puja Day.
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Lakshmi Puja Day
Around 7:00 in the evening on the day of Dhanathrayodasi[1]Two days before Diwali day, the Festival of Lights, Dhanathrayodasi(Lakshmi Puja) day is celebrated in some communities, the entire city of Bombay was celebrating the festival exuberantly. There were not as many lamps as on the deepavali day, but each house was glowing with the little lamps in clay dishes, enough to display the contour and the beauty of the house. Firecrakers were making huge sounds from every corner. People adorned Goddess Lakshmi with gold and diamond jewelry, and performed the Lakshmi puja per custom.
In one home, however, there was no sign of the festival. It could be called not a home but a hut. That hut was located between mansions of two rich business persons. It was like the Goddess Jyeshta, [2]Goddess of poverty, came to watch the celebration of her younger sister, Lakshmi[3]The two goddesses are considered sisters in Hindu mythology. Jyeshta is the goddess of poverty and Lakshmi is the Goddess of wealth. People in the neighborhood were happy, on one hand, to see the cleanliness and tidiness of the hut; on the other hand, they were upset because the hut was ruining the beauty of the wealthy neighborhood. My dear sisters!(neighbors), you are upset, probably, because I am narrating the story of a poor family instead of the rich on this festive occasion in this great city. Sisters! If you stop being annoyed and listen to me carefully, you would know that the story of this hut is extraordinary.
I have stated earlier that there were two great mansions on either side of the hut. Those mansions lit several lamps all around their homes, but the hut in the middle had only one lamp shining brightly at the center of it. Vijayalakshmi, the lady of the hut, was sowing a blouse, which she had agreed to make for another woman, for a little cash. A four-year-old girl and a cute three-year-old boy sat next to her. They were showing her their toys and asking questions. They made her happy.
Vijayalakshmi finished cooking, and was waiting for her husband to come home. Her husband, Venkataratnam, was working as a clerk for a rich business owner, Setty. She knew it was Dhana trayodasi day, and her husband would be home only after the puja at his boss’s house had concluded. Therefore, she fed the children and ended the state of madi[4]A person is considered being in a state of madi during puja and cooking time. During that period, usually one or two hours, the person takes bath, wears freshly washed clothes and avoids physical … Continue reading. She sat down to work on the blouse again. Ah! Her face was glowing with the signs of awaiting her husband‘s arrival. Only those, who had seen her with their own eyes, could appreciate it but not everybody. Her physical eyes were focused on the blouse, but her mind’s eye was on her husband’s coming home.
Her cute son threw his arms around her neck tightly, calling for her attention. Up until then, she was answering his questions with a brief “ha” or “um”, without paying attention, as she continued to work on the blouse. The sweet little boy held on to her neck so tightly that she had to put aside her sowing and take him into her arms. She said softly, “Nayanaa! [5]Literally, dad. Also used as a vocative to address a male child What do you want? You have been playing with your sister. Go, play for a little longer. I have to finish this sowing.”
The cute little boy followed her suggestion and went away. Outside, he saw the bright lights from the fireworks in front of their neighbor’s house; he clapped and laughed gleefully. He said to his mother, in his baby-like words, “Look, Amma, it is so beautiful. May I go there and watch the fireworks?”
It was not too far away from their home. Therefore, Vijayalakshmi called her daughter, Rukmini, and said to her, “My little girl! you take Ramu to watch the festivities at our neighbor’s home. Be careful, don’t go too close to the fireworks, and don’t fight with anyone there.”
The two children went to their neighbor’s home. As the mother watched them leave, her eyes were filled with tears, and her grief was hard to handle. Poor woman! Probably she remembered the first day of the festivities. It was the day of fireworks. Children had wanted to light fireworks; she managed to calm them down somehow. After that, the children never asked for them again. Now they asked for her permission to watch it at their neighbor’s home. She could not help but think of their remarkable behavior; she felt sorry again that she did not have the money to fulfill the wishes of such well-behaved children. The thought was even more painful to her. She was distressed that they did not have a good home to live in, good clothes to wear, and no sumptuous meals even on a special holiday. She was spending her days happily in the company of her worthy husband, despite several hardships they had been facing each day. However, when she thought of the pain of her children , her grief was enormous. She grieved for her children’s suffering especially because she had experienced unlimited wealth in the past.
Both Vijayalakshmi and Venkataratnam had been wealthy in their childhood. Venkataratnam was the only son of Mallayya, a prominent man in Kolakaluru village. Therefore, his wedding was celebrated on a grand scale. He was ten-years- old at the time. A sum of fifteen thousand rupees was spent on the ceremony. Oh, God! The couple, on whose wedding, fifteen thousand rupees had been spent, were not even in a position to lay their eyes on such a big amount of money now. Maybe, it is no surprise for those, whose agraharams[6]An endowment of a small township had been ruined. Anyway, Mallayya’s agraharam had been pawned partly even before Venkataratnam’s wedding took place. Yet, they continued to take out more and more loans and celebrate more and more events. Under those circumstances, Mallayya thought the time for his only son’s wedding was slipping away fast.
Mallayya took out one more loan and performed the ceremony. Venkataratnam and the family suffered unbearable, adverse circumstances. There was no food in the house. The couple were devastated as they watched the children suffer because of their poverty. During Mallayya’s time, creditors had not bothered them. But, immediately after his death, All the creditors came together and collected their dues from what was left of Venkataratnam’s assets, at the rate of one half of one rupee. Poor Venkataratnam, he had to experience the travails resulting from either the stupidity or cleverness of his ancestors. Venkataratnam was an honorable man. Although he had lived the rich life as the son of an agraharam owner, he had not acquired their bad habits, such as egotism, conceit, and indolence. The pecuniary circumstances were painful, yet he was managing because his wife was also bound by the same Dharma as he. By the time his father died, he had passed the Entrance exam. Although he was young enough to continue his studies and improve his qualifications, he had no money to do so. The time was not in his favor. He had to find a job. He joined as a clerk under Setty, a business owner, for ten rupees per month. They were managing barely with those ten rupees. It is only natural for them to worry about the children under the circumstances.
I have stated earlier that Vijayalakshmi was worried about her children’s plight. The recalled the rich life they had enjoyed previously; the way it had been destroyed, and the hardships the children had been through. She was struggling to keep her uncontrollable sorrow in check.
Just then, she heard Ramu’s cries. She stood up quickly and went to her neighbor’s house. She reached their home and saw that her neighbor was beating Ramu. She asked what had happened. The woman said that Ramu had taken a firecracker with no wick, broken it into two, and put them next to the lamp. The lamp was put out as a result. In reality, the neighbor’s child beat Ramu and Ramu started to cry. The boy was afraid that his mother might beat him. So, he turned around and said Ramu hit him first. The boy’s mother believed her son and hit Ramu as if she was beating not a little boy but an animal. Even those mothers, who usually beat their own children, would not take it, if somebody beats them like that. Imagine how difficult it was for Vijayalakshmi, who never beat her children, to see somebody beat her child. She was angry beyond words, yet, controlled herself, and brought Rukmini and Ramu home. She consoled the two children, but could not control her own grief. She was heartbroken; she told herself that her children were suffering only because of their poverty. She ran her fingers over Ramu’s bruises tenderly, and shed tears incessantly. There was nobody to comfort her. If Venkataratnam was there, he would have comforted her. Look! Even now, she was thinking of him kindly only.
Vijayalakshmi heard her husband’s footsteps, hid her sorrow, and put on a happy face. Oh! Vijayalakshmi! Who can count your fine qualities? You are so considerate of your husband’s feelings; you hide your sorrow, wipe your tears, and appear before him with a happy face, and the baby in your arms. If all women cherish similar values, imagine how our country could prosper?
Venkataratnam came home. He did not look happy and pleasant as he used to; he was sad and down. He was sweating all over. Usually, he would come home, speak to his wife with a smile, kiss the baby and then he go into the next room to change. But today, he went in, without speaking to his wife or kissing the baby.
Vijayalakshmi thought he, probably, had overworked and was tired. She started dabbing the sweat off of his face. The baby in her arms was sleepy. She went in, put the baby to bed, and returned to give him fresh clothes to change into.
Venkataratnam changed his clothes, handed the old clothes to his wife and sat down, leaning on the rolled bed on the floor. Vijayalakshmi watched his behavior, and wondered if he had a headache. He went close to him, put her palm on his forehead, and asked, “Why are you quiet today? Do you have a headache? Is it hurting bad?”
Venkataratnam said he had no headache.
She was not convinced. She asked again, “If you do not have a headache, why are you so quiet?”
Venkataratnam looked at her, and felt sad. He asked her, “Are you thinking of our misfortunes, and worrying?”
As she heard his words, Vijayalakshmi recalled the grief she had suffered a few minutes back, thought her husband might be worried in the same manner, and stifled her own grief. She put on a happy face, and said, “Is that all? Why would I worry for such a small matter? I am not worried even in the least bit.”
“Ha, you are amazing! When I think of the wealth we have had before and the miseries we are subjected to now, I feel very sad. We had a great life in the past. Now we are living in dire poverty, and that is hard. Today, all the others have put their valuable jewelry together and worshiped it. You had worn several valuable gold and diamond ornaments. But today, you do not have even one piece of jewelry on you. Are you not troubled about it, at least a little?”
Vijayalakshmi, said, “I am not troubled, not even a little bit. You are worried that we do not have riches, right? I would consider our situation the best, when I watch the egotism and the lack of judgment in some of the rich people. Had we been wealthy, we would not have had this superb pleasure, which we are enjoying by following the righteous path. As for me, I would not consider any other kind of riches other than your affection.”
Venkataratnam heard her words and cringed. The expression on his face showed the scare in his heart. He, who had been virtuous so far, showed signs of fear in his face. He was surprised; he was not sure how to respond to his wife. Finally, he picked up the courage and said, “Dear wife! What would you do with wilted affection?”
Vijayalakshmi did not notice the change of expression on his face but was distressed by his words. She said, “You are causing me only pain by such talk.”
Venkataratnam: If so, I will not speak at all. Do you not worry about our children’s sad plight a little, at least? While the others’ children wore fine clothes, ate sumptuous meals and set off fireworks merrily, our children stood there with miserable looks on their faces. Does that not bother you?
Vijayalakshmi: Why would I feel sad for that? I do not have even a little bit of sadness in me. Let it be. Why are you saying unnecessary things today? You are creating problems which are not there to start with, and then, worrying about them, why? Did our children ask for anything ever, big or small?
Venkataratnam: That is the reason I am even more depressed.
As he spoke, he chocked with sadness, “If I tell you something … never mind.“ He bit his tongue. His face looked as if he was going to say something horrible but he held back. Poor woman, Vijayalakshmi noticed his behavior; she was lost for words. After a while, she came to and asked, “You were going to say what?”
Venkataratnam collected himself, and said, “Nothing. Let it be. You spoke the truth. Why should we dwell on unimportant things and worry?” Nevertheless, while he was saying those words, the expression on his face indicated that he was hiding a secret. But Vijayalakshmi, being naive, could not understand his secrecy. She believed his words.
He said, “I am hungry. I worked hard today, and it is frustrating. Let us eat quickly and go to bed.”
Vijayalakshmi went into the kitchen, and changed into madi sari. She served him food. She ate after he was finished, cleaned the kitchen, and went to bed. By then, Venkataratnam was asleep. It was getting late. Therefore, Vijayalakshmi also decided not to continue to sew, and went to bed straight.
Since Vijayalakshmi was guileless, she fell asleep as soon as she lay down. But, Venkataratnam, being worried, could not sleep but pretended to have fallen asleep. The incident that had happened earlier at work kept him from sleeping comfortably.
Earlier that evening, Setty had performed Lakshmi puja, and Venkataratnam stayed there longer than usual to help them. At that time, the senior clerk, Krishnamurthy, pulled him to a side and said secretly, “Venkataratnam, I am asking your help since you are smart. You promise me that you will tell not anybody about what I am going to tell you.”
Venkataratnam had known the old clerk to be a good and trustworthy person, and so, promised him to keep his secret.
Then, Krishnamurthy said, “Venkataratnam! Did you see all this valuable jewelry they had taken out from the chest for the purpose of Lakshmi puja? This jewelry is nothing to them. In their store, they have jewelry that is thousand times more valuable. You do not know about this, do you?”
Venkataratnam could not follow where the clerk was leading, He said, “Yes, I know.”
Senior clerk: Since you know, you should also know that the entire money is in my custody.
Venkataratnam: Yes. Setty garu trusts you, immensely. Therefore, he gave you the keys to the chest.
Senior clerk: Because they have that kind of faith in me, I am engaged in an activity that will not fail them, I am sure.
The Senior clerk’s words gave rise to a little suspicion in Venkataratnam’s mind. Yet he kept quiet, waiting to hear what else he was going to say.
Senior clerk: Since they have so much money, it is not wrong if we take a little from it. And it is not going to be a big loss for him, either. For us, it rids the Lady Poverty of our lives. I am a senior clerk and my salary is only fifty rupees. And for you, it is only ten rupees. You know, it is impossible for us to run our families on such small income. You need not worry that the secret might come out. I will take care of it. This suggestion of mine must be carried out before the year-end accounting is completed. There are only two more days left for us to act. What do you say?”
As the senior clerk continued to talk, Venkataratnam became irate, and his eyes turned red. He wanted to stop him, but swallowed his irritation and kept quiet since that person was his senior and more powerful. After the senior clerk finished his speech, Venkataratnam said, “Sir! Krishnamurthy garu! If you are suggesting this to me for fun, that is all right. If it is real, your suggestion is absolutely not acceptable to me. Since I have given you my word, I will not reveal this to anybody else, though.”
From Krishnamurthy’s demeanor, it was obvious that his enthusiasm had been curtailed by the powerful argument put forth by Venkataratnam. Yet, the senior clerk was determined, and so, continued to persuade Venkataratnam.
Venkataratnam was aware of the enormous wealth of Setty, but remained steady in his stance.
The senior clerk recounted the pecuniary circumstances of Venkataratnam and the hardships his wife and children were suffering from.
Tears started flowing from Venkataratnam’s eyes as he heard his own heartbreaking plight, aa narrated by the senior clerk, who was well seasoned in business dealings. He had been around for a very long time. The senior clerk saw Venkataratnam’s tears, and said, “Venkataratnam, what is it? Am I not correct in describing the conditions of your family?”
Venkataratnam: (Wiping his tears) Yes. It has been like that for sometime.
The senior clerk: If so, why would you not take my advice?
Venkataratnam: Chi. Krishnamurthy garu! Do not speak to me like that anymore. Your words cannot change my heart.
The senior clerk was well aware of human nature. He knew that if a person’s heart turned to evil, even a little, it would be very hard to bring it back to goodness. He thought it would help if he gave him some time to think. He said, “All right. Let it be, for now. I will not talk about it anymore. You think about it all night, com to my home tomorrow, and let me know your decision. Today, it is Deepavali festival, and probably, you have nothing at home to celebrate. Therefore, take this one-hundred rupee bill. Do not say you do not want it.” So saying, the senior clerk put the bill in Venkataratnam’s pocket.
On his way home from the store, numerous thoughts rose in the mind of Venkataratnam, a family man committed to his Dharma. Should he or should he not do as the old man had asked him to do? The question was troubling. His conscience was saying that such action would ruin his good family name. At the same time, the preaching of shrewd Krishnamurthy was coming back and encouraging him to accept the clerk’s proposition. Venkataratnam reached home with that mindset. You, the intelligent readers, probably had guessed by now that it was what Venkataratnam wanted to tell his wife yet was hesitant to do so.
Venkataratnam closed his eyes and pretended to be sleeping but could not. As stated earlier, several thoughts beset him. He could not decide what he was going to do though. He noticed that his wife had fallen asleep; he got up from the bed, and was pacing back and forth. He suddenly remembered the one-hundred rupee bill, the senior clerk had given him, took it out from his pocket, went closer to the lamp, and examined it. He had come to a decision. He told himself, “Yes, I will take his advice. He said it was only to help me. Is it not so?” He turned around and looked at his wife. Then the words she had spoken a few minutes back came to his mind. He forgot at once the decision he had made earlier and told himself, “Chi. I would never do such a thing.” He looked at the children, who were sleeping next to his wife, and the sight drove away the good thought he had entertained a moment ago. He thought, “I cannot see the miseries of these little children. Besides, nobody else will know what I am going to do.”
Just then, Vijayalakshmi woke for some inexplicable reason, and sat up.
Venkataratnam was dumbfounded, and leaned back on the wall. From his hand the bill fell on the floor.
Vijayalakshmi was not aware what had happened in the past few minutes. Surprised and worried, she approached her husband and asked, “What is this? Why are up still, at this hour? What are you doing at this time of the night? You seem to be worried since evening. Can you not tell me what is bothering you?” Then she saw the bill on the floor. It broke her heart. She said, almost crying, “Sir! What is this? From where did you get it? Can you not tell me, your wife, where from you have gotten this? Today, I have seen several bad omens. I pray, please, explain this to me.”
Venkataratnam was clever, and was influenced by the senior clerk’s words. He e tried to persuade his wife but to no avail.
Vijayalakshmi shuddered at the thought, and was anguished by his words. She was angry beyond control; her eyes turned red, and started shedding tears. Even in her anger, she did not think she should keep quiet because he was her husband. She was convinced that, if she ignored it now, he would take to evil ways, and that would ruin him. It is her duty to stop that from happening. Thus, she decided not to keep quiet. She said harshly, “I suspect you did not earn this money by fair means. What is your reason for doing so? Have I ever bothered you for jewelry or fine clothes? Have the children ever pestered us for something or other? If that is the reason for harboring such evil thought, I swear on your feet[7]a phrase, similar to ‘swear on my mother’s grave’ that I will never ask for anything, and make sure that children will not ask for anything. Please, be kind to us and stay away from evil path. You may say that others would not know of your action. Nevertheless, can you deceive the omniscient Lord and pursue your plan? If you do so, do you think your poor soul will be at peace as before? Can we have the same happiness with this stolen money as we do with the hard-earned ten rupees? Does it not bother you each time you touch it? Does it not remind you that you’ve gotten it through deception? Oh God! I cannot stop your plan. I cannot enjoy the happiness I have been enjoying so far from the present poverty.” She could not control her sorrow anymore. She wept pitiably.
Venkataratnam looked at her, pulled her close to his bosom, and said, “Oh, you are the best sati(wife). Your good words have dispelled the darkness of ignorance from my mind. I will never do a bad deed again. We will stay poor and enjoy the pleasure the righteous path bestowed on us. Oh! Only because I have a wife of impeccable virtues like you, I am redeemed from a huge sin. You are the very personification of the best in my life! The name Vijayalakshmi suits you very well. Today, I have earned the victory in the true sense of the word. A little while ago, I was worried that I did not have Goddess Lakshmi to worship, while the entire world was worshiping her. I have you, the very personification of Lakshmi right in front of me. Why should I worry about a Lakshmi made of metal? Today, I will worship only this Lakshmi.” So saying, Venkataratnam worshiped her and hugged her, who had no gold jewelry on her person but was decorated with impeccable virtues.
In that moment, Vijayalakshmi was elated and, unwittingly, leaned on his shoulder. She was worried beyond words that she had blamed her husband for no good reason. After a while, she said calmly, “You would not commit such act ever again. Is that right?”
Venkataratnam embraced her again and told her he would never do so again.
She snuggled by his fee; felt that her husband had been redeemed from a huge mistake and returned to her. Venkataratnam picked her up. They both spent the rest of the night in a hearty sleep with a clear conscience.The second day, it was Naraka Chaturdasi day[8]The day between Dhanatrayodasi and Diwali. So, they woke up at the crack of dawn. Vijayalakshmi made Rukmini offer harati[9]A piece of camphor put on a plate, lit up, and waved in front of a person or God in a circular motion, implicitly seeking their blessings. Same as ‘aarti’. to her father and brother. They all washed their hair and celebrated.
Venkataratnam received a piece of jaggary, his wife had given him, wore clean clothes, and went to Krishnamurthy, put the hundred rupee bill in front of him, and said, “I will not accept your proposition,” and turned around to leave.
Krishnamurthy stopped him, asked him to sit, and said, “You wait here until I come back,” and went into the house.
Venkataratnam sat there thinking about Krishnamurthy’s behavior; He was confused. On the previous day, Krishnamurthy had been disappointed when Venkataratnam refused to go along with his plan. Today, the same Krishnamurthy was happy about it. Venkataratnam kept thinking about the events while waiting for the senior clerk. Krishnamurthy returned along with Setty. Venkataratnam stood up respectfully.
Setty approached Venkataratnam, patted on his shoulder, and said, “Venkataratnam! You did the right thing!” Then added, “You are smart , honest and, you work hard. I wanted to test you to see if you are equally righteous. I asked Krishnamurthy to test you. You passed the test, and also your unbearable poverty. Yesterday, your heart wavered a little, I think. That was the fault of poverty, not yours. A man, who tried to commit an evil act but moved away from it, is a much greater person than the man who had never entertained an evil thought. It is possible to commit a sin by the first person but the second person will never know if he would commit an evil act. You have earned the hundred rupees you had received yesterday by sticking to your principles. I will also promote you as an assistant to Krishnamurthy with a salary of 20 rupees per month.”
Venkataratnam heard Setty’s words, and could not remain silent anymore. He did not like the praise that was being poured on him. He told them the conversation he had with his wife the night before.
Setty heard his story and was very happy. He sent for Vijayalakshmi. Setty told her, “Amma! You are Vijayalakshmi in the true sense of the term. You are like a daughter to me by virtue of your principles.”
Thereafter, Setty continued to treat Vijayalakshmi as his daughter. Venkataratnam loved his wife and treated her like a goddess. The couple enjoyed the riches they had received as a result of their courage and strength of dharma for a very long time.
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Related articles:
Bhandaru Acchamamba. The Outstanding Life and Work of Bhandaru Acchamamba.
Bhandaru Acchamamba’s Stories. A Review
Bhandaru Acchamamba. First Telugu Story Writer
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(Revised. June 6, 2022.)
References
| ↑1 | Two days before Diwali day, the Festival of Lights, Dhanathrayodasi(Lakshmi Puja) day is celebrated in some communities |
|---|---|
| ↑2 | Goddess of poverty |
| ↑3 | The two goddesses are considered sisters in Hindu mythology. Jyeshta is the goddess of poverty and Lakshmi is the Goddess of wealth |
| ↑4 | A person is considered being in a state of madi during puja and cooking time. During that period, usually one or two hours, the person takes bath, wears freshly washed clothes and avoids physical contact with others |
| ↑5 | Literally, dad. Also used as a vocative to address a male child |
| ↑6 | An endowment of a small township |
| ↑7 | a phrase, similar to ‘swear on my mother’s grave’ |
| ↑8 | The day between Dhanatrayodasi and Diwali |
| ↑9 | A piece of camphor put on a plate, lit up, and waved in front of a person or God in a circular motion, implicitly seeking their blessings. Same as ‘aarti’. |
(The unpublished Telugu original, Ammamma Uttaram, translated by Dr. Suguna Kannan.)
Grandmother’s Letter:
Dear Chiranjeevi Lakshmi Sowbhagyavathi(1) Kamakshi,
This is your grandmother Narasamma writing to you…
We do speak every day over the phone, but there are some things one cannot share over the phone so, this letter. Our neighbor’s son has promised to post it to you. Tomorrow, I will call the boy when you ring me up and you can share your postal address so he can write it down.
Anyway, my reason for writing to you is this …. in my youth, the auspicious month of Sravan2 used to fly by on golden wings. On Tuesdays and Fridays, our home would overflow with female friends, and the festivities would keep us all busy and engrossed. To add to the hubbub, would be the brouhaha caused by the occasional tiny showers common during this season. It would make the ladies worry about their silk saree getting wet. Unlike the present times, there was no craze among the ladies to deck themselves in costly grand sarees and expensive gold jewelry. Everyone dressed according to their capacity. Whether affluent or impoverished, their concerns were only about…. performing the pooja with reverence, visiting each other’s homes to receive the blessings and prasad (offerings to God) … inquiring about each other, and exchanging greetings and news… our lives were limited to these, and time passed by with no problem! By night, the whole house, covered with yellow turmeric, would appear golden. The sight would be gratifying to the heart. Maybe N.T Ramarao3 chose yellow as his party color hoping it would make Andhra Pradesh golden! Now neither the turmeric nor my husband is there in my life… What is the use of thinking about them?
By evening, about three kgs of the prasad(soaked chickpeas) would accumulate. I would grind it with salt, chilies, and some onions to make vadas (savory fried snacks native to South India) since your grandfather was very fond of those. I used to make them for four or five days after that and he would polish off half a dozen vadas after his afternoon nap while reading a book. All that revelry and merriment has vanished from this house. I see a few ladies visiting each other for the pooja but their faces are more likely to be colored white rather than yellow. Your grandfather’s departure to heaven has prevented them from coming to this house.
I was reminded of all this, my dear – I don’t know, why? Your uncle married as per his wish but what was the use? Your aunt could never see eye to eye with him on any issue! It is ten years since they left…. I don’t even know where they are! Maybe he does not even remember me! Okay! I got over that too … since your mother was in the same town…you are her only daughter…and what did she do… unnecessarily she sent you to America for further studies! You got married as per your choice…white or black what does it matter…he is not ours, No? So, where is the scope any longer for…Sravan month, poojas, and gaiety? I could not fulfill my yearning with your mother…. nor with you!
My mother used to perform the pooja with me and when I used to pay obeisance before her, she would bless me, “May the years of my lifespan be added to yours, and may you live happily for 100 years”. Finally, I seem to have taken the years from my parents’, your grandfather’s, and even your mother’s lifespan. I am still alive but there is no life in me.
By writing my thoughts, I feel unburdened, the tears that had long frozen in my eyes have melted. They flow down my cheeks providing me some relief. I know that memories are sorrowful but I have no one to share them with except you.
Take Care, dear!
Your Loving Grandma,
Narsamma
Granddaughter’s Response:
Dear Ammamma(4),
Your granddaughter Kamakshi offers her namaskarams(5) to you through this letter.
We are all fine here and hope you are safe and sound there. After reading your letter, I wanted to reply to you. Ammamma, your letter reminded me of all the advice given by my mother as well as you and that is what inspired me to pen this letter. For me, it is a first …. I have never written to you earlier… I did not even know how to address you in a letter so I searched on Google for a long time. Pshaw! …. great Google had not the faintest idea… as if it could even think of such a thing! So, I thought …. I would write just as I talk to you on the phone!
Ammamma…. If I had stayed in our place, I might not have learned as much about Telugu as I have learned after coming here to New Jersey! Only after coming here, did I realize the value of our language (as they say the grass is greener on the other side). My first boss was from Andhra and he told me, “In our office, three-fourths of the employees are from Andhra. If you know Telugu, you will learn the job easily.” Those days the only language I heard was Telugu so I began to improve and refine my Telugu usage, which I had avoided earlier. My love and respect for the language grew. You always insisted that ‘distance makes the heart grow fonder’…now it has been proven …QED as they say in Geometry. My thoughts about our language and you have undergone a sea change!
In this place, there is an organization called Silicon Andhra Manabadi(6), which teaches Telugu to children. These children have a greater grasp of Telugu compared to me. I learn from them without any embarrassment.
Incidentally, here also pujas are performed during the month of Sravan grandly with greater reverence and ritual purity. Here it is not just a formality to be completed but done with great interest and dedication. I met a lady doctor in the local hospital, where I had gone for my first formal medical check-up. I did not realize that she was from Andhra but she spoke in Telugu after seeing my name. She invited me home to her place and I went.
You cannot believe how much I have learned from her…she came here some fifty years ago. On my first visit to her home, I was surprised to find her looking just like you in a simple handloom saree with a long plait. It was quite contrary to the Western image I had formed of her in my mind. In their house, one whole wall is covered with a big bookshelf filled with volumes ranging from Ramayana to the latest Telugu books of poets like SriSri(7). I gained a lot of knowledge about Telugu culture but she very modestly says, ‘I learned all this only after coming here. Through her, I have become acquainted with many like-minded people. I have heard you say that in your youth, Andhras went to all other Indian states for employment; so, you will not be surprised to hear that now we find a multitude of Andhras in other countries too – so much so that at times I feel that I have not left our town. I am very surprised by the change in my thought processes during the past five years that I have been here. Doctor Aunty said that I would look nice in a skirt and half saree because I have a very adolescent appearance and look. I bought a skirt- half saree set online and wear it for festivals and special occasions. For the Varalakshmi Puja, she came home and instructed me on how to perform the puja. She had meals with us and praised my cooking a lot. After tasting the Gutthu Vankaayi (stuffed brinjal) I had made, she was surprised and said, “No matter how I make it, it never tastes so good”.
So, Ammamma, don’t worry! It is not as you imagine… our language and festivals are better respected and cherished here; as they say, “Farther from Temple, nearer to God”. My African-American husband has also learned Telugu. On festival days, when I wear silk sarees, he wears the traditional dhoti and kurta and looks like Veereslingam Pantulu(8). Ammamma, you know though he is dark, his heart is white and pure.
Incidentally, that Doctor Aunty has an only daughter…born and brought up here…she is in a live-in relationship with a South African and has gone off to some foreign country …. it’s been ten years…Aunty does not know where the girl is!
This seems to be the outcome of a free society. “World is a family” does not mean this, does it?
Poor lady! Whenever she sees me, her eyes fill up with tears but I can see a sort of happiness in them. I see my mother in her.
But one thing, Ammamma every family has a feeling of sorrow and success… it is unavoidable, isn’t it?
Bye then
Your affectionate granddaughter
Kamakshi
Foot Notes:
1. Chiranjeevi Lakshmi Sowbhagyavathi – In Indian vernacular, elders while writing a letter to a younger person began traditionally with a blessing of long life (Chiranjeevi) and prosperity (Lakshmi Sowbhagyavathi)
2. Sravan – Sravan is the fifth month of the Hindu Lunar calendar and is considered its holiest. It is choc-a-bloc with festivals and auspicious occasions.
3. N.T Ramarao – Nandamuri Taraka Rama Rao popularly known as NTR, was an Indian actor, filmmaker, and politician who served as Chief Minister of Andhra Pradesh for seven years over three terms.
4. Ammamma – Grandmother
5. Namaskarams- means “I bow to you.”
6. Silicon Andhra Manabadi- a global Telugu language learning platform.
7. SriSri – was an Indian poet and lyricist, famous for his works in Telugu literature and films.
8. Veeresalingam Pantulu – A famous Telugu social reformer and writer considered to be the father of the Telugu Renaissance movement.
(June 1, 2022)
Translated by V.B. Sowmya
000
“Annampoddu festival is here. Every woman in the village should now get ready for a day of backbreaking work!” – I sighed, as I sat to rest after whitewashing the house, cleaning the floor and drawing muggu1.
“Why do you sound so vexed, amma (mother)?” my daughter asked, walking towards me.
“What can I say? There is an endless list of tasks and there is no respite. Tomorrow is the festival day. I have to wake up before sunrise and perform poli around the whitewashed house.”
“What is that?”
“We apply cow dung paste in a circle around the house, to protect it from bad air. This is called poli”, I explained.
“What else do we do for this festival tomorrow, amma?”
“Tomorrow’s festival has three names Papa (child). Trees bloom in this season and cold weather starts giving way to warmer days. It will start getting hot (uga in Telugu) from now. Hence, this festival is called “Ugadi”. We have to complete poli before daybreak on this day. We buy new clothes for our dead ancestors and cook something they liked on this day. Since we remember our elders, it is also called Festival of the Ancestors. As part of our tradition, we buy a new pot from the potter and a new cheta (winnowing basket) from the medari (basket maker caste) for the festival. The pot is filled with water and decorated with naamam2 on its front. We sew banyan leaves to make five plates and arrange all the prepared food on these. New clothes are arranged next to them – we call this whole arrangement a nilupu. We then place any available pictures of our ancestors on nilupu and pay our respects to them.
We spread a green leaf over the newly bought sieve and prepare a mix of freshly plucked and trimmed neem flowers and smoothly ground jaggery. We put this in front of god as an offering. We finally break a coconut in front of all the gods and photos of our ancestors before annampoddu, that is, before 9 am, when we usually have our first meal. This is why it is called annampoddu festival. Of the five leaf plates, one is for the gods, one for our ancestors, one to leave on our rooftops, one to leave at the burial ground, and the final one for us to eat. We distribute the neem-jaggery mixture we prepare to all other homes in the village.
Even people who don’t get along with you expect to receive this mixture on the festival day. So, people share this mixture even with their arch enemies, to avoid hard feelings that can persist forever. If the elders between two families are not on talking terms, they send their children on this task of sharing the mixture. It has to be completed before noon according to our tradition. The earlier one finishes, the more restless others become. It is like a competition – who finishes first? “Aren’t you done yet?” Men start pestering.
So, women get no breathing space during the festival,” I explained to my daughter.
The festival day arrived. All the women in the village sat in groups on the streets after performing the rituals and enjoying a sumptuous meal. They sat there cutting betel leaf stems, and gossiped about who was the last to distribute the neem-jaggery mixture in the village this time.
“Maarakka’s daughter was the last to distribute this year” – one of them remarked.
“I wonder what kept her occupied for so long!” Another one exclaimed.
I went to my brother’s house to enquire. They were talking about his wife.
My sister-in-law sat there with a long face, leaning against a wall. My brother seemed to have done all the household chores – bathing the children, and performing the prayer rituals. They have two daughters. The younger one was naked and was crying for a new frock. The older one apparently went around to distribute the neem-jaggery mix earlier and was now eating lunch.
“Why is it so gloomy in your house on a festival day?” I asked.
“Look at her, akka (elder sister)! She is angry at me because I bought new clothes in memory of our father, but not her mother.”
“He never bought the bottle of red liquor (a reference to brandy) naayana (father) asked for when he was alive. This man now showers love on our father and bought new clothes for him! Are the dead people going to wear the new clothes we buy? Aren’t we eventually going to wear these new clothes in their name, anyway?!”, I thought to myself. I admonished them for quarrelling over petty issues and returned home.
Meanwhile, my sister-in-law had come from her village. She visited her mother’s remains, offered a saree at the grave, broke a coconut and took them all back with her.
“Vadina (sister-in-law)! I bought this saree for my mother. It costs 1000 rupees. Does it look good?”
“Papa, it is good. But, do you remember the past? When your mother worked hard and saved money to buy a saree for herself, you never let her wear it. You always insisted on wearing her new saree. Did you even offer her a blouse piece when she was alive?! You have now bought her a 1000 rupee saree!” I vented. She hung her face in silence.
This is me. I say things to your face if I don’t like something. When her mother was sick, she asked her daughter to make her favorite poelee3. If she had prepared it for her mother back then, that is a different story. But, no. Now, she wants to offer her poelee, attirasalu4, betel leaves, liquor and what not! Is her dead mother going to return to life to eat all this?! She should have taken good care of her mother in the past! But people perhaps wait for sick elders to die!
Everyone remembers their elders only on this festival day. Their burial spots are surrounded by bushes, giving the place the look of a forest. All these people search for the right spots to pray at the burial ground, and break a coconut there without having a clue where the head or toes of the dead are.
The dasaris come to our house on this day. They go from house to house praising our dead elders in exchange for money or grains. They came to our house today. I gave them a basket full of rice and asked them to praise my mother.
They started singing –
“Gifting generously
your daughter asked us to praise you..
She gave silver coins for a high praise,
She gave copper coins for a loud praise
She gave us clothes –
our blessings will send you to vaikuntam6
Wherever you are, dear Yellamma!
That god, who called you up,
He will protect you there.
You did not come when she had muggu on the front yard
Nor when she welcomed you with flower petals
You never came when she remembered you
Nor did you show up on festival days
God gave you only half a life!
You left your house, you left your children..
Leaving everyone,
You reached God’s abode, Yellamma!
God will take care of you there!
As they sang this song beating their gummiti7, I had tears in my eyes.
000
Glossary:
1.Muggu: patterns drawn in front of the house or inside with flour and sometimes, using coloured powder.
2.Naamam: vertical lines drawn with kumkuma – a powder made with turmeric and slaked lime and vibuthi – ash powder, considered sacred and representing God.
3.Poelee: a sweet flatbread made of wheat flour, cooked lentils and jaggery
4.Attirasalu: a sweet dish made of rice flour and jaggery.
5.Dasaris: People belonging to the Dasari caste. One of their traditional occupations is to sing praises of people in return for gifts in cash or kind.
6.Vaikuntam: abode of Lord Vishnu and Goddess Lakshmi
7.Gummiti: A pot like musical instrument for which the open end is closed by hand and the other end is hit like drum, to make a loud noise (an artist performing with this instrument can be seen in this youtube video).
000
The Telugu original, సచ్చినోళ్ల గేపకం/Sacchinolla Gepakam, appeared in the author’s Telugu short story collection “Edaari Batukulu” in 2019.
Translator’s note: The story describes the customs surrounding a festival in their village. Although such festivals exist in various cultures within India and in other countries, these traditions described in this story seem specific to this region and village community.
000
(March 10, 2022)
Sarada is waiting for the elevator.
The man next to her pressed the button for a third time, staring at the number on the wall, 3. Looks like somebody stopped it on the third floor. A young man in plaid shirt comes running and presses the button, that is already bright. Sarada has been watching him for a week now. His office is only two flights up. He can take the stairs as easily but he wouldn’t. He just stands there as long as he has to, fidgety and annoyed.
He presses the button again.
Sarada is amused.
“All this technology is supposed to save time,” he says.
“That is the message, I guess, like in the story of the hare and the tortoise,” Sarada says with a twinkle in her eye.
There, Julie appears at the other end of the corridor, walking hastily towards them, and waves, as if asking to stop the elevator.
Sarada looks up at the row of numbers, number 3 still.
“Perhaps I should take the stairs,” the young man in plaid shirt says, addressing no one in particular.
Julie is getting closer.
The thought of taking stairs flashes across Sarada’s mind for a split second. She looks up; number 3 dimmed, finally. She grits her teeth, feels cheated. It’s not fair. Two, one. Elevator has arrived, doors wide open.
Julie has not caught up, not close enough yet. She yells, “Hey, wait, stop.”
Sarada quickly says, “hi” and walks into the elevator.
The young man in the plaid shirt pushes close button.
Julie, gasping for breath, sticks her foot between the doors and slides into the elevator. “Ha, I made it,” she says, with a satisfactory smile.
“Yes,” Sarada nods vaguely.
“How’re you?”
“Okay. How’re you?”
”Fine, just fine.”
“Anything new?” Sarada asks sounding casual, as if it was expected of her.
“Yes,” Julie responds with a glee.
THAT is a surprise. She has never finished a sentence with a single, dry ‘yes’.
Ninth floor. Both of them step out on to the corridor and walk to our desks, without another word. They hardly settle down in their seats, Julie’s cell rings.
Sarada has been watching her for six months now. Almost everyday, the phone rings a dozen times. Always, it is about an hour-long chat. If not phone, somebody comes to her desk and chats with her for 30 to 40 minutes. Amidst all of this, Julie finds time to shoot a volley of questions at her.
“Indira Gandhi is acting like a dictator. What do you think of that?”
“I heard of the huge population in your country. What do you people manage?”
“Isn’t poverty in India appalling?”
Finally, one fine day, Sarada gives it to her. “Look, first of all, I don’t have the stomach for politics. Secondly, I do have enough things to keep myself busy and not worry about fixing the world. So, don’t ask me these questions.”
Julie is silent for few seconds, and then pulls out a cigarette, “Mind?”
Yes, I do mind, she told herself but gives her ‘go ahead’ nod, reluctantly. Julie knows that too.
“Seen the news today? A woman stabbed her hubby with a kitchen knife. It says he beat her up constantly as if it is his birthright. Do men in India beat their wives? And the women take it without protest?”
These questions, doubts, preconceived notions about her motherland drives her crazy.
Heinous position of women in my society …
Appalling poverty …
Bride-burning …
Arranged marriages …
Numerous Babas and umpteen gods …
Endless questions, on and on.
“Have we gotten the mail yet?” the usual question to change the subject.
“Not yet. Me too, waiting for the mail, I mean,” the same response, as always.
“Let me check. Excuse me,” Sarada gets up from her seat, just finding an excuse to leave the desk. She knows the mailman brings mail to her desk in a few minutes.
“Why? Something special?” Julie asks.
Before she could come up with an answer, Julie’s cell started ringtones. That ties her up for another 3o to 40 minutes. What a relief! Sarada dismisses the idea of going for the mail and opens the files on her desk.
It is hard to focus on work, she frowns. However much she has tried, she could not focus on work because she is so annoyed by Julie’s demeanor. Your country, your government, Indira Gandhi, women’s plight, homeless children, hungry population … Ugh, rubbish.
Why does she have to worry about these matters?
Doesn’t she have any thing else in her life to worry about?
Is she or is she not happy? No peace of mind, not even for a day? Why not find some gratifying avocation? Why can’t she get busy with her work? Why did she take this job in the first place?
Julie hangs up and looks out the window. “Isn’t it gorgeous?” she mumbles as if she is talking to herself.
“Yes,” Sarada says, knowing full-well her colleague isn’t really looking for a response. In the country where she comes from, it is more often than not, they feel scorched by the unbearable heat.
“It must be very hot there? I wonder how you people could take all that heat,” Julie says again.
Mail has arrived. Sarada thanks her stars and starts opening them—a couple of catalogs, a promo notification from an insurance company, explaining what could happen if she died without insurance, another explaining an easy plan to make millions without spending a dime, … She throws them into the wastepaper basket and turns to work on hand.
She couldn’t help looking at Julie. Julies is staring at the letter in her hand, looking tense.
Sarada goes to Peter’s office to discuss an important matter. When she returned to her seat, she finds Julie still in the same posture, staring at the same letter.
“Where did you go?” She asked her, weakly.
Sarada is in no mood to chat. She makes a faint gesture towards Peter’s office and buries herself in the files.
“In there for quite a while. What’s the problem?”
Sarada knows what she meant. A few others also have made similar insinuations. She also knows Peter does not have a special interest in her. It is not hard to guess why. She works like a donkey for one and a half person’s work and gets paid three quarters of wages. But Julie does not believe that. “You know Peter has left his wife,” she says with a wry smile.
Sarada hates that kind of insinuations.
“Look, I don’t care a damn about his personal life. As far as I am concerned, people in this office are no different from this pile of files,” she says, holding a bunch of files and waving them at her.
Julie’s face turns pales. Perhaps, it was too harsh, maybe. Maybe, she could’ve tried to be a little polite, for the sake of appearances, at least.
Julie pulls out a cigarette from the packet, looks at it as if she is having second thoughts.
Sarada turns to her files again. She had a long discussion with Peter, but it didn’t help. It is frustrating.
Julie noticed it. “What is it about?” she says, pointing to the files.
Sarada makes some uncanny noise and shakes her head, “Nothing.”
Julie looks at her cigarette and puts it back into the box.
Sarada is taken aback. She’s never seen Julie return a cigarette to the packet. It is like Lord Rama’s arrow; once set in the bow, it must be shot.
She asks gently, “What’s the matter?”
Julie keeps staring at the paper in front of her. Something must be seriously wrong; must be very painful.
Suddenly, Julie jumps to her feet, and walks to Sarada’s desk. “See this,” she hands a newspaper clipping to her.
It is an obituary notification, announcing a woman named Harriet A. Christensen in a city called Peoria has died of heart attack. Age 50. Funeral service to be held next Sunday.
Sarada is confused. Julie has told her previously that her mother’s name was Barbara. So, what is the connection? How does this fit into Julie’s life?
“A close relative?”
Julie does not respond right away. Takes a few minutes and then says slowly, hardly audible, “She was the woman who’d given birth to me.“
Sarada is stunned, feels like a huge boulder hit her in the head.
Time seems to be moving slowly, very slowly, at a snail’s pace.
Julie continues in a very low voice, “She was my mother. It took me 16 years to learn this truth. I was eleven when I first came to know that Sorensons are my adoptive parents. Ever since I’ve learned my status, I’ve been going crazy to find my birth mother. I can’t even count how many people I’ve contacted–doctors, nurses, resident doctors, student nurses, schools, newspapers, county clerks, and even people in the neighborhoods I thought she might be living … I’ve even visited a couple of morgues. Just for this purpose, I’ve joined three organizations in three states.”
She stops for a minute, and sighs. For some reason, it doesn’t feel like it is a sigh of relief. “Yesterday, finally, I received this letter notifying me that she is in Peoria. I spent all night thinking about her, about her looks, what she might be thinking, wondering if she was looking for me, thinking of visiting her …”
She smiles a faint smile and takes the newspaper clipping from Sarada’s hand. “Isn’t it funny that I saw her, or at least would like to think so, I’ve seen her when I was born. For the second time, I would see her when she’s gone. Ironic, isn’t it,” she weeps silently.
Sarada feels a knot in her stomach. Almost involuntarily, she gets up, puts her arm around her shoulder, and says, “Come on, let’s have some coffee.”
Julie looks up into her face. Tears in her eyes are glistening.
As they continue walking in the corridor, riding in the elevator, sitting down in the cafeteria, Julie keeps narrating her story, intermittently, her struggles with the one question: Why. Why did her mother had given her away, why didn’t she contact the daughter she had given away? And, she talks about the things she had said to other people in her desperation, the troubles she had to go through, the insults that had been poured on her, …
Sarada sits there listening to her, without saying one word. All of a sudden, she sees that Julie is like an open book. Everything about her–her words and her actions–become so clear! So natural!
Julie stops for a few minutes. Sarada is still in a state of shock, so to speak. She couldn’t find a word to say to her.
Then, as if in a reverie, she speaks, “I think marriages in your country are much less complicated. The adults will take care of everything. There won’t be any children, who knew nothing about their fathers.”
Sarada is cut to the quick. She has understood what she is saying. Julie asks her again, “Are you going to have an arranged marriage?”
That does it. Sarada jumps to her feet, “Oh, God, I almost forgot, there is a file I should have finished yesterday. I’ve to go. Talk to you later. Excuse me. Take care,” She rushes to her seat, leaving a couple of dollars on the table for coffee.
The earth seems to whirl around me.
Marriages in my country are less complicated.
The adults will take care of everything.
Everything much much better there.
Children, who knew nothing about their fathers.
Oh, God! Oh, God, help me,
she wails silently in her heart.
000
“I asked Peter for permission to go home. I won’t be in for a couple of days. Going to attend the funeral service.”
“I am sorry about your mother.”
“Thank you,” she says, heading towards the door.
Sarada nodded in acknowledgement.
Julie has left.
000
This is mind-boggling for Sarada. A turmoil in her head. Julie’s words are ringing in her head like church bells. She staring at the file in front of her. Everything is fuzzy. Looks at the watch; one more hour to go. Julie has just left. She can’t ask for permission to leave at the same time. No, Peter wouldn’t appreciate that.
Adults … arranged marriage … father unknown … I am going crazy.
She picks up the phone and dials uncle Chinnappa’s number.
“Hello,” aunt Kamakshi from the other side. Usually, she doesn’t pick up the phone.
“Hello, auntie,” Sarada says, a bit hesitant.
“Sarada!”
“Yes, auntie, it’s me Sarada! How’re you?”
“Good. You? How’re you?”
It took a minute to reply. “Yes, I am fine. Just … feeling bored. Thought I’d talk to you.”
“That’s fine. Glad you called.”
“Me too.”
“Good. What else? Haven’t heard from you for ages.”
“Nothing much, really, nothing in particular. Felt like talking to you today, catching up, you know. Can you come over … just for chat …” Sarada says, stumbling for words.
“Of course. Sure, I’ll be there. Tell me what is good time for you.”
“Today? Later in the evening, I can pick you up, after work. I’ll be done in about half hour. I’ll drive straight to your place, pick you up and we can go somewhere. Don’t worry, I’ll drive you back to your home again.” Sarada hangs up with a sigh of relief. Feels like she has won half the battle.
“Alright,” kamakshi says and hangs up. That is very much in step with her character. Each word sounds like she has carefully thought it out and weighed in each letter. She never asks, just listens.
“Will you call your uncle and tell him that I am going to your place?”
“Sure, I will.”
000
Sarada shows at uncle’s door at 5:15 sharp. Aunt Kamakshi is waiting at the door. She wore a light pink cotton sari and same color blouse. Sarada gets out of the car, walks around and opens the door on the passenger side. Kamakshi settles in her seat with a gentle smile. It is almost like she has understood the gravity of Sarada’s situation. It is a short ride along the lake. Cool breeze gently is blowing into their faces. Sarada slows down and says, “Let’s sit here. It is so pleasant ad comforting.”
They get out of the car and walk closer to water. Sand under their feet is tickling. Small waves are rolling leisurely at a calculated pace. A couple of ducks are gliding on the waves.
Sarada is struggling to find the right words.
Kamakshi is enjoying the beautiful scenery, as if there is not a care in the world. Perhaps, that is her way of giving the time Sarada might need.
A few minutes pass by.
“Have you heard from home?” Kamakshi asks.
Sarada is relieved. That’s what she likes about auntie. She knows what to say when
“Yes. I received a letter last week.”
Once again, silence prevails for a few minutes.
Sarada, looking into the horizon, speaks in a low voice, “I know my brother and sister-in-law are taking a very good care of my child. I am fully aware of it. No doubt. My baby is being raised with the best care any child could hope for. …” Sarada stops for a second, takes a deep breath and continues, “However, it is actually my responsibility, my duty. It is my job to raise my child. I have to do it. She should not be deprived of both the parents. I want to tell her that I care about her, I want her to be with me.”
Ha! Such a relief after speaking those few words; it is like a big burden lifted off her chest. She already feels elated as if she has the child in her arms, held tight to her bosom.
“That’s good. Good decision,” says Kamakshi.
Kamakshi looks at Sarada. Her face is so serene. Little smiles spread on their faces like the little ripples on the lake.
The very next thought that comes to Sarada is: Tomorrow I am going to tell Julie …
000
(March 8, 2022)
The Telugu original, “Amma tapana”, has been published in Andhra Jyothi Weekly, November 12, 1982.
Click here for the original Telugu story, అమ్మ తపన
(Translated by author in the mid-eighties.)
For a few years, I have not added new stories. Finally, I decided I need to do something about it. This is my invitation to you to submit translations of Telugu stories that depict our customs, traditions, cultural values, and any other angles that are peculiar to Telugu culture.
For your convenience, I put together a few suggestions that describe what I am looking for in a translation.
Click on Guidelines for translations
Thanks
Nidadavolu Malathi
Feb 15, 2022
Translated by V.B. Sowmya
(Author’s note: Destruction takes the same path anywhere, anytime. Every political decision in any country in the world first affects its indigenous peoples. All the development or change that happened in the world involves sacrifice from many indigenous communities. This is what I want to convey through this story.
Translator’s note: “Chief Seattle’s speech” is a response by a Native American Chief Seattle (who gave his name to the port city Seattle, in United States) to the American Government’s land treaty that intended to buy their tribe’s lands to build the state of Washington. It was supposedly delivered in 1854, and multiple versions of the speech exist. In this story, the author uses it as a background and connects it with contemporary issues around the relation between man, land and development. Although I felt the narration switched between different topics and time periods too frequently, I found the mention of that speech in a Telugu story interesting, and I liked the way the author connected that with local issues. That motivated me to translate it into English.)
The Pas As Present
“Is the pamphlet ready, bro?” a friend asked on phone.
“It will be done by evening”, I replied.
Our village is surrounded by green hills and fields. Rows of cultivated fields border the hills. It looks like a flowing green waterfall. My childhood was filled with this greenery. We played various games such as – climb and catch, tamarind seed game, marble hole and stick games, etc in these green surroundings. Today, those trees that held me in their arms and those bushes that hugged me all my life are still visible. What about tomorrow? Kannedhara, Bodi, Erramanti1- every green hill is vanishing one after another. The areas that now house Saluru hills and Bauxite Mines were all erstwhile Adivasi abodes. We were driven away in the interest of mining, wealth, and development. The union of Adivasi associations decided to blockade ITDA2 to protest this. The pamphlet is about this event.
I checked the watch – it is time to go to school. The pamphlet that is waiting to be written, and lesson that is to be discussed in class today were playing in my mind. I started waiting for the bus, and confirmed that it did not arrive yet, as my usual co-passengers are still around.
This area was once a desolate place. It is now an important commercial center in this region. Tall buildings sprung up along the road. There are now shopping complexes featuring cashew nut traders, general provision shops, clothing and departmental stores, Bajaj bike and Maruthi car showrooms, and what not? Everything is a business in these modern shopping centers, all owned by non-Adivasi folks. How is it possible if these lands are supposed to be for Adivasi people? Is the 1 of 70 act3 not implemented here?
There is even a special deputy collector’s office to protect these lands. The office building is ready to collapse though. That post had been vacant for years. In the past, there used be only one or two non-Adivasi families who eyed our wealth. But look at how it is now! How could all these buildings come up? How did this happen? Where do all these cars come from?
The arrival of our bus stopped my chain of thought and reminded me of the school. I walked to get on the bus and go to school.
Students’ eyes brightened up the moment I stepped into the classroom. They are all Adivasi children. It is a welfare school for tribal kids. Everyone, including me, are Adivasis here.
We are discussing the lesson “What is man without beast?” in “Environment” class. It is a speech delivered by the Red Indian chief Seattle addressing American people. He gave this speech when he had to reluctantly agree to cede their lands to White Americans, so that they can build the state of Washington. It is a moving speech. Its green message still resonates among many hearts even now.
How would Seattle have agreed to give away his tribe’s lands, even reluctantly? How could the Americans who migrated from Europe have tempted the local Red Indians to do this? Or .. how did they threaten? What made him cede the lands to build the Washington state?
“Who are Red Indians, sir?”, a student asked.
Yes.. who are they? They are people who lost their lands. Who are the Red Indians? Should I say they are like our farmers who lost their lands to build the new state capital4? Should I say they are similar to the Adivasis who were displaced in Polavaram5? How can I answer this question?
“They are Adivasis like us. A group of ancient and primitive tribes. They are simple people who worship nature as their Goddess. They are an ancient society that believes in the sacredness of everything on earth. They believe that the memories of their ancestors flow as life inside the trees. They see flowers as their own siblings, and all human beings as their own. “ – I told them.
“How can you buy or sell the sky, the warmth of the land?” – Seattle asked.
The classroom suddenly transformed into a forest. Seattle was sitting on a rock, addressing the Americans in front of him. Other Red Indians were listening to him intently, sitting on their horses and buffaloes. Some of them were also sitting on their desk benches. A closer look told me they are my students.
Who is talking, sitting on that stone? Is it me or Chief Seattle?
Is this the Red Indian soil or my classroom?
“I got a letter from the white man today” I can hear the depth in my own voice. It seemed as if people within a three square kilometer radius can hear me. “They want to buy our land to build their state6. Should we let them do that?” – I asked loudly.
“Why would I give you my land?”, a voice questioned. I looked in its direction to see my father. The MRO was standing in front of him, holding some papers.
“We are extending the nursery here, and need the land which bears this hut”, the officer said.
“I will not give”, my father replied.
“Sir, what are you talking about?”, one of the students brought me back to current reality.
Irrespective of country time period, history is full of such instances of making tribals homeless by taking away land. Is this only history? Isn’t it also our present?
Am I in the past or present?
“The white man says they are building a new colony for our rehabilitation and is requesting us to move there. It sounds more like an order, though. Shall we go?”- Seattle asked, sitting on a rock on the other side of the classroom.
“No sir. Don’t give our lands to build the capital city. This is our land. We shouldn’t lose our livelihood to build a grand, glittery capital” – children shouted.
Who is shouting? Is it the children or those farmers losing their lands?
Suddenly, there was a commotion in the classroom.
****
“We are preparing an attractive package for you. We will develop your lands with world class investments. We will give you a plot once this is done, so that you can set up your businesses there” – It was a ploy, like applying jaggery on a child’s hand7.
“Farming is not profitable these days. Business is a better idea. We are in. We are in. Your package sounds great.” – someone in the crowd got up and declared a willingness to give away his land. A few more followed him. The state representatives felicitated them, fed them well and bid them farewell. One could see them turn into skeletons as they moved further and further away.
“Hey, stop! Stop! Who will farm if everyone thinks like this? What will future generations eat? Even as the earth fills up with plastic, man can eat only rice. This is 50,000 acres -not a small amount of land. A whole generation is going to lose food. Thousands of families will soon be displaced. Think! Think and stop!” – a few others shouted. There were some people on this side too. To control this group, the state discharged two arrows from their quiver – land acquisition and land encroachment. Both mean the same – it is the government taking away land from people. Both these arrows came in the form of a khakhi uniform and engulfed this commotion. Confused public rapidly dispersed in all directions, screaming in fear.
****
Seattle closed his eyes. He could predict this happening in future. That is why he agreed to silently surrender their lands to the white man.
“Chief, what does this silence mean?” – someone asked.
It is just one question, but it played in the minds of hundreds. No..perhaps thousands or lakhs… or innumerable voices.
I opened my eyes again. I could see the children of the forest in front of me, wearing school uniforms and sitting at their desks. Each looked like a question.
It is true – they all lost their home and land. They are all perpetually displaced adivasis who lose their rights each time.
All our primitive tribal children surrounded Chief Seattle, with heads down.
Seattle began speaking again – “We have to leave our lands. There is no choice. Otherwise, our tribe will vanish from the face of the earth. We cannot fight with these modern, treacherous powers. This is a dark age. If we start a war now, we shall perish. I don’t like that outcome. Leaving our homeland is now inevitable. “Emigration is also a war strategy” – a poet said. Let us vacate our lands and move into the new lands they give us” – Seattle possessed me. I could hear my voice mystically, yet, clearly.
Tears in my voice resembled the voices of lakhs of displaced people.
“All these new constructions – they are just destructions that make people homeless. They need votes, and crore rupee notes. They need assembly seats. New constructions!” – my voice is heard through the classroom walls.
“Sir, is this poetry?” -someone asked me. Did the question came from the classroom, or from inside my heart?
“No, no. It is the voice of the people. I am just translating their tears” – I responded.
“We did not understand. Can you rephrase? Can you give an example?” – someone sat on my lap and asked, with their hand on my cheek.
I got ready to answer. There is so much excitement spread out right in front of me, sitting on these benches, holding their books.
“This is the age of displacement. This is a time when all people will be displaced. They are losing not only their lands, but also their lives. We are all becoming deportees without even realizing it. This is an era where we are forgetting our humanity. Mankind is just vanishing slowly. Yes. We are losing the connection from one generation to another.
“Okay, what are the reasons for this?” – a student who couldn’t understand my ideas and my poetry asked.
I pulled him closer to me, and started rephrasing what I said.
“Look at this. Another new construction” – I said, pointing to some old newspapers.
“Sir, this is Polavaram project. They say it is a garland adorning our new state” – a student shouted in excitement.
I was amused by this comment and laughed out loudly.
“Why are you laughing, sir?” – the student was confused.
I put my arms around his shoulder and started walking with him. The class continued behind me. “Poetry is not just about artistic expression. It is also about talking about reality without fear” – I explained.
“Sir, does that mean what I said is not the truth?”
“Yes. You can’t base your poem on information from news alone.”
“Why, Sir?”
“Newspapers don’t always give the true story”
“Then?”
“Poetry should reflect the reality. Truth is not only what the government says or what the news shows. This is why I laughed when you said Polavaram is like a garland.”
“How will I know the truth, Sir?”
“Polavaram is not just another irrigation project. It is also the curse of all those displaced Adivasis. We can’t know the facts unless we speak with them.”
“Yes, I agree. We have no right to talk about Polavaram without visiting the area and speaking to all those displaced people.” – a last bencher said.
“That is why we are here.” – I paused for a moment.
The students were behind me. Our classroom which is far away from their hometowns, with its metal roofing and cement walls, transformed into a village of displaced people. It is full of teary eyed people who lost their lands and have no work. The students were interviewing them.
Who is talking with them? Is it me? Or a displaced person from Polavaram? Or the Red Indian Chief Seattle? – we are just talking. That’s all.
“I am a displaced Adivasi who lost myself in losing my land. My land is my right.”
Students were listening intently.
“You have to tell your children that the land under their feet is full of our ancestors’ remains. A modern poet echoed the same thought – “Land is the life flower born out of our ancestors’ skin and bones”. Do you know the meaning of this? You send this letter and want to take away our lands. You think you defeated us and our land. But the land won’t feel that way. It will laugh at your madness. No one can defeat land. Land is the one that conquers us. Man belongs to his land, but land belongs to no man. I don’t know when you will realize this truth, because, in your mind, I am an Adivasi…a tribal from the forest … and a fool.”
“We demand our rights.”
“It is not our land that drowned. It is our identity. Our life. Our home.”
“We demand the rights on our scheduled tribal areas” – slogans, flags, and protests with rising hands seemed like a sequel to Seattle’s speech. These are the cries authorities never hear.
“Mr Seattle, do you know where we are? What place are we talking about?” a villager sitting in the third bench asked.
“Yes, I know. Land is the same, irrespective of its country. Life is the same in any human. Pain is the same wherever the cry is coming from. Look there if you don’t believe me” – I pointed them in that direction.
They could see all that heavy construction work going on in Polavaram. Tall, iron walls were being erected there. On the opposite side is the river Godavari, full of water. No, it is not actual water but the tears of Adivasis whose lives are being drowned for the project’s sake. On this side are the newly built towns for the rehabilitation of Adivasis. Here lies the Adivasi who is being cheated by middlemen. There they are, the political leaders, laughing, and throwing away paltry packages at the adivasis.
“Sir, the period bell rang a while ago” – the teacher taking the next class said, standing outside the classroom.
Oh yes, one period ended.
As I came out of the classroom, my mobile phone rang. “We don’t have much time. We should send it for printing”, my friend reminded me about the pamphlet I was supposed to prepare.
Yes. There is no time.
***
Glossary:
1.Kannedhara Konda, Bodi Konda, Erramatti Konda – they are all erstwhile tribal hamlets in Eastern Andhra Pradesh, which became mining hubs now.
2.ITDA: Integrated Tribal Development Agency.
3.1/70 act: Land Transfer Regulation Act 1 of 1970 by Andhra Pradesh state Government in India, which regulates the transfer of Tribal lands to non-Tribals.
4.Amaravathi: is a town in Andhra Pradesh state, which was proposed as the capital when the new state was formed in 2014.
5.Polavaram is a large irrigation project on the river Godavari, in Andhra Pradesh.
6.State of Washington, USA.
7.The original Telugu idiom is “maMDa mIda bellaM rAsinaTTu” (మండ మీద బెల్లం రాసినట్టు”). In author’s words: “To control a naughty child, a mother applies jaggery on the back of the child’s hand and gets on with her work. The child licks the jaggery and is happy. It won’t satiate his hunger, but it distracts him from mischief. In the mean while, the mother finishes her task”.
000
(The Telugu Original, “gata varthamanam”, won first prize in Vizag Fest in 2018. Later it has been included in the author’s Telugu short story collection, “Guri”, published in 2019.)
000
February 6, 2022
Read about Malathi’s Literary journey on en.wikipedia.org Nidadavolu Malathi