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. 
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