Our schools were closed for the summer. I couldn’t stay home and so went to visit my uncle in our village. He lived in a small village. There are several things that pulled me in that direction—our walk along the stream, lying down under the coconut trees in the moonlight, the beautiful aroma from the jasmine creeper by its side, the songs of the blackbirds after they nibble on the tender shoots, cool coconut milk, the sweetened drink attayya brings me, and the freshly made pickles of ammamma. These are the goodies too hard to resist.

Adayya thatha would mix with the young and old in the village alike. When he sits down with his tobacco leaves sorting one by one, rolling them and puffing, and starts his narration, the entire audience, young and old, would sit there spellbound. They all—the students returning after their evening walk on the lakeshore and the young farmers returning after farming—gather on the front porch by the time it got dark.

Adayya thatha has the habit of eating the nallamandu[1] before his supper. After that, he would take a little nap and then move on to the porch.

“So, what’s new today?” Virai asked as usual. Adayya replied, “You, the young folks, have to fill me in. What’s there for me to tell?” and he added, turning to Kittayya, “You went to the city to watch the movie. What’s it about? Kittayya said, “What story, thatha! It’s always the same—either one girl and two boys or two girls and one boy.”

“Kittayya! To speak the truth, the root cause of this creation is only that one issue—the issue between men and women. Without that there is no world. Even otherwise, love is a baffling issue. There are also people who became great only because of love. You, Kondayya, do you remember Rangaswamy; he was here before.”

“I was very young at the time, thatha!”

“Thatha! Tell us his story. We all are waiting for your stories. And you started chit chat. It didn’t look like you would tell us a story today.”

Adiyya thatha taunted us, “If you talk like that, I’ll just here, enjoying my tobacco roll. I won’t tell you any story at all.”

“It’s our mistake. We shouldn’t have said it. Please tell us Rangaswamy’s story.”

“Good. You behave yourself and I’ll start the story,” he said, pulling out another tobacco leaf and started stripping. The people around were anxious to hear the story but kept their mouths shut fearing that any word from their mouth would annoy thatha again. Only I did not understand why they all were so anxious for a story from that old man.

The moonlight was spread dimly. A blackbird at a distance was sitting on a mango tree and cooed. In response, a pigeon chirped back while flying in the sky. Thatha took two puffs of his tobacco roll and said, “There, Rangaswamy came in the form of a pigeon,” and continued his narration.

“You must say “uum”[2] and I’ll tell you what happened. Rangaswamy was not originally from this village. He came here on some errand. A young woman, Mallamma, went to the river with a few other women and was returning with a pot of water. She was the only daughter of Chalamayya and lost her mother while she was still little. Chalamayya raised her affectionately. He used to call her ‘Molla’ tenderly. By the time she was thirteen, she was gorgeous with big dark eyes, like a stack of blue lotuses. Her body was like a sculpture, carved out of sandalwood. God knows at what divine moment Rangaswamy saw her on her way to the lake, he forgot his errand and stayed in the village for about ten days, watching her every day. Molla came of age and Chalamayya stopped sending her for water. Rangaswamy kept going around Molla’s house like a cat with a burnt foot. After a few days, he returned to his village.

As soon as he went home, he went to pedababu’s house. They both went to Chalamayya’s house. Pedababu said, “I came to ask you to marry your daughter to my boy.”

Chalamayya asked, “Did we have any family ties in the past?”

“We belong to the same category, we can establish one now,” was the response he received.

“All right. What kind of jewelry you’re planning to give the bride?”

“We are not rich but will follow the common practice. We can give her a nagaram and chain. After my boy lost his mother, that’s all we are left with.”

The wedding was fixed. Chalamayya went to the scholar in the village to set a date. The scholar checked the horoscope and said, “Chalamayya, the girl’s horoscope chart is superb. But …”

“Why are you mumbling? No but. Just spit it out, what is but…”

“According to her horoscope, her marital bliss …”

“Look, Achari! You never mentioned this, why are you bringing it up now? You wrote the chart yourself earlier. Why didn’t you tell me about that then?

“I didn’t say it because I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Do you think telling me now makes me happy? First tell me what exactly is the problem?”

“Bring me the boy’s horoscope also.”

“This is really great! I’ve given them my word. Are you saying my word should be blown away in public? Whatever her karma, so be it. Are you saying she can’t keep her kumkuma.[3] Or her life would be cut short? Why don’t you give me the real truth instead of beating around the bush?”

“No problem with her kumkuma.”

“You mean, it’s about her life?”

“That’s not what’s not clear here. Even I am not able to figure it our.”

“That’s very nice. You are driving me nuts all this while about something that even you didn’t know? That’s super,” Thatha said and got up to leave, shaking the towel on his shoulder.

 

***

Molla’s marriage with Rangaswamy was celebrated. Rangaswamy moved in with Molla—following illarikam[4] tradition. Oh my god! You will have to see Rangaswamy during those days, bursting at the seams! There was the quickness of the deer and horseplay in his gait. He couldn’t leave Molla alone, not even for a second. He would often leave the work on the farm on some pretext and go home. We all would laugh and he would just chuckle and let go. Chalamayya expressed his annoyance at his son-in-law’s spree occasionally behind his back. After her marriage, Molla was even more beautiful like polished gold or a rose that acquired additional aroma. She looked as if a goddess from some temple became animate and walked into their home. Her eyes shone like fish. Even we couldn’t turn our eyes from her. What can we say if Rangaswamy, at the prime of life, couldn’t hold himself? They were like two lovebirds and that became an annoyance for some people. Some of them commented, “Ha! Is he the only one with a beautiful wife? Well, let’s see how long this will last.” And a few others would say, “What’s gotten into him? He is following her day and night, holding on to her saree palloo! Nobody lives like that, not even in a whorehouse!” Rangaswamy heard them all and kept quiet with a little smile.

Five or six months went by in this manner. One day Chalamayya got fever and died after a couple of days. Only Rangaswamy and Molla remained for each other. In her sorrow for her father, Molla became thin and soon fell ill. Rangaswamy took care of her day and night without a break but she showed no signs of recovery. He lost his mind. He went around like a cat with a burnt foot; wouldn’t eat or drink.

The neighbors tried to convince Rangaswamy that he should eat at least for the sake of Molla, he had to help her. But it was of no avail. He would sit there with his head in his palm and watched while Molla was fighting for her life. Somebody suggested that it was over and the body should be removed from the cot and put on the floor. Rangaswamy did not appear to be conscious of what was going on there. He suddenly got up, stared at Molla’s face and went into the room on the westside where the family goddess was set up.

The people were in the process of moving Molla’s body from the cot to the floor. None of the noticed Rangaswamy. Nobody knew how long he sat there in front of the goddess. Molla passed away. One of asked for Rangaswamy. Another person replied, “Let him be. He was drowned in sorrow. Let’s give him sometime alone for recovering from his pain.”

They all got busy with the final arrangements. Women folks were commenting whatever came to their minds. It was about two or three hours since the lifebreath left Molla’s body. Suddenly Rangaswamy opened the door and rushed into the room. He started crying as he said, “My Molla will come back. The words of goddess are bound to happen. Don’t move her body.” He looked at her face and stopped crying. His looks were not really fixed on her face but vacant as if he was into a supramundane world. For a second his face was filled with unparalleled grave peacefulness. He sat her feet like a stone.

All the items were ready. A senior person said, “Get the body ready for immersion.” The women turned toward her. Surprise! Molla opened her eyes slowly as if from sleep and looked at the people who gathered there and also at her husband. Rangaswamy and Molla looked at each other and their faces lit up with smiles. Again he got up with a jerk and went into the goddess room and shut the doors.

The people helped Molla again back onto the cot. “Water,” she said softly. The crowd was astounded. “Rangaswamy’s luck,” one person said. “Her share of rice are not used up yet, I believe,”[5] somebody else commented.

Molla started recovering slowly. Rangaswamy took care of her as if she were a baby. Soon she was walking around in the house. Rangaswamy was going to the lakefront frequently to sit and ruminate. Molla convinced herself that he was stuck at home all these days and probably it was a good idea that he went out for a breath of fresh air. Sometimes she had to send for him for food. She couldn’t figure out no matter however much she tried. Up until now he never left her side, like a little kid, not even in sleep. Why he became so indifferent suddenly? Even the neighbors who watched him wait on his wife day and night when she was sick couldn’t understand his attitude now. One of them chided him, “Why do you spend all the time on the lakefront? What is there?” All they could get in reply was only his smile. They even wondered if he was caught in the snares of a woman and tried to find her but there was no other woman.

At the supper time Molla confronted her husband. She started crying, covering her face her saree palloo and asked him straight, “bava! I can’t understand your behavior. Tell me if I had done something wrong. Hit me, curse me but if you continue to be detached like this, I just can’t take it.” Rangaswamy looked his wife and looked down. Molla’s sorrow was doubled as she got no response for her question. Rangaswamy poured water into his plate and stood up. He jumped quickly to her but immediately stepped back as if somebody held and pulled him back. He didn’t take her into his arms and she threw herself at his feet. He pulled her up gently and made her sit on the cot. He stood a few feet away from her and said, “Molla, you know I can’t bear the sight of you crying like this. Stop crying and listen to what I was going to say to the end.” “Yes, bava, I will not cry,” she said between fits of sobs.

 

Rangaswamy said, “You became seriously ill and everybody said there was no hope. I was heartbroken when I heard that there was no hope of me having you anymore. So I rushed to the devi temple and prayed to her, asked her to save and that I would give anything in return. I was willing to give even my life. I hit my head against the feet of the goddess and lost my senses. I saw a huge light. In that light, the goddess, emitting an unusual hallow, lifted her blessed right hand and said, you silly boy, don’t cry. You dedicate her to my service. She will live. I wanted to say yes but couldn’t nothing came out of my mouth. I am not even sure whether I shook my head or not. By the time I regained consciousness, the light was gone. You know what happened after that. Since I have dedicated you to the goddess, I cannot treat you like my woman. I am afraid what might happen if I approach you. I am praying the same goddess everyday to give me the strength to keep myself under control. Only that goddess has to save me.” He covered his face with his hands and walked away. Molla stood there spellbound like a wood sculpture.

The story somehow reached the entire village. Rangaswamy stopped going home even for food. He sent word asking to send him only cooked vegetables. His wife used to send him the vegetables, milk and fruits with cowherd. She could never understand how her husband, who couldn’t leave her a second, managed to develop such austerity of staying away from her. She was not able to control herself but she was also too embarrassed to go to the lakefront to see him.

 

Molla tried to meditate, like her husband did, in the morning and evening but she didn’t succeed. She never understood what the word meditation meant. She got into the habit of watching the photo she and her husband had taken at their wedding.

The villagers built a small hut near the temple and Rangaswamy was living in that hut. They all tried to persuade him to go back to marital bliss. They were convinced this was only a phase like the smasaana vairagyam[6] and will not last long. Somebody else commented that it would bring him no good if he caused unhappiness to a woman; she was in the prime of her life and things turned out sour, it would be his fault. In response to all the comments, Rangaswamy has nothing to say except smile.

One day the cowherd brought milk and fruits as usual and noticed that Rangaswamy was lying there unconscious. He went and told Molla and she was in a dilemma. She couldn’t stop herself from going to see him but also was worried that something bad might happen if she touched him against his vow. She consulted her neighbors. They all gave her suggestions as they pleased—“How could leave a sick person?” “You have to make sure his word is kept. You should not provoke the goddess.”

Molla followed the cowherd to see her husband. She stayed there and made sure he was well-attended but she did not touch him physically. Her heart was craving to massage his feet but she controlled herself. She desperately want to take her husband into her lap like a baby and fondle him. All she could do was only to sit there with her head in her hands and cry. She was scared that if she had annoyed the goddess, the goddess might take away his life.

It took four days for Rangaswamy to recover. He opened his eyes and saw that he was lying on a cot and that his wife was sitting in front of him. He was not sure where it was real or dream. He tried to remember if he made a mistake and went home. Did he break his vow to the goddess? He closed his eyes tight. Molla folded his hands with satisfaction. She paid a thousand thanks to the goddess for saving his life.

Rangaswamy tried to get up and sit. Molla went closer to help him and then again stopped herself as if she received a shock. Rangaswamy covered his face, to stop Molla from seeing his tears, and said, “Molla, I am fine now. Please go home. If I forget myself or you forget yourself, it could result in a peril. What can I say? I am heartless. Please forgive me. Molla! What I had is enough for me in this life. Amma[7] gave you to me and then took you back. I am confident that She will bring us together in the next life. You silly girl! Don’t look at me like that. You are burning my heart. Go, pray to amma for peace of mind.”

Molla left crying. She turned around after a few yards and folded her hands in namaskaram for her husband.

Nobody saw when Molla entered her house. The cowherd came in the evening for milk and she

was nowhere to be found. He searched the entire house and found her sleeping on the cot. He thought she was resting after so many days waiting on her husband. He approached her and called her out. The house was dark. He lit up the lamp and came to Molla again to wake her up. She did not wake up. The neighbors came and realized that her life breath was gone long time ago.

Rangaswamy came and took care of the final arrangements without any emotion. He didn’t speak a single word. There was not one tear in his eyes. They all thought it was the end of all his his mortal attachments.

He continued to live on the lakeshore. The Bhavani temple was built due only to his efforts on the lakeshore. Molla became a perantaalu[8] at the same place.

“Thatha, is that true?”

“Well, if you don’t believe me, you can go to the temple on the lakeshore and see for yourself.”

They heard a warbler chirping at a distance.

“Did you hear that? That is Rangaswamy’s voice,” thatha said, lighting up his tobacco roll.

(End)

 

(The Telugu original, “Rangaswamy” was published probably in the1950’s. This translation was based on the story published in “Nurella panTa,” an anthology of women writers, compiled by Bhargavi Rao. Bangalore: Prism Books, 2000.

(End)

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

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[1] Intoxicant like marijuana.

[2] A traditional habit of children making a uum sound, equivalent to what next. Symbolic of audience participation in the narrative.

[3] The dot on a woman’s forehead, symbolic of marriage. Losing it is the same as becoming a widow.

[4] Illarikam is a tradition where the man moves in with his in-laws. This happens mostly when the man has no means of support or the woman is the only child and thus heir to the family property.

[5] A popular notion that we live in this world as long as we have enough food to our credit, bhoommeeda nuukalunnaayi literally means she has her share of rice in this world.

[6] The Telugu phrase, literally meaning ‘graveyard philosophy, implies detachment resulting from a visit to the graveyard, a kind of detachment that does not last long.

[7] Literally, mother, and also goddess.

 

 

[8] Female saint.