“She was upset when she found him dead,” Chetana told Subhadra and Renuka. “But now? She is behaving as if nothing happened.”
“She hurts,” Subhadra said softly. “She hurts so much that she’s afraid to let it show, she’s afraid to feel it.”
More than hurt, guilt besieged Kokila. She had let him die alone and she hoped that he had indeed died as peacefully as he had looked. She had shunned him when he needed her the most. Her heart ached when she remembered the Ramanandam of the past, the smiling, kind, loving Ramanandam. He had been a shriveled old man, lying dead on his bed, peaceful, still, gone. She wished she had let go of her anger before he died. She wished she could have talked to him, they could’ve at least been friends, and she could have said good-bye to him before he passed away.
But she couldn’t go back and change her life. And because she couldn’t, she refused to succumb to the tears that threatened to flow and the sorrow that wanted to overwhelm.
If Chetana had been the subservient and extra-caring daughter-in-law the last time Manikyam was at Tella Meda, this time she was the opposite. She didn’t even talk to Manikyam until Manikyam asked her with bright eyes about the new pregnancy. Chetana was resigned to living in Tella Meda and in the past few years had even come to enjoy it. Ravi had been the wrong choice for a husband, she knew that now, and she accepted that this was her fate and she had to live her life with the load of her decisions.
“I don’t know how all of you tolerated that. It’s so disgusting to even think about. He was such an old man and she . . . she must’ve seduced my poor father,” Manikyam said. Now that Ramanandam’s body had been cremated, it was obviously not right to talk ill of him. The blame had to fall on someone else.
“Seduced?” Chetana asked angrily. “How could Kokila seduce a grown man? Your father went around with prostitutes, and then there was that woman . . . what’s her name, Subhadra? That doctor from the big power factory?”
“Hush,” Subhadra said, and then sighed when Chetana glared at her. “Her name is Dr. Vineetha Raghavan.”
“Oh yes, and what about her? She and your father were very close friends. Poor Kokila, she took care of Sastri Garu. She fed him, washed his clothes, and cleaned up his vomit when he was sick. What seduction? He was years older than her, more experienced. I say she got the short end of the stick, caring for an old man and getting nothing in return but ill talk from the likes of you,” Chetana said in a loud voice.
Manikyam snorted. “This is what I expect a prostitute’s daughter to say. You have no moral values and you don’t understand—”
“Moral values?” Chetana felt more anger surge through her. This woman whose son went around drinking toddy all day and cavorting with whores was talking about her moral values? This woman whose husband was known to have a “small house” at the other end of town was talking about her moral values?
“You were born in sin and you—”
“Why don’t you just shut up?” Chetana said, her eyes now red with rage. Subhadra sighed deeply while Renuka waited gleefully for the action to begin, holding Bhanu close to her as they both watched the scene in fascinated terror.
“How dare you speak with me like this? Do you know who I am?” Manikyam was not about to let some whore’s daughter get away with such a tone of voice. But the whore’s daughter had nothing left to lose.
“I know who you are. You are a woman who cannot accept her own grandchildren because their mother is of a lower caste, and that to me is a lack of moral values. You are a woman whose son sleeps around with every whore in town. You are a woman whose husband has a whore on the side . . . Please, close your mouth, mosquitoes will get inside,” Chetana said, enjoying herself now while Manikyam looked at her openmouthed in shock. “Next time you want to talk about moral values, go someplace where people don’t know you and your family. I married your son and keep house with him, I know all about his moral values. What, you taught him to drink toddy all day long and sleep with prostitutes? Or did he learn that from his father?”
And with that Chetana crossed some imaginary line Manikyam had drawn. The slap was a surprise and Chetana sat in stunned silence alongside Renuka and Subhadra, while Manikyam seemed astonished that her hand had connected with Chetana’s cheek. If it was some other woman, it would have ended there.
As soon as Chetana had her wits about her, she slapped Manikyam right back, hard, her fingers leaving prints on Manikyam’s soft, fat, fair, pockmarked cheek, rocking Manikyam’s jaw.
“Don’t you dare think you can get away with nonsense like this with me,” Chetana said as she left the kitchen, waddling with her seven-months-pregnant belly in front of her.
It was the first laugh Kokila had in months.
“It’s not funny,” Subhadra exclaimed even as laughter threatened to spill out of her. “Poor Manikyam, she didn’t move for almost five minutes. And it didn’t help that Bhanu started clapping and singing that Amma slapped Nannamma. Renuka had to take Bhanu away because she was laughing so hard. I had to sit and console that poor woman. Two of her teeth got loosened.”
Kokila wiped tears from the corners of her eyes. “Manikyam should’ve known that Chetana has enough rage to give Goddess Kali competition.”
Charvi, who had also heard the entire story from a sobbing Manikyam, whom she still refused to speak with, came into the kitchen to talk to Subhadra about the incident.
“It’s not funny,” Subhadra said again, her lips twitching.
“The handprint is still there, shining red against her pale skin. I had to listen to her for an hour, complaining about Chetana and how her teeth are still shaking.” Charvi sighed and sat down on a wooden peetha that was painted yellow and used for sitting on while eating. “It is the most I have felt like laughing since Nanna died.”
As soon as Charvi mentioned her father, Kokila rose to leave the kitchen.
“Kokila, your pain must be very deep,” Charvi said then, and Kokila shook her head.
“I feel no pain,” she said softly.
“Yes, you do,” Charvi said. “No matter what, he was the first man you loved. His departure has left a wound inside your heart.”
“What do you care? You called me—” The words burst out of Kokila as if they had been waiting for the opportunity all along, right there, in the back of her tongue.
“And I’m sorry for that,” Charvi interrupted Kokila and surprised her. “It took his death for me to understand that what you shared with him is something only you could share with him. I could not be that woman to him, though I wanted to be everything to him.”
“He thought a great deal of you,” Kokila said, feeling compelled to give something back. “He respected you. You were the only woman he truly respected.”
“And you the only woman he ever loved,” Charvi said, and then she smiled, a serene smile. “I’m planning to go to Tirupati. After all these pujas and mourning, I feel like visiting Lord Venkateshwara Swami’s home. I would like it very much if you would come with me.”
Kokila stared at Charvi and then at Subhadra, who was smiling even as she wiped tears off her cheeks. This was the reconciliation she had been hoping for, Kokila realized. This was the apology she had been craving for the years since her leprosy scare. A part of her wanted to reject Charvi’s request and get back on her high horse and look at those who lived at Tella Meda with disdain but another part of her, the part that had missed being part of a family, was ready to reconcile.
“I would like that very much,” Kokila said, a small quiver of excitement running through her voice. It was going to be all right; the past would fade and bitterness would go away and she would not be lonely anymore.
“Good. I would like to leave sometime next week, before Rahukalam starts,” Charvi said as she got up. She put a hand on Kokila’s cheek. “And if you could find out about bus and train timings and buy tickets as well, I would be very grateful.”
“She doesn’t need company, just someone to take care of everything w
hile she travels,” Kokila said in amusement once Charvi left the kitchen.
“She could ask anyone for that,” Subhadra said, and she was right. This was Charvi’s way of bringing Kokila back into the family and her way of saying that now that Ramanandam was dead, he didn’t have to be between them.
Chetana insisted on coming along to Tirupati, even though both Charvi and Kokila didn’t think it was wise for her to travel in her condition.
“Women work in construction sites while they’re pregnant and you’re saying I can’t get into a bus and a train? And if I need anything, Kokila is there to take care of me, aren’t you, Kokila?” Chetana said to Subhadra, who protested the loudest.
“I’m not taking care of anyone,” Kokila said firmly. “Everyone will have to take care of themselves. Got it?” She hoped Charvi understood what she was saying but Kokila knew that being a guru for so many years had spoiled Charvi. She didn’t understand that in the real world you took care of yourself. In the real world, people didn’t bring you water and milk when you wanted. In the real world, such people were called servants and they had to be paid to run errands. But Charvi’s world was a strange mixture of truths she had accepted and lies she had come to believe. She wouldn’t be able to grasp what Kokila was saying about everyone taking care of themselves. She really didn’t know what it meant anymore. As the years had passed she had become more and more of a guru, comfortable with her status and with Tella Meda being an ashram, though vocally she would still protest those titles. But everyone knew it was only a farce, a pretense Charvi put up to relive emotions she’d felt as a young woman.
They took a bus from Bheemunipatnam to Visakhapatnam, from where they would take an overnight train to Tirupati. Kokila had made sure that the train tickets she had bought at the bus station allowed for reservation in the ladies’ coupe of the second-class compartment.
In all trains in the second-class compartments there was a coupe, an enclosed room within the open compartment that was reserved for women. You had to have reservations, or have paid enough of a bribe to the conductor, to sit in that compartment.
Usually in trains there would be catering service, even if the food was almost inedible at times, but Charvi would have none of that.
“We will carry food with us,” Charvi instructed. “I don’t like eating outside food.”
So Kokila packed a tiffin carrier with rice, yogurt, pickles, and other items that wouldn’t spoil easily during the journey. They were to stay with Subhadra’s sister, Chandra, in Tirupati. Since Chandra’s daughter’s wedding four years ago, which Subhadra attended, Chandra had become a regular visitor at Tella Meda. She never came with her husband, for obvious reasons, but she would come for a week every year. During the years, some of Subhadra’s blind devotion for Charvi had rubbed off on Chandra, who was certain that a goddess had taken residence within Charvi’s corporeal body.
Subhadra never went to Chandra’s house; she just couldn’t bring herself to. Her sister lived in the same home Subhadra had lived in with her husband. The memories were too painful and she didn’t feel she had the emotional courage to take that step and accept Chandra’s several invitations. But now that Charvi, Kokila, and Chetana were going to stay with Chandra, Subhadra’s heart lightened. She made Chandra’s favorite flour ladoos to take along as a gift, along with chakli and other snacks. Subhadra packed all the food in a good-size aluminum tin that Kokila wanted to complain about but couldn’t find the heart to. Subhadra was unbelievably excited about this trip, almost as if she were going to Tirupati herself. She felt immense pride that Charvi would be visiting her sister and staying in her home when she went to Tirupati.
She had written a letter to Chandra giving her the time of Charvi’s train arrival, so that someone would receive them in the train station. Subhadra had also given strict instructions regarding food, puja in the morning and evening, and how to treat Charvi in general while she was in Tirupati. She is a visiting guru, Subhadra wrote to her sister. Treat her like you would treat Goddess Parvati.
“Why does she need this whole trunk?” Kokila asked as she stared at the black metal trunk Charvi wanted to bring along with her.
“God knows,” Chetana said. “We’ll have to hire coolies everywhere. You and I can’t carry that and she won’t carry anything.”
Ultimately, the journey was a pleasant and easy one. They reached Tirupati at seven in the morning and Chandra, her husband, Shiva, and her eldest son, Madhu, were at the station to receive the visiting guru. All of them touched Charvi’s feet at the train station despite the fact that the holy feet were caked in dirt thanks to the journey. This pleased Charvi immensely.
Two rickshaws were waiting to take them to Chandra’s house.
“Madhu’s wife is expecting their first child in two months,” Chandra told Chetana as they rode in the rickshaw. “When are you due?”
“In two months,” Chetana said, her eyes skirting around the city they had come to. This was her first visit to Tirupati, to a big city besides Visakhapatnam. Tirupati was completely different from Bheemunipatnam, which was really a small coastal village. There was a hubbub in Tirupati, throngs of people clamoring to get to Tirumala, where Lord Venkateshwara Swami’s famous temple was located. There was devotion in the air and the smell of turmeric and kumkum wafted around them along with rotten food, open sewers, and spicy roadside food. Idlis and dosas with sambhar and coconut chutney were being sold by vendors along the train station and Chetana’s pregnant belly was rumbling despite an early breakfast of cold rice and pickle in the train.
Tirupati was surrounded by hills that appeared blue in the morning light. As Chandra talked about the plans she and her husband had made to take their guests to Tirumala, Chetana watched vendors pushing green coconuts, while others were selling fresh coriander and mint leaves. She and Kokila were in awe of the energy they felt in Tirupati.
“There are so many people here,” Kokila said as she washed her feet in Chandra’s backyard. Chandra’s husband had drawn water from the well and filled two buckets for their guests.
“This is such a nice house,” Chetana said. “Subhadra told me that Shiva’s grandfather built it.”
It was a nice house, Kokila agreed. It had a nice front yard secured with a small wooden fence. The gate was made of black metal and had obviously been freshly painted for the holy guest. It had an om design on it. The verandah was large and comfortable, protected from the eyes of those on the street with long coconut-straw mats that hung from the roof.
“We throw water on the mats and the verandah is cool all year around,” Chandra told them as soon as Charvi complained about how hot Tirupati was compared to the seaside.
Beyond the verandah was a nice, big hall with a large radio playing devotional music. A large black-and-white television set was next to the radio. Madhu was doing well at the bank where he worked and Chandra joked that he liked to buy all the new toys. Since it was Madhu who had arranged a loan for a television manufacturing company, the company had rewarded him with a TV at a great discount. But as soon as Charvi spoke of her distaste for the newfangled medium, Chandra swore that they rarely turned the gadget on and it was there just for show.
The kitchen opened into the backyard. Green vegetables grew lushly in a small patch, and a tulasi plant stood center stage in a colorful tall cement pot. There was plenty of room to dry clothes. The bathrooms were situated in the backyard as well, away from the house, as was the norm in old houses. There were four other rooms, used as bedrooms. It was a large house and as she looked around, Chetana wished she had married a man who could’ve given her a normal house and family life like this. She had wanted riches and was now left with nothing. Oh, why couldn’t she have had the life that almost everyone seemed to have? It seemed so easily within grasp but had been elusive for her.
After a breakfast of Charvi’s favorite tamarind rice with fresh yogurt, Charvi went to rest in the cool verandah with Chandra fanning her, while Kokila and Chetana busied thems
elves in the kitchen. They were not the holy guests and it was customary for the women who came to visit to help with the household chores.
In the kitchen, Madhu’s wife, Harini, was making lunch. She smiled shyly when she saw Kokila and Chetana.
“Is Charvi Amma outside? Does she like the verandah?” she asked, her eyes excited.
Chetana sighed at the blatant devotion in Harini’s face and Kokila smiled. Chandra had obviously made sure that her entire family showed and felt respect for Charvi.
“She’s in the verandah and she probably likes it,” Chetana said. “Do you want us to help with something?”
“Why don’t both you pregnant women just sit down while I finish with the cooking?” Kokila suggested, and gently took the knife Harini was using to cut the big green bottlegourd and slid the bowl with the chopped bottlegourd pieces toward her.
“I’ll take some cold coconut water for her. My father-in-law cut some coconuts just this morning,” Harini said, pointing to the coconut trees standing tall in the backyard.
“She’ll like that,” Kokila said.
As soon as Harini stepped out of the kitchen, Chetana snickered. “Next she’ll say Charvi’s able to walk on water.”
“Oh come on, there was a time when you were just as smitten with Charvi,” Kokila reminded Chetana.
“I was a child then. Now I have my own children, so maybe I’m wiser,” she said, smiling. “Poor Charvi, is this all she will have in her life? Mad devotees and Tella Meda? No children, no husband . . . nothing?”
“It’s more than I seem to have,” Kokila said.
Chetana looked stricken. “Just because he died doesn’t mean you’re some lifelong widow. Even if you were married to him, you could find yourself another husband, which is exactly what you should do.”
Kokila shook her head. “The one man I was legally bound to I left. The man I was illicitly seeing died on me. What decent man would want me for his wife?”
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