Tell A Thousand Lies

by Rasana Atreya

  “Vanita.” I waved to an old friend walking towards me.

  Vanita suddenly veered towards the temple.

  Had everyone lost their hearing today?

  I walked towards Chinni’s, feeling sad. Summer on its way and Chinni wouldn’t be around for it. Life was just not fair.

  We’d spent our entire school life waiting for summer, and with it, the freedom from the tyranny of school – no lectures from the Master, no homework.

  By the time March rolled around, we were quite beside ourselves in anticipation. Shimmering waves of heat rose from the parched earth. Even the cows couldn’t be bothered to moo. This was when Chinni and I were at our best, or some might say, our worst.

  Our families never had the money for frivolous things, but neither did most of the villagers. Cinema was our great escape. Sunday evenings, films were screened under the banyan tree in the village square. The films were projected on the flat wall of our village sarpanch’s double-storied house. Come time for re-election, no one forgot whose wall it was the movies were screened on.

  Most popular were the movies starring the Telugu superstar Chiranjeevi. Each time he made an appearance on the screen, the village boys screamed themselves hoarse. We pretended to be above such immature behaviour but, of course, we were waiting for the raunchy, high energy songs that were his trademark. For the suggestive kissing behind big flowers, for the lewd, heroine's-bottom-smacking dances Chiranjeevi's movies were so famous for.

  For movie watching all of us sat on the ground, men on the right, women on the left, a pathway in between. Village elders, along with the rich and the powerful, sat on chairs positioned for the best viewing. The projector was placed way in the back, behind the audience. Each time someone got up to move about, their shadow blocked the hero's knee or the heroine's backside onscreen, causing the audience to boo out its displeasure. If the cinema was particularly serious or boring, or if an especially embarrassing scene came on and the audience began to fidget – an intimate scene between the hero and the heroine, for example – we pretended to get up for the bathroom, giggling as the indignant booing started.

  Our antics made Lata mad. "Can't you immature creatures control yourself for two-and-a-half hours?" she hissed.

  After a while, this became a game for the two of us – the more engrossed the audience, the greater the challenge to position our heads so the obstruction was the funniest.

  ><

  I sighed. No more fun at the movies; my best friend was getting married and moving away.

  I sidled past the whiskey-chicken oracle’s house, not particularly wanting to encounter the crackpot. Not after what she’d done at my sister’s bride viewing.

  I walked past the Durga temple, where I could hear chanting. A couple went by, doubles on a bicycle, the woman sitting demurely on the crossbar, both legs to one side. Neither looked at me. A child ran past, raising dust on the un-tarred road. I sneezed.

  I finally reached Chinni's street. Their lane was narrow, as were most in the village. Open gutters lined either side of the lane, with narrow footbridges leading up to each of the houses. I stopped in front of Chinni’s and took a deep breath. Her house was sure to be filled with people busy with the wedding preparations, but I couldn’t wait for everyone to leave. The best I could do was to go through the back door. I circled behind, eyes half-closed, trying not to look at the ancient Kali temple perched on the rocky cliff above. It was rumoured that human sacrifices had been performed on the temple premises in the days kings did such things. Children whispered of spirits of those unfortunate souls still haunting the area. A few boys assured us that grinning, half-buried skulls littered the back of the temple. Chinni and I often talked about checking this out for ourselves, but we were too scared to even let our glance graze the temple (though I’d die before I admitted this to anyone).

  I knocked at the door. Chinni's mother opened it. I gave her a distracted smile, and tried to walk past.

  “Wait, Pullamma,” she said.

  “Hanh? Oh. What is it, Aunty?”

  “Chinni is getting married in five days.”

  “I know.” I gave her an uncertain smile. Was something wrong with her, too?

  “I am a poor widow,” Aunty said. “If Chinni's wedding gets cancelled, I won’t be able to fix it again.”

  I looked at her, puzzled. “Why should it get cancelled? Is the boy’s party demanding more money?”

  “Bad things are happening.”

  I cocked my head, checking Aunty out carefully. Was Chinni’s upcoming wedding making her mad? “I don’t understand all this,” I said impatiently. “I have something important to tell Chinni. Can I go in?”

  “No!”

  I froze.

  “There is talk about you in the village.”

  “What kind of talk?” I was getting a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  “I can’t afford to let any scandal touch my Chinni. Not this close to the wedding.” She averted her eyes.

  That silly incident at Malli’s bride-viewing, where Kondal Rao garu had actually believed I was a Goddess!

  Now the behaviour of the villagers began to make sense. “Aunty,” I said. “You know I’m no Goddess. And even if I were, Goddesses are revered. They are not like oracles, who make such a spectacle of themselves.”

  “Who knows what you are – an oracle, or a Goddess, or even the devil? I can’t afford to give the groom’s side any reason to withdraw their proposal.”

  Shocked at her words, I peered past the door.

  Chinni stood in the back, a stricken look on her face.

  “Aunty,” I begged, “you have known me all my life. How could you –”

  “Pullamma.” Aunty’s face was hard. “Please.”

  “Will you at least let me say something to Chinni?”

  “Say it from here.” Aunty pulled the door closer, leaving enough space that I could see Chinni, but not so much that I could step inside their house.

  “Chinni, do you believe what they are saying about me?”

  Chinni wouldn't meet my eyes, though I could see her shoulders shake.

  My chest got so tight, it hurt to breathe.

  Chinni and I had been friends since we were babies, since the time her newly widowed mother came to my house to learn tailoring from Ammamma, five month-old Chinni in tow. She and I had learned to crawl together. We’d shared our first meal ever on the same plate and had been fast friends since. We had spent long, hot summers in each others' houses, eating raw mangoes with salt and chilli powder, squealing when the sourness spiked its way to the backs of our jaws. We’d planned important roles for ourselves in each others’ weddings. Our children were going to be close as cousins; closer even.

  “Well, then,” I said, the back of my throat tight with unshed tears. “May that Yedukondalavada shower his benevolence upon you.”

  Chinni didn’t look up.

  I turned away from a lifetime of shared confidences. I had thought it bad enough that Chinni was leaving the village. How much worse that she was leaving my life.

  Outside, I looked up defiantly at the Kali temple. The ascent was steep, the stone walls a stark black. A sharp contrast to the green and brown earth below.

  Do your best, I sneered at the Goddess above.

  In the blindingly bright sky, puffy white clouds sailed by. I thought of the days Chinni and I had lain on our backs in my courtyard, looking at the fat clouds, making up improbable stories about the shapes and giggling ourselves silly, while Lata sat in a distant corner, shaking her head at our foolishness.

  I rubbed a hand over my chest, forcing myself to take shallow breaths.

  How could everything on the outside remain so normal, when everything on the inside had died?

  Chapter 9

  Headmaster Comes By

  I have no memory of how I got home. Lurching onto the veranda edging the train-compartment rooms that comprised our house, I curled up into a tight ball.

  “What happ
ened, Child?” Ammamma asked, feeling my forehead.

  Unable to get any words out, I tried to drag the free end of my half-sari over my head, but shook so hard I gave up. In desperation, I turned on my stomach and tried to burrow my head in the cold cemented floor.

  “Pullamma?” Ammamma sounded scared.

  “Chinni,” I choked out. “Doesn’t want me at her wedding.” My teeth started to chatter.

  “Proper Krishna-Kucheludu the two of you were, weren’t you?” Lata clapped her hands together in emphasis. “Great friends who get stories written about them. The slightest puff of gossip, and your bosom buddy washes her hands of an epic friendship.”

  “Lata!” Ammamma said.

  “Where’s your precious friend now, hanh? So scared for her reputation that she kept her best friend away from her own wedding?”

  I sat up, dismayed. I’d always assumed Lata had no use for friends. It shook me to realize she might be jealous of my friendship with Chinni. Where was Malli when I needed her? I wished Ammamma had not sent her off to a relative’s house to protect her from the gossip arising from The Incident. I wished she hadn’t told Lata to return home, instead.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Ammamma said to Lata.

  “Good thing your skin is black,” Lata said.

  I breathed in sharply.

  “Whoever heard of a brown-skinned Goddess?” Goddesses were all really fair – like Durga Devi, or really dark – like Kali.

  Ammamma put a hand on Lata, but Lata shook it off. “You might as well throw away your fairness creams, Pullamma. They will serve no purpose now.”

  “Why are you saying such things?” Ammamma looked bewildered.

  But Lata would not be stopped. “You have no hope of marriage anyway. Be grateful the oracle declared you a Goddess. One sensible thing she did in her miserable life. Now you’ll have respect and money, which are the most important things anyway.”

  Not to me, God! I just wanted to be an ordinary girl, married to a man who would provide me with a municipal tap, and three meals a day, while I cooked and cleaned for him. I lay down, stuffed my ears with my fingers and shut my eyes tight, trying to drown out Lata’s voice. I must have fallen asleep. When I opened my eyes, it was late afternoon. There was a pillow under my head and a bed sheet protecting me from the chill.

  “Want some milk?” Ammamma asked.

  I shook my head, but she forced a glass of it down my throat anyway. I huddled in one corner of the courtyard, watching Lakshmi garu and Ammamma.

  “My Pullamma is cursed,” Ammamma said, as she settled on a straw mat to chop vegetables for the following day.

  Lakshmi garu sat on her haunches, putting away pieces of salted tomato that had dried under the morning sun. The tomato was piled in ceramic pickle jars that had once belonged to Ammamma’s mother.

  I wondered at the sense in making pickle when everything around was falling apart.

  Was I really cursed?

  I shivered. Who would dare to be friends with me on the off-chance I might be a Goddess? Who would want to marry me? Who would have the nerve to treat me like a normal girl? How could I expect the rest of the villagers to give me a chance, when my best friend hadn’t?

  Ammamma pulled the wooden base of the floor knife forward and wedged a firm foot over it. Picking up a long ridge gourd, she held the vegetable over the vertical semi-circular blade with both hands. Practiced motions guided the vegetable over the sharp cutting edge. She suddenly thrust aside the floor knife, its upright blade gleaming menacingly in the fading sun. She dropped her head into her hands. “What am I to do?” Her voice cracked. “I am scared for this foolish child.”

  Lakshmi garu leaned over and patted Ammamma. “You will have to leave Pullamma to the mercy of The Lord of the Seven Hills.”

  “What are you saying, Lakshmi?” Ammamma’s lips quivered.

  I listened to the two women discuss my life as if they were talking about someone else.

  “Take care of one responsibility at a time,” Lakshmi garu said. “Malli’s alliance is already fixed. Grab this chance and get Lata a good match, too. After all, who in their right minds would refuse a match with the family of a Goddess?”

  No one. They would only refuse a match with the Goddess herself.

  “I can’t do that to Pullamma.”

  “What other choice do you have?”

  Lakshmi garu liked to think she was a practical person, but this was too much, even for her.

  “Why don’t you blame that baby’s stupid father,” I burst out. “The baby was probably alive all along. Only, the man was too stupid to see it.”

  Someone knocked.

  I couldn’t summon the energy to open the gate.

  Since Lata was out delivering an order of homemade pickle, Ammamma got to her feet. She wiped away her tears and tucked in the end of her sari at her waist. Before she could get to the gate, it was pushed open.

  “Anyone home?” the village headmaster asked, stepping into the courtyard.

  “You!” Ammamma shouted shrilly.

  The cow mooed its displeasure.

  “You ruined my Pullamma’s life,” Ammamma exclaimed, veins popping out in her forehead. “How dare you show your face around here?”

  Headmaster garu looked startled. “What did I do?”

  “You filled Pullamma’s head with a lot of rubbish, is what you did,” she said, voice rising. “Education will make her life better, you said.”

  That was unfair. Headmaster garu had never claimed I’d amount to anything – it was Lata he’d had pinned his hopes on. Besides, what had this to do with The Incident?

  But Ammamma was too angry for such nuances. “Now people are saying she is a Goddess.”

  “I just came to see how Pullamma was coping.”

  “Somehow that baby came alive at Pullamma’s feet. Your education,” she shouted, unstoppable now, like the waters from the spillway of an overflowing dam. “Did it help my Pullamma? Hanh? It ruined her life, did it not, you pompous fool? You stay away from me, you bringer-of-bad-fate! Thinking you can use your fancy education to change centuries of tradition. I didn’t want to send my girls to school. You said it would change their lives.” Ammamma wiped away an angry tear. “It certainly changed Pullamma’s life, didn’t it?”

  “But this is all superstition,” Headmaster garu said, hands fluttering like aimless butterflies. “You and I know she is no Goddess. Ignorance breeds superstition. If we educated more girls, we wouldn’t be in such a situation.”

  “Education,” Ammamma screamed. “He says education.”

  I clutched my chest. Ammamma never shouted like this. Never.

  “Get out of my house, you… you...” She grabbed the floor knife and waved it threateningly. “If you show your black face around here again, I will personally separate your head from the rest of your body. I will make your wife a widow. Then we will see how lives get changed.”

  Chapter 10

  A Step Towards The Inevitable

  Ten minutes after Headmaster garu hustled out, the courtyard gate rattled again. Ammamma was still upset, Lakshmi garu not inclined, so I forced myself up.

  I opened the gate, and Malli’s mother-in-law to-be fell at my feet. “Oh Goddess, please do me the honour of giving your sister, Malli, in marriage to my son.”

  Stumbling in my haste to get away, I darted behind Ammamma and burrowed my face in her shoulder. My heart galloped in panic.

  “Please, Savitri garu,” Ammamma said. Her voice sounded scratchy. “Please get up, and have a seat.” She pointed at the cot.

  Savitri garu got to her feet. “How can I sit in the presence of the Goddess?”

  Her husband, Nagabhushan garu, seemed to have no such compunctions. He wiggled on the itchy coir cot till he found a comfortable position, then tucked his feet under him.

  “I don’t know what happened,” I burst out. “But I did not give that child life. I’m not a Goddess.”

  The father-in-law to-be stu
ffed tobacco in the side of his mouth and started to chew. His wife said to Ammamma, “Please do our family the honour of giving your oldest granddaughter in marriage to our second son.”

  “I am honoured to accept the proposal.”

  “I would like to request that Goddess Pullamma bless the wedding.”

  What was she saying?! “No, no, no!” I clapped my hands over my ears.

  “Hush, Child,” Lakshmi garu said, pulling my hands away.

  Ammamma’s face turned grey. “My Pullamma is an innocent young girl.” Her voice wobbled. “Please don’t ruin her life with such demands. If people begin to think of her as a Goddess, who will marry her?”

  When the woman didn’t respond, Ammamma turned to the husband, voice breaking. “I’ll give you our only cow in dowry. Have pity on a widow. Let my Pullamma be.”

  “Ammamma!” How would we survive without the money the cow brought in?

  “Our son will marry your granddaughter on the 24th,” Nagabhushan garu said. “With Goddess Pullamma in attendance.”

  “I’m no Goddess,” I screamed. “I’m just a normal girl. I am no Goddess.” Ammamma put an arm around me, hugging me tightly to her side. Lakshmi garu tried to put a hand over my mouth.

  My breath started to come in short bursts. “I’m no Goddess.” I pushed Lakshmi garu’s hand away.

  She tried to hold my arm down.

  I shoved her aside.

  She gave me a resounding slap.

  I sank to the floor, and dropped my head to my knees.

  Lakshmi garu said, “When do we hand the dowry over?”

  With some effort I moved my head to look up at Ammamma, willing her to distance herself from this alliance. But Ammamma said nothing. She didn’t meet my eyes, either.

  “Taking money from the house of a Goddess?” Savitri garu hit her open mouth with a palm. “Siva! Siva! How could we commit such a sacrilege?” In contrition, she slapped her cheeks with both hands.

  I was stunned. This woman genuinely believed I was a Goddess!

  “But –” Ammamma began.

  “We will pay for the wedding.”