Original in Telugu - Abburi Chaya Devi
Translator - GRKMurty
Abburi Chaya Devi (1933 - ) is a noted feminist writer from
Andhra Pradesh. She was awarded the Central Sahitya Akademi award in 2005 for
her anthology of Telugu stories—'Tanamargam'. Chaya Devi continues to be active in her
literary activities even at the age of 79. She has many works to her credit
including translation of German fiction, collection of essays, a biographical
novelette, a travelogue on China and a compilation of 20th century women
writers in Telugu. She was a member of the General Council of Sahitya Akademi
(1998-2002).
* * * *
Another Way
As her daughter,
Suhasini, is entering the kitchen, Syamala utters, “It is better to die rather
than …!” a little loudly. It is not, of
course, for the first time that she said so, nor did her daughter hear it for
the first time.
Whenever any problem pops
up, which she feels helpless in countering, her amma prefers death.
Shuhasini also knows that once the problem was resolved she would become
normal again. That’s why, listening to what her mother has said, she grins. Hearing
her daughter’s laughter, Shyamala gets annoyed.
Staring at her daughter
frowningly, she says, “Why laughing?”
“Why …what’s it that is
haunting you so much… to say ‘better to die’? By the bye, is it that you alone
or all of us in the family have to die?” says Shuhasini mockingly.
“Having married your
father and given birth to you children, I must die, why you all!” says
Shyamala.
“Why are you talking so
harshly as though something untoward had happened? Why feel so sad?” says Suhasini
in order to pacify her.
Wiping away her tears,
Shyamala says, “Yes! Isn’t it because of me that you aren’t getting any proposal
for marriage alliance?”
Genuinely surprised,
Suhasini says, “What amma? What are you
talking… how come, because of you no alliance is forthcoming? What did you do?”
“Because I am black in
complexion, you too were born with black complexion! And it’s because of your
black complexion that whoever comes seeking alliance is turning away! That’s
why your grandmother didn’t initially agree for my marriage with her son. She mentioned
an axiom: ‘If the daughter-in-law is of black complexion, the whole race will
be of black complexion.’ That turned out to be true in my case,” says Shymala,
bowing her head as though she had committed a crime.
“Oh! Come on amma, you and your blind faith! The
science of genetics doesn’t say that mother’s complexion alone will be
inherited by children! Could get father’s complexion too”, says Shuhasini.
“To your misfortune,
you got my complexion”, says Shyamala, feebly.
“It’s alright amma, whoever likes my black complexion
would marry me. Someone might have already been born for me… would be somewhere
… Hasn’t dad married you, just like that!” says Suhasini laughing casually.
Oh! Yes, your dad did marry
me … but after taking a dowry of twenty five thousand! Whereas you are now sticking
to your principle … of not marrying anyone who asks for dowry. Who would come
with such generosity?” says mother.
“Neither do I need such
a bounty. I would marry him who would not mind my complexion. Even otherwise,
couldn’t life go on without marriage? I shall lead a happy life proudly without
the need to bend my head for those three knots,” thus saying, she picks up two pakodi pieces, that her mother has just fried, from the plate.
“Ha, living happily…
pompously! Do you think I would be forever around you catering to all your
needs, for you to lead a happy life?” thus challenges Shyamala.
“No one is eternal amma. If I go before you – say, right
now – neither you nor I would have any issue!” says Suhasini with a serious look
on her face.
“Chi, shut up, why that
horrid talk!” says her mother.
“Yes, amma…haven’t you said it would be better
to die rather than … so then why not me say the same? Having born to you
people, having made you spend so much on my education, finally when it came to
my marriage… I became a cause for so much of your trauma; shouldn’t I then, feel
like committing suicide?” says Suhasini, though meant to tease her, as she says
her voice trembles.
Flinging the spoon on
the stand, Syamala hugs her daughter at once, warns her in a cringing tone: “Never
say it again.”
Freeing herself from
her mother’s hands slowly, Syamala says: “You too don’t ever talk about dying.
As though there is no other way, why do you keep on thinking ‘death is better’?
However insurmountable the problem might be, death is not the answer amma. If you die, would our problem get
solved? Think it over,” says she to comfort her mother.
“That’s true; but no marriage
alliance is forthcoming for you. I am facing a hell in putting up a brave
façade before the neighbors. All this makes me feel that it would be better to
die swallowing something or the other…” repeats Shyamala, supporting herself.
“It is because of your habit…
the habit of uttering, ‘it’s better to die rather than…’ at every damn obstacle
that frequents us that last year younger brother attempted suicide by drinking
Baygon spray. Thank God, because I saw it well in time, he is alive today. Is
it that losing their nerve, everyone should commit suicide? Mustn’t we have the
courage to face the life? Is there no other way? You are our mother, you gave
us birth, you reared us, being elder, if you exhibit tameness, where else can we
look for strength amma”, says Suhasini
emotionally.
Tears roll down from
Shyamala’s eyes.
Though felt like
drawing mother into her embrace, staying in her position, Suhasini says, “Amma, it’s not crying what we should do.”
“What then … should I
do? … What shall we do … for you now? We gave you good education. Imparted you good
skills. Reared you to be healthy. What else these men and those who gave birth
to them need?” says Shyamala in a shrill voice.
“It’s not merely to
send me away, marrying me off, that you nurtured me into what I am. You have
reared me into a woman of her own character. Doing a job, I can stand on my own
feet. I shall live my life in the way I want to. I shall get married whenever a
right person comes. I don’t think marriage alone is the goal. I don’t think
there is no another way of living,” asserts Suhasini categorically.
Her mother turns towards
the stove, of course, mechanically. As
Suhasini turns to the other side, she sees her father standing at the entrance of
the kitchen.
Suhasini didn’t notice
when he had come. She could see an encouraging smile on her father’s face. Looking
at her father, she smiles confidently.
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