Bhava Bandhalu (Emotional Bondages)

Original in Telugu by D Kameswari

Smt D Kameswari is a reputed short story writer and a novelist in Telugu language.  Having commenced her writing career in 1962, she has so far published 11 anthologies of short stories and 20 novels. ‘Kottamalupu’ is one of her most popular novels. Some of her stories were translated into Hindi, Kannada and Tamil languages. She acquired many awards, notable among them are Madras Telugu Academy Award, Telugu University Award, etc. 

**

“Varun, tomorrow is Sunday. So, you both come for lunch”, said Janaki to her son.

“Anything special, anybody coming?” enquired Varun.  

“Does it warrant any special occasion for a mother to call her son for lunch or for a son to visit her mother? Just wish to speak with you. So, both of you come down and be with me till evening.” 

Remaining silent for a while, Varun saying, “She is not at home, went to her parents”, hung up the phone.

**

Putting her hand around the shoulder of her son who arrived at 11 0 clock, she said with a tinge of displeasure, “won’t come unless called! It’s almost a month since you came last, you know?”

“True amma but come Sunday, some undefinable laziness overtakes me!” Tucking himself in the sofa relaxingly with a smile said, “Last week you did come,  what matters most is our meeting… it doesn’t matter who came where”.

“Expected Navya to be home. That’s why I asked both of you to come”.

“By weekend her mind drives her toward her parent’s home. By the time I was back home at 7pm, she wasn’t there. Didn’t even phone!” 

“How is it? Any tiff, again? How could she go without informing?”

“Amma, I don’t know. Don’t ask me?” Continued in a dejected tone: “Goes and returns at her will and pleasure. I won’t ask.”

“How come, wife won’t tell where she is going? And husband won’t ask where she had been to! What a family? This is no good of you both”, said in a mild chiding tone. ” 

“Amma, that’s why I won’t come. No sooner did I arrive than you would start preaching. There in the house her howling, here yours … . Whatever I might say, you always support your daughter-in-law. No point in talking about it … serve lunch, I’ll eat and go”, said rashly.

“What my son! Like a child, what’s this sulk even at this age of 30!” said she holding his hand caressingly. “How daughter-in-law could matter more to me than you? But, the girl who joined us must be treated as a daughter. Wondering, of course, from her side that in her hurt mood she should not think that mother and son are one, I attempt, as an elder, to soften the atmosphere. Look Bobby, what you men know about the mental status of a girl who came to in-law’s house? Leaving behind the natal home and the love and affection of parents, having all at once joining a new home, new people, new habits, a new atmosphere, she would need time to think that this house and these people are mine. For the girl, who came reposing all the faith in you, the husband, it is for us to give her confidence saying, ‘here we are for you, you are ours, and this home is yours’. Such being her state of mind, you should lend her emotional support. It’s only when we make her believe that mother-in-law too is like her mother, a mother-in law can counsel her daughter-in-law as to what is good and what is not. As the elder of the house, ‘Isn’t it my duty to mediate between you both to set right things?’ Yet, could I speak with her as bluntly as I could with you?”

“That’s Ok! Don’t imagine that I said something hurting and she felt bad of it. I haven’t said anything. There was no quarrel either. Every Sunday, Navya runs to her natal home. This time round she went on Saturday itself. That’s all! Had she told of it beforehand, you think I would say no; even if I say no, would she stay back! That’s why I remain indifferent!” said Varun impatiently.

“Yesterday Navya came here. You know, she spoke to me for a considerable time”, said Janaki leisurely. 

Varun was surprised. Recovering himself quickly, “Why then are you asking me? Is this cross-examination meant for ascertaining what she said is true or otherwise?” asked Varun straight looking into her eyes.

Not being able to decide how much to reveal about what transpired between herself and Navya, she casually said, “nothing new, the same old complaint. You won’t go with her anywhere. Won’t mix-up with people. Her friends’ hubbies go along with them to social parties and picnics. Your not joining her for such trips is making her feel ashamed. Why don’t you accompany her when she so longingly asks for?”

“Oh, she and her friends! Those parties irritate me. Made-to-believe conversations, false laughter, garish-attire —all that looks petty for me. I know none of them. Yet in the beginning, for her sake, I did accompany her a couple of times. Come holiday, she talks about parties … hotels. But I feel like sitting with a good book … feel like listening to good music in quite a relaxed mood”, said Varun peevishly.  

“True, her tastes are different, I have noticed it when you both were here. Phones, friends, all that of course, is too much. But, to satisfy her, at least once in a while, one may have to entertain even such things which one may not relish to do, that too, to satisfy a wife. If there are to be no conflicts in the family and for the good of each other, some kind of adjustment is warranted”, said she amicably.

“Amma, I do go for marriages and such other related auspicious family functions, though I don’t know any of them. But going to clubs, pubs, and those drink-parties of male and female… well, I don’t know but I somehow don’t feel like going for them. Office parties on special occasions such as New Year… are anyway inevitable once in a couple of months. But come holiday, and if you say, ‘let’s go’, well, it won’t happen with me. Anyway, I haven’t stopped her… many times I told her: ‘go and enjoy yourself… but don’t disturb me’”, said Varun. Sensing honesty in what he said, she could not but nod her head mechanically. 

“Having no evocation, she is craving for something new. No work at home either. Won’t like cooking so, engaged a cook. The cook makes food and arranges it on the dining table. Her only work is to go to office and return. Home, its upkeep, cooking none of them are to her liking. Enough, if she had friends, phone calls and outings, that’s all. She is still behaving like a college going girl”, said Varun quite disgustedly.

Immediately after marriage, waiting for their flat getting ready for occupation, Varun and Navya stayed with Janaki for about six months. Hoping that the newly arrived daughter-in-law would learn the household work on her own, Janaki didn’t assign her any work for quite some time. Of course, she did anticipate that she would on her own come to the kitchen and lend her hand in cutting vegetables, or placing dinner ready on the dining table and so on. But that didn’t happen. Janaki wondering, maybe she wasn’t habituated to attend to such works at home, perhaps, grown up like that, carried on. 

“I don’t know, you say differently, and yesterday Navya made a serious complaint”, said Janaki.

“What did she say? And why telling you? She could have directly spoken to me”, said Varun furiously. 

Being stuck in the dilemma of what to say and what not, she remained silent.

**

“Attayya garu, I am going to my parent’s home. For, you treat me as daughter rather than as a daughter-in-law, I thought I should share with you before leaving and so am here. You please don’t say anything more now: I won’t listen even if you say anything”, said Navya aggressively as soon as she entered the house.

Keeping aside the book in her hand and looking at her reddened face Janaki said, “go in and first drink water”.

“Right, tell me now where you wanted to go?” questioned Janaki, looking into her eyes straight. “First to my parents’ home and then will think of what next.”

“What’s that so grave an incident that prompted you to quit your house and go to parents”, enquired Janaki.

“What’s there to say? It became very clear that your son will not change. No longer I can get on with him. No more I would like to adjust with him. No fondness, no merriness. I cannot bear a husband who sits like a dumb Muni (saint). I look forward to fun in the life. I need people. Amidst fiends, ramblings, friendly social parties I want to lead a life of fun and frolic. Our tastes do not match. We no longer can pull on together”, said she frenziedly.

“So, what next? Want to take divorce? Get separated? Decided?” staring at daughter-in-law Janaki asked coolly.

Stifled by her questions, Navya, after a minute replied: “Don’t know, I haven’t thought that far. But one thing is certain: I won’t stay with him anymore”. Looking at the daughter-in-law who, as a child spoke stubbornly, Janaki asked, “Did you inform him?”

“No. First I want to move out of that house. Just to see if my absence would make any difference to him. Let me give a chance for him to change!” said she rather presumptuously.

“Oh! So, it’s only a bullying tact, just to see what he would do?”

“Attayya garu, don’t take your son’s side, I will get wild.”

“You know, I won’t side with anyone blindly, rather attempt to advise whoever is wrong to set it right”, said Janaki with a smile.

“That’s precisely the reason why I came to inform you before leaving”, said Navya softly.

“Look Navya, all persons are not alike. So long you clamour for fulfilment of your wishes alone, then you can’t avoid conflicts in the family. When you know clubs and parties are not to the liking of your husband, you should have that craft which gets him round your lifestyle. When you don’t have it, you must respect the feelings of the other and adapt yourself to them.” 

“You mean for his sake I have to give off all my desires. Am I not going with him to his parties?” questioned Navya challengingly.

“Yes, we women folk can mingle with anyone in no time. Can talk animatedly. Our acquaintances and friendships are aplenty. If you want him to be like you, then you have to win him with your love. If you, wondering we too are educated, we too are earning, simply question why men’s likes and dislikes alone should rule the roost, then quarrels in the family become inevitable. When it’s warranted, one has to withdraw from the conflict. Similarly, when it’s required to listen to the other, one must… but at the same time when it is called for, one must equally assert. Mere constant nagging won’t yield anything.”

“True, it’s after all your son, so you can’t but talk like this. Even educated women like you advise women to adjust and adopt to men forever”, said Navya angrily.

“Why, today’s young men have changed a lot! Are they like what husbands of our time were? No, we do see tremendous change now”, said Janaki looking at her. 

Looking uneasily, said Navya: “So, you mean there is nothing wrong with your son”.

“There could be—why won’t there be? Everyone will have one or the other, no one is perfect! But the point is, it all depends on how one looks at it. Look, today’s girls appear to be expecting their husbands to be all perfect, eager to care for the wives and willingly obey all their commands. If there is even a slight deviation from these expectations they think their dreams melted away. They, feeling sad of it, harass their husbands. Before marriage, you both moved together for almost a year, claiming to be friends, lovers and wantonly married. Haven’t you bothered to check about these things then?” questioned Janaki in a raised tone. 

“In those days he roamed along with me alright”, said Navya jeeringly.

“Yah, boys, to impress the girls as boyfriends, meekly follow girls. And to please the boys, girls, decking themselves in different attires, endearingly make the boys to roam around them. But expecting a boyfriend to be the same after becoming a husband, is nothing but your stupidity.  Remember Navya, affection soars high only when there is a two-way flow. It’s just not to give you a feeling that I have a say in your family matters, I kept quite all along. Cut short those social parties, jaunts of your unmarried-days, and stay focussed on your family. If you pay attention to your house and husband everything would get straightened,” said Janaki. Sensing a certain chiding in what her mother-in-law said, she angrily got up and walked away swiftly.

**

“Whatever I had to say, I said to her firmly. Of course, I haven’t expected her to get away sulkily even after what all I said. Anyway, it has almost become a routine for her to go to her parents every Sunday. Tomorrow being a working day, she would come back,” said Janaki to pacify her son. 

“Ammaa, don’t ring her up anymore. Let her come whenever she wants. Even if she won’t come, I will not enquire,” said Varun peevishly. She could understand her son’s annoyance.

“Varun, can I just say something? It’s two years since you got married. There should be change at every stage of life. Immediately after marriage, with new wife, love, craze, enamorment, affiliation, first year passes off fast. Thereafter, if the bondage between wife and husband has to get strengthened, children have to be around, for that infuses change in lives. It is through rearing children and the associated joy thereof, bondage between wife and husband gets strong–love grows. For the sake of children, one’s habits, passions automatically get changed … adjustment-attitude becomes the norm.”

“Now a days, boyfriends, love, fancies, chatting, attractions are all being experienced well before marriage itself. There being nothing new or change, one is wondering, ‘Is this what after all marriage mean?’ With the growing family responsibilities, job demands and the concomitant need for adjustment, there appears to be no thrill in the married life. Both wife and husband are getting so tired in the office work that there seems to be no space for Sringara in life. As a result, growing detachment, missing passion for each other and waning bondages have become common— and all this is leading to mounting annoyance, anger, stubbornness, quarrels and even divorces.”

“So, what do you want to say? Everyone is working, but are they ignoring their household responsibilities like Navya?”

“Her status in their house as the ‘only-girl-child’, over-pampering of parents by not assigning her any housework appear to me as the lacuna in her brought up. Girls do learn after marriage. But Navya has still not picked up the responsibility of a householder. Hoping that once moved to her own house, she would cultivate householder responsibility, particularly, fearing that if I were around, she would neither own up the responsibility nor do bother to learn family chores, I didn’t move with you to your flat despite your anger and sorrow”.

“Yes, I was angry at first, but later understood why you said no to move along with me and why you preferred to stay all alone in this house. Ammaa I am telling you, don’t ring her up”, saying, he walked away furiously.

**

“Come in Varun, come in,” invited his father-in-law very affectionately. Standing up, his mother-in-law said, “Come, sit here”. As they so very happily received him, he felt surprised. As the expected unpleasantness and serious atmosphere was absent, he felt a kind of relief—almost after a week.

As his father-in-law, calling him on phone, said, “Varun you must come once urgently”, he at first wondered: “What Navya might have said? What preaching he would give? Or, Will he, cross-examining me, give ultimatum?” Finally, deciding to discuss with them about Navya and settle it, having gone there, and being surprised at their affectionate reception and pleasant atmosphere, he enquired, “What’s the matter, asked me to come urgently?”

“If not urgently, is it something ordinary to convey leisurely, our grand-child is arriving! Look, stopping the childish quarrels, you both must start preparing to play the roles of mummy and daddy,” said he excitedly… happily.

Staring uncomprehendingly for a minute, he at once uttered, “What! Really?” in great surprise. “Navya didn’t say to me”.

“Oh! If only she knew! Complaining about nausea and vomiting, as she didn’t take food, her mother took her to the doctor.” Saying, “Go, go into room”, he drove him in.

**

“You know, it’s just to let my babu (son) have father’s love, I am coming,” said Navya sitting in the car with her cutely narrowed mouth.

“It’s OK! Having got so much love for the child yet to born, you are coming to up-lift me. Welcome home,” responded Varun tauntingly.

“I do have. It’s you who don’t have love for me,” said she leaning on his shoulder amorously.

“Putting a full stop to all your stupid acts, prepare yourself to transform from a college-girl avatar to a mother’s avatar. If you talk about parties, mind you, I will break your legs. If you touch drink, l’ll break your hands. Shut your mouth and do what I say,” said Varun threateningly with a smile.

“You great, come on! That's not your cup of tea! Anyway, I don’t mind quitting job and sitting at home happily, well, that’s all the better”.

“No way, you can’t do that. You would work till the 9^th month. Otherwise, a lazy-fellow like you might born. Must lead active life…. And to be healthy, no drink …”

“Enough, I know it all…. Doctor did tell me. Don’t preach morals. The moment I heard I am pregnant, started controlling—‘you shouldn’t do this or shouldn’t that’… On delivery, I might lose all my freedom, perhaps…” saying Navya portrayed sorrow.

“That’s it! For a bellowing bull nose ring is installed. To calm-down fellows like you, children are bestowed,” said Varun teasingly.

**

Anxiously waiting in the balcony for the arrival of her son and daughter-in-law, Janaki, noticing them walking in from the car joyously, hugged them both happily at the door itself. 

After the co-father-in-law shared the happy news about her daughter’s pregnancy and ever since Varun phoned her up about their arrival, she, in her blissful happiness landed on cloud nine. On her son’s arrival, hearing his narrations, she said: “Yes, my dear son, tying the yellow thread around the neck in marriage a husband controls the wife. Then once children born, they tighten the family bondage.

“Amma, all said and done, always supports women only,” said Varun.

"No. it’s not that way, should I say the truth. In our country, families remain stable only because of children. Children are the real agents holding the wife and husband together,” said she staring at them cheerfully.

**

 

 

‘Smasanam chigurinchindi’ (Green Shoots in the Graveyard!)

One day in the summer holidays of the 60s, I happened to stumble upon this story, ‘Smasanam chigurinchindi’ written originally in Telugu by late Munipalle Raju and published in Bharati, a Telugu monthly in 1951. Going through the story I felt terribly shaken. The plight of the weak at the hands of Sambadu-lik haunted me for some time. But when I read it again recently, I am haunted by many questions: Did India change in the last 60 years? Changed for better or for worse? Are the weaklings continue to be humbled by the likes of Sambadu? Goons like Sambadu multiplied or diminished? Are they limited to villages or also there in towns? Are women still to compromise like Nagaratnam in today’s India too? Is the judicial system of free India catering to the needs of folks like Balachandraiah any better today? Is avenging the death by death is alright or is it a mad man’s last resort (as the author suggested through Nagarattam: “looked at that mad man”)? Literally, I am at a loss to cope up with the mounting questions. So, in reverence for the author, having attempted to translate his story, I now leave it to readers to ponder……

**

Balachandraiah didn’t cry. Nor did his eyes swell up. Staring at his son’s corpse he stood as a rock figurine. Nor did he notice Adiseshu bringing the new pramida (earthen lamp) lighted up with a wick, placing it beside his son’s head and covering it with a basket. Looks like a statue with no head that stood amidst the Hampi ruins, there, before his son sleeping eternally covering himself with a white blanket.

Piercing through the shroud over the body, his eyes are examining the stab wound on his six feet tall son’s heart. A blank stare. Nor is there any anguish. Hidden behind, Chaitanya (consciousness) alone is visible.

The wound in the heart of the dead Subramannem is deep; though no blood is flowing, the voiceless sorrow is silently seeping. A fully blown mandarapuvvu (Hibiscus flower)-like is the wound inflicted by Sambaiah! The murderer of the fully grown Jeevi (the being), his only son, is Sambaiah!

Balachandraiah is seeing Sambaiah in the wound on his son’s chest. Without winking his eyes, he is staring at the murderer Sambaiah’s dark figure, examining his pointed moustaches that have grown as symbols of savagery and deceit. It is the consciousness that is not emoting any pain or feeling.

~*~

It is not new for Balachandraiah to witness forced-deaths and endure them. Twenty years back, he heard the labour pains of his wife for four days. On the fifth day, he saw Sitamma lying in a pool of blood on the bed. And the midwife had shown him the just born dead child. He cried for days. Becoming sick, he stayed away from food for a month.

At the time of Sitamma’s death Subramannem was of three years old.

After the very second year of his wife’s death, son-in-law drew away his daughter from home. In that trauma, Laxmi killed herself by jumping into a well. He cried and cried day and night. Laxmi however didn’t return.

By then Subramannem learnt talking sweetly. After all, when there is life there would be expectations. If the prospects had form and dreams, then, his son stood as an idol of them. He lived for that son’s sake. For the sake of that son he had forgotten Sitamma. For the sake of that son, he never thought of Laxmi. For son’s sake, he had not entertained any quarrel with that heartless son-in-law.

There in the son’s heart Sitamma appeared with turmeric and vermillion powder smeared all over her body. It is from the deep down of his son’s heart he heard the panic cries of Laxmi while she was getting drowned in the water of the well. And there appeared Sambaiah—the Sambaiah bigger than the stud bull—and his inflamed eyes.

Yet Balachandraiah didn’t cry. Seeing the brutal death of son, the tears in the father’s eyes dried up.

~*~

Evening Munasiff came and saying, “There is no case”, went away. Balachandraiah however didn’t know anything about cases. Life is, after all, not aware of having invited every kind of puzzle.

Splitting bamboos, Adiseshu made the bier. Over it he spread a few twigs of basil plant. Bought three yards of sine cloth from Panakam Setti Cloth shop. Placing the corpse against the tadika (a wall-like erection made out of bamboo splits), poured three buckets full water over it. Finally, both of them managed to tie the six feet Subramannem and the wound that is bigger than Hibiscus flower to the bier. They covered it with sine cloth. Subramannem had a deadly longing for the sine cloth.

None turned up to the graveyard. The only man who came is Appalnarsu, the brother-in-law of Adhiseshu. Sambaiah is that cruel. That wicked. That unrestrained. He arranged for an announcement in the village: “Whoever attends to Subramannem’s rites will forego their access to food.” Having nurtured Sambaiah and being a village that had known him well, no one with a hope on his life had come forward to give their shoulder to the bier of Subramannem. And those who had a tender heart for lending their shoulder, are reminded of their own haystacks and the honour of their grownup girls. Even the shade of government’s judiciary establishments had not fallen on that progress-deprived village atmosphere. Even if they could spread their tentacles, they lacked the threatening pangs that can eliminate antisocial elements.

Appalnarsu and Adhiseshu had not forgotten their childhood games of ‘kothi-kommachhi’ (a kind of game children of villages play in gardens). Carried away their childhood friend towards north with unexpressed adieu.

~*~

By the time Subramannem’s body was burnt in a cart load of firewood, it was almost midnight. Even when Balachandriah was about to put the log on the chest, his son’s wound appeared as big as the sky. In it, Sambaiah is seen dancing with his faltering legs. In it, he saw Laxmi drowning in the well; Sitamma sleeping in a pool of blood.

The North Star blinked in the sky. In the dim moonlight, the glow of the Antya kastala (the unburnt mortal remains) that could not catch fire faster, paled. A little away, like the debilitated men, the skulls that are being gnawed by foxes are rolling. Balachandraiah is quite an illiterate and certainly not a Vedanthi (philospher). Yet he looked all-round the graveyard. It doesn’t look like the paddy threshing floors of Sankranti time. Yet, like the new paddy, ash appeared in all the four sides to that non-Vedanthi, Balachandraiah. At the crow of the early cock, the owls behind the trees having got up disturbed the peace of graveyard.

~*~

As they reached home, Nagaratnam was sitting in front of the threshold. Nagaratnam is Adiseshu’s maradalu (sister-in-law). For him, she is the would-be daughter-in-law.

“Maavaa!” (uncle)

In that fading darkness, Nagaratnam’s eyes are glistering in tears. Baava (her would be husband) is no longer there for Nagaratnam.

At her calling, getting up from an unknown world, Balachandraiah returned to this world. He put his palm on Nagaratnam’s head, more involuntarily. Caressed her hair. Set right the locks. Palmed the chin. Her tears fallen on his arm. In that silence, he became a silence.

“Seeing off Baava … came back…” Old man’s throat quivered. Raising head, Nagaratnam stared at him. Her heart leapt into throat.

“Maavaa! For my sake Baava…died…” Then, Naguleru (a river of the locality) didn’t stop. Ran amok like Gundlakamma (name of a stream) in floods. Swelled up like the Chandravanka (name of another rriver). Like the grand Godavari, swayed in waves. Seen the depths of river Krishna. Nagaratnam could not stop sobbing.

~*~

Nagaratnam is such a beautiful lass. Right from the nose stud to the anklet on foot, she is so nicely carved. This seventeen-year old girl’s well-developed breasts teased baava playing hide and seek from behind the pamita! (veil that woman makes up with the hem of her sari on her breasts by throwing over her shoulder ) Having dreamt last night that her baava tied the knot in the marriage, she, running to him right in the morning but bitten by shy, failing to share the dream with him, merely conversing with him with her dancing eyes, and marvelling at his well-built muscles, vanishes like a Nagakanya (known for swiftness) in no time from there. How fondly she has hidden the grey colour blouse that her baava got stitched for her for the village deity, Yellamma Devatha’s fair. Hiding behind the termite hill in the Chilli garden, calling loudly, “baavaa” made him to look all round for her. Those days are all none of this world’s. They were days of divine world. Such was Nagaratnam’s plane of thinking! She is reminiscing: fixed the marriage for Panchami after the yeruvaka punnami. Hardly ten more days…ten! To give a gift in the marriage, baavabrought last Thursday from the town four small gold kasulu (pendants) … those four pendants that he had safely tucked in the folds of his dhovati around his waist. It’s hardly a matter of another ten days … the Sannai swaraalu , rhyme of drums … toranaalu (garlands of mango leaves tied around the marriage venue),baava in yellow-clothes, talambralu (the yellowed rice that the bride and groom playfully pour on each other’s head in marriages)… all are dancing in front of Nagaratnam’s eyes.

Balachandraiah coughed feebly. In the very next minute Nagaratnam’s illusionary world has changed … Vanishing, baava went away from this world. All that Nagaratnam could see now is: there in her hand the kasulu that baavabrought.

~*~

As Nagaratnam is about to leave him, Balachandraiah has drawn her close to him with his impaired-hands.

“Amma, even by mistake don’t ever reveal it to Adhiseshu ….”

She looked into that old man’s eyes. That broad mindedness hidden amidst the peaceful ocean … Nagaratnam could understand the story of sufferings in his eyes. Slowly she nodded her head.

Her chastity, her honour! It is her chastity that made her baava to throw challenge at Sambadu! It is her honour that turned her tomorrow’s happiness, her dreams of future, her pendants’ desires into ashes!

From that lifeless throat of Nagaratnam, a wail emerged ….

“Maavaa”

Maama is not there. Mama’s broadness, his foresight had indeed got etched in the mind of thoughtful Nagaratnam. Baava died at the bite of that wicked serpent, Sambaiah. Nagaratnam’s mind ran into the darkness. Maama thought of securing her Akka’s (elder sister) husband’s welfare.

No delay at all. Having born as slaves, getting ruffled in the struggle for existence that has not seen the light of the day, and ending up as a failure, as millions and millions of Indian women are living for the sake of mere living, the weary Nagaratnam too has become one of them.

~*~

What if even we forget the fools who delude themselves having seen peace, justice, and fairness in village life that has stagnated.

For quite some time, Subramannem is aware that Sambaiah’s vicious eyes are fixed on Nagaratnam. With no father and mother around, as Nagaratnam was going to fields for grass or returning from fields with grass, Sambaiah, waiting around, used to tease her and she, cracking fingers used to curse him at it. Though she kept all this as a secret from baava, he somehow came to know about it all. She used to wonder how baava came to know? She has forgotten that she, having bought him with her love, retained him as her security guard. In fact, once or twice, baava had an altercation with Sambadu. Baava indeed threatened him.

“Arey… you fellow with no qualms … no shame … you fellow … dishonouring a lady …” Sambadu used to twist his pointed whiskers.

One Sunday she was collecting stubs in the northern field. As dusk is slowly creeping in, clouds gathered. Thought of starting for home before it began drizzling. From behind someone came and closed her eyes. Guessing that nobody will turn up that far and hoping to fill the basket with big stubs she came to that distantly-located field.

Sambaiah! Beasts, there in his eyes!

Saying, “Chii … Don’t you have sisters”, she, wriggling out of his clutches, moved away.

“Look Naagu … … once …” bitten her cheek. She cried aloud. Thrust himself forward like a wild boar.

“Look … Sambaiah anna (elder brother) … you have sisters….” Giggled the wild bison.

Pressing … twisted her hands firmly. Yelled in fear. Thereafter, she lost senses till baava came.

Like Arjuna he came. Within no time he morphed into a lion. Pouncing on him, baava tweaked his neck. The wicked has fallen on the ground … over the stubs. Moaned at baava’s thumping. Getting up, gnashed teeth.

In the very next month, protection of her honour stood in baavaa’s heart as a boundary-less tank. That boundary-less small tank has now become a tank of blood.

~*~

It’s only the three who know about the quarrel between Sambadu and baava … me, maava, baava … three only … Nagaratnam realized … only two remained … Immediately she remembered pendants. In the sorrow of those reminisces they drenched.

~*~

Though night has advanced very fast as if it is the enemy of sorrow and the mere passing of the time, Balachandraiah could not sleep. But he closed his eyes—“there is not even a single blade of grass in the graveyard. In that all spreading ash, his Subramannem too shared a bit … how vast the wound! The ash comes to hardly a fistful…. Even while breathing his last, he directed him to feed green grass to Sitamma ….”

Green Grass!

As though some one had knocked him to get up, suddenly getting up, he went into the yard. Under the weight of 60 years, his body is stooping down. Famine that arrived had, appeasing the old age, went away. Nagaratnam, placing the hay in the feeding zone of Sitamma appeared as the goddess of sorrow that has no relation with the worldly pleasures.

Sitamma is the young-bull that Subramannem left away in this world. Sitamma is the wealth of that house’s sweat. It is the white reflection of the labour that Subramannem did in Kasturi’s house for six years. Sitamma is the memory of his dead wife. She is the pride of the families of agricultural labourers.

Sitamma is Sitamma… sharp Mysore-bull horns, Ongole calf’s muscle tone, their milky whiteness, pride stares….Yet it never quarrelled with his ilk. It hasn’t ever rubbed even a child’s skin. Never swung horn even slightly.

Such is its pedigree! Over it, when Subramannem undertook cooperative farming with Adiseshu it pulled the plough along with she-buffalo. It even pulled the plough in puddled field. Pulled the cart with broken axil. Never annoyed … not even once.

“Sitamma didn’t bite even a single blade of grass Mavaa”.

Balachandraiah looking into unknown worlds, turned his eyes over Nagaratnam’s face. How innocent are her eyes! Nagaratnam stared at the old man up and down. Between yesterday and today he has become twenty years older.

Balachandraiah couldn’t lift Sitamma’s rope-collar.

“Ayyo!, poor fellow … eyes with gummy rheum …” stroked hump … hands moved on to the horns. His son’s wound in the heart struck to the mind of Balachandriah.

**Appanna yelled at the old man.

“Son died … asks for justice…..Hu! died in useless quarrels over whores … haunting the village like devils …”

Balachandraiah shut his ears. None had abused Subramannem like that. His was a spotless life. At the stabbing of Sambaiah … hot blood swelling out of Subramannem’s heart … felt the sound of dripping blood that drenched Bhudevi …

Adiseshu has of course informed him. Appanna is Sambadu’s man. Member of the village Panchayat … Appanna.

Narsimhulu and Kesamulu Naidu heard his distress.

“Look Balachandraiah that fellow is a big thug. And you know what Appanna is!”

Whoever said anything, it is again and again the same. Balachandraiah spit on the village. “This is not village, this is forest”, said Balachandraiah.

While dying Subramannem didn’t ask him to pray at the elders of the village. Dipping his right hand in the blood and taking it towards his moustaches he said, “Orey Sambada … my father will not let you live” thus challenging and cursing him died he. Balachandraiah did not want to insult that hero anymore.

~*~

Evening Nagaratnam came with hot gruel in a German silver vessel. Holding the rein that is tied around the horns of Sitamma in his haggard hands, Mama is standing in the yard.

“Mavaa!”

“Yes amma I am going … don’t be alarmed … take the key … tell Adiseshu that I shall return. Come on … wipe out the tears.”

On the thick layer of the gruel, Nagaratnam’s teardrops floated.

~*~

Sitamma returned to normalcy within a few days. Balachandraiah didn’t allow even a fly to rest on the milky skin of Sitamma. Whenever he found a dust particle on Sitamma’s body, he remembered his son who used to feel bad of it.

In that valley aplenty are the green meadows. Down the line a stream is flowing as though wars never happened in the world. A little forest on the right-hand side. All this has become the Kingdom of Sitamma.

With the leaves of forest, knee-high grass, breeze of the hill, water of the stream—all these have enhanced the strength of Sitamma. She acquired a new glow. Within those three months, Balachandraiah became thirty years older. The bells in the Sitamma’s neck have stirred musical tunes in that valley that ultimately merged with the roaring flow of the stream. But Balachandraiah won’t move his lips. He won’t sing Karampudi war ballads. He cannot reproduce Nayakurali’s (noted woman-leader of a local region, Palnadu) bombastic statements. Nor could he coo the tidings of Lavakusa.

The old man tied the straw-effigy to the trunk of the neem tree in an erect posture. On its heart he tied red flowers bought from the forest.

“Sitamma …”

Like a good boy Sitamma came nearer to him … appeased him.

“There … Sitamma … Sambadu … there … Sambadu that killed Subramannem.”

Sitamma rang her bells. Swiftly moved horns. Old man has seen his son’s wound in horns.

“Uu … Sitammaa … that is …. Sambadu …”

Sitamma again rung bells. Pawed the soil with hoof. In the very next minute the red flowers on the straw-effigy having climbed on the horns of Sitamma kissed them.

Sitamma looked at the old man. Old man looked at with swelled up eyes. “A new sharpness dawned on Sitamma’s horns”, felt Balachandraiah. As he was thinking thus, trees shed their leaves.

~*~

Appalanarsu came at once running—

“Baavoi, Sendraiah maama has come”, said to Adiseshu. From inside Nagaratnam heard it. Putting on the Uttareeyam, Adiseshu went to him.

“Maavaa, … what has become of you …. no message … you look so haggard …”

Forcing a smile, Balachandraiah said, “Had been to Bhadrachalam.”

A few minutes…

“Got Nagaratnam married off…”

“Ooh … I see … Is it …?”

“As said by the four elders, we got her married to Sambaiah.”

Balachandraiah could not see the sky.

…four elders … Sudulu Appanna, Goulla Narachimmulu, Aadikechavulu Naidu…, Goddavari Peddabbai …. Balachandraiah raised his eyes. Even Adiseshu didn’t see that light. Bells jingled in the yard. Trumpet of war is felt in Sitamma’s bellow.

~*~

Sambaiah has lost the very sense of good thought. He harboured a hope that Balachandraiah will one day will the house in favour of Nagaratnam. One evening, coming home he told his wife, Nagaratnam: “heard, your Balayyamaama has come!”

“You come along … we shall go and see him” … Sambaiah’s pleasure ran amok like a rein-free horse. “I am going … you come a tad later”, he sauntered.

~*~

That evening appeared as the battlefield after the cease of war. Look at any corner and you find the reflection of reddened-sky. Sambaiah stepped in slowly into the front yard.

“Balaiah Baabaa! Oh Balaiah Baabaa,” called so affectionately.

Sitamma is drinking water. Standing near the tub, Balaiah is appeasing Sitamma.

“When did you come Balaiah baaba”, the old raised his head and stared. He deluded to have seen red flowers on the pointed moustaches of Sambaiah.

“Who is it? Sambanna! Just a minute … here I am…”

Old man slapped on the thigh of Sitamma. He tapped the horn with his fingernail.

Sitamma raised her face. Stamped violently on the ground. Bellowed like the song of a forest. Jingled her bells. Rung the bells like brazen drums in Dakshayajnam. Sitamma didn’t stop. Jumped forward. Played pranks as if possessed by evil spirit.

“Sambaiah came, Sitamma!”

Sambaiah could not move in front of his ferocious speed. It’s only after Sitamma’s sharp horns pierced through his chest that he could move.

“Ayyo…! I am dead…. Baaboo…. Balaiah Baabuu…” Bells are the only answer.

Nagaratanam stepped in the threshold. Tying Sambaiah’s entrails around horns as a turban, Sitamma welcomed her in.

Sambaiah, the mauled bundle of blood, appeared by the side of the tub.

“Maavaa… Naa Pasupu Kunkuma” (turmeric powder and vermilion, which represents a married-woman – a traditional belief), cried at once.

Sitamma moved back by two steps… Balachandraiah came forward by two steps.

“You silly … why worry about your Pasupu Kunkuma? You think Subramannem baava died?”

Removing her hem of the sari from her face looked at that mad man. Sitamma bells jingled again.

~*~

As the night advanced, Balachandraiah hawked his Sitamma to the graveyard. All the ash in the graveyard vanished. Adorned in green, it is singing Kalyani (a musical raag) in the bed of death. The old man identified the site at which his son climbed the pile of the cart-load of firewood.

“Plenty of grass, Sitamma!”

At the sound of Sitamma’s bells, blades of grass swayed their tops. Trembling overtook Balachandraiah. Not being able to stand, closing his eyes, plopped himself down.

**

‘Cheppula Danam’ (Gift of Chappal)

Originally in Telugu: Munipalle Raju

                            **

As the saying goes, “For Vighneswara’s marriage, there arise thousand and odd obstacles”, whenever Venkatramaiah contemplated of buying chappal, one or the other obstacle emerged invariably!

In fact, right before his retirement itself, the old chappal, having worn out badly, not only caused pain to feet but also disturbed his walking pace a little, he, wondering, “what great deeds he has to now perform?” postponed the yajna [1] of buying a new pair.  Though got them repaired by paying a quarter coin, half coin or a full coin, for ten to twelve times, could they be made new?

It’s only after three months of his retirement that he could get his dues of provident fund and gratuity into hand. Immediately thereafter performed the marriage of his younger daughter. So, now except for the pension nothing else is in his hand.

**

Counting the pension amount, Venkatramaiah’s wife questioned him, “What’s this?”

“Have to purchase chappal,” replied Venkatramaiah… quite nonchalantly.

“You also planned for this month? How am I to manage, if you don’t keep track of events? Won’t you remember son-in-law and Rajyam will arrive either tomorrow or day-after for festival?”

Without uttering a single word, Venkatramaiah returned the fifty rupees that he had retained from the pension to his wife.

That evening, he went to park without putting on cheppals. An unaccustomed effort. Obviously, he was delayed. Fellow pensioners are about to conclude their session. Nagabhushanam, who often exhibits closeness to him, cutting jokes, said, “Look our Venkatramudu’s stinginess is increasing. Sons and daughters-in-law are earning. Would buying a pair of Bata cheppals devour his wealth?”

Well before Venkatramaiah replied, their conversation turned to quality control of cheppals.

“When we were in villages, didn’t those country-made leather cheppals lasted for two years? Wearing those cheppals, when the sons of rich farmers visited their in-laws houses did they lose their shine even after six months? Those days were different—golden era. After the emergence of these shoe companies, we are to change once in every six months.”

***

Even in the following month he could not buy cheppals, for his wife questioned: “You also picked up this month? Don’t you remember we have to perform two annual death ceremonies?”

That evening while going to park, he stopped at a road side cobbler.

“You are hitting too many nails. Can’t you stitch with thread?” said he.

“It’s beyond my reach. You think these torn out parts would remain intact with a stitch of a thread?” Thus saying, he returned the cheppal after fixing them with bigger nails than usual.

Limping slightly, he could manage to return home. There is a little commotion in the house. Elder son and elder daughter-in-law are both employees. They are hosting a dinner for their office-mates. Leaving his cheppals in front of his cot in veranda and calling his granddaughter he said: “Tell your bamma [2] to get a glass of water thalli [3].” As his wife is passing on the tumbler, his granddaughter rushed back. “Tataiah [4]! You should not leave your cheppal here.” “Why thalli?” Intervening, his wife clarified thus: “Tonight officers are perhaps coming for dinner. You recline on the terrace by spreading a mat till they leave.”

Venkatramaiah of course didn’t get angry. If he were to, he would have walked away long back. Last week, as he was taking his granddaughter for a stroll, his son said from behind: “What is that amma! Walking on the street without cheppal in that old dovathi [5] and a mere uttariyam [6] ? He worked for so long. He should have at least purchased an ordinary watch? And yet, he didn’t get disturbed by it. 

Of course, he hadn’t heard what his wife might have replied, but he felt it apprastut (irrelevant) to tell them why he hadn’t purchased a watch, or  why he is still putting on those worn out clothes. Venkatramaiah is not a man who broods on the past.

**

Even after the guests left the home after dinner, Venkatramaiah didn’t come down from the terrace. Coming up, his wife woke him up by shaking. She felt his body is unusually warm. “No sensible man would sleep in the open for this long. Come on… up… up”, saying she took him down.

His temperature didn’t come down even next day. Going to office, his son told his mother irritatingly: “What is this, nanna [7] didn’t get up yet. If anyone visits us, the veranda looks shabby. Wake him up and ask him to take bath.”

Venkatramaiah couldn’t however take bath. Washing his face and neck with cold water, he came back and reclined on the cot.

As he failed to present himself at the park for three days in a row, Nagabhushanam, Gajapathinaidu, and Ramasharma came straight to his home.

He is however, unconscious by then. His right leg is reddened with a swelling. Both his elder son and younger son are in the process of taking him to the hospital. For, a young doctor, a friend of them, examining him said: “Looks like gangrene, needs to be hospitalized”.

Crestfallen, his wife, standing behind the door, has been listening to her husband’s friends’ comments.

**

Finally, they could get him admitted in the Rajendraprasad memorial ward. Finishing his chores with patients of his private practice, civil surgeon, Venkata Vamana Hanumantha Prasad garu reached the ward lately. Having arrived at the ward, he first visited the beds of all his private patients. That evening he has to fly to Bombay to attend an international seminar of the surgeons.  Being in no mood to browse through the case sheet of Venkatramaiah, the new patient, saying a few words to the assistant surgeons, he sat in his car.

And, these assistant surgeons, Apparao and Raghunandanrao, were in the opposite groups of the recently concluded ‘reservation and anti-reservation’ agitation. Raghunandan has very recently returned undergoing an advanced training in surgery from All India Institute of Medical Sciences. Scribbling in the case sheet “gangrene… for immediate amputation of right leg” and instructing the Head Nurse to inform the operation theatre, he has gone for lunch break.   Apparao, the senior, getting wild at it, scribbling, “Biopsy—pathologist to report” shown it to nurse instructing her to understand what he meant, retired to his room.

That day the ward boys of pathology department are on strike. The report could only come on the next day evening. It has however confirmed that the gangrene has indeed become quite septic.  

***

Amputation of Venkatramaiah’s leg is scheduled for the very next day. Receiving the telegram his eldest daughter came straight to the hospital.

Elder son pleaded to Dr Raghunandan: “Doesn’t matter the cost, but please save my father”.

Saying, “It’s not the question of cost—babu… at least, you should have warned him not to use that cheppal pair studded with old nails,” the doctor hurried up the nurse.

Surprisingly, as he was being taken into the operation theatre, Venkatramaiah regained his consciousness fully. He called for his elder daughter. He has immense love for her. Caressing her hands, he requested, “Bring your ear close to me thalli.”

“Your mother is a village girl. Thalli, do you know what I had purchased immediately after starting our marital life? Cheppal. How happy she was!”

Immediately Venkatramaiah fall unconscious again. Not being able to make any meaning out of what he said, she cried profusely… but he didn’t see her face even.

By the next hour his leg is amputated.  In another half an hour, as the doctors were still engaged in stitching the leg, Venkatramaiah, finishing his journey in this world on the very operation table itself, left for unknown destiny. 

***

Urgent telegrams are sent to Venkatramaiah’s blood-relatives.  It exactly costed them fifty rupees.

Even to transport the dead body of Venkatramaiah from the hospital to the house, it costed fifty rupees.

Even the cost of garlands that his three friends have brought independent of each other was fifty rupees.

After the cremation, giving away of cheppal as alms by the sons of the dead Venkatramaiah was one of those Shodasi danaalu [8]!  So, not being satisfied with the quality of cheppal brought by younger son, the elder son got them replaced by procuring a fresh set from the Bata showroom. Their cost too was fifty rupees. 

Seeing the gifting of the cheppal to the Brahmin, Venkatramaiah’s granddaughter enquired: “Nanna, tataiah was left with only one leg! Why then you are giving two? The cost of that question too is fifty rupees, perhaps!  It might have been many years since Venkatramaiah died. Yet every year they are performing death-anniversary. Even if sons forget, his wife is ensuring that at every ceremony cheppal are given away to a Brahmin as alms. 

*      *      *

Originally written in Telugu, ‘Cheppula Danam’  by late Munipalle Raju and was first  published in Andhra Prabha Vaarapatrika in 1988.

**

[1] Yajna – a ritual “acrifice, devotion, worship” done with a specific objective by sitting in front of sacred fire, often with mantras , usually considered as a great feat– the storyteller, perhaps wants us to realise that purchasing a pair of cheppal has indeed became a yajna-like effort for Venkatramaiah.

[2] Bamma—grandmother

[3] Thalli —an affectionate way of addressing young girls equating them with one’s thalli, mother

[4] Tataiah —grandfather

[5] Dhovathi —the loincloth that is traditionally worn by Indian men by tying around waist

[6] Uttariyam —the upper cloth

[7] Naanna —father

[8] Shodasi danaalu —as a part of antyesti, last rites, traditionally, the progeny of the deceased person give away 16 kinds of alms to Brahmins and one of them is chappal.