At the glare from his wife, Murty garu hastily turned his snicker into a cough. Poor Murty garu. Always getting into trouble with someone or the other.
The groom’s father chose not to probe further – about our father, or anything else; he would have made inquiries about the suitability of our family, too.
“The poor lady has two more granddaughters to marry off,” Murty garu said.
“Two?” the groom’s father asked, a frown marring the oily smoothness of his forehead. “Who is the number two granddaughter?”
Murty garu pointed at me. “That’s Pullamma.”
There I stood in my lime-green-and-yellow half-sari, which was splashed with big purple splotches, which I supposed were flowers. I was miserably aware that this hand-me-down from the fair-skinned Malli – the nicest I owned – was an unfortunate choice of clothing because it clashed violently with the colour of my skin.
The groom’s father leaned forward. Using his hairy caterpillar fingers, he adjusted the angle of his thick-rimmed oversized spectacles. He shook his head as if to say he couldn’t believe Malli and I came from the same stock.
I tugged at my half-sari, conscious it was five inches too short. Would he compliment me, as people often did after realizing I was sister to the fair-skinned Malli and Lata – on the clearness of my skin and the lustre of my long hair, as if in consolation for my coffee coloured skin and abnormal height of 5’ 9”? Or would he pity me?
He moved his head to inspect Malli. As he scrunched his nose, the hairs within quivered.
My sister stood queen-like, elegantly draped in a red-and-gold Kanchi-silk sari. Basket-shaped earrings dangled from her ears. A strand of delicate malli-flowers, woven through her long braid, adorned her hair. She had taken special care with the henna on her hands and feet. The bottu on her forehead, chosen to accentuate the beauty of her large eyes, shimmered red and gold.
She stood with the tray in hand, tea cups clattering just a little.
“So where is number three?”
“Umm. Well.” Murty garu put a fist under his chin in contemplation. “Actually she has gone to help out a relative. Such a sad story, you see. Seetamma garu’s second daughter’s third son broke his leg.” He tapped a slim finger on his lips. “Or was it her third daughter’s second son?”
Ammamma cleared her throat.
“Anyway,” Murty garu said, “They needed help at home, so the girl was sent over.”
“Hanh!” the groom’s father said.
The groom’s parents exchanged suspicious glances. They knew about the hiding of prettier, younger daughters, of course; they would have done the exact same thing. The question was – did what was being hidden concern them in any way?
The groom’s father concluded his prolonged inspection of Malli. “We shall proceed.”
I released my breath.
“Come,” the groom’s mother said, patting the stool next to her. Luckily, her headache seemed to have gone away. “Put the tray down.”
Barely in time. Malli’s tea-laden tray was beginning to tilt.
Malli was trained in household chores, of course, but balancing fully loaded trays for long periods of time hadn’t been one of them. As she walked across the room, the groom’s mother stared intently at Malli’s feet. Couldn’t blame her; Lakshmi garu’s own sister’s brother-in-law had been tricked into marrying a girl with diseased legs – with the sari tied low enough to cover her feet, there had been no way to tell she had elephantitis.
Taking Malli’s hand in hers, the groom’s mother said, “Come, sit here. What is your name?”
“Malli.”
Putting a finger under Malli’s chin, she said, “What a pretty name. Almost as pretty as you are. My son’s name is Ram.”
Murty garu chuckled. “This is what happens when we name our children after Gods and Goddesses. Because, if this alliance goes through, the Gods Ram and Seeta will no longer be a couple.”
Ammamma, who was named for the Goddess Seeta, turned red in the face.
Lakshmi garu frowned at Murty garu.
“Anyway,” Murty garu said, “why don’t you question the girl?”
“What have you studied?” the groom’s mother asked.
“6th class fail,” Malli said in a whisper.
“Good, good. Our son almost passed his 7th. Missed by a mere two marks, he did,” she said, holding up two fingers. “Two marks, can you believe that?”
Murty garu clucked in sympathy.
“T...o...o educated girls,” the groom’s father said, sinking his teeth into a luscious kaaja, “won’t comfort us in our old age.” He flicked his tongue to lick the syrup from the corner of his lip. “Worried about themselves, they will be.”
“Shouldn’t allow these girls to think,” Lakshmi garu said, jumping in. “Then they won’t listen to us.” Lakshmi garu should know. She had daily battles with her 9th class passed younger daughter-in-law.
“We want a girl who has been trained well,” the groom’s father said. “We are getting old. She will be needed to take care of us, no tantrums, no nothing.”
“My Malli will be the perfect daughter-in-law for you,” Ammamma said. “No mind of her own. Just does what she is told.”
The groom’s mother nodded approvingly.
“We won’t let our daughter-in-law leave the family home for work, or gossip, or any such nonsense,” the groom’s father said. “We have our honour to think of.”
“Our girl is a homebody,” Ammamma said. “You needn’t have any fears on that account. Our Malli will maintain the honour of your family – only time she’ll go out is to the temple. Otherwise always home.”
The groom’s father nodded. He raised an eyebrow at his son. At the groom’s nod, the older man said to the room in general, “We like the girl. She may be taken inside now. We elders need to talk.”
“Pullamma.” Murty garu tossed his head at me.
I hurried to take Malli’s arm.
Chapter 6
The Negotiations
“Shall we proceed with the alliance?” the groom’s father said, as I returned from escorting Malli the nine steps back into our house.
Murty garu looked at Ammamma. She nodded.
Thank you, Durga Devi! I held my arms out for the little boy, not wanting the grandfather distracted during the negotiations. The child came to me grinning, two front teeth sticking out. Hopefully, he wouldn’t bite. He grabbed my long braid with sticky fingers and shoved it in his mouth.
“We want the wedding to take place in our village,” the groom’s father said. “Can’t expect all our relatives and friends to come all this way now, can we?”
Ammamma blanched. Tradition demanded that the groom come to the bride’s house for the wedding. But what could the girl’s side do if the groom’s family tried to weasel out of their share of the expense?
In our village we could perform the wedding in our courtyard and be done with it. But in the groom’s village... I shuddered, thinking of the additional cost.
“We’ll want twenty silk saris for our relatives,” the man continued. “This is in addition to the saris you will be giving to the bride, and to my immediate family, you understand.” He ticked off on his fingers. “One scooter for the groom. One gas connection. One Godrej Almirah for the newlyweds to put their clothes in. Five tolas of gold.”
“I’m just a poor widow,” Ammamma said, raising the joined palms of her hands in entreaty. “I, myself, cook in a coal-fed earthen stove; I can’t even afford a kerosene one – it would be great hardship to acquire a gas connection. On top of it, the gold, the Almirah...” Her hands trembled.
The face of the groom’s father remained impassive.
“I have two more granddaughters after this one. No male support in sight. No husband, no son, not even a grandson. Where will I get that much money from?”
“Oh!” The groom’s father seemed taken aback. He turned to the marriage broker, but the woman was busy examining the strand of flowers
strung across the doorway.
To Ammamma, he said, “Remember, our boy has a good job as a flour mill operator. He’ll keep your granddaughter in comfort.”
Ammamma looked uncertain.
“I’m Kondal Rao garu’s right hand man,” the groom’s father said.
“Unlikely to forget it, am I?” Ammamma muttered under her breath.
Murty garu looked enquiringly at Ammamma. Her lips tightened, then sagged. She nodded slowly.
“It is settled, then,” Murty garu said rather heartily.
I managed to pry my braid away from the child’s mouth.
He stared unblinkingly, then smiled, his plump cheeks dimpling.
I smiled back. Now that the negotiations were concluded, I handed him to his grandfather.
The groom’s mother leaned to whisper something in her husband’s ear.
“Oh, that’s right,” the groom’s father said. “I forgot. After all, we are taking home a fatherless girl.”
No father meant no one to bend backwards for the maryadalu, the to-the-point-of-servitude catering to the family of the groom, during the wedding and after; who else would bear the endless indignities associated with being the father of the bride?
The anxious expression was back on Ammamma’s face.
“But we are willing to overlook it,” the groom’s mother added, face radiating sympathy.
“For –” the groom’s father said.
Ammamma’s back stiffened.
“Five hundred rupees. Cash.”
Chapter 7
Alliance is Fixed
Lakshmi garu’s sons were dispatched to inform Kondal Rao garu, the politician, of the success of the bride viewing. For almost an hour we mingled with the guests, talking to them, making plans for the wedding.
Ammamma’s lips were a thin white line, betraying her tension. She probably wanted to finalize the details before the groom’s family thought up more demands. Not that finalizing the details now would stop them later.
Finally Kondal Rao garu showed up, entourage in tow.
The gathering arose.
The groom’s father hurried forward with the best chair and placed it near Kondal Rao garu. Then he removed the ceremonial white cotton khanduva draped over his shoulder and dusted off the chair, though there was not a speck of dirt on it. “Please.” He bade Kondal Rao garu to sit.
Once Kondal Rao garu was settled, sweets and Malli were brought out to conclude the deal. Lakshmi garu had instructed Malli to say she’d been up all night making the round rava laddus, but no one asked.
The groom’s father set the child on the ground.
“Whee!” the child called out as he ran around, arms spread like a plane, weaving through chatting elders. He crashed into a chair. Tears threatened.
“Come, come,” the groom’s mother said, pulling the child onto her lap. She offered him a rava laddu. The child opened his mouth wide.
The woman laughed. “Such a greedy little fellow, my grandson is.” The boy grabbed the whole sweet and stuffed it in his mouth.
Murty garu smiled indulgently.
I grinned, thinking how much fun it would be to tease Malli; she had no idea what her husband to-be looked like. I would have sneaked a peek, but sadly for Malli, she wasn’t quite that brazen. He was a decent-looking fellow, my brother-in-law to-be, but I planned to terrorize my sister with stories of his defects.
A man hurtled into the courtyard, a bundle clutched close to his chest.
Startled, I looked at Ammamma. She frowned in puzzlement.
The man looked around wildly. Spotting Kondal Rao garu, he rushed to the politician and threw himself at his feet, shuddering sobs wracking his body. “Aiyya, after twelve years we were blessed with a male child. Now he is dead.”
Kondal Rao garu jumped to his feet. “Why are you at my feet, you stupid man? Go to the doctor or something.”
“No, no, no.” The man breathed in jerks of air. “Ranga Nayakamma sent me here.”
“What is he babbling about?” Kondal Rao garu looked at a henchman in irritation.
“Ranga Nayakamma is the local oracle,” the henchman said. “She often foretells events of great significance.”
Ammamma snorted. “Rush the child to a hospital, you foolish man.” She jerked her head at Lakshmi garu’s younger son. “The tractor. Right now.”
Lakshmi garu’s son jumped to his feet. “Let’s go.”
The infant’s father continued to look up at Kondal Rao garu, face blotchy, palms of his hands joined together. “I placed my child at the feet of Ranga Nayakamma, and she went into a trance.” Tears dripped down. He struggled to his feet, the bundle clutched to his chest. “Ranga Nayakamma said the only way to bring the child back to life was to place him at the feet of the Goddess.”
“Go to the temple, then,” Kondal Rao garu snapped. “I look like Goddess Durga, or what?”
“Goddess Durga is of no use to me,” the man said.
Kondal Rao garu looked at the man questioningly.
“Goddess Pullamma.”
The birds stilled. The breeze stilled. Even the leaves on the trees stilled. The only sound in our courtyard was the harsh breathing of the man.
Murty garu broke everyone out of the trance by raising his stick at the man. “Is this some kind of joke? Look at Pullamma. She’s no Goddess. She’s just a young girl.”
I turned to Ammamma in desperation. She seemed frozen, her eyes wide with horror.
“Here,” Lakshmi garu said, pointing at my feet.
The man rushed to me. “Save my son, oh Pullamma Devi,” he begged. “Let him live.”
“Are you mad?” I squeaked.
“What is the harm, I say,” Kondal Rao garu said. “Let him put the baby at the girl’s feet. When that fails, he can admit the child in the children’s ward, himself in a mental ward.”
“No!” I pleaded. “Please. I’m no Goddess.” I stumbled backward.
“Wait,” Lakshmi garu said. Her nails dug into my arms.
My lungs began to squeeze. Breaths came out in short bursts.
The man fell to his knees, and began to unwrap the bundle. A pale child emerged. The man placed the unmoving child at my feet.
I began to shiver. God, don’t let the child be cured at my feet. Please, please, please.
Its eyes remained tightly closed.
“Live, Child, live,” the man urged the infant, fanning it with a piece of cloth. “Goddess Pullamma blesses you.”
No change in the infant.
He then balled the cloth, and thrust it under the baby’s nose.
I swallowed.
The infant wailed!
“My baby lives.” Crying and sniffling, the man pulled the infant close to his chest, raining kisses on its forehead. Then he touched his own head to the ground. “A thousand thanks to Goddess Pullamma! My baby lives!”
I turned to Ammamma in confusion. Her jaw dropped.
Suddenly Kondal Rao garu shoved the man aside. He fell heavily at my feet, his back forming a hump over the belly that squished on the ground.
What was he doing? I tried to move back, but he hung tight to my ankles. He, an elder, touching my feet!
“Pullamma Devi,” he said, angling his head upward. Tears started to make their way down. “Oh Devi! Oh Goddess incarnate! Thank you for arriving on the earth to bestow your blessings on this innocent life.”
Everyone eyed each other in bewilderment. The groom’s father considered the prone Kondal Rao garu, a frown on his face.
“A miracle! We’re witnessing a miracle!” Kondal Rao tilted to a side, like a prone buffalo raising itself in the mud pond, put a hand on the floor for support and settled on his knees with effort. Then, astonishingly, he began to sway. “We’re witnessing the birth of the Goddess herself!”
The groom’s father lurched in the direction of my feet. I stared down at their heads, not trusting my eyes. This couldn’t be happening. Not to me. I giggled in disbelief as the groom’s party tumbled
at my feet like broken-stringed puppets.
Chapter 8
Chinni Gets Married
Early next morning, I set off for Chinni’s house at the very edge of the village. I was dying to tell her about yesterday’s happenings. Though she was bound to have heard – hard to miss gossip this juicy – only I could give her the details.
Who would have thought Malli’s bride viewing would turn into such a drama? Imagine a powerful politician like Kondal Rao garu falling at my feet! My feet, like I was a holy person or something. As for saying I was a Goddess, that joker oracle – I quickly took God’s name for this disrespectful reference to an elder – was completely mad. Anyone with two functioning eyes in their head could see I was just a normal girl who had to milk that stupid cow twice a day.
Ammamma and Murty garu were going on like something unfortunate had happened. I couldn’t understand why they didn’t see the funny side of it; an elder – a really fat elder – tumbling at my feet. Life in the village could be incredibly boring. Chinni would be so upset she’d missed out on something this exciting. Served her right for not being at the bride viewing. Even as the thought occurred, I knew I was being unfair. Chinni was getting married in five days. As the wedding date drew nearer, her mother grew strict. No loafing about in the village, no getting into mischief, no going out – not even to my house. Her virtue and reputation had to be safeguarded until she was handed over to her in-laws. Bah! Aunty was taking all the fun out of life.
“Tataiyya!” I called out to a classmate’s elderly grandfather, as I hurried past their house.
He peered up into the tree.
Did he think I was perched up there? This Tataiyya was getting to be too much. Growing ancient, but still refusing to wear the hearing aid his grandson had sent all the way from ‘foreign.’
I crept towards old Devamma’s house and aimed a stone at a particularly luscious guava. Crack! I looked at the shattered window in disbelief. I was known throughout the village for my deadly aim; I was better than the boys, even.
I waited fearfully for Devamma to storm out and twist my ear, but all she did was poke her head out, give me a startled look and hurriedly close her doors.
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