Monthly Archives: October 2014

AROMA OF SANDAL PASTE By Sri Virinchi

 As he woke up he looked at the wall-clock to notice that it was only two-thirty in the wee-hour then. No point in trying to invoke and restart his sleep. It’s good to get up and take care of the morning chores. Body would like to stroll on the soft bed for some more time but it could never be the best option for a sensible person. Before getting up and moving out, he glanced at the total atmosphere around the room for whatever it was worth.

Tapati occupied the next bed and she evidently was in deep sleep completely covered by the quilt. To wake her up now has no meaning. Let the sleeping souls lie! He should only get out of the room without making any sounds that could wake her up.

The calendar on the table-stand was showing yesterday’s date and day. Poor thing, how could it know that they’ve gone into oblivion and a new day dawned. Someone has to shift the cards and make things uptodate. Time would not wait or stop for anyone, it flows out resembling the stream of water down the hill. It will not seek anyone’s permission or look for approval. Could men and women of the world too adopt similar attitude? World would move well then.

Silence pervaded the whole area. The minimal sound he made while getting off the bed and walking out. Otherwise it was all golden. Seshadri – that was his name – looked into the mirror and his counter-face therein was showing vividly; not only that but a large part of the room was visible, particularly the bed where Tapati was resting. Her posture attracted him much. Few moments earlier he saw the real she sleeping there but the image as is visible in the mirror now was too attractive and overpowering. Perhaps this is what it means when they say images are more alluring than the real objects and the ultimate reality.

It is true the way Tapati was sleeping enclosed in the quilt, the imaginary contours showing out — all this was more fascinating. Seshadri took a deep look at her again. Her exhale and inhale were causing rhythmic movements, though invisible to the naked eye. One could enjoy looking at the non-provocative scene and forget himself in its solitude.

Getting up before five-thirty in the morning or getting woken up by someone else always irritated Tapati and so Seshadri did not attempt that. There was nothing she should do now. Seshadri removed his outer garment and threw it on to the stand without making any noise and slowly walked into the bathroom. He did not take a bath but did almost the same exercise to ward off the night’s magnetism and freshen up. The marks of the night and other signs of sleepiness and fatigue were diluted. As he worked on the body, the mind also got cleansed. Both the mind and body were now the viable and vulnerable instruments to work with. As he came out and and passed through the room he glanced at Tapati again. Thank God, his movements did not disturb her. Now he was alone to himself in his study. The chair seemed to have smiled at him invitingly.

Seated in this room, and particularly in this chair, his world would entirely be a different one. The pile of letters was projecting pointedly toward him. He must sit down today and dispose of all correspondence. Further postponement might turn disastrous. The other side of the table projected the book of his on reading program. The bookmark was showing out and it needed immediate attention. But before taking up the book for study it was necessary to talk to him. This is a must each day. First the date and the day must be recollected. The work contemplated for the day must be remembered. Visualization should go on. The planned work is to be visualized completely. There was no special agenda for the day, only the routine writing and reading. If friends arrived, chitchat with them. Find out what they want and supply their needs without them asking for it. Eat and drink whatever Tapati offered on that day. When called for lunch, move to the table without being reminded too many times. This is all what he does each day. But he plans these routine operations too meticulously and brings in creativity into them. Talking to the body and then to the mind, together and differently, asking them to be alert and active all the time and spending some time on such contemplating is very necessary. This point was proven to him long back.

To assure that the mind and body are in perfect control and would do the things they are asked to do and not indulge in extraneous matters is an activity that brings in

confidence as well. The world would wake up into freshness. This freshness would bring new aroma to me. I must adapt myself to them. Must equip myself with the proper readiness needed for that. As the stars open up in the sky and make distinct marks and lights, my mind should get enlightened each moment of the time. I must be in perfect harmony with all the beings around. Whatever be the outer struggles and impediments, my inner condition should not give in. It must retain its serenity. May this day also pass on without any untoward incident, properly fitted into the total scheme of things.

Seshadri closed his eyes gently for a moment. A stream of pure waters was flowing calmly in his vision. The gentle flow and the soundless sounds it brings are well familiar to him. They slowly disintegrate and disappear as though nothing was envisioned. No memory, no recollection, no recapitulation whatsoever. Several minutes would pass.

He opened the book at the marked page and began reading. The opening sentence was From the room next, he heard a scream and the voice was that of a lady. As he read the line, he recollected a portion of the story. It was a soldier’s story. Around 1530 A.D., he participated in a war in South America and came back to Germany. Currently he rented a room in a cheap hotel. He had spent only one night there. A lonely woman occupied the next room. She called him by name though they did not know each other earlier. “I’m possessed. I know many things.” He asked her to calm down and sleep without making any noise. But she was keen to unravel her own story to him and would not rest until she did that part of her job.

A fairy visited her at the tender tenth year of age. “As you grow your older, you shall become very prosperous. But you must do the needed sacrifices and surrender from now on.”   She also likes to be a vsionary. Having developed some intimacy with the boy, a schoolmate, she was not inclined to bid goodbye to him. The boy did that part of the job. He suddenly disappeared before their intimacy brought out ramifications. And after many long years, he appeared in her dream and said, “In two months, I will come back to you. Please do wait for me.” Someone did arrive after two months’ time, but she was at a loss, wasn’t sure if that was the same boy. The picture she carried in her mind was one thing. The appearance before the naked eyes now is altogether a different one. But her mind clamored, there is a resemblance between the two pictures. She went out or rather eloped with him. It was a spell of another two plus years. The boy again went away without leaving any trace. It was now her job to search, locate him and re-appropriate him to herself. It was that errand that had brought her here.

He heard the story in all sympathy. There was nothing he could do beyond that. Too often she repeated, “I’m possessed, I’m possessed.” Perhaps it was a matter of pride for her, almost same as being selected as miss world or a queen of a great prince. “Do not think of the devil or whatever force that had taken you over. Let your mind rest. Sleep well. Perhaps you were too tired with the unending search.” He stayed in the same room as she was resting, soothing her all night and giving out spells of consolation. He would like to share the bed with her. She was adamant. “I am totally his, the boy who had forsaken me. My search will have its fulfillment. I must wait for that happy day. I will not surrender to anyone else.”

“I shall certainly help you in your pursuit. I shall assist you in your search.”

Their travels filled the pages with mysterious events, situations and the like — all too cumbersome to remember. The novel was written sometime in 1907, well before the arrival of the various schools of psychological studies on the scene. But what surprised Seshadri were the tones and trends of abnormal psychological descriptions which appeared therein. It was five-thirty when his attention was diverted instantly. Tapati could be woken up now. But she did not give him that opportunity. She was not on the bed, and there were sounds from the bathroom. He reverted to his position in the study.

A lizard was moving speedily on the wall, perhaps chasing its prey. “Don’t ever damage the lizards. They are Gandharvas,” was a saying he read some where. Manifestation is after all very mysterious. You cannot count on the forms that would appear to us. Countless and innumerable. Is the man the manager of the whole show? No, says the man of religion and philosopher. The scientist also seems to be agreeing with him today, though half-heatedly.

There was tap on the door. Three knocks. Seshadri looked up to find Tapati slowly walking in with a cup of steaming coffee on a tray. The fragrance of coffee surrounded the room. Was it sweet or bitter? Perhaps sweetly bitter.

Tapati said, “I shall get ready in five minutes.”

They usually go for a walk in the mornings, an inevitable part of their lives. Seshadri changed into T-shirt and canvas shoes and accompanied her.

“I was absorbed in the book I was reading,” said Seshadri when she remarked, “You could have awakened me an hour earlier, it is already broad daylight now.” “Doesn’t matter much, we shall take a short walk and come back in half hour.”

When they returned, the pile of newspapers was awaiting their attention. Seshadri necessarily gives a full period of three hours for reading it. This is not a pastime, but a part of his job. Tapati does not waste her time now. Her reading time is after the lunch spell and before a short nap in the afternoon. Information explosion is the order of the day. Each newspaper runs to 48 pages normally and promises many things to many people. You shall miss living the life if you do not carefully look to all pages of the papers. As Seshadri was having his tea that afternoon a person came in seeking a half hour of his time at the least for careful listening of his lamentable tale. “I do not know you, sir. But I was told that you are the person who would redeem me of my worries.”

Seshadri took a close look at him, the man who must have been past middle age and, most likely, was entering the threshold of senior citizenship.

The visitor occupied his seat, had a cup of tea and relaxed for a few minutes, in spite of his anxiety writ on his face to speak out what all he had rehearsed well at home and on the way. He was dissuaded from talking for an hour. In the meantime Seshadri was attending to his desk work, intermittently looking at the visitor and encouragingly smiling at him.

Tapati reminded him that the group of people who wanted to see him for collecting his opinion on population and popularity and allied subjects was due anytime and it would therefore be prudent to listen to the visitor before that time. The visitor was very thankful to Tapati for her mild suggestion but Seshadri was not budging from his agenda. Instead, he told the gentleman, “Sir, you are in no hurry. If needed, you shall stay with us this evening. Your problem seems to be more grave and cannot be sorted out by mere talking about it.”

The gentleman said very humbly, “Sir, don’t ‘sir’ me. You can mention me by my name. I said my name is Arunachalam. For short, you can even call me Chalam. As for my problem, it seems it has disappeared. I do not have many words now to speak of it. Your hospitality had soaked up my agony and caused it to evaporate. I thought you would refuse to see me. It is very kind of you. I shall wait for your command. Now I begin feeling sorry that I encroached upon your time and am wasted it with no due consideration.” Seshadri did not respond to this gust of reverential words but he could see the sincerity of the expression.

The group of people Tapati mentioned earlier did come and engage Seshadri for more than one hour. Arunachalam was also a silent spectator for the entire time. Though he could not make out much of it, he could significantly note the sagacity of his host and his sense of right approach to all that was happening around. When they wanted to take leave of him, he introduced Arunachalam to the group and said, “ This is the type of man you would need. He had had enough of the life’s experiences and is interested currently in sharing his knowledge with others. But no one seemed anxious to share his understanding. We cannot help it, people are always like that.”

The group appeared interested in Arunachalam and started making inquiries about him, his place of living, avocation and other data relevant and irrelevant. Arunachalam was wonderstruck and did not know how to respond to all those questions. Again it was Seshadri who came to his rescue. “you all, don’t confuse my guest with all your vocabulary. He needs plenty of rest and relaxation at the moment. If you are interested and desirous of hiring his services, please call on him after two days. He is my guest and you are welcome to come again.” The group thanked them both and assured their reappearance on the appointed date, and left after placing a bundle of sandal wood sticks in the hands of Seshadri. They said, “Once you grind them and make a paste, it would emit wonderfully unique fragrance lasting for days beyond normal expectation.”

Arunachalam did not wait for long to express his astonishment. “What? Sir, you are speaking highly of me. I know I do not deserve all that. But, sir, what is it they want from me?”

“Don’t you worry about that. I am sure they would not return. It is all initial enthusiasm and nothing beyond that. Once they’d gone to their respective places, they would not even care to remember that they were ever here. Problem solved, nobody would like to carry the burden and its ashes too long and too wide.”

Seshadri handed him a big piece of the sandal wood sticks. “Make a paste of it each day and apply it wherever you like. It decidedly cools the system.”

Arunachalam was sure all this was Greek and Latin to him. He did not dare seek clarification. He was wondering whether he to stay here for two days and what for?

It was only after dinner the third day that Seshadri reverted to the presence of this person, that too in a most casual manner. They were reclining on the divans under the open sky. A cap of clouds was attempting to get over them. Stars were spectacular. Compared to the past the present seems to be just a game of the mind. Arunachalam said, “Sir, I do not know how to thank you. These three days here were the most memorable part of my life and I would treasure them deep in my heart. If you permit me, I would leave for my station tomorrow.”

“Already tired of this place? Do you not want to stay here for the rest of your life? Are you homesick now, is that it?” Seshadri was replaying the other man’s earlier sentiments.

Arunachalam could see how he was being taught the lesson of life in a gentler way. But could he really learn them? “I would like to stay on, sir. But why being a burden on you when I have my own kith and kin? I would now assert my rights and at the same time live peacefully.”

“ Look, Arunachalam, no one is a burden on any other. We live in an interdependent and interrelated world. No one is unconnected and burdensome. There is always someone who needs another. We must only find out who that someone is. Then, everything will be all right. No imaginary worries and predilections.”

Arunachalam does not see his wife as a burden now; and his sons and daughters-in-law are more lovable than ever. His heart was aching for the affections or the lack of them he misjudged all this while. Seshadri did not delve into his mental inhibitions, the ramifications and the like. So long as there is a center in man, he will live and move on. Once the center is found, the resting and brooding place is no longer available for habitation. Seshadri remained the same as he was. Recollecting the possessed lady in the novel, he wished that a touch of the sandal paste that touched Arunachalam ought to find its way to her too.

[End]

 Translated by Nidadavolu Malathi and published originally on thulika.net, January 2004.

 

Are Old Folks Spiders? by By Avasarala Ramakrishna Rao

The average age of Sarma, Sastry and Chalapati is seventy. They are not happy unless they gathered on the terrace every evening and had a chat. On that particular day, the events took an unusual turn after Sarma made a remark. This is what he said, “What’s the matter with him? Chalapati curled up in that corner facing the other side?”

Sastry replied, “Seems he’s upset about something.”

Gopi dismissed it with a casual remark, “That’s silly. We are past seventy. What is there for us to be upset about?”

Sastry said sarcastically, “Well, aren’t we going through second childhood, so to speak? In fact it is stranger that you showed up dashing onto the terrace before it was barely dark.”

“I may not show up early on a regular basis.Sometimes I get held up by other commitments. Otherwise, wouldn’t I like to sit down and share life’s pleasures and pain with you? After all, aren’t we all of the same age, give or take a few years!” Sarma explained meekly.

 

Gopi’s sense of humor is a shade higher than normal. “Maybe, that is why Sri Sri stated it long time ago. I didn’t understand it at the time,” he said.

“What did he say?”

“Let’s go, move on…”[1]

“What do you mean? I think Sri Sri meant that we should achieve higher goals, not climbing stairs and reaching the terrace.”

“But then there is a kind of lee way in this too.”

“What’s that?”

“We have reached overripe old age and on our way to go up. We’ve come up this far, and we are that much closer to reaching the heaven!”

“I don’t know that’s going to happen or not. But there is one fact we must consider. If we’ve come up this much higher and died here, our folks will have a hard time getting our bodies down to and get us to the burial ground.”

 

All the three old men burst into a big laugh. Only Chalapati snapped. “I’ve been listening to you since the start. How could you speak such ominous things and laugh? Generally speaking we have one hundred years to live. That means we have 30 more years to go, guaranteed.”

“Chalapati! I have a question. Promise me you will not be angry with me.”

“Ask. Even my own children don’t care about my anger. Don’t worry about it.”

“We are living beyond the average lifespan common in our country. In fact, we are enjoying bonus years. We have no worries of food and clothing. Is it fair for us to hope for a longer life, hope to hang on to life forever?” Chalapati has no respect for Sarma’s words, no more than a strand of straw.

He came back at Sarma with full force, “Yes sir, you can say anything, you are cruising through life as you please. You’d never fall sick, not so much as a sneeze. Our bodies on the other hand are worn out. Anyway, how come not one of you asked me what happened to day?”

 

They all watched his face and fell silent. Chalapati resumed, “It’s my cigar. You know my folks can’t stand it. So, I went into a corner on the verandah, and lit it secretively. I hardly blew a couple of puffs, my grandson came rushing and snatched it away from me.Can you believe it? And then the entire family burst into a big laugh. I don’t have that much freedom or what? Am I not shouldering my own responsibility?”

“You maintain your self-esteem and your responsibilities are no problem,” Sarma replied.

“What’re you saying? You can’t say a word without giving a jab or a punch.”

“What can I say? That’s the way my tongue works,” Sarma conceded. Chalapati found an opportunity and didn’t want to let go of it.

“Only tongue? You retired as chief surgeon. Who knows how many operations you’ve performed and how many people you’ve sent up.”

“That’s not fair, you can’t say that. All surgeons are not bad people [durjanuluI][2].”

“All I can say is you are not complaining like we do, no cold, no headache, nothing. Who’s going to believe if you say you are past seventy?”

“That’s true. I also heard that Sarma is a great sportsman. Maybe, that is why is so sturdy,” Gopi said.

“Did anybody stop you from participating in sports during college days? The exercise you do in your youth is like an insurance policy that protects you for the rest of your life.”

“Maybe, nala bhima[3] plan is a better term,” said Gopi smiling. The other two insisted that Gopi should elaborate on his comment.

Gopi mumbled, “I am not sure how Sarma garu would take it.”

“You can tell them,” Sarma gave him his permission.

“Nothing much, really. From what I heard, the underlying secret of his great health was his custom; Sarma garu prepares all his meals himself.”

Sastry and Chalapati laughed aloud.

“What a way to put it. Gopi said it very well. He was correct one hundred percent,” Sarma said gravely. His words put an end to their laugh.

“Aren’t you ashamed to admit it in public?” Chalapati questioned him.

Sarma did not flinch. He spoke softly and earnestly, “What’s there to be ashamed of? One should be ashamed only if one lay back in an armchair, and instead of helping the family members in the chores, finding fault with everythe they did. One should be ashamed if one could not extricate oneself from the rut of the past accomplishments.”

“What do you mean? Are you saying that we, with our hunched backs, let the young people sit idly? and we should cook and clean for them?”

“What’s wrong in that? My wife cooked for me as long as she lived. Now I am happy I am alive and I could cook. Times have changed. It is not like what it used to be. The daughters-in-law have changed. Now they are the geese who lay golden eggs; they go out to work and bring money each month. Just because we are getting our pension and giving them that money, we can not claim that we have a right to dance around like peacocks. That is the worst kind of self-deception.”

Chalapati tried to cut in, “What’s this Sarma, what is this lecture for? Didn’t you understand our question?”

“Don’t stop me. Nowadays, everybody—men and women, young and old, alike—is hitting the road clutching tiffin boxes in their hands. And they don’t return home until it got dark. How could people like us endure this fast lifestyle? We, the old folks, are home twenty-four hours a day like spiders on the wall. What’s wrong in extending a little help to the family? Are you saying I lost my manhood just because I made a cup of tea for my duaghter-in-law who returned home after a long day’s hard work?”

“We’re ready to go, on our way to the final stop in a day or two! Do we still have to wait on them?” Sastry said.

“Go in a day or two? Come on. Haven’t we climbed the seven flights of stairs in a snap and got here? We are just fine, if you ask me. Why not help our family at home? Of course, there’s no pressure. We can do only the chores that fit our bill of health. We may not be able to wash clothes, but certainly can fold the dried ones, can’t we? I think before we tell them that they should respect us as adults, we must act like adults first. I admit we are old and lonely but that does not mean that we should treat life as if it was our own liquor bottle. If we shared whatever little we have, the bottle turns into divine nectar, doesn’t it?” Sarma stopped

[End]

 

 Published originally on thulika.net, January 2004.

(Published originally, musilaallantaa saleellenaa? in Andhra Prabha weekly, April 24, 1996, and later included in an anthology, pekamukkalu: avasarala ramakrishnarao kathalu)

—————————————

[1] Pun on a famous line by a reputable poetm Sri Sri. The line under reference, padandi munduku [Let’s move forward] was part of a long poem encouraging the labor class to rebel.

[2] Play on the word, surgeon. Telugu word durjan, rhyming with surgeon, means a bad person. The author is famous for playing upon words like this, there are numerous occasions in all his writings.

[3] Playing on the word bhima.. The word has two meanings: 1] Insurance, and 2] a character in Mahabharata. He was known for his physical strength as well as his expertise in culinary art. Nala was also a king and a great chef. The phrase nala bhima pakamí became a common expession referring to great art of cooking.

LODESTAR by Pellakuru Jayaprada Somireddi

The colony looked like a socialist society; the location was filled with huts, middle-class homes and multi-level buildings.

On that day, in front of one hut, a serious wrangling was going on between the hunger of a poor man and the fierce longing of a little child.

“No, I will not go to work. I want to learn to read, ayya!” Kannadu, a twelve-year-old boy, said. His voice echoed his intense determination. His tone was firm; he was struggling desperately to get his dad on his side.

One more blow fell on the dark, smooth body of the boy. His father, Tirupati, who dealt the blow was also writhing inside at the same time.

The boy was not afraid of the stick in his dad’s hand. He kept repeating, “Ayya, please, send me to school.” He kept begging relentlessly.

“Stop asking the same question. Don’t pin me down. Schooling is not for people like us. We can’t afford it.” Tirupati was exasperated; he was being pulled in two directions—the boy’s dreams on one hand and the outstanding debt on the other; they were tearing him apart.

Kannadu noticed it; he was even more forceful in his appeal. “What do you mean it is not for us? I’m sure we can do it. I want to learn reading.”

“That’s what I’m telling you, stop hassling me. We couldn’t pay off the loan we owed Nayudayya, not even a paisa, don’t you know? He was so kind. He was willing to cancel the debt. You need to work his lobster pond,” his voice was reflecting his frustration, helplessness and anger.

But Kannadu was not worried about it. “I’ll talk to Nayudayya, don’t you worry,” he assured his dad.

Tirupati pushed him away bitterly. His obligations were pestering him; so many of them– daughter’s marriage, the little child needing medications, his seventy-year old father grappling with death, and the sick wife with no income. All these things colluded and were driving him crazy.

Kannadu’s filthy back was spanked one more time.

“You stupid, listen to me. In about four years, the loan will be paid off if you go to work now. You, stupid, get it?”

Over and again, blow after blow …

Until now, Kannadu took all the blows silently; he wanted to go to school so badly. Finally, he gave in and screamed, abbha.

Tirupati dropped the stick.

Orey, Tirupati, stop beating him; he is not a beast,” a feeble voice was heard from inside the hut. That was the intense pull of a protest from the blood relationship; a desperate cry for not being able to fulfill the littlest wish of their child.

“You had your broth, nearly bursting your stomach. Why bother about anything else? Why don’t you just lie down and shut up?”

Tirupati was well aware that he hurt the little boy he had brought into this world; it was only because of his own frustration. He was in no position to fulfill his son’s hope, and so he acted irrationally. At heart, he knew that he was bartering his son’s infinite hope for a few morsels to fill his little stomach. It was killing him—his life was like a grinding stone, going in circles at the same place; there was no future for him.

“Ayya, don’t beat me, please, don’t. We are BCs[1], aren’t we? The government will pay for my schooling.

Tirupati bent down to pick up the stick and throw it away. He twitched as he heard his son’s words. Poor boy! After all, what was he asking for? It was not all that absurd! How could a desire to learn be wrong? Tirupati was melting away like a wax candlestick. But the debt was like a zodiac sign, permanently glued to him, and frightening him. The melted wax was hardening again. He was rearranging his hardened feelings, hardened at his will. A demonic cloak shrouded his human side. He pretended to be sarcasatic and said, “Let’s say they would pay for schooling. Who’s going to feed you? You think you can live off of me?”

The boy tried to find signs of hope in dad’s words.

A few yards away, an old Brahmin was spinning thread for making yajnapoveetam[2]. He heard their conversation and sighed. He wished he was born a B.C. He could not obtain admission in schools because he was born a Brahmin; and he, like all others of his caste,. Had no money to pay the fees. Brahmins also, like Tirupati, would go around chanting mantras for birth and death, and showering blessings, but could make nothing for themselves. They end up earning their livelihood by selling the yajnapoveetam threads in their spare time.

Kannadu fell on his dad’s feet and begged, “No, dad, you don’t have to feed me. I will beg for my food and go to school.” He wound around his father’s legs.

Tirupati was exhausted physically and emotionally. He collapsed on the ground.

From inside the hut, his mother yelled, “Kanna, all that stuff—education and such—is not going to help us. I put the water ready for dad. Tell him to come in and take bath.”

Kannadu’s little brain understood even before he asked for it that he was not going to get support from her

A few people gathered and were watching the show. A young man’s voice from the crowd resounded, “Probably, these people don’t know that child labor is against law. I can go to the police station and file a complaint that this father was sending a little child to work; they would throw him in jail.”

Kannadu looked at the crowd and lowered his head. He would not like to send his father to jail, but he was also very keen on learning.

Appalasamy just finished his work for the day and was returning home. He understood Kannadu’s unspoken thoughts and wish. His mind traveled back to a similar situation, which had happened thirty-years ago—the same scene, the same reprimand, and the same sentence. If anything different, it was his father then in place of Tirupati now; and he [Appalasamy] in place of Kannadu. His own father also like Tirupati had conceded his life to day labor. Appalasamy’s heart growled. Wouldn’t it be great if he were born now? He would have sent his father to jail and himself gone to school. But, what is the point of mulling over it now? Half of his life was over.

A few others in the crowd were entertaining a different kind of thoughts. Who could tell what happens if these kids went to school? The educated kid would not care about anything else except his income, his wife, his children and himself. He would not think of the loans; life in the huts would become disgusting.

Kannadu’s little sister, Sita, just came back from school. She remembered that Kannadu would have started work today. Then, a new wish entered her brain. She was not mature enough to know that it was not the right place to express her wish there. “Anna![3] You got a job now. Won’t you buy me a frock?” she spoke up, gleefully.

Kannadu noticed the sparkle in her eyes; his determination slackened slightly. He wanted to report to work right away, take twenty-five rupees in advance from Nayudayya and buy a frock for his little sister. But, in the next second, he thought of something else. He could get education first, get a job, and then send her also to school; that way, she would be able to buy her own clothes.

Kannadu was standing there depressed. Sita was looking at him zealously; she understood that he was in no position to buy a frock for her. She was thinking—if she were in his position, she would have taken the job–washing dishes in somebody’s house—right away, earned the money, bought one silk skirt—just one—for herself, and given rest of the money to their mother.

There was one thing Kannadu did not realize however. The lady from across the street, Yasoda, has been watching them from her room upstairs ever since the squabble started.

When her husband bought this little building, she was upset about the location. “What kind of peace we can have in this neighborhood?” she asked. Yet, there was another side to it. After her husband left for work, and the children for school, she would sit on the second-floor balcony and watch the daily activities of the people in the huts across from her house—the population in those narrow hutments, their bickering resulting from their dire poverty, their hunger, which pushed them away from normal civilities—all these things were upsetting her. Amidst all this, what was happening today was the height of their poor economic condition. She was shaken.

She had seen a lot of people, and heard about even more people: Her children have everything and yet refuse stubbornly to study; there are poor children who would duck the teachers who came to escort them to school per government regulation; little kids who are caught playing games and end up babysitting other kids; some fooling enough to be happy that their fathers allowed them to drop out; there are people who would argue that, if everybody was educated who would bear the palanquin, and so many others with similar views. But this was the first time, she has come across a child who would rebel against his father and insist on going to school. She was taken by Kannadu’s attitude.

On the street, the shameless incident came to an end. The crowd started dispersing slowly. Suddenly, Yasoda came to her senses. She quickly ran down the staircase, went to the gate and called out for Kannadu and Tirupati.

The crowd was disappointed that the assembly had come to an end without any tangible solution. Yasoda’s call gave them a new incentive. They all stopped and turned around.

Yasoda was not embarrassed; did not hold back. She walked straight to Kannadu, and ran her fingers fondly through his disheveled hair. She said, “Kanna, I will help you. Will you go to school?”

Tirupati steppec closer and said, “Amma, you’re saying you can send him to school. I praise you for that. But, amma, how can we pay off our debt? What is the point of having children if not to help the family at a time like this?”

She heaved a sigh. “How much can he bring you a year?”

“Whichever way you count it, no less than six thousand per year.”

“All right. I will pay you that amount and also for his education. Let him go to school.”

Kannadu felt like he had conquered the vast sky. Yasoda noticed for the first time the real meaning of the word happiness in his eyes clearly.

We may forget for the moment the thousands of poor children who could not or would not learn and consequently turn into day laborers. Think about the hundreds and thousands of poor children who were not given a chance, not even allowed to try to check whether which one of them could reach the stars. Isn’t it a crime to bury their hopes while they were still in a nascent stage?

“So, amma garu, could you also buy a frock for my little sister?” Kannadu started out the sentence boldly but froze by the time he uttered the last word.

Yasoda was rearranging her thoughts. She came out of her reverie and smiled gently. “Yes, I will buy a frock for your sister.”

 

Kannadu looked at his father, longingly, joyously, timidly, and nervously.

Now, not only the eyes of Kannadu but Tirupati’s also were glittering; he was ecstatic that his son’s wish was going to materialize.

Kannadu’s mother watched the entire incident and felt sorry for Yasoda. She remembered something she had said to her neighbor earlier, “Look at her [Yasoda], such a stingy woman! So rich and yet did not go to pushkaraalu.[4] If I were she, I would have jumped on the next bus.”

Now she has understood. “Why go to pushkaraalu to earn God’s blessings?” she told herself, folding her hands reverently to the woman who was going to give the gift of education to her son.

[End]

Published on thulika.net, January 2005.

 (The Telugu original, nakshatram [star] was published in Andhrajyoti, 10 October 2004.)

————————————–

[1] Short for Backward Class; some of the lower classes are labeled B.C.s and S.C.s and offered reservations in schools.

[2] Sacred thread male Brahmins wear; a sign of young men being initiated into Brahminic rituals.

[3] Older brother.

[4] A festival celebrated once every twelve years on the banks of a famous river.

TWO ASCETICS by Ghandikota Brahmaji Rao

It’s two years since I retired from my job. After that I never tried for another job.

I went to Benares several times while I was working. I never stayed for more than two days there though. Now I am not in a rush. I arrived here this morning along with my wife, I was planning to spend a few days here.

We took a room in Andhrasram. Someone offered to make arrangements for our meals and snacks. Someone else offered to show us around the city. We did not accept any of those offers. We decided to eat whatever we felt like and visit whatever we felt like seeing. We two were planning to go around on the small streets in the evening leisurely. We got a room upstairs. We locked the door and came down to go out.

On the way to the street, there was a small room next to the front porch. There was an older man in that room, sitting on a deerskin mat, and reading book that was sitting on a book-holder. He wore traditional amber clothes befitting an ascetic. The moment I saw him, I felt like making a namaskaram to him.

“Sir, my name is Murthy,” I said, folding my hands reverently.

He stopped reading, looked at me and my wife and signed inviting us in. We two sat on the reed mat that was next to him.

He wiped his eyeglasses and asked us, “Where are you from?”

“We are from Visakhapatnam,” I replied.

“Glad to hear that,” he said.

“Manager told us that you are known as Vidyananda Saraswati Swamy. Is it possible for us to learn about purvasramam[1]?”
He smiled and said, “Ascetics don’t speak about their previous stages of life.”

I don’t have any more questions to ask him. He started again, “If you are interested in learning about my present stage of life, here it is. I belong to Sankara Mutt. They arrange everything for us. Immediately after I have taken the vow, they are providing us food, room, amber clothes, and wooden clogs, and such. They wouldn’t skimp on anything.”

“That’s great, I must say!”

“Our food is different too. We are fed four varieties of vegetables, chutneys, rice pudding, and garelu[2] at noontime everyday. In the evenings, after a light snack, our job is to stay away from mundane activities, read philosophical texts and teaching the same to others.”

After that, he kept speaking about Bhagavad Gita. He was going over lot of details.

***

A silk merchant came into the porch. Several women gathered around him and looking at the sarees he displayed. My wife was distracted. She was not listening to Swamy anymore but was focused on the sarees. Swamy noticed it.

It was close to five and another swami walked in. He lives in a room at the back. Vidyananda Saraswati introduced him to me, “He is Jnanananda Saraswati swamy. We both took the vow the same day. At the Sankara mutt, not too far from here, they are remodeling the place. They arranged these rooms for us rooms temporarily.”

My wife and I stood up and did namaskaram to the swamy who just walked in.

Vidyananda saraswati swamy said, “We go for a walk everyday along the river Ganges. You go ahead and let your wife see the sarees. That merchant also from our region. We are on our way out.”

Both the swamijis left. Up until now I was curious about one swami. Now I was anxious to know about them both. We did not see the swami for the next two days. We went to see Birla mandir and the university campus.

On the third day, we saw Jnananda swamy near Dasaswametha ghattam. He sat on the ledge of the river Ganges and was watching the boats cruising on the river. We two approached him.

He looked at us for a few seconds and recalled our previous acquaintance.

He said, “You came from Visakhapatnam, right?”

“Yes, swami!” I said.

“Sit down,” he said.

We sat next to him. “Vidyananda swami did not accompany you today?” I asked.

“No, he didn’t. He was engrossed in the study of Upanishads. I left him alone and came by myself.”

I chatted with him for a while and then asked him, “Swami, I know you will not talk about your previous stage of life. You are bound by your principle. But, I am sure you have no objection to talk about another swami.”

He thought about it for a while and then said, “ I was never caught in this dilemma before.”

“I apologize,” I said.

“There is no reason for apologies. Listen,” and he told us about Vidyananda Swamy, “In the previous stage of his life, his name was Venkata Rao, a resident of Hyderabad. He was a renowned surgeon.” Swamiji kept quiet for a while and then continued, “He has performed thousands of operations. Saved numerous lives. Actually, I must put it in a different way. He brought many people back to life. He performed surgeries from 9:00 a.m. to midnight. Sometimes he even stayed up in the operation room until 2:00 a.m. and would be back at the operation table next morning as usual.”

“I also heard that he was extraordinary. I heard my relatives speak very highly of him.”

“His wife was principal of a music college. A great musician. The couple had two sons, both settled in America.”

“It sounds very good. Why, then, did you take a vow of ascetism?”

Swamiji thought for a few seconds and replied, “For a while, although they lived under the same room, acted like they were living miles apart. He was totally immersed in his surgery and she was completely submerged in her music, and thus they drifted apart. He used to come home tired after all the surgeries, would eat whatever the cook left on the table or skip the meals, drink a glass of milk and go to bed. His wife would go to concerts, come home and follow the same pattern. One day, he did not come home until 2:00 in the morning. She waited for him. It started out as a small bickering and soon turned into a huge storm. At that time she said, “You are past 65. You are totally engrossed in your surgeries since dawn to midnight. You have four surgeons, just as capable as you are, working for you. You are short for nothing. Aren’t you happy with the fame you have acquired? You think about everybody else, why not about yourself? I am tired of telling you this over and again.”

She went to her room, crying.

“Venkateswara Rao thought about it for an hour. He didn’t eat, not even had milk. What a stupidity to think that he had been the shouldering the hardships of all his patients? One must learn about oneself. He got up at dawn and left home, without telling anyone and boarded the train to Benares.

“And then?” I asked him.

“He obtained the vow of ascetism from Paramacharya of Sankara Matt.”

It was getting dark. The lights on the shores of the Ganges were shining bright. I escorted swamiji carefully to Andhrashram.

It was painful for me. Among all the highly skilled surgeons in India, Dr. Venkateswara Rao ranked fourth. He bestowed gift of life on thousands of patients. It is not even fair to compare him to his assistants. After him … is a far-off question nobody could answer.

***

For the next two or three days, I have been going around watching new things, walking on small side streets, visiting the Lord Viswanatha; yet Venkateswara Rao garu was constantly haunting my mind.

On that specific day at about 3:30 p.m., my wife went out with other women in Andhrashram for shopping. I was checking the money—cash on hand and the expenses. After it was done, I came downstairs. Vidyananda Saraswati swami was in his room with a couple of other Telugu men. He was teaching some philosophical text to them. Jnanandaswami came there and saw that Vidyananda swami was busy teaching. Jnananda Swami left for the shores of the Ganges alone.

I kept pacing in the porch for about a half hour. Swamiji’s teaching ended. He got up, closed the doors and saw me standing there. He understood that my wife went shopping.

“What would you do here alone? Let’s go for a walk. Come with me.”

I followed him to the river shore. He did not talk while we walked. We sat down relaxed on the top row of the steps. Then he started talking. “Our Sitaramayya is a great businessman.”

“Who’s Sitaramayya garu?” I asked him.

“The same Janananda Saraswati.”

“I learned a great new thing today.”

“He came from an ordinary family. He wasn’t even highly educated. He worked hard and made it in the business world. He grossed a few hundreds and thousands of rupees in the cooking oil business. He has built four big buildings in Hyderabad. His wife died two years back. He and I are of the same age.”

“Did he have sons?”

“Three sons.”

“He should have given them some responsibilities.”

“He did. But they did not experience poverty like their father. They did not develop his skills like honesty and business acumen. After his wife’s death, he decided to give half of his property to his sons, and the rest to an orphanage.”

“How much half of his property is?”

“40 hundred thousand. His sons came to know about this. Their wives were upset that the father-in-law was giving away such a large sum to an orphanage freely. They encouraged their husbands to litigate for their shares.”

“That property was not inheritance for generations, how could they litigate?”

“It was his own sweat and blood. He could spend anyway he pleased.”

“Then why did the sons hunger after his earnings?”

“The three daughters-in-law entered into a fierce debate. The third daughter-in-law’s father was a law professor in a university. They invited him and had him prepare court documents. It was not legal but he promised them he would try his best.”

“And then?”

“One day the law professor came to Sitaramayya’s house at about 8:00 in the evening. After some small talk, he broached the subject. “Children are always the first heirs of father’s property. All others come only after them. There is nothing more stupid than giving your property to an orphanage while your own children are hankering for it. Sitaramayya garu, instead of donating your property to an orphanage, maybe, you should consider joining an asram.”

“Sitaramayya was enraged at this suggestion. He tore up the documents into bits and pieces. He went into his room and shut the doors. Later while nobody was watching, he went to the station and hopped on a train to Benares.”

 

I started thinking. The law professor was Professor Madhusudana Rao, who was also my professor. He was a great intellectual. I knew his daughter since she was a kid. Professor Madhusudana Rao had traveled extensively. I was sad. I couldn’t say anything to Swamiji during our return home. I kept ruminating about the subject all night. That was past; something that could not reappear.

It was getting time for us to return to our place. I could never get another chance to see those two ascetics again, nor talk to them.

The last day. We have reserved our tickets on the train for that night. My wife and I bought some fruits and went to bid farewell to the two swamijis.

Vidyananda Saraswati swami talked to us kindly. He told us to put the fruits by him. After a few minutes, I said, “Swamiji, because he took the vow of ascetism, several thousands of patients lost your service. Your goal should be to save the millions of humans who were suffering. Your duty …”

He did not let me finish my sentence. He said, “I have to leave this world some day. Then my absence will be felt, no matter what. I have to prepare this world for that situation starting now.”

What can I say to him? We two folded our hands in reverence, took leave of him and left.

After that, we went to visit with Swamy Jnananda Saraswati. He was getting ready to go out. I folded my hands and said, “Swamy, I just learned that your son was married to my professor’s daughter. I was acquianted with your third daughter-in-law since she was a child. Madhusudana Rao garu, was a great scholar. He has earned numerous awards nationally and internationally.”

I was about to say something more but he did not let me. He picked up the fruits which I put in front of him earlier and threw them in my face. He shouted angrily, “Your professor was a great man for the entire world. His daughter was even a greater woman. Both of them together shrouded me in these amber clothes. Get out. Speak no more.”

He went away infuriated.

[End]

(Telugu original, “iddaru yateeswarulu” was published in “Telugu paluku: TANA special issue, 2003. Permission from the author is gratefully acknowledged.)

Published originally on thulika.net, January 2004.

—————————————
[1] Previous stage of life. According to Hindu philosophy, ascetism is the fourth stage; the three preceding stages being, childhood, student life, and family life.

[2] Fried lentil (black graham) patties.

Waiting for Bhagavantham by Tripura

It was 4:45 p.m. He told me to wait here. Forty-six minutes passed by after the scheduled time. Bhagavantam was not here yet. Would he come today? Would he come any day at all?

I lit up a cigarette, Virginia brand. It was turning black as it burned. A bus far off was sighted. It was approaching like a full-blown stray dog. It spilled out a dozen passengers per custom, a common practice whenever a tree was nearby and then proceeded to its next stop. Bhagavantam was not in that group.

A gang of lepers went across the street like a net preparing to catch fish, singing. There was no use though. “I haven’t got no change.”

Would he be coming in the next bus? The number 13 from the other side?

Across from me, there was a house, an incarnation of pneumonia. On the walls, wet, surrealist spots, as if one was inhaling the wet lungs desperately into the sunlight and attempting to dry them up in the sun! Stripes, behind the walls, like the beams of hope shaking the water in the air, the banana plant, bold and innocent. Stupid plant.

Bhagavantam would show up without notice. Even when he had told, he would not tell from where. Even when I had known where he had been coming from, I would not come on time. Even after he had come, what could I say to me?

On the street, short and dark people, folded inwards, were walking at snails’ pace and like prisoners. At a distance, the mute ocean was roaring meaninglessly. The half-smoked cigarette butts were soaked in the rain, formed into soft lumps like bile.

I leaned on the lamppost and pulled out the old letter from my coat pocket. It was the letter Bhagavantam had written fifteen years back, the color of rust. “I know your fears and suspicions. If you feel you cannot take it any more, and it is of no use, leave them and come to me running. The doors of my home are always open to you.”

Poor thing. Bhagavantam stayed away from the changes in the world and became outdated.

I decided to go into the hotel and wait there for him. The road was visible through the window. From what direction he would appear?

You see that. To me, it was disgusting. The manager was abominable, the waiters were scary; I was suspicious of them too. The manager’s face looked as if it was rubbed by pieces of glass. I hated it.

I hated the people who would come in, chomp through the junk, which he would have made and serve, and go away like the snakes that had swallowed frogs.

I would enjoy this hatred thus started off. As this and hatred came up in layers as the nervous energy caused by the third peg of gin spread through the entire body. Here, at this table, I would sit. I could see the traffic on the street through the window. Inside, I could hear the chitchat from these insects too.

Tradition had been built into the very name, Bhagavantam. His dated ways—the small pigtail, squeaky moccasins, round, gold ornaments hanging from his earlobes, dry loincloth would be audible and visible in this name. I sitting in this hotel and waiting for him was a huge paradox.

“Why, so much of independence for us? We are utterly stupid. Speak of our character! Ours is total faqir mentality.”

“The man is hefty and practices yoga yet suffers from massive attacks of constipation.”

“My line of destiny is filled with breaks.”

“Can’t raise even a paisa of loan.”

“I keep yawning while at work.”

“My little sees caterpillars and crush …”

“It seems they beat up the referee on the mid-field …”

“He did not notice it, they say. As he was cleaning his gun, the bullet … through the heart …”

“I am not sure how my boy’s knee was broken. Actually now it is the lord of wealth is ruling … “

“He’s gone crazy, it seems. He chopped off his wife and children and …”

“God only knows why he was not promoted. Maybe the effect of the planet Sani

The thoughts kept chewing me up. The waiter brought coffee. That was not coffee, just wheat-colored and hot drink. All the bad words beset my head like flies.

“What is your name?” I struggled to ask and with the face of one looking forward to learning a great secret.

“Unnithan.”

Unnithan, Unnithan! Coconut trees, the boats moving heavily and slowly in the back waters … Vellivodham … shimmering dark, curly hair, cloves, cardamom, kopra … sweet aroma! …

“Go,” I said.

“Ha?” he said.

“This has come to end today—either he or I should. This is meaningless, I know. You go in and think. Just as this coffee has no meaning, there is no meaning for Unnithan’s existence. Done, the end.”

Unnithan tried to fix his lungi, which was folded up to his knees, turned around and went away, cursing in Malayalam his stupidity in assuming that he had seen all the tourist attractions in the entire India.

Bhagavantam did not come. He did not come by bus. He would not take a rickshaw and he would not walk.

Somebody was on the ground. “Possibly convulsions, he is frothing at the mouth. Pour buckets of water,” somebody said. People gathered around. For them, a free show, entertainment, fun. My body cringes. Thank God, it could have been me! Oh, no, it is a kind of thrill.

Humidity, sweat, bugs.

Salty wind now and then.

Grease.

Heat.

In the sky above, the evening the Sun god was chewing red pan and spitting as he passed.

He bent his leg, leaned on the wall, and kept picking the filth under his nails.

“Unnithan!” I called him affectionately. Unni!

He came looking scared. I told him to bring me another cup of coffee in a beseeching tone. He disappeared into the hell in the backyard, like a piece that had showed up in a dream and slipped away.

For Bhagavantam, how long is going to be this struggle, this wait? How many hours? How many years?

“After cleansing the slate of my heart, the consciousness …”—I was thinking. A fit of laughter came from the utmost depth inside in a huge wave. I pricked on my left wrist hard. That was a sign, a warning sign telling me, “Stop the drama, remove the make up, and think.”

Unni was coming back from raurava hell like Mephistopheles. He came with a steaming cup of coffee, came close to me, put it on my table and was about to turn around. I stared into his eyes, stopped him with forcibly with that look, and told him, “You do not exist. You are only an illusion. You have no existence. Did you read Hume? Do you know what Locke said? Kirk Gart, if I think you exist, and if you think I am talking to you, and while I think that you think on those lines …”

Unnithan’s lungi was flying in the wind like a masthead … “Oh, no!” …

A sidelong look from the right eye started drawing a line at the third staff in the left end of the pnuemonia house, cut through main road, rubbed past the manager’s bald head, and was absorbed in the shining froth in the cup, Unnithan had placed on my table.

Coffee on the table! Coffee! This is not coffee. Simply brown color that is hot.

The number 13 bus arrived. After it stopped, it allowed a few to get off the bus—one Markovich face, another face wide as that of a Ulysses, one Terlyn armor, one stethoscope, and one Arjuna in refuge. Bhagavantam was not one of them. Would be coming by number 7 bus from the other side?

Unni was whispering something in the manager’s ear. Manager turned his face to the other side—the face that was rubbed with glass bits. Two husky dogs under the two eyelids—two buffalo-like dogs which lay in the middle of the road lazily and yawning—were howling quietly. Had he closed the eyes, they would be two wings of big owls. He droved the dogs on to me.

That was the moment. It was a great revelation—it was as if the lightning rods around were shining like open swords, thunderbolts were racing forward like the devil’s chariot, the generous God would make his grand appearance and was willing to grant my wish, and somebody peeled the banana called ‘the world’ and put in my palm …

The revelation lasting a split second. The manager covered the dogs with the owl’s wings.

There was no point to wasting time, dangerous. I got up and went to the counter.

“Here, I am paying for four cups of coffee in advance.” No need to fear. You may call the mental hospital, if you like. Nobody escaped from there. Everything was in order there. Unnithan was my long lost friend. What are you nurturing in your eyes—Alsatian? Dalmatian? Or dachshund?”

I returned to my table. Why would I want a response?

Unnithan was standing there leaning on the wall, like a single introvert coconut tree, crooked in eight places, and standing amidst a row of several coconuts, which stood up straight and daintily. The cluster of trees was looking cynical and as a collection of punctuation marks bundled together in one place.

“Unni, can you break apart the semicolon and exclamation marks, and come here?”

He came.

“Bring the third cup, please.”

He went in, sprinkling each mark on the floor like one of the Hemingway’s sentence—it was neat, brisk, and without overtones.

Maybe, on his way, Bhagavantam had an accident and his bones were broken …

A gang of four students, who seemed to be hesitating between the nebulous childhood and the cleverness of the adulthood, came in, merrily.

The pulled the chairs, which were arranged four-ways neatly, into several angles, and sat down leaning back and with legs stretched.

Unnithan brought the third cup of coffee. Coffee? That was not coffee. Simply hot-colored, wheat thought.

… What did Benji fellow said today?

… Tony Curtin playing in Saraswati theatre. Elizabeth Taylor.

… Sujatha sits in the high-class row like a classy lady but you know she has two lovers …

… Don’t talk chaff …

Probably, Bhagavantam would not come. I counted ten and got up. As I was going out, I stopped at the words stated above and said in a sad voice. Mix them all up. Then link one to that like a chain and think. You will understand, no doubt. After that, everything will be easy.

I stopped at the counter and said, “I had three cups. I paid for four. That is fair in this world. You may refund the change next time we meet in the purgatory No time now. Please, tell Unnithan also. Bye, bye.” I came away.

Sprinkles of stars in the sky. Bhagavantam would not come. He would not come by number 7 bus from that side or by number 13 bus from this side. Just my foolishness.

(End)

(Translated by Malathi Nidadavolu and published on thulika.net, April 2009.)

 

 

SATIETY by Vasundhara

Food that is cooked in the best of tradition, doesn’t taste palatable unless one is hungry. The sweet water in the river too feels refreshing only when one is thirsty. A dire physical need when satisfied gives an immense pleasure and relief to the individual. In fact the deeper the need, the more intense is the satiety one gets after fulfilling the need.

 

Love and affection one gets from one’s kith and kin too are as much needed in life as food and water. Interestingly, these too give pleasure to an individual only if he gets them when he needs them most. Therefore we need to create the emotional need for the loved ones’ affection. It is important to be away from one’s kith and kin once in a while to create that need and then enjoy the pleasure of reunion.

 

The train is chugging and carrying nonchalantly people rushing into reunions, along with their anticipation. The passengers include Rajarao, with a fluttering heart !

.

The train has been running fast for quite some time. But Rajarao’s excitement started only after crossing “sAmarlakOTa” from where “Rajamundry is just an hour away.

He is meeting his parents and siblings after nearly two and a half years.

He joined the work force two years ago and is going home for the first time after taking up employment. He could not go home even once in the past two years for one reason or the other. At last here he is, on his way to his beloved Rajamundry,

Train crossed Kadiyam.

“Come on, wake up now” Rajarao shook his wife.

“Hmm! I am awake” muttered Vasundhara sleepily.

“We are nearly there. Just another ten minutes”

She woke up automatically. His infectious excitement seemed to affect her, chasing away the drowsiness.

Train stopped in Rajamundry station. Rajarao peered out of the window, searching for someone.

“There she is!” he exclaimed having spotted his elder sister. His eyes shone with pleasure. Vasundhara grimaced.

“Uncle, how are you!” asked Chandram. Vasundhara felt happy seeing little Chandram.

“How are you, Chandram?” she enquired.

Rajarao’s elder sister, Neelaveni entered the compartment with her entourage. She is ten years older than he is. Her eldest daughter Rajeshwari is nearly sixteen years old. Second child Chandram is thirteen and the last one Rambabu is five. Her husband Bramhaji Rao is a renowned lawyer in Rajamundry.

“Hi! There you are! We were beginning to think that you have forgotten us!” she joked.

“No, no! Don’t bother about the luggage. The boys will bring them. Show them where your luggage is, that’s all. Chandram, you stand here and make sure they pick up our entire luggage. I would have brought one more boy to help us, but he could not fit into the car. Be careful when you are walking my dear, you are in the family way now!” she teased her sister-in-law.

Akka! When did you buy a car?” asked Rajarao.

Vasundhara guessed correctly that he asked the question deliberately, to make his sister happy.

Neelaveni’s is a peculiar character. Being very vain and self-centered, her sole ambition is to be appreciated by one and all. She considered herself as incomparable in intelligence, good looks, wealth or anything, for that matter. She strived to create a similar opinion among all her acquaintances. In addition, she generally befriended only wealthy people. But the only redeeming quality in her character is her love towards her kith and kin. There the issue of wealth and status doesn’t seem to hamper her much.

Within five minutes of our arrival she managed to inform us that she bought a car and she has three boys to help her. Now that her brother has given her an opportunity to describe their car, she might start a discourse on the car, thought Vasundhara dryly.

 

“Of course we purchased a car. Nearly two months ago. We will talk about all that later. The driver will start cursing us if we are late. I have not yet got my driver’s license. Till that time we have to depend on others,” Neelaveni concluded briefly.

 

The car sped through the streets. Neelaveni resumed her monologue in the car.

“Guess what, it cost us nearly twenty thousand rupees! Can you imagine how jealous all the neighbors are now? One contractor who is a friend of your brother-in-law has been moving heaven and earth to buy a car just like this, but is no way near it. He is willing to spend thirty thousand on a similar car. All the drivers who drove this car are amazed at its performance…”

“How many drivers did you change in two months?” interrupted Vasundhara with a tactless question. Neelaveni glared at Vasundhara, but laughed at the joke saying “oh, just four”. She resumed her talking.

Vasundhara fell into a thoughtful silence.

It is humanly impossible to work as a domestic staff in Neelaveni’s house. In Neelaveni’s opinion, domestic helpers are not human but just a peculiar species that merely resemble humans. If they seem to be happy, she gets annoyed. “How can they be so happy when they are so poor?” she wonders. If they seem to be decently dressed, she taunts them with “don’t waste all your money on clothes now. However well you are dressed you are just a domestic servant, aren’t you?” If their dress seemed to be shabby she enquires viciously, “Why do you dress so shabbily? Any way since you get all your meals free from me you should be saving all that salary you take home! Shouldn’t you?”

With all this taunting no self respecting person can work at her home for a long time. As a result she could never hold on to domestic help continuously for more than two years.

The car eventually stopped in front of Neelaveni’s home.

Rajarao stared open mouthed at the building. It was totally different from what he remembered.

“What are you so surprised about? This is our house! We spent fifty thousand and remodeled it in the latest fashion. It is almost brand new. In this whole town you will not find another building so well furnished! There are many houses which cost more, but are not as elegant, said the inspector who visited us last week. Your brother-in-law helped him in a court case.”

“Of course!” laughed Vasundhara loudly.

Neelaveni again glared at Vasundhara.

Neelaveni, who mercilessly ridiculed others, is not sportive of any comments about her, even in jesting. She draws a circle around herself and her family. She watches the rest of the world from within the circle. She has long ago decided that only the life within the circle is worth living and all the rest is useless trash.

She is sure that the only way to earn money respectably is to practice law. The medical profession with suffering patients, dirty diseases and stinking medicines is insufferable. The commercial business enterprises with income-tax problems, cheating, black marketing etc are plain fraud! Engineering with bridges, cement bags, back breaking work is so boring and dull! The only way to be rich and famous, in her opinion is to be a lawyer, like her husband. “My husband? He is just a clever man and a fighter for justice. He earns all this money by just arguing in courts! ” she asserts. She refuses to be drawn into any discussion about this. In fact she doesn’t encourage debating about anything. She just declares her thoughts and views and there is no room for counter opinions.

When she purchased a sari, it became a trend setter in the fashionable circles of the town. Looking at the house they built, the master builders were ashamed of their silly constructions. When her eldest daughter fared very badly at her examinations, the entire school staff was shocked in disbelief and the headmaster personally came home to enquire what the matter was! In short, she is the envy and role model of the entire neighborhood.

This was the gist of Neelaveni’s monologue after dinner. The audience mainly comprised of Rajarao and Vasundhara. Vasundhara tried to listen patiently, but she found it uncomfortable to sit in the chair for long time, due to her physical predicament. She wished she could go to bed, but felt it would be impolite to leave the room in the middle of a conversation.

“Madam, I cleaned the dining table” said the kitchen helper.

Neelaveni paused blowing her own trumpet for a little while to ask “already? You are a lazy duck! I will check the table and if I find it dirty, you’ll be in trouble. What is the matter? You seem to be in a hurry today! Did a new movie release or what?”

“No, madam, I completed every thing quickly. I thought there maybe other jobs today as we have guests” he gave an ingratiating smile.

“You liar! In fact, there is lot of work to be done. Put all their travel clothes in the washer. Tell the cook to mix the ice-cream mix, and milk and freeze it. Put the new mattress on the bed. Be careful while making the beds. We spent nearly five hundred on it” she instructed. She felt grateful to the boy who gave her a chance to recite the consumer goods she accumulated and felt obliged to add “if you do all this without any mistake, I will give you money to go to the movies.”

He left the room with a “yes, madam”.

Akka! I am thirsty” interjected Rajarao.

“Someone, please get a glass of water from the refrigerator” ordered Neelaveni. Rajarao drank the water. The water was cool, but it did not have the natural sweetness that water generally has.

Vasundhara was very impatient during the three days she spent there. Though there was no dearth of hospitality, she was very unhappy with the family of her sister-in-law. She felt the atmosphere very suffocating. To make matters worse their behavior was entirely anathema to her principles. She found, five years old Rambabu bullying the domestic helpers very annoying. It is the adults in the family who should correct the domestic staff if needed. Little children ordering the staff about looks very crude .

 

Once they were on the bus to Ravulapalem, Rajarao said “I know that you were very much irritated at my sister’s house. I too don’t agree with her behavior and ideas, but I always remember that she loves me very much.”

In the bus-stand at Ravulapalem, they were received by Rajarao’s younger brother. Vasundhara smiled happily at her young brother-in-law. “How are you vadina?” Subba rao asked.

“Don’t ask! Just faring like you” she answered with a grin.

Subbarao failed in his fourth-form examinations and is about to reappear for the examinations. Vasundhara too had to give her fourth-form examination twice in her school days. Since she had already told about this in her letters, Subbarao understood her teasing and started pouting.

“Oh, you two! We just arrived and you are at it again” Rajarao chided his wife playfully. They reached Rajarao’s home in ten minutes.

Vasundhara’s mother-in-law Parvatamma was standing in the door way waiting for them. She stopped them in the entrance and told the daughter-in-law, “Please wait for a while, dear. Don’t enter the house right away” and she ran into the house. Vasundhara waited near the entrance. Rajarao paid the rickshaw driver and Subbarao lugged the bags into the house.

Personally Vasundhara had no problem standing there, waiting for her mother-in-law to complete the formalities, but she felt uncomfortable standing there outside, after a long journey. Neighbors were peeping in curiously to see who the important guest in the neighborhood was. The lady fetching water whispered to her companion, “I think their daughter-in-law has arrived from the city.”

At last Vasundhara entered the house.

“I don’t know how much you believe in all the rituals and formalities, but as long as we live you have to follow them” said Paravatamma. She liked saying that once in a while, though no one objected to any of her rituals.

When the son and daughter-in-law went inside, Venktramiah folded the newspaper he was reading and said, “I think Raja has arrived.” Rajarao smiled shyly at his father.

“And how is the mother-to-be feeling?” he enquired. Parvatamma answered his questions since both of them were too shy to speak to their father.

Vasundhara always felt amused in her parents-in-law’s place. Rajarao has two sisters, and two brothers, unmarried. She loved their company and their chit chat. But they get hardly any time for idle gossip. Their mother enters the conversation suddenly. The generation gap puts some strain into the conversation.

“Do you have the Tulasi plant in your back yard?” she questioned her daughter-in-law.

“No, mother” Vasundhara dutifully answered.

“Oh God! You could have taken a sapling from someone and planted!”

“No, mother. Out apartment is on the top floor and there is no back yard.”

“So what? You can fill a tin with some mud and plant it. I can’t understand how you can eat and sleep without worshipping Tulasi! This is what education does to people..” she would grumble.

Tulasi has very good medicinal qualities. That is why our ancestors believed in worshipping it” Rajarao tried to fish in troubled waters!

“This time when you go, I will give you a small sapling. I am telling all this for your own good. Whether you believe it or not, you have to follow these rituals as long as we live” she started again.

Vasundhara could not control her giggling any more. “Why are you tickling me”, she blamed her sister-in-law for her burst of laughter.

“When did I tickle you vadina?” Subhadra asked innocently.

“Stop tickling her, this minute. She is in the family way, stop playing silly pranks on her” mother-in-law came to her daughter-in-law’s aid.

Vasundhara thought this an opportune moment, and said,

“Mother, I do want to take that Tulasi plant this time when I go. It will be of great sentimental value to me”

Parvatamma was dumbfounded with joy, but had to rush into the kitchen to attend to the cooking.

“Trying to be smart, eh? If I had this kind of smartness to butter people, I would have landed a job here in the University” Rajarao whispered.

“You would have done that if you had smartness of any kind!” she retorted.

When Rajarao cannot think of any clever retort to his wife’s taunts, he gives her a look full of love . That makes her bashful and shy and she cannot find her words for quite sometime. That gives him respite and think of another clever retort. He did the same now.

Vasundhara avoided looking at him and turned to Subba Rao to ask,

“Where is your brother? Has he disappeared somewhere?”

“He went to Mr.Bhadram’s house, to bring a jack fruit.”

“Why do we need a jack fruit now?”

Answer came from the kitchen, “what do you mean why? You have to eat a jack fruit now, to beget healthy and beautiful children. You have to follow the rituals as long as we…”

“Do not say children mother! One child is enough. Don’t scare me now”, Rajarao interrupted his mother’s flow.

Mrityunjayarao entered the room carrying a jack fruit.

“Hey, vadina is here” he exclaimed happily.

“Oh yeah? What about me? Do you have any eyes for your brother as well?” Rajarao asked in mock anger.

“Nope! Because there is nothing special in you brother! Whereas vadina, well she is a special person now. Aren’t you, vadina? That’s why I brought a special jack fruit for her.”

“Do you mean to say that you went all the way to their house just for bringing this jack fruit for me? I don’t believe a word of it” said Vasundhara.

“I solemnly swear on this jack fruit” he showed the fruit.

“That’s alright, but I heard across the grape vine that Shyamala too is in the town”

Suddenly he felt very shy and couldn’t speak. He graduated from the university with a bachelor’s degree just that year. He was planning to complete a master’s degree. His parents were planning to get him married to Shyamala soon after that. His shyness indicated that he too was happy with the proposal.

“Oh! That was why he wouldn’t let me go to bring the jack fruit”, Sumati , her other sister-in-law exclaimed.

 

“You have to eat food for two people now” Parvatamma loaded Vasundhara’s plate with food.

“Actually, mother, you know more about my eating habits than my own mother! But you seemed to have given me enough food for three people. So I have to leave some of it out” Vasundhara tried to gently convince her mother-in-law. Rajarao whispered again “buttering, eh?”

 

Paravatamma demanded that Vasundhara cannot take an afternoon nap since it is not considered very well for the child. But when Vasundhara went off to sleep in the afternoon, she left her quietly to take rest.

Parvatamma projected herself as a self-styled dictator, but in reality she is too naïve to take anything seriously. Her emphatic talking and inefficient working reminds one of the political leaders of out country, who tend to talk big and produce less. When she dispels advice to her friends she never bothers to see if the advice is needed by them or not. She just likes to exhibit her knowledge of the various issues and hence she distributes advice freely.

Vasundhara measured her innocent nature right in the beginning of her married life and took advantage of it unashamedly. In fact by playing upon her mother-in-law’s easy going nature, she landed herself in troubles, many times.

Pravatamma’s behavior towards her son too was quite amusing. She cooks a dish claiming it to be Rajarao’s favorite. She might not even be thinking of him when she made the dish, but she declares it while serving the dinner. Ironically it would be what he hated most. He would ask, surprised, “but mother, I hate this vegetable!”

“Is it? You loved it when you were a child” she would insist.

“No mother! Even as a child I hated it. Remember, in our vegetable garden I pulled out this plant and you were ready to hit me” he would clarify further.

“Oh yes, I remember now. I am so sorry dear! You come once in a while and I ended up doing what you hate most, what a mother I am! Can’t understand why I keep forgetting things”, she would say sadly. The pain that she claims to feel also would be hard to find in her heart. She tells it merely out of habit. Then she would go on to lecture about her forgetfulness.

True, she did love her son very much. But she is a person who talked more and worked less. As a result, she never paid any attention to his real likes and dislikes. Rajarao is so much used to her behavior that he likes it that way. He would be very uncomfortable if she behaved in any other way.

After a week in Ravulapalem, one day Rajarao said,

“Mother, in another week my parents-in-law will be here to take Vasundhara home for delivery. Before that I want to go to Amalapuram to see Shakuntala”. Shakuntala is Rajarao’s other older sister.

“You can go if you wish to, but don’t take Vasundhara, she will be very uncomfortable traveling. I am telling for your own good, and do as I say whether you like it or not. As long as we live…”

“No mother, we went together to see the eldest sister Neelaveni. If I go alone to Shakuntala’s house, she might be offended. She might think we don’t love her as much as Neelaveni because of her financial status.”

“That’s true, but…”

“Don’t worry mother, I will look after her” assured Rajarao.

As usual Parvatamma agreed. The point is not her agreeing, because she will eventually agree. It is the time she took to agree that is more an issue!

When they were about to start, someone inauspicious crossed their way, so they had to go into the house again, drink a glass of water and start again. The water taken out of a bronze pitcher, was sweet to taste, but slightly warm.

 

 

When they were in the bus, Vasundhara commented, “I know that mother loves us very much, but wouldn’t it be better if she could change her methods slightly?” He very well knew what she meant. But like any other son, he didn’t like being critical of his mother, that too in front of his wife. He side tracked the conversation with, “it is not the behavior that counts, it s the love they give us that is more important.”

 

Shakuntala was older than Rajarao by just two years. She was married to Sankarrao, a school teacher in Amalapuram. During the time of the wedding, theirs was quite a wealthy family. But only later everybody knew that Sankarrao’s father was a spendthrift and left a quagmire of debts for his son. Though they owned a house in Amalapuram, their main income was his salary as a teacher and as a result they are considered as a lower-middle-class family.

Being extremely self-respecting, they never spoke of their financial troubles to their kith and kin. They have four children. The first three of her children are sons. Though Sakuntala was a shrewd house wife, some times they did end up borrowing money to cover some of their expenses.

When Rajarao and Vasundhra entered the house, Shakuntala and Sankarrao were reading a magazine together, sitting on the floor. They moved away from each other in embarrassment when they saw the young couple. Shakuntala exclaimed in joy, “”hey! It is Raja!”

Rajarao looked at his sister. Her eyes were shining with happiness. He was sure the happiness was just on seeing her brother.

Vasundhara was busy examining the house. This was the first time she came here. The house looked very simple, but very clean. People too looked very simple, but very dignified. There was certain liveliness among all the family members.

“Now look who is here! Why, Vasundhara, are you longing to see your parents or what? Why did you go down so much?” Shakuntala teased her sister-in-law, gently. She hugged her affectionately and led her inside.

“Raja, do you want some water?” she yelled from inside.

“No, akka” he yelled back.

Bava, where are the kids?” he enquired.

“They have all gone for playing. They should be back anytime now. Jyothi is sleeping inside,” replied Samkararao.

Shakuntala lit the coal oven and enquired about Vasundhara’s health. She put a big pan on the stove and yelled again, “Oye, Raja!”

“Coming, what is the matter” Rajarao came in running.

“Now, what do you have to talk so much to your brother-in-law? Go and get an easy chair for her. She will be uncomfortable sitting on that wooden chair.”

Rajarao ran to get an easy chair.

Vasundhara was surprised. She was never before here, but she was feeling very comfortable. No body ever ordered Rajarao about with so much of authority and confidence. Neelaveni had no thoughts about her discomfort on the sofa after many hours, while Shakuntala figured it out in a few minutes.

“Raja loves my cooking, especially pesarattu! But it is difficult to make pesaratut on a short notice, so I will make it tomorrow. Now we will make do with upma. For tonight’s dinner I will make patholi, chutney, and onion soup. Will that be ok?”

Vasundhara listened dumb struck. She seemed to remember Rajarao’s favorite dishes better than their mother.

She enjoyed the hot upma.

They ate an early dinner and went out to the movies.

Shakuntala’s children seemed to be quite disciplined and well behaved. They played and spent all their time with Rajarao. Jyothi was slightly shy since she had never met her uncle before.

After coming back from the movies they spent some time talking casually. It was a plain talk, in which there was no back biting or criticism of others in their circle. They retired to their room later to sleep.

Before going to bed, Vasundhara commented,

“You want to go back tomorrow, but I want to spend two more days here!”

Rajarao too felt the same.

“I went to three places so far and I saw three different kinds of people. I am sure all of them love me equally. But why do I feel so relaxed here, more than any where else?” she asked him again.

“Anybody who can love from heart will show the same hospitality that Shakuntala has given. Neelaveni does love us. But the hospitality that she shows us has nothing to do with her love. She treats us like any other guest. She wants us to feel great about her hospitality and her home.

My mother has no care about hospitality. She doesn’t realize love needs to be shown in deeds too. She has no thought about our comfort or discomfort.

Shakuntala doesn’t care what we think about her hospitality or her home. She treats us like this, just because she loves us very much.”

They started back for Ravulapalem on the following day, afternoon. They felt thirsty and Shakuntala gave them water to drink. The water was from a mud pot and it was cool, sweet and nice to drink, very refreshing.

[End]

 

Published on thulika.net, October 2004

 

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Glossary :

Vadina – elder brother’s wife

Akka – older sister

Bava – Older sister’s husband

Pesaratt – Pancakes made of green gram.

Note – This story titled “upa sAnti” was published originally in Andhra Prabha in 1971 and later in their anthology “rasika rAja taguvAramu kAmA” (1996).

Our sincere thanks to the Authors for their kind permission to translate it.

R. Vasundhara Devi

STEPPING TO THE FAR-AWAY MUSIC by R. Vasundhara Devi

Vasundhara deviIt was recognized all-round that Kalindi’s husband Vijayarama Rao was not a practical man, but nobody said it in so many words. Everyone seemed to respect him. When he spoke about worldly affairs, they listened attentively.

But Kalindi felt a vague unease. It took some time for her to understand that there was a problem. People were mainly interested in material success, but Vijayarama Rao was happy discussing abstract values and philosophies in life and had not much to say about moving up in the world!

That wealth was the measure of a man’s worth was an issue that frequently came up for discussion when Kalindi visited her parent’s home. But Kalindi could not understand the full implications of it. She was content with her own understanding of life. “They don’t know!” she used to think with a superior air.

Since her father’s death, Kalindi’s mother, Kanthamma, lived alone in the village. Like Kalindi, her brother and sister had married and left home. On occasions when she visited her mother, they talked about many things casually.

 

Kanthamma sat on the floor with a winnow, cleaning rice, while Kalindi relaxed on the bed, with a book in hand.

Suddenly she put her book down and said, “I wrote three letters to him. He never cared to reply! He sends a greeting card on new-year’s day but he never writes. He has grown lazy!’’

Her mother didn’t reply. Kalindi was irritated.

“What is with Raji?” she said, ”She never writes either! When I press her, she says that she talks to him on the phone whenever she feels like it. She tells me to get a phone in my home. She thinks writing letters is boring! See how they have changed…To think that we are all children of this family!”

Kanthamma was silent for a while. Then she felt impelled to respond to enlighten Kalindi.

She said in a gentle voice but in her usual blunt way, “maybe they are a little indifferent because you are not well-to-do!’’

She was being frank. After a pause she continued, “that is my worry too…if only your son had some luck! Habits and attitudes go with affluence and you can’t blame them!’’

Kalindi didn’t quite grasp what her mother had said. It was a shock, which she slowly absorbed. She suppressed her emotions within herself and was silent.

Memories crowded her mind. As an elder sister, she had narrated stories to them, taught them lessons and cleared their doubts. Childhood memories of caring intimacy and togetherness alone remained with her…Maybe she had not followed the changes in their attitudes with the passage of time. Even now, she could not convince herself that the `I`, the focal point of human emotions, paid court to riches. But now, the attitudes of her own siblings challenged her. The uncertain future of her son, Sasi Babu, questioned her assurance.

When Kalindi was taking leave of her mother for her return journey, Kanthamma gave her two hundred rupees to buy a sari as she usually did. At the sight of the money Kalindi felt irritated and wanted to refuse it. Her mother seemed to insult her by offering that money. She didn’t need it, she told herself with disgust. But she controlled herself and quietly put the money in her purse. It was mother’s habit to give money to her daughters in lieu of the customary gift of a saree every time one of them visited her. By rejecting the money this time, she would only expose her pique!

She had learnt a bitter truth and returned home with a heavy heart.

 

***

Returning home from school, Vijayarama Rao announced to Kalindi that Shyamal Rao and Rajayya would be arriving at six p.m. They were his old college-mates. They had hailed from a village near Guntur and had rented a room in the town near Vijayarama Rao’s house. The three of them had always been together back in their college days. Vijayarama Rao and Shyamal Rao were bright in studies, while Rajayya was just average. Rajayya admired Rama Rao and used to constantly be around him. After college, Rajayya entered politics and became an M.L.A. and was considered a successful man. Shyamal Rao started as a salesman of automobile spare parts and he too went up the ladder of success. Both of them had purchased land together on the town outskirts and had laid out house sites, amassing jointly a crore of rupees. Vijayarama Rao, working as a teacher in his old high school, earned a good name and was now the head master of the school. With his salary, he was able to make both ends meet and lived a simple, happy life. Even now, whenever Rajayya visited his constituency, the three of them invariably met in Vijayarama Rao’s home.

Kalindi thought these visits were pointless as the three of them had very different attitudes to life and as their lives had taken different directions. Now she started on a sarcastic remark but desisted and said instead, “this is our Sasi’s last chance for taking service commission exams, considering age-bar. For people like us, a government job is the only straightforward way to make a decent living these days. A first class M.Com., he should have found a good, well-paid job long time ago, if there had been fair play. You should mention this to your friend Rajayya and get something done about it. Otherwise what is the meaning of this friendship?”

“Well, let us see!’’ said her husband.

 

That gave Kalindi some hope. She started making preparations to offer them coffee even though he didn’t ask her to. Sometime ago, he had asked her to serve coffee to a visitor, and she had replied: “I have the responsibility to provide a wholesome diet to this family from the meager allowance I get from you. I find it hard enough. How can we keep up extra formalities and proprieties when our income is so limited?’’ He became thoughtful and said, “Perhaps you don’t have milk?” Of course she had milk! A middle-class housewife is so resourceful and discreet she can supply coffee to visitors today and make the next day’s buttermilk thinner with water. Or she can say, “I don’t feel like drinking coffee today and I don’t need buttermilk tomorrow because I am in for a bad cold!” Or she can tell her youngest son, “You have been so good today! I will give you your favorite tea instead of milk!” She always could manage, but that day, she had been in a carping mood when she had said it. Since then he had not asked her to serve coffee or snacks to visitors…

When the three friends assembled, many topics came up for discussion.

“A man is born. He dies. He is forgotten, if that is all there is to it, why live? Is life utterly meaningless? These days I am afraid to find myself alone. Thoughts like these trouble me,” said Rajayya morosely.

“You are only fifty, and it is too early for such resignation. When you reach seventy, you may consider that aspect. For now, you should concentrate on becoming a cabinet minister so you may serve the community better!” said Shyamal Rao, trying to cheer him up.

During the recent apportionments of ministerial posts, Rajayya’s name had figured prominently twice in the newspapers, but he hadn’t made it. Instead he was doled out a corporation chairmanship. He was affronted by this disdain shown by those in power but was quietly biding his time.

Now Rajayya perked up and said, “The first fundamental requisite for democracy is equality of opportunity. It should be open to all men in a proper setup. When it is not so, the great ideal of democracy degenerates into organized self-aggrandizement. Any position of power—a mere clerk or officer or a cabinet minister–becomes a means to promote oneself, one’s family and one’s caste. The higher the position, the greater is the harm to society. Therefore those in the highest posts should not be allowed to be stay put. No minister should stay in office for more than five years!” Rajayya spoke with vehemence.

The speciousness of the argument amused Vijayarama Rao. Rajayya had started with the roots of democracy and ended up with an implied claim for his ministership! He noticed that Rajayya was fast molding himself into an accomplished politician. Earlier, he could never have spoken with such a gloss!

“Look here, a lecture like this is for the masses. Now you have to think about what to do to improve the situation. My view is this: there is The Blessed Lord, the all-giver. If He wills, everything becomes possible. If you really desire a minister’s berth, make your request with a promise of a substantial offering to the Lord and go for it!” That was from Shyamal Rao, the practical, no-nonsense man.

“If the Lord grants all that you ask for, he is the blessed all-giver! If he doesn’t, then he is not?” said Vijayarama Rao with a smile.

“Well, if one’s desire is fulfilled, it is a blessing. Is it not?” said Shyamal Rao with irritation.

“You appeal to God, collect all the good things and call him the blessed all-giver. Those who miss on the good things, what should they call him?” countered Vijayarama Rao. “God is the cause of all happenings, wished for or not. So blessedness can only be found in understanding Him as the giver of all experiences – not just boons. Asking for boons is a kind of relationship with him certainly, but understanding Him as the universal supreme Blessedness is a different matter altogether,” he explained.

In the next room Kalindi was listening to this discussion with impatience. She had been waiting for her husband to mention their son, but he hadn’t. He went on talking philosophy! She despaired and grew angry.

Shyamal Rao said impatiently, “Rajayya has no children, no bothers. Philosophic speculations overwhelm you, Vijayarama Rao, and you don’t bother about worldly matters. My mind is filled with worries–how to secure a college seat for my boy, how to put him in the way of earning, how to get my son-in-law promoted in his job …I will have peace of mind only if Rajayya gets his ministership by the time my son graduates!”

“It’s true I have no children. But I have my brother’s family to look after. Even a yogi who has renounced the world has the welfare of the world at heart. My nephew, Shekhar, has finally gotten through his B. Com. He wants to join the commercial taxes department or become a bank officer! He is not interested in other common jobs. I have to see what can be done for him!” said Rajayya.

“Ah, Shekhar! He is a genius, smarter than Gautama Buddha! Did he not suggest, when he was a little boy, that Gautama should have stayed in his palace and still gotten his enlightenment by going occasionally into the forest in his golden chariot? He is a very shrewd fellow, no doubt about it! You take up his case this year, but you must help my boy next year!” said Shyamal Rao, clinching the issue with a flourish of his hand.

Kalindi stopped listening. Her eyes turned on the wall opposite where a fat gecko waited, calmly meditating, with its whole concentration on a moving, little fly. The unwary insect flitted about singing, flapping its diaphanous wings, unaware of danger. Suddenly the gecko made a dart across the wall, grabbed the insect between its jaws and resumed its contemplation. The insect’s flutter stopped. The lizard moved its jaws three times earnestly, tenderly, and solemnly. There was no insect any more. The lizard moved away to resume its meditation elsewhere…

When the outcome of the recruitment was finally announced after an inordinate delay, Sasi came home silent and crestfallen. He failed to get a selection. Rajayya’s nephew got his lucrative commercial taxes job.

Kalindi stared out of the window with a vacant gaze–the men on the street in front of her, the trees and plants in her front yard, and their unmoving leaves–all frozen into a picture that she did not take in or perceive.

When Vijayarama Rao returned from school in the evening, Kalindi said sneering, “On that day you took a lot of trouble to explain to your friends about God’s blessings. Please explain that to me now, I will be enlightened. Has it anything to do with fair play and justice?”

Vijayarama Rao in a tone of mild admonition said, “ Look here, Kalindi, disappointment and sorrow are private and personal. They could become gifts and enable the mind to explore its own depths and gain clarity. But a mind fixated on the `fruit of action` gets tossed about. Hope and despair, success and failure, ups and downs—these dualities become demons gnawing on it. It’s not free to laugh. It is a long time since you have laughed, do you realize that? If there were an inevitable link between worldly success and laughter, most people in our country would never dare even to breathe, let alone laugh! But the wonderful thing is, the capacity to laugh still exists with the lowly—the failures in life, according to you!

”You ask me to explain “blessedness”. God or truth can be felt by man; but not understood by mind through words. Because word is only a symbol for some idea or thing and it is for the mind to grasp its import. It understands only through contrast. It defines Blessedness as non-unhappiness, non-frustration and non-sin; it defines purity as non-pollution; even the word ‘I’ is defined as ‘not the rest of the world’.

I am `I` because I have my own individual presence! I do what comes naturally for me and move on. About Sasi, I am not worried. I am sure he will find some good way to live in comfort. You may think that I am not doing my duty properly as a father. But only if you stop thinking that way you will be able to understand what I am saying.”

“He thinks his responsibility is over!” she thought unhappily. There were several sharp retorts she could make in reply, but somewhere deep inside she seemed to appreciate what he had said and was troubled. What good are this inner order, this good faith, and this moral certainty in practical affairs? He doesn’t understand! Could it get her son a job according to his merit? Nirmala could hear her mother admonish: You can’t blame them! That is the way of the world! I hope your son has some luck! Luck!

“There is a whole practical world out there! It will never show any respect for people like us!” she shot back bitterly.

“A person’s life is his very own. His actions proceed from his own sanctions. If the world can come to understand and approve his ways, well and good!” Vijayarama Rao’s response was immediate.

 

She knew him. She knew his way of thinking. She knew well enough that that was the only answer he could give! Her problem and its solution were no part of this reply but the words coming from his mind were clear and firm. The power in them touched her.

Vijayarama Rao looked at her unhappily. ”I know you are not happy with my way of thinking and this quiet way of life. You are not happy.” His tone was now uncertain. “I don’t know how to be different. Times might change, I hope, for a more forthright social Order!” He stopped and looked away.

Listening to his halting, hesitant words, Kalindi felt a tender affection flooding her. What is he apologizing for? Of-course he is right, she thought, as a warm, protective impulse seized her.

She became aware of something she had lost sight of—a connection that superceded the dichotomy in thought, that something universal and at the same time intense and personal, a sweetness, a trust, an affirmation, a far-away music…

With this connection restored, the heavy burden that had been weighing on her now lightened. Culture and its mores are changing things. I don’t have to be enmeshed in an uncritical scramble unless I choose to. And I would hate myself if I did! Realization of this simple truth came as a surprise and a relief for her.

Kalindi sighed and smiled self-consciously. “Of-course, Sasi will find some proper way to make a living! We know how to live modestly…we will get by…” Her words were gentle. “You are a teacher with a simple answer for every problem!” She concluded, laughing.

The world outside the window had come alive. Kalindi saw some men bustling along, talking and laughing. She could hear the burr of an auto-rickshaw and the tring-tringing of a hurrying cyclist. Inside the compound, a group of sparrows busily twittered, picking on the ground. She absorbed the yellow merriment radiating from the small patch of chrysanthemums. She fondly observed the jasmine creeper confidently hugging the trellis, the white laughter of its maiden flowers peeping through its greenery. By the compound wall, two coconut palms stood proudly erect… Kalindi took this blessedness in and hastened to the kitchen to start on her evening routine.

[End]

 

***

 Published on thulika.net, July 2004.

 

(The Telugu original, KALYANA MURTI translated by the author, published in the Deepavali special issue, JAGRITI, 1983.

   AUTHOR’S NOTE:

“If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music he hears, however measured or far away.   — DAVID HENRY THOREAU.

I knew some people in India–just normal people–who lived and felt the way Vijaya Rama Rao felt about life and the right way to live.

Maitri, a sharp New Yorker, born 1986, had this comment to make about the content of this story: “The husband, when he is explaining to the wife his outlook on life, he seems to be more preaching than explaining to someone who is on the same intellectual level as he is. The reader sympathizes with the wife, and the reader wouldn’t want the wife to be condescended to. Maybe it’s just me being slightly feministic—but I don’t really like the concept of the husband “teaching” the wife the way to live her life.”

Back then perceptions were different. Generally, Women were mostly homemakers and were raised to accept man as more worldly-wise and men called it “joint decision making” [Socratic style?] –Vasundhara Devi.) 

————-

Published on thulika.net, July 2004

kasiratnam Vine By Nidadavolu Malathi

“Babu! Pour me some coffee, please,” the old man said, standing on my front yard.

I just returned from work and was about to sit down on the front porch with my usual cup of coffee. I was taken by his request. I stared at him and wondered—a new breed of beggars? I might say it’s a kind of weird humor of the kalapurusha![1] How else could I explain this phenomenon. I’m aware of those who would beg for a morsel of food or a sip of rice broth; now we are seeing beggars who’d beg for coffee and cigarettes; what a shift in the needs of beggars! Maybe they think that they may be begging yet they’re human too! My thinking on these lines did not last long. The next moment I was very annoyed with him.

Before I could say a word, he added, almost challenging, “What’re you thinking? How many times do you think you’ve treated others to coffee at restaurants, tell me? And how many times you’ve had coffee at others’ expense? Why’re you dillydallying now? After all, did I ask you for your money or valuables? You’re acting as if I’ve asked for a lady of your clan, for god’s sake!” I was amused by his demeanor—mischievous smiles flashing through his bushy mustache.

I looked at him again. He was sturdy like a bamboo cane; I’m sure he can take on four men without flinching. He might be growing old but signs of youth are still hanging on to him for sure. My heart jumped with joy for a second at the sight of this sexagenarian that stood in front of me like a royalty, holding a silver glass and begging for a cup of coffee.

“Why? You can’t live without coffee or what?” I wanted to ask but was too tired even to move my lips. I poured my coffee into his glass silently.

He said as if he’s read my mind, “It’s not for me, babu!”

I was annoyed. I snarled, “Good. Go away.” I was annoyed because he could see me through; he figured out my thoughts; I was angry because he answered to a question that was not asked in the first place; also, I was worried that he might start a lengthy explanation about some old hag lying in bed with fever at home or somewhere.

“Why’re you upset? If you knew the real story, you wouldn’t whine like this, you know? Wouldn’t you shed a tear?”

I wanted to shut him up but controlled myself. Sometimes it’s so hard even to yell at some people.

Thatha laughed.

Cha, cha. What an insult! He is reading every word that crossed my mind. He’s speaking like a scholar. I picked up the courage and asked him, “Who’re you?”

“Me?” he laughed again. “Why? Want drag me to the court? Ask any policeman, there’s not a single policeman in town who did not know about Ramadas. On the other hand, if you’re planning to find a job for me, I’m telling you, there isn’t a job I can’t handle. Better yet, if you’re asking me just for fun, you’re not going to find anything,” he said, raising eyebrows and smiling, as if he was throwing a challenge.

I did not respond.

Thatha turned around and spoke again, “By the way, what month is this?”

“November,” I replied curtly.

“Tell me the Telugu month,” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

The same laugh again. “What’re you teaching at school? Don’t even know the names of the months.”

I was beside myself. “Certainly not pancangam[2],” I replied, grinding my teech.

Thatha did not look like he heard my reply. He was talking to himself and counting his fingers; he closed his eyes, and walked towards the gate in a quick, jerky move, as if he remembered something; suddenly stopped as if he walked into a wall or something, turned right and walked three steps; he started examining a square foot of space keenly.

Two minutes passed by. I was waiting to see whether he’d make a mango tree appear there or pull out a rabbit out of nowhere.

“See! Look here. On the third day from today, a plant will grow in this spot. Watch my word, it never fails, the truth lives forever. Manamma’s story is not fabricated. She is a goddess. Believers trusted her; and others who don’t believe will learn from her straight. Thatha, without looking at me, poured the coffee on that spot.

“What’s that, are you crazy? Are you out of mind? Why are you throwing away coffee like that?” I screamed. I was so sorry that that life-giving fluid was wasted on dirt; in all fairness, I or he should have consumed it.

Thatha returned slowly and sat on the porch, leaning against the pillar. “Babu, what is god? God is goodness. We’re not going to live forever but our words and action do. That’s the kind of woman our Manamma was. She was a lamp, true to her name; she glowed like a lamp of gems. She was so delicate, you’d think you one good look might wither her. And her character matched her name. Talk about our lives; what good are we doing? More like a bread of husk![3] A person may live only six months like a swan yet be as good as his life. Our Manamma lived like a lightning, just for a second, yet won a round of applause from one and all. She was only fourteen when she was married. She turned into ashes within four months. I set the fire with these two hands myself.” Thatha wiped his eyes with the towel on his shoulder.

My heart melted. “What is to you, thatha?” I asked him.

“What’s she to me? Tell me, who is who to anybody for that matter? She took a human form. The value of humankind, babu. She never spoke one ill word, not even for fun; she never wished bad, not even in her dreams, not even to her enemies. She never said no to anyone who said ‘please give.’ Her mother agonized over her kindness and Manamma responded, ‘why? Is this your hard earnings?’; she retorted that the wealth was not going to remain forever even if she had not given it away. She was only ten and even the most highly respected aldermen used to bow to her sense of fairness.”

Suddenly he stopped with a twitch and left, saying ‘see you later’.

Having nothing better to do, I started looking for clues: Wondered what could be the relationship between the plant that was to grow up in three days and the gorgeous young woman, the world beauty queen of all ages and whose faculty was of the highest caliber?

***

A week passed by. Since I had nothing to do, I started thinking about the past event again. I looked at the spot—three feet away from the gate and close to the compound wall. My eye caught a small creeper, about eight inches tall; it was swaying in the breeze like a snake on its tail. I kept staring at the stalk; the tip was glimmering like a new metal coil; three leaves, just opened, were putting on a shade of dark green, like an amateur artist. I told myself that ‘there was no god at all’ was not true at all. How else can I explain this? There was no indication of digging; no sign of sowing the seeds; where is the gardener who planted this plant here?

I heard the gate squeak and turned around. Thatha! He came with a bunch of bamboo stakes.

“Are you going to set up stakes for this plant?” I asked him. My surprise at his interest in this plant has not worn out yet.

“Yes, babu. This is not just a sprout that came up today. I came here when I barely grew a mustache. Would I leave it now, in my old age? That thalli asked me before she was gone, thatha, consider the plant as myself. take care of it.

Thatha was busy with his job on hand. I stood a little away and kept watching him.

“You never told me the entire story. How did this plant come up here?”

Thatha put down the hoe and said, “That’s our thalli’s power of word[4], babu. We all believed that a goddess took the human form in this world probably due to some curse. At first, I was also skeptical like everybody else. You know the popular belief, admission of guilt is the way out for redemption.[5] You know people, give them a mole and they’ll make a mountain of it;[6] hand them a tiny tip and they weave a huge story out of it. That’s what I thought too—the stories spread out like mercury. And then, it happened one day—here, this entire abdomen twirled like a whirlpool. I couldn’t take the pain anymore and so I jumped into the well. Funny world, nobody gives a morsel of food when I wanted to live; but when I wanted to die, they wouldn’t let me. Somebody pulled me out of the well. Manamma was playing in the area; she looked at me and burst into a big laugh. She gave me the fruit she had in her hand and said, ‘What’s wrong with you? Here, eat this fruit, pray to the lord. Come to my house for dinner tomorrow.’ I could not understand whatever magic that fruit contained. The pain in my stomach was gone like somebody chanted a mantra. On that day, I carried six bags of rice easily, no problem at all.”

***

My legs were hurting. I was waiting for him to come to the main point of the story. He was moving back and forth like a wooden horse, the end was no where in sight..

“We, the entire neighborhood, walked on one line. Her word was our command, a chip of gold. But it didn’t continue for long though. Why do you think people would say a dying tree produces warped fruit[7]? Some idiot got up like the pestle in the Yadava family.[8] He approached Manamma’s father and said ‘She’s growing up like a sugarcane, how long are you going to keep her at home?’ She looked at that idiot and smiled. She said, ‘Marriage is not for me. I am the same Satidevi[9] from Eternity. My lifespan is short, where is the room for a family life? If you are interested, I’ll find a girl, a gem, for you. If you are not, then, there is no more discussion.’ But, babu, that’s the way the world is. Her father could not show his face in town. People started teasing her, asking Is she Sati or Yati? They disparaged her saying it was a show of illusion and swore that they’d see the end of it; they all gathered one fine morning in front of her house. They raised questions about the uniqueness of her character.

The father took Manamma’s hands into his and asked her, “Amma, only you can show me what’s the recourse for me now. You maybe right in thinking that you’re different but it holds only when it’s acceptable to all. You know so much, you should understand this too.”

Manamma looked around and watched the people who gathered there and smiled. “All right. Gandharva’s will finish the job that’s going to happen anyways.[10] You do whatever needs to be done. But your action will not touch me. I don’t want you to worry on my account. Disbelief started even in Dwaparayugam[11] itself. Why should I blame you now. Here, I am pouring this coffee on this spot. One day, a kaasiratnam vine will sprout at the same moment as now. I’ll live as long as the vine lived.”

The entire crowd stood there dumbfounded. Not one could speak a word; their minds went numb! They gazed at the divine glow on her face with steadfast looks.

Manamma prodded a little hole with her toe and poured the coffee into the hole. This precisely is the spot. Small minds cannot comprehend the actions of noble souls. Many people laughed and questioned the logic of popping up a plant from coffee. To tell the truth, I also thought that it sounded strange. Besides, I knew Manamma was always very generous but not when it came to coffee; it was her life-force. But then, like I said, the actions of noble persons are intriguing for the ordinary folks. People like us can understand only when we see the clear logic, like a ripened fruit falling when a crow sat on it!

“The old man has been searching for a suitable match and here this young woman went about minding her business like a chidaanandamurty, the lord of eternal bliss. But then, the entire township became speechless as they noticed the plant come up on exactly the same day as the young woman predicted. Those who challenged her left the town and disappeared without a trace. But the person, her father, who suffered the insults could not keep quiet. He went about searching every village in the neighborhood but to no avail. He failed to find a suitable match and was despondent; he went to Manamma and stood in front of her. “The entire world is up in arms, calling you names like witch, and saying that you’ve gotten the gift from some mean gods of questionable powers. No man is coming forward to tie the tali around your neck. If you’re so knowledgeable, you must know this too. You tell me yourself where is the man who’s willing to tie the tali around your neck?” he asked her.

Manamma was arranging the fine tendrils of the kasiratnam creeper on to the stakes. She laughed and said, “Why didn’t you ask me earlier? Talk to Papayya; he lives in the adjacent village.”

Her father was stunned. The other villagers were taken aback. The father made inquiries and found out that it was true, Manamma guessed it right. Papayya was the village-head. His third son, sturdy as steel rod, came forward to marry Manamma without any usual formalities like pelli chuupulu. Our pantulu, Manamma’s father, was ecstatic; he praised every one of the presiding lords in heaven. By the time he performed Manamma’s wedding, he felt like he was blessed by all his ancestors.”

***

Thatha heaved a sigh, as if he needed a break. I, on the other hand, could not stand the suspense. I being who I am, when I read a book, I’d jump to the last page first, even if it were a detective novel! Thatha is old, I understand, but how can I bear thinks kind of inordinate delay?

“Just tell me whatever happened in the final analysis,” I said.

“It’s over,” he said.

“I didn’t mean …” I said, sounding apologetic. Thatha nevertheless remained sobre.

“I am telling you the truth. The whole thing came to an end on that day. She told me in her final moment to take care of this plant. That’s it. Thalli did not set foot on this ground again. It was like the story of Rushyasrunga, the saint, who was brought into this world since his presence was supposed to bring in rains and help farming. We had Manamma to have showers in our hearts and sent her away as soon as we were done with her.”

I wasn’t sure whether I should feel sorry for him or laugh at him. Clearly he was blaming himself for the atrocity that has been committed on Manamma.

“See you later,” he said and left. I was annoyed about the abrupt ending. It was more like the serial novels we’ve been reading in the weekly magazines nowadays.

***

The kasiratnam creeper was growing beautifully—a gorgeous burst of numerous tender strands sprouting all over on the garden patch, probably due to superphosphate. Thatha has been coming daily and caring for the plant conscientiously. On occasion I wanted to ask him whether he was feeding the plant coffee or gripe mixture [baby formula] but I was too lazy to talk. Roughly a month passed by. I was sitting on the porch as usual. Thatha came and cared for the plant but did not go away as he normally would. He stood there watching the plant keenly.

“What’s it, thatha? You found a bruise on your Manamma or something?” I said, teasingly.

Thatha gestured to me to near him. I was offended by his behavior and indifference yet I decided to consider it as his first offense and ignore it. I went near him.

“Look, this is the beginning. The plant is going to wither away, there won’t be any more flowers,” he said.

True. The shoots were broken; some of them fell off; most of the plant was looking lifeless. However, the plant did have plenty of buds.

“Why?” I asked, turning toward him. I knew nothing about trees, plants and creepers.

“Didn’t I tell you? Manamma has already told us that marriage would not agree with her. That’s what happened. Her family did everything per custom—checked the day, time and the most auspicious moment and sent her to the in-law’s house with numerous gifts like sarees and jewelry. But it has to fit her character too, right? She was born into this world only to settle whatever little debt she carried from her previous birth. Why would she have anything to do with all these mundane dharmas? But then, who’s going to understand this part? They all kept saying Manamma was looking different but nobody tried to find out what was happening in her mind. The son-in-law spoke not a single word but the mother-in-law, sisters-in-law, co-sisters-in-law, co-brothers-in-law, and all the neighbors picked on her like crows. Her husband did not take sides with either party. He remained calm like a noble yogi. But for him, the rest of the family fretted and fumed. At first, they assumed that she was still raw; they sat down with her and taught her the proper behavior befitting a wife; no response from her. She ate when she was given food, or else, went without eating. She used to sit in front of the tulasi plant in the backyard; no sleep at night and no food in the day. The family asked her if she was worried about her natal home; she said no. Then they thought maybe she was not interested in this marriage. One family member snapped, “The new bride should be dancing with joy in the in-law’s place; here she is, sitting in a corner, tight-lipped, wouldn’t that break his heart?” Manamma did not say a word about anything. Days passed by. She was wasting away without food and sleep. And the plant here was withering away at the same time.”

“What?” I cringed.

“Yes, babu, that’s what I’m saying. This plant started withering away starting the same day Manamma stopped eating there. After 15 days, Manamma lost consciousness. The same day, this plant here stopped blooming. That’s it. After one month, this plant dried up totally.”

Thatha choked and covered his face with towel…

I don’t remember how long I sat there, stunned.

“Starting tomorrow, this plant will not bloom anymore,” thatha walked away, murmuring to himself. I looked at the bush. It was full of soft, shiny buds, sharp as needles. Some of them are sure to bloom today and some may fade away. A few others would bloom tomorrow. They must. Didn’t thatha notice it? I spent the entire night racking my brains with the same thought. I wanted to get up early but couldn’t beat the habit. By the time I got up the radio was broadcasting the day’s news in English.It was 9:00 a.m. Suddenly I remembered the kasiratnam creeper. As I walked to the porch, I was nervous like a researcher about find the results of his experiment.

Darn! There were no flowers!

“Here, your coffee,” I heard mother’s voice and turned around.

My mother looked at me anxiously. “What’s wrong? You’re looking awful! What happened?”

Yes, what happened, whatever could have happened? “Nothing,” I said.

“Then why’re you looking so dreadful?”

“Nothing.”

I took coffee from her. I was about to sip my coffee, suddenly felt like sombody slapped on my wrist.

“What has happened? Are you feeling sick? How would I know unless you tell me,” mother asked with a concern rising by the minute.

“Amma, you don’t know Manamma’s story,” I said as if I made a discovery myself.

“Who’s Manamma?” Amma is always like that, gets suspicious so quickly.

“I mean…”

“What do you mean?”

“That creeper. Do you know about that kasiratnam creeper?”

Amma heaved a sigh of relief, “hum.” I’m still suspicious; I still haven’t gotten over my astonishment.

“What else is now? What happened?” Amma sounded like she knew something, if not all.

I stood up straight, straightened my collar, and spoke gravely, like a yogi delivering an enlightening speech on the nature of universe, “That was planted by a saintly woman, I just learned. That kasiratnam stood for a saintly woman.”

My sister entered the scene with my tiffin. She burst into a big laugh, “Who said so? Thatha?”

She kept laughing like a rivulet in full tide.

I turned pale. Did I fall for his trick?

“The man is old but did not lose his jest for life. He is a great storyteller,” amma said.

“Story?”

“Talk about the general knowledge of my little brother! An illiterate, who couldn’t say his alphabet, has fooled you!”

My sister kept laughing in ripples.

“Enough,” amma said and went away.

I still was not convinced. Additionally, there was one more question that was bothering me. I kept pestering my sister. It took three days before she told me and that too only after she had enjoyed my stupidity to her heart’s content!

“Flowers? Well, didn’t you notice that the landlady returned yesterday from her trip? She wakes up early in the morning and gives the plant a clean shave; she takes the flowers for her puja. And you wake up, like westerners, at nine; what else would you expect to find if not the bald plant?”

[End]

(Telugu original, kasiratnam, was published in Andhra Prabha Weekly, 5 November 1966.)

Read Telugu original here. The English translation has been published on thulika.net April, 2004.

.

 

—————————–

[1] Personification of Time according to Hindu beliefs, supposed to be in-charge of all the actions and responsible for bringing about the end of the world in course of time.

[2] Lunar calendar.

[3] Telugu proverb, taanuu o batuke, tavuDuu o roTTe!, meaning worthless life like bread made out of husk.

[4] The Telugu original term, vaaksuddhi, means a person’s unique quality; a person’s word materializes.

[5] chesina paapam chebite pothundi antaaru.

[6] gorantalu kondantalu chestaaru

[7] cheTTu cheDe kaalaaniki kukkamuuti pinjalu.

[8] Refers to the end of Lord Krishna.

[9] Wife of Lord Siva, and a mark of eternal marital bliss.

[10] kaagala kaaryam gandharvulu teerusthaaru.

[11] The third of the four yugas (time spans)

 

FEAR OF DEATH by K. Meerabai

“Sir, a paisa, please! help a lonely man, sir, please, be kind…”

The words sounded like a wake up call for Veerasamy. He was a little beside himself. The beggar was hoping and praying that somebody would be kind to him today. He was rolling in the dust like a worm. The scene was ugly to watch.

“Is it already time for you?” Veerasamy looked at him, sneering. The cot, with the jute ropes hanging loosely, squeaked as if crushed under his weight. He pulled out the rolled tobacco leaf that was tucked in his lungi frills at the waist. He bit the dried edge and spit it out, and lit up. He stood up the cot against the wall, and opened his little store. Veerasamy stood up on the bench like the emperor Vikramaditya and yelled at the beggar again.

“What a headache! Get lost. You are screaming like a goat since dawn. Has anybody given you so much as a paisa?”

The beggar turned his only operable eye toward Veerasamy and stared at him. He looked as if asking him, “What do you know about the aches of hunger?”

Veerasamy looked at him and felt sick in the pit of his stomach. The beggar was a horrible sight—his hair was like dried straw for want of proper care, one of his eyes protruded forward while the other was totally covered by an abscess, the two remaining teeth stuck out like fangs between his saggy and wrinkled cheeks, flies were pestering incessantly on his two stumps of hands filled with puss and blood.

Veerasamy couldn’t stomach the sight. He pulled out one of bananas, half-rotten, from the bunch and threw at him. The sun is heating up and temperature is raising. The traffic also has picked up. That road is the only artery leading to the so-called new township in Anantapur. The railway tracks next to the road provide recourse to the students who have failed exams and the young sisters who have been robbed of their innocence. The train also has the reputation for running over those who had hopes to lead a long and happy lives.

***

This is what happened.

One fine morning the government woke up and built an overpass at a very high price. Money was gone but there was no noticeable change in the lives of the local populace. The number of deaths has not gone down. The middle class people are exasperated for all the money they had to shell down for rickshaws and horse-carts in order to get to the other side.

Veerasamy might have mentioned at least one hundred and one times why the government did not have the sense to make the trains use the overpass rather than the people. Usually students stop by his shop for Charminar cigarettes and watch the girls on the street. Veerasamy makes this comment to them all the time.

There are of course some people who appreciated the construction of the overpass in their town. The students who had nothing better to do and the beggars who found a home under the overpass appreciated the government gesture. A majority of the town was excited that a strip mall would be built under the overpass. Ruining their dreams, the space was quickly filled with the homeless who had no other place to sleep in and not a bite for their hungry mouths. The crowd included beggars and handy-men, smalltime woodworkeres, a muslim who sells peanuts, and the crippled old woman who sells lentil vada [deep-fried snacks].

The one eyed beggar could nothing of the sorts and so was begging the passersby in heartrending appeals

Veerasamy sat there, driving away the flies that were swarming around the overripe bananas with his upper garment. He lit up the end of the coconut straw rope hanging form the beam of the roof. The rope serves as a match for his customers who buy cigarettes and beedies in his shop. He was watching the students pass by one after another and told himself, ‘okay, time for school.’ A sluggish yawn filled his mouth.

Generally speaking, the women folks who teach at the women’s college and the children who go to school use that street. That helps Veerasamy. He need not worry about not getting enough business.

A young student in tight pants saw three women at a distance and started singing roop thera mastaanaa pyaar mere deevaanaa* and stood up as if posing for camera. It was not clear whether the three women were sisters or they just colluded to look like that. All the three were wearing the same outfit—black skirts and white half sarees. They had two braids, one hanging over the shoulder to the front, and a single hibiscus flower tucked in. One of them looked at the student sideways and commented, “This has become a regular nuisance, God! I wish we had another route to our college.” She could be pretending to address the beggar who was on his knees and begging for a paisa. She pushed back the slipping half saree on her shoulder and moved forward. The Romeo [her nickname for him] smiled and followed them.

Veerasamy shook off the ashes that gathered at the end of the coconut rope and lit his rolled tobacco again. The beggar stopped as if tired of screaming. His wife picked up where he had left and started hollering in turn. Her back was so slouched that her white hairs were nearly touching the ground. Yet she was strong enough to seat him on a wheeled plank with chains and pull him to the main road. That is what she would do anytime she gifures that they would not earn a paisa in that place. She is also that kind of patiivrata [a woman devoted to her husband] who depends on her husband, no matter what—whether his is disabled or in death throes.

She kept singing like a worn-out gramophone record in the same monotonous voice, “Please, ma’am, be kind to the old man, ma’am, he has no limbs to walk, can’t do any work, ma’am…” The woman stopped a young man, well-dressed and on his way to teach a class full of gorgeous women. He was wearing a pair of new pants of synthetic fiber his father-in-law had made for him.

“Shameless cheats. Too lazy to make an honest buck… Why not? After all, we do have a female as the head of the state.* What else can we expect?” he said to the bald person next to him and walked away.

The bald man stopped at Veerasamy’s shop to buy betel nut powder.

“Probably it is time for the woman to show up,” Veerasamy commented as he counted the change and throwing side glances at the railway tracks.

The woman he referred to could hardly balance herself on her high heels. She was five feet tall, and her hairdo added another six inches to her height. She wore a single rose in her hair, and slid away slowly as if were dancing on a marble floor. She resented the beggar that was pestering her for change and moved away quickly. She stole a sly look at the bald head, and hastened to leave, swinging her vanity bag like a model.

It was getting dark. Veerasamy closed the store. The devoted wife of the old man picked up the 48 paise thrown in front of her husband and scoffed at him, “You, useless jerk, I wish you were dead.”

Suddenly Veerasamy woke up to the heartrending cries of the old woman.

“Oh, my God! You’re alone leaving me alone? How could you? Why did you, so soon,” her harsh cries pierced through his ears. Veerasamy opened his eyes wondering, “Is it already morning?”

 

Probably the old man couldn’t take the cold weather. Sometime in the middle of the night the life-breath that was barely hanging by the thread left his mundane body. His wife broke into a fit of fierce sobs.

 

The young man in tight pants threw a quarter of a rupee at him and ran away from the scene. He even forgot his Charminar cigarettes and didn’t care to wait for the beautiful girls. The three women looked around for him and in stead found this frightening scene. They threw whatever change they could grab from their purses and ran away. The young lecturer dropped one rupee in front of the corpse and walked away without thinking twice. He had no idea if and to what extent Indira Gandhi was responsible for the old man’s death.

 

The bald man kept chewing betel nut as usual and lectured on Bhagavad Gita to Veerasamy. The dandy girl on high heels was stunned to see the deadbody, threw one half of a rupee and rushed out. Throwing impish looks at the bald man was the last thing on her mind at the moment.

At the end of the day, the local municipality persons came and removed the body from the roadside. The old woman broke out one more time, like the national anthem at the end of a movie.

Veerasamy kept looking at the old woman with a smile until she finished counting the day’s earnings and then asked her, “How much?”

“My foot. How much? Hardly ten rupees and some change,” she replied, wiping her nose again.

“Not bad, not bad at all. The idiot is worth more after his death than when he was alive,” Veerasamy commented and lay down the cot, getting ready to sleep.

Veerasamy fell asleep unaware of the old adage—that people fear death like children fear darkness.

[End]

(Original in Telugu entitled “bhayam”, published in Kamadhenu, 1 February 1972.)

 

Translated by Nidadavolu Malathi and published originally on thulika.net, August 2004.

THE PROMISE OF A COWARD By P. Sarala Devi

Prabhakaram was in a huge dilemma. He wanted to tell her that he wanted to marry her. But, how could he word it? For one thing, he had been struggling for over an hour now; which form of address to use? Should he say mimmalni or ninnu.[1] Up until now, he was using meeru. How could he change it to the informal nuvvu now? And then, the rest of the sentence, “I want to marry you”, how to say it? Finally, he pulled himself together, and blurted out the words, with his heart in his throat; after that, he sat there with his eyes glued to the ground. He didn’t the courage, not even to wipe the sweat off his forehead. He had said it all right. He still was not sure of her response; would she throw her shoe at him? Or, pick on him?

Kausalya looked up straight into his face. Her eyes did not spit fire, nor showered love. They looked as if they were measuring the depths of his heart. No answer from her—gave him courage. He also looked up. Their eyes met; at once, they looked away.

“What do you say?”

“I’d say yes, but I’m not going until I am finished with school”

He did not expect it. He did not expect her to agree so quickly. In his mind a woman not take a man, if proposed, as quickly as a man would, if a woman proposed

“That means only one more year. That’s doable,” he replied, pulling out a kerchief from his pocket and wiping the sweat on his forehead.

Silence prevailed between the two for a while. Neither did not know what else to say. They kept staring at the flowerbed in the front yard. How long could they sit like that? No point.

“See you later,” he said, getting up to leave. She also got up and followed him to the steps. She leaned on the wall, and lost in thoughts while watching him until he disappeared round the corner. He said he wanted to marry her, on his own. Probably, that means no dowry; that means one less burden for my annayya. He took care of her, ever since amma and nanna had passed away; she’d never been wanting for anything. If her marriage were settled this easily, he and his family could be better off. She knew very well that they were in no position to pay huge dowry. Vadina is luckily a nice person, and that’s why she could go to college. Up until now, she was worried about her future; what should she do after she had finished B.A.

The problem was resolved.

[End]

Translated by Nidadavolu Malathi and published originally on thulika.net, August 2004

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[1] The accusative forms of formal you, meeru, and informal you, nuvvu.