Jhampiah, the day labourer who’d warned us away from Kondal Rao even before Malli’s bride viewing.
“My son is appearing for his tenth class exams. Please help him pass in First Class.”
I looked at my primary schoolteacher in shock. But he was focussed on my feet.
“I have bought a new tractor. Please bless it.”
Lakshmi garu’s neighbour.
Each request tightened the pressure around my head, till it felt ready to explode. These poor, trusting souls! I hoped their faith alone would get them through – I was certainly not in a position to do anything for them. To each person, I gave something. A flower to the women, a fruit to the men. All of them touched the offering to their eyes and gratefully accepted the blessings.
By the time I went through the initial two hundred people, and the others that had lined up outside, it was close to two o’clock. The headache, which had begun at seven in the morning, was now raging. I was hungry, and tired, and getting cranky.
Kondal Rao had left, fortunately.
I indicated with a finger that the courtyard gates were to be shut.
The priest started forward, but already more people were lining up at the gate.
I was close to tears, and trying hard not to show it.
Ammamma walked across and put her hand on my shoulder. “Ammavaru is preparing to go into dhyanam. She will see other devotees only after her meditation is complete.”
“What time shall we open the gates?” the priest asked.
“Six in the evening,” Ammamma said, jerking her head in emphasis. “Not a minute before. After the puja, Ammavaru will give audience until eight o’clock this evening. Then again next morning from seven until eleven a.m. Same timings every day. Sundays, she will not see anyone.”
The priest shut the gate. That left him and four or five other devotees in the courtyard.
“Come,” Ammamma said, helping me up.
By now, my joints were so stiff, I could have sworn they creaked. My head felt heavy from the burden of my devotees’ torment.
Ammamma led me to the front room.
A couple of women devotees stood by the door. They bowed in respect. “My name is Sarala,” one of them said. “We want to make sure Ammavaru is comfortable.”
“I sincerely thank you for it,” Ammamma said. “But I can take care of my granddaughter. You may go back to your houses, and rest till the evening.”
Sarala bowed again. “I humbly request that we be allowed to take over the functioning of the ashram.”
My grandmother’s house, a public ashram!
“With your permission,” Sarala continued, “we will start by taking charge of the kitchen. We would like to make daily meals for Ammavaru and yourself, and the prasadams for each puja.”
Wordlessly, Ammamma handed over the keys to the kitchen.
“May we bring you tea?” Sarala asked.
“Please knock once, and leave it outside,” Ammamma said, thanking them. Then she locked the door to the front room. Finally, Ammamma and I had the front room and the bedroom to ourselves.
I reached for papier mâché globe Srikar had bought me, and dragged a stool.
“What are you doing?” Ammamma rushed forward.
“Putting this up.” I showed her the globe.
“I can see that. But you’re so tired. Why now?”
“I need this to get through the days. Srikar bought it for me.”
Ammamma looked stricken.
I tied the globe to a hook on the ceiling, and hobbled to the bed, feeling as if I had aged rapidly.
Five minutes later, there was a single knock at the door.
Ammamma brought in the tray, with tea and snacks on it, but I was too exhausted to eat.
I fell face forward onto the bed and broke down.
Ammamma sat on the edge of the narrow bed, rubbing my back in circular motions.
“This is just not right, Ammamma,” I said through sobs. “We are cheating decent, God-loving people. This is just not right.”
“I know, Child,” Ammamma said. “I know.”
I swiped my face with the back of my hand and sat up. “How do we make this right?”
“Just because my hair has turned white doesn’t mean I have any more wisdom than you.”
“We have to do something, Ammamma. We cannot be frauds. God will punish us badly, I know he will.”
“Cheating is when we knowingly do something wrong. In our case, we didn’t choose to do this. In fact, we tried our best not to get in this position.” Ammamma gazed at me steadily. “You know what I think? I think this is God’s will. Having been placed in this position, we have to do what we are destined to do with clean, pure hearts. I am sure we will pass this test.”
“But what about my husband?” I asked, throat hurting. “He doesn’t deserve this.”
“He is an honourable man,” Ammamma agreed, eyes tearing up. “He lent you support when everyone else was ready to let you fall by the wayside.”
“What about him, Ammamma?” I asked, starting to cry again. “How does he fit in God’s plans?”
“I wish I knew, Child,” Ammamma said, holding me tightly, “I wish I knew.”
We held on to each other and cried, because we could do nothing else.
Chapter 26
Lata Has No Options
Kondal Rao, with all the resources he had at his disposal, hadn’t been able to track Venkatesh down. Ammamma, Lata and I sat in our courtyard after the gates had been locked up for the night, trying to find a way out of this nightmare.
Ammamma said, “Since we haven’t been able to find any trace of Venkatesh –”
Lata cut in, “Pray, enlighten me, what new plan do you have for my life?” Bitterness gave her voice an edge.
Ammamma winced. “Kondal Rao sent word that he has found another groom for you.”
“I’ll be sure to fall at his feet the next time I see him.”
“Please, Lata,” she said wearily. “You should be grateful he even found someone to marry you, you being...” Ammamma’s voice trailed away.
“Soiled goods? With some else’s child? Not rich enough? Which of the three, hanh? Or is it all of them?”
When Ammamma didn’t say anything, Lata asked, “And who is this upright citizen, might I ask?”
“Narasu.”
Lata opened her mouth, then shut it.
“The school peon?” I was shocked. “My God, Ammamma! He is just an uneducated lout. Cleaning blackboards, and making tea for teachers is all he is good for.”
Our time in school had been spent trying to dodge his too-familiar hands and shifty eyes. Why, he had to be at least thirty years old! Was he so desperate he’d marry a fallen girl? I put my hand on Lata’s shoulder in support, but she pushed me away. Her face was white. “Ammamma, the only time he saw the inside of a class was when he came in to dust and sweep. He couldn’t tell one end of a pencil from the other.”
“He is 4th class fail.” Ammamma’s voice was diffident.
“And that makes it okay? While I’ve passed my 12th class with distinction?” She dared Ammamma to deny the huge difference in education.
Ammamma didn’t even try. “But that other boy – Venkatesh – he wasn’t educated, either.”
“Yes, but he’d agreed to let me study.”
I didn’t want to point out the obvious – it was easy to agree to anything at all when you had no intention of seeing it through.
><
In the early hours of the following morning, Lata miscarried.
Ammamma rushed Lata to the hospital. From there she sent word to Sarala to shut the ashram down for ten days on account of my meditation. The two returned from the hospital on the third day.
Lakshmi garu came over as we were helping Lata to a cot on the veranda. “How are you?”
“Never felt better.” Lata rolled over to a side, raised her knees up to her stomach, and moaned.
“Be grateful the product of your sin
is now purged from your womb.”
Lata buried her head in the pillow.
“Too bad you can no longer have children.”
No response.
“Lata?” Lakshmi garu was persistent, if nothing else.
“What?”
“Aren’t you going to inform your would-be husband’s family that you are barren?”
Lata raised her head. “You aren’t still expecting me to marry that bum?”
“That bum, as you call him, is doing you a favour. Who else would marry a fallen girl like you?”
“I’m blessed.” Lata whimpered, her face dotting with sweat.
Why had Narasu agreed to marry Lata? He was a man; surely it couldn’t be hard for him to find a bride? Whatever his reasons, we could only be grateful he’d agreed to provide Lata with the protection of a married name.
“It couldn’t have been easy for Kondal Rao garu to find you a groom, in your condition.”
“My heart breaks on his behalf.”
“You can’t back out now, just because... you know. He’ll lose face.”
“Ammamma,” Lata said through gritted teeth, “just bash my head in. End my agony.”
“Lakshmi,” Ammamma said tiredly. “Perhaps you can come back later?”
“I was only trying to help. Didn’t I lend you my son, and my tractor for two days?”
“And I’m very grateful to you for it. It’s just that Lata is in so much pain.”
Lakshmi garu sniffed, and flounced out.
“Pullamma, help me up,” Lata demanded.
I settled her against the pillow.
“Now that there’s no baby, there is no reason for me to get married.”
Ammamma wouldn’t meet Lata’s eyes.
“Ammamma? You talked to Kondal Rao, didn’t you?”
She nodded miserably.
“And?”
“He said he has already paid the caterer a deposit for five hundred people. Can’t back out now.”
“You’re joking, right?” Lata was incredulous. She turned to me. “Pullamma. You’re a Goddess. Can’t you do something?”
“She’s a Goddess, not a magician.” Ammamma’s shoulders slumped. “Kondal Rao said after your folly, you have no choice but to get married to whoever will have you. He said, no tricks, or we could expect serious consequences.”
I was bitter. If fate had to have miscarriage in store for Lata, why couldn’t it have been sooner, before Kondal Rao got wind of it? I could have been back with Srikar by now. As it were, we were forced into postponing the wedding to give Lata the time to recover.
But get married she must.
><
Gopal, the devotee who had been managing the collections, came to me a few days before the wedding. He fell at my feet, face streaked with tears. “Ammavaru. I don’t know how to tell you this.”
I bade him up and said, “Please, have no fear. Tell me.”
“Five hundred rupees have disappeared from the collections.”
I was stunned. “How could that be?”
Gopal wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“You have some knowledge of this, I take it.”
“How can I say such a thing in your presence?” He looked down at his hands.
“You won’t be held responsible, I promise you.” Even a month ago I couldn’t have imagined saying something like this to a person older than me.
“Lata madam…” his voice trailed off.
God, No!
In the three weeks since I’d returned, collections had been pouring in.
As she recovered from the miscarriage, Lata watched the money pile up, as the devotees lined up. “Since you’re forcing me into marriage, you might as well increase my dowry.”
“No.” Ammamma was firm. “This money is meant for God.”
“For God, or for the Goddess’s grandmother?” Lata said, her voice hard. “I can see the quality of your own life has gone up.”
Ammamma struggled for control. Probably because she wasn’t in a position to defend herself. The devotees had indeed spent some of that money on making improvements around the house. Our protests were ignored.
Now, as I looked at the troubled Gopal, I had no reason to doubt him. He was a hard working devotee. I sighed. “I will deal with this.”
Visibly relieved, he bowed and left.
After dinner, I broached the topic. “Lata, Gopal came to me today to discuss the finances.”
Ammamma looked curious.
“For someone who had no interest in studies,” Lata said, “you’ve been using an awful lot of big words.”
“Lata, please,” I said wearily, rubbing my neck.
“Did he come by to tattle about the money?” At the look on my face, she said, “Oh, he did, hanh?” She flicked her braid over the shoulder. “I took it. So what? It’s not like you are going to miss a measly five hundred.”
“Five hundred rupees!” Ammamma clutched her chest. “You stole five hundred rupees?”
“Bah! Not like the Goddess can’t afford it.”
“Lata!”
“I gave it to my future in-laws to buy a few household necessities, okay? It’s not like you, or those pathetic creatures that are going to be my in-laws, are sinning directly. Besides, who is going to miss the money?”
“That’s not the point. It is stealing. That, too, from God.” Ammamma’s face became so red, I was afraid she was going to have a heart attack.
“Oh, I need a lesson in morality now?” Lata’s face was tight with fury.
Before I could stop her, Ammamma picked up the broomstick, and started to thrash Lata with it.
Lata was so shocked by this unexpected assault, she didn’t move for a second. Then she started shouting. “Stop her! Stop her! She has gone mad.”
But the relatives and friends helping us prepare for the wedding had left for the day.
“Ammamma, it’s been only two weeks since the miscarriage,” I begged.
Lata tried to dodge the broom, but Ammamma was like a raging bull. Lata tripped and fell.
“Want more money?” Ammamma said, panting, “I’ll give you more money, you ungrateful wretch!”
By the time I was able to wrest the broom away, Ammamma was spent. She collapsed to the floor crying.
Lata lay on the ground, hands up to ward off the blows. Angry tears flowed down her cheeks. Her hair was in wild disarray, her lips in an ugly twist. “You… you…” She was so angry she couldn’t form a coherent sentence.
I went up to her, thanking the Gods above that no one had been there to witness this madness that was tearing my family apart. I tried to help her to a chair, but she turned on me. “Didn’t you and that cow-faced friend of yours always say – help arrange a wedding, even if you have to tell a thousand lies to do so? That was forgotten in a hurry, wasn’t it?”
I never realized how much Chinni and I had wounded Lata with our teasing.
She turned on Ammamma, face venomous. “I will never forgive you for this. Never.” She stormed out of the room, aiming a vicious kick at the door.
My heart thumped in tune with the vibration of the door. I sank onto the floor next to Ammamma and put my hand on her back.
She raised her head. “Where did I go wrong?” Grabbing my hands, she begged, “Tell me, Pullamma. What I did – was it so wrong? I was trying to do right by my dead daughter. I swear on that Yedukondalavada – may he knock me dead if I’m lying – I never desired anything for myself. All I wanted was for her daughters to settle well.”
I helped Ammamma up and held her tightly. “Don’t, Ammamma. You did no different than any other grandparent. You can’t hold yourself responsible for other people’s actions, even a granddaughter’s.”
Ammamma pushed herself back, panic in her eyes. “Watch out for that one, Pullamma. Don’t let her get away with things just because she is your sister. You know the saying – atta sommu, alludu daanam?” Literally mother-in-law’s property, son-in-law donates; Ammamma was referring to p
eople who took credit for charity by donating what did not belong to them.
When I nodded, Ammamma said, “It kills me to say such a thing of my own grandchild, but she is the kind who will accept offerings in your name, and spend it without a second thought, and stab you in the back while she is at it.”
Chapter 27
Lata Is Married Off
From the corner of the stage, I watched my sister get married, wishing it were Chinni’s wedding I were attending. But Chinni was long gone, married and settled – happily, I hoped – in Kurnool.
After that terrible fight, Lata and Ammamma hadn’t exchanged a single word. It didn’t help that despite her miscarriage, Lata wasn’t allowed to back out of the wedding. What a terrible position for a girl to be in. Ammamma’s position wasn’t much better, though Lata didn’t seem to realize it – after having settled this alliance with all the drama leading up to it, Kondal Rao wouldn’t allow loss of face. This wedding, after all, was to be a showcase for his munificence.
Help arrange a wedding, even if you have to tell a thousand lies to do so.
I gave a short laugh. We’d certainly told a lot of lies, some of omission, others more direct, to get to where we were – Lata’s wedding. My heart clutched – was my own wedding based on a thousand lies? A thousand devotees did not know I was married, a thousand people lied to. Would Srikar and I pay for it? Forcing my thoughts away from my husband, I wondered if any of the ancient sayings covered my little Goddess problem.
The ornate carving of the armchair I sat in dug into my sides through the three or four really expensive silk saris draped over the back and sides. There was a time when I would have swooned over the saris; now they only made me sweat in the back. I would have happily given up a hundred such saris to be with Srikar again.
I couldn’t help but compare this fancy wedding, with its five hundred attendees, with that of my own, where the only participants had been Headmaster garu, the registrar, Srikar and I. Other than missing Ammamma, Chinni and my sisters, I wouldn’t have had it any other way. Srikar – no, I wouldn’t think about him now, or I would fall apart, devotees or not.
Lata, sitting cross-legged on the raised platform, stared glassy-eyed at the sacred fire in front, her lips a straight line. Her husband-to-be sat next to her, following the priest’s directions to pour more ghee into the fire.
Tell A Thousand Lies Page 13
