Manikyam smiled at the thought. She had been craving grandchildren and now one was being made right next to her. She was overjoyed and she was scared of what her husband would do; the two emotions were tearing her into pieces.
“Nanna, you be careful with him,” Manikyam warned Ramanandam. “He’s still very angry about the marriage.”
Ramanandam nodded but he wasn’t overtly concerned. Even though Nageshwar Rao had not abided by Ramanandam’s wishes and accepted his son’s marriage, he still wrote to Ramanandam once in a while and was always polite. Nageshwar Rao was an intelligent man who would never allow his emotions to overrule his etiquette.
The house, as Chetana had seen in photographs Manikyam brought to Tella Meda and imagined in her mind, was opulent. It was all white, with columns in the front verandah, which had a jasmine creeper sprawling over it. Tall coconut trees surrounded the large compound on which the house stood. A temple sat in the middle of the garden with a large marble idol of Shiva in the center. Chetana couldn’t wait to see the inside of the house. Were there fountains inside like there were in rich people’s houses in the movies? Did they have large paintings and vases? Silk cushions and velvet sofas?
Chetana didn’t get the opportunity to find out.
Nageshwar Rao met his uninvited guests at the verandah and seated them there. It was a large verandah with white wicker furniture and comfortable cushions, but it was still an insult. He wasn’t letting Chetana enter his house. When Chetana had to use the bathroom, she was directed to the one outside the house, which was used by servants.
Ramanandam could barely contain his rage.
“It isn’t you,” Nageshwar Rao said, facing Ramanandam. “I can’t accept Ravi’s marriage to this woman and I can’t permit her to soil my house. You know, Sastri Garu, her mother is a common prostitute. We don’t even know who her father is. You are welcome inside, but she’ll have to remain out.”
“None of us will step into your house if she isn’t allowed in,” Ramanandam said. “She’s going to have your grandchild, Nageshwar. How long are you planning to keep this feud going?”
“If I don’t accept the marriage, the legitimacy of this child is already in question,” Nageshwar Rao said, undeterred by Ramanandam’s tone. “Manikyam should’ve known better.”
“You read my books and you appreciate what I write about equality for all. You say you believe in what I say about individuals being allowed to do as they please, women being allowed to do as they please, and yet you can’t accept Chetana as your daughter-in-law?” Ramanandam demanded.
Nageshwar Rao nodded and then spoke gravely. “Your ideas and your ideology are commendable and I respect both you and your work. But that doesn’t mean I welcome them inside my home.”
“You are nothing but a hypocrite,” Ramanandam said. “Let’s go,” he said to Kokila and the others.
“Ravi,” Nageshwar Rao said, “you can stay, but without her.”
Chetana stared at her husband and Kokila stood away from both Chetana and Ramanandam. She felt like screaming at Ramanandam for bringing them all here and making them suffer through this humiliation. She glared at Manikyam, who stood with her head hung low. What did she care? Her husband would forgive her, but Chetana . . . Kokila felt a shaft of pain within her when she saw Chetana go pale as she looked at Ravi with unblinking eyes.
“I’ll stay,” Ravi said, and walked into his father’s house without looking back at his wife, seven months pregnant with his child.
1974 18 May 1974. The first underground atomic device explosion by India was carried out successfully near Pokhran in Rajasthan (Thar Desert) at 8:05 AM. India was the sixth nation to explode an atomic bomb.
The Good Wife
Ananta Devi had heard from a friend that Charvi could make a barren woman fertile, and Ananta Devi was craving a male child because her husband was craving one. Afraid that he’d leave her and find a new wife, Ananta Devi along with her six-year-old daughter, Manasa, decided to travel all the way from Hyderabad to Bheemunipatnam to experience Charvi’s magic.
Ananta Devi had been to fertility doctors, saints, sadhus, Babas, anyone she could think of to make her pregnant again. She prayed at the temple once every day and kept a fast once a week and sometimes twice a week to convince the gods to bless her with another child, a male child.
The first time, she had gotten pregnant easily. She had been married less than three months when her monthlies stopped and the nausea began. Now if only Manasa had been a boy, she wouldn’t have been this frantic. But Manasa was a girl and everyone knew girls were the property of others. She and her husband needed a male child, an heir. Her womb refused to make another baby. It was wrecking her marriage. Her young daughter was also starting to notice that her father wasn’t interested in her and her mother was always depressed, always praying at the temple or performing elaborate pujas at home. Ananta Devi’s faith in God was unshakable and she was sure that if she prayed enough, Lord Shiva or Lord Vishnu or Goddess Parvati would grant her the boon of a male child.
Growing up suffocated by her father’s disinterest and her mother’s obsession for a male child, Manasa had already become an introvert. She kept to herself. She didn’t play much, just followed her mother like a little dog and did as she was told.
Kokila’s heart went out to Manasa when mother and daughter arrived at Tella Meda. She was a beautiful little girl who realized that she was unwanted by both her parents. But all was not lost, Kokila discovered; there was still a spark inside the girl.
Despite saying that all people are equal, Charvi usually gave special attention to celebrities and the wealthy when they came to Tella Meda to pay her their respects. She probably didn’t even realize that she discriminated but those around her did. Kokila didn’t complain. Happy rich people meant fatter envelopes at the end of their stay and more money and gifts in future months if their wishes came true.
Charvi sat in the temple room with Ananta Devi and Manasa while Kokila stood at the doorway watching. Charvi put her hand on Ananta Devi’s belly and chanted prayers. In the past years the demure Charvi who had shied away from anyone calling her a guru had changed. She still told everyone, politely, that she wasn’t a guru but she had also started playacting. She would put her hand on barren bellies, aching heads, and hearts. She believed she had the power to heal. Not everyone who left Tella Meda wrote back letters thanking Charvi—in fact, most did not—but those who did were remembered and created an illusion of Charvi’s godliness and successful healing powers.
“Ananta, your womb is rich, I see no reason why you shouldn’t have another child,” Charvi said, and Kokila had to hold back a snort. How would Charvi know whose womb was rich or not?
“But it has been six years now,” Ananta Devi said, biting her lip as tears fell down her cheeks. “My husband is losing patience and I’m afraid he’ll discard me and find a second wife to bear him a son.”
Oh, to say such things in front of a child, Kokila thought as she looked at Manasa, who didn’t respond to what her mother said. But even if she heard it a hundred times it probably didn’t make it easy for her to live with the knowledge that if her mother didn’t produce a brother, Manasa would be cast away along with her.
“We’ll do the Maha Devi puja. You must keep your eyes closed and focus on Goddess Parvati. She is a benevolent goddess and will listen to your prayers,” Charvi said, and then continued to chant Sanskrit slokas.
“Manasa, did you hear?” Ananta Devi demanded in a loud whisper, and her daughter nodded. “Pray to Maha Devi and ask for a brother. Okay?”
Manasa also folded her hands like her mother, but opened her eyes in the middle of the puja and looked around with pure glee. Her eyes fell on Kokila and she shut them tightly, afraid that she’d been caught. Ah, there is the spark, Kokila thought with a smile. She was being naughty, and Kokila was pleased that Manasa’s selfish parents had not destroyed the child in her completely.
Looking at Manasa, Kokila wondered ab
out Chetana’s six-month-old daughter. Chetana had named her Bhanumati at Charvi’s insistence.
“Manikyam will be pleased if you name your daughter after our mother,” Charvi had coaxed. Charvi didn’t speak much of her pious mother, though she kept an old black-and-white photograph of her in her room. It was obvious that she deeply respected and loved the mother she hadn’t known very well.
Chetana had been too depressed to argue. Manikyam wrote a letter to Charvi explaining the situation. A lawyer had been hired to nullify Ravi and Chetana’s marriage and a new match was being arranged for Ravi. Nageshwar Rao’s sister had a daughter of marriageable age and she was still willing to marry her off to Ravi, despite his recent es capade with a prostitute’s daughter.
Dear Charvi,
I am deeply wounded by what happened. But with Ravi also claiming that maybe the child is not his, I’m recovering from the incident. As my husband said, the marriage is not really valid, therefore how can the child be? And we have to consider Chetana’s background. If her own husband is casting doubt on her fidelity, who are we to think otherwise? I hope Chetana will find refuge along with her daughter at Tella Meda as so many others have. Please tell Chetana that she can keep the gold bangles. When I gave them to her I thought she was my daughter-in-law and even though now I don’t, I would like her to have them.
Ravi has started college and is getting ready for his wedding. We hope that you and Nanna will come and bless the couple. Anuradha is a very nice girl and we are very happy that she will be our daughter-in-law. Please give my regards to Nanna, Subhadra, and everyone else. I hope to visit Tella Meda soon.
Your ever-loving sister, Manikyam
Charvi wrote back a scathing response.
Dear Manikyam Akka,
It pains me to read your letter. Its contents are jarring. Ravi and Chetana were married and set up household in Tella Meda, under my roof. Ravi’s claim that Bhanu is not his daughter is false and I can’t believe you are perpetuating this lie. I expected Ravi to say and do many things, even leave his wife and child, but to accuse Chetana of infidelity makes him, in my eyes, subhuman.
You and your husband have your karma to contend with. As you know, Venkateshwara Swami watches everyone and we all pay for our sins and receive rewards for our good deeds. Happiness will not be at your doorstep, I can assure you, no matter whom you marry Ravi off to. What you’re doing to Chetana is morally wrong and I will not associate with you or your husband anymore. Please do not come to Tella Meda again, as you are not welcome.
Nanna does not send you his regards and we’re all insulted and humiliated at your and your husband’s behavior. Goodness must indeed be dead in this world if you will cast away a grandchild because of her mother’s caste and family background. You and I grew up in the same house, yet I find that I don’t know you at all and don’t care to know you anymore either.
Charvi
Manikyam wrote many more letters pleading for Charvi to forgive her but staunchly maintained that Bhanu was not her granddaughter. Charvi never spoke to her again.
Chetana just lay in her bed all day, staring at the ceiling. She had moved back in with Kokila and Bhanu slept with Chetana on some occasions. Usually, it was Renuka who took care of Bhanu.
It all started when Chetana didn’t respond to a crying Bhanu, who was then just three months old, for almost an hour. Unable to stand the cries of the baby any longer, Renuka went inside Chetana’s room, where she lay next to the baby, not picking her up or comforting her.
Renuka picked up Bhanu, who wailed some more. “The poor girl is hungry,” Renuka said acidly. “Come on, Chetana, feed her.”
“I don’t want to,” Chetana said calmly. “You can feed her if you want or leave her here. She will shut up when she falls asleep.”
Horrified that a mother could be so cold, Renuka took Bhanu to the kitchen and angrily told Subhadra what Chetana was doing.
“Thin milk for now,” Subhadra suggested nervously, and quickly mixed some milk with water.
“How do we feed her?” Renuka asked, speaking loudly to be heard over Bhanu’s hungry cries.
“A spoon . . . a small spoon,” Subhadra said, and picked up the brass one used to give everyone holy water.
Both women sat down on the floor and tried to feed Bhanu with the spoon. The first few attempts were futile, as the milk flowed down Bhanu’s chin, but slowly Bhanu started to slurp the milk with her small rosebud mouth and stopped crying.
After Bhanu was fed, Kokila was immediately sent to the market to buy formula and a bottle with a nipple. The formula was expensive but for once no one at Tella Meda seemed to care about the cost. The baby’s health was of paramount importance. Two bottles with nipples were bought and Subhadra sterilized them every night by putting them in boiling water. Everyone who wanted to pick up Bhanu had to wash their hands. Bhanu’s clothes were washed separately from other clothes with a soft detergent.
Not willing to leave Bhanu with the disinterested Chetana, Renuka started to put Bhanu to sleep in the kitchen in one of the wicker baskets used to carry fruit during the day. She made a bed with white towels and muslin for the baby. Soon all the baby supplies that were in Chetana’s room were moved to Renuka’s as Bhanu started sleeping there at night.
Having a child to take care of altered Renuka’s personality. The bitter widow who had come to Tella Meda became a loving though strict guardian to Bhanu.
Kokila was disappointed. She had expected Chetana to be a wonderful, caring mother, everything Ambika was not, but Chetana was just as callous. Kokila had tried to reason with Chetana but a severe depression claimed her and she was beyond reason. Chetana rarely ate or took a bath. She just lay in the bed staring at the wall or out of the window with blind eyes.
Kokila wanted to talk about the problem with Ramanandam, but he wasn’t interested in hearing about the Tella Meda “gossip,” as he put it.
Their age difference struck Kokila the most when he wouldn’t listen to her problems and would instead talk about the larger issues regarding how the nation was dealing with one matter or other. He talked about politics and government and the enemies at the borders of India. Kokila didn’t care about any of that. She had lived in the closed world of Tella Meda for so long that the larger issues of the world weren’t relevant to her. She needed to talk to someone about waiting in the ration line for over two hours only to find that there was no sugar left. She needed to talk to someone about paying double to Puttamma’s new husband (the fourth or fifth, she wasn’t sure) for sugar, which he sold on the black market along with other essentials such as rice and oil.
She needed Ramanandam to listen to her talk about Chetana and how Bhanu was growing up without any attention from her mother. She needed him to listen to her and not just talk all the time. At times when he would drone on about the Congress Party or, worse, about his days in jail during the British Raj, Kokila had to resist the impulse to ask him to shut up.
Running Tella Meda, keeping track of guests both expected and unexpected, and helping with the cooking and cleaning was a full-time job for Kokila. Between that and making papads for Kanka Lakshmi, Kokila could not spend an appropriate amount of time worrying about Ramanandam’s detachment from the real world or Chetana’s detachment from her own flesh and blood.
Bhanu was growing up well, learning how to sit and trying to crawl. She was a lovely little girl, one who would never grow up to be as pretty as her mother, but she would be pleasant-looking. Kokila couldn’t understand how anyone could think that Bhanu was not Ravi’s daughter. She had Ravi’s mouth and Manikyam’s eyes and she smiled just like Ramanandam. She was a vocal child and made loud noises as she played by herself in the kitchen and the temple room while Renuka and Subhadra worked.
Charvi also spent a lot of time with Bhanu, talking to her, singing to her, letting her bang on the tabla and harmonium in the music room. Charvi had an abundance of patience with Bhanu. But Charvi’s main concern was how Chetana was disappearing into
herself with every passing day. She tried to help Chetana but besides getting a polite smile and nod, Charvi didn’t get very far.
Kokila worried about Bhanu more than she did about Chetana. Would Bhanu grow up wondering why her mother couldn’t love her? How could Chetana not be interested? If Bhanu were hers, Kokila knew, she would never let anyone take her girl away from her. As such, she contented herself with fighting to hold Bhanu and give her a bath. Renuka was a possessive surrogate mother. Bhanu wasn’t getting her mother’s love but she had enough mothers in Tella Meda to be happy and content, at least for now, until she grew old enough to see what was happening with her real mother.
Manasa didn’t have Bhanu’s luck. Her mother barely noticed her. She was too busy trying to have a son and there were no surrogates to take the role of mother with Manasa.
“Maybe if she stayed with her husband and kept household with him, she would get pregnant,” Subhadra commented angrily when Manasa was shushed for speaking while Charvi imparted words of wisdom to Ananta Devi. The girl barely spoke and even when she did she was silenced. “Going to saints and sadhus is not going to get her pregnant.”
“Manasa, come here,” Kokila called out to the girl, who was sitting at the dining table in the verandah, listening to Charvi talk with her mother. “Do you want some ladoo?”
Manasa pursed her lips and looked at her mother expectantly. She waited for almost five minutes for her mother to say something, to at least look away from Charvi. Then she just rose and ran to Kokila.
“Is it coconut ladoo? I don’t like boondi ladoo, ” Manasa said belligerently.
She knew her mother was too engrossed in whatever it was Charvi was saying. Her mother was always engrossed in what everyone was saying. Why wouldn’t God just give her a baby boy?
Manasa didn’t really want a brother but tried to want one because her parents wanted one so much. Her father would yell at her mother and call her a no-good wife and they would fight all the time. Ananta Devi might bow her head in front of sadhus and gurus, but at home she fought with her husband with great passion. He would then storm out of the house while Ananta Devi would cry and yell at Manasa for being a girl. So whenever her parents would have a fight, Manasa would hide someplace where her mother wouldn’t be able to find her.
Song of the Cuckoo Bird Page 14