Tell A Thousand Lies

by Rasana Atreya

  “Do we have a date for the trip?” I asked, conscious that Ammamma sat guard on the other side of the door. Once our decision to escape to Dubai was made, I’d lost my ability to be patient. I was getting increasingly desperate.

  “They turned me down.” Srikar’s voice was flat.

  “What?” My heart began to hit hard against my ribs. “But why?”

  “My grandfather is a politician, remember?”

  “What has that got to do with us leaving the country?”

  “Passports are never issued without police verification. They rejected my application.”

  “How would your grandfather know what you’re up to? He isn’t keeping track of you, is he?”

  “Apparently, it’s not uncommon for corrupt politicians to give the police a list of names to put on a watch list. As long as you’re in the country, you’re okay. The moment you apply for a passport, you get on their radar.”

  Why was I not surprised? Politicians and the police went together like food-poisoning and stomach cramps – where one was, the other couldn’t fail to follow.

  “I still want the baby,” I said.

  As we lay on the bed together, he said, “I don’t see how. How will you get away from here? Where will you have the baby? Or, if you decided to get an abortion, how will you do it? There are always too many people around you.”

  “Two days ago Lakshmi garu found a woman who makes herbal concoctions that can cause a miscarriage.”

  “Do you want to do it?” Srikar said. “Get an abortion, I mean?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t, either.”

  The fact that he also wanted this baby gave me courage. I felt strong, ready to take on the world for my child. I would protect it with everything I had. With my life, if I had to. “We’ll manage.”

  “How?” Srikar said, despair in his voice.

  “Ammamma tells me my mother didn’t get very big, even in the later months. Hopefully, I won’t either. Anyway, by the time the baby is ready to come, we’ll be in Hyderabad.”

  “Don’t be so sure.”

  “Didn’t you say you’d come up with a plan?”

  “What if I can’t?”

  “I’ll be trying, too.”

  “What if the baby comes early? What then?”

  “I’m trying not to think that far ahead.” My voice caught.

  “You should. We’ll need a few different options on hand.”

  Despite what he’d said to Ammamma about me being free to leave, Srikar’s grandfather had me watched now. I couldn’t scrunch up my nose without it being reported back to him. Getting Srikar in without their notice had been easy, because the job of his henchmen was to prevent me from sneaking out. It hadn’t occurred to them that someone might want to sneak in, though I was surprised his grandfather had overlooked that possibility.

  “I have a few months, yet. Hopefully his goons will get bored and slack off. I’ll bide my time. I am going to get away,” I said. “Don’t ask me how, because I don’t know yet. But I promise you, I will.”

  Chapter 30

  Temple or Not?

  Following Srikar’s return to the city, I struggled with the need to maintain a façade of calm in public. I had the urge to burst into tears all the time – whether it was due to the pregnancy, or the thwarted escape plan to Dubai, or because I missed Srikar, I couldn’t tell. But I was breaking down more and more. I spent inordinate amounts of time watching Srikar’s mirrored globe twirl from the ceiling, tracking it as it cast its myriad of hexagonal reflections about the room. This tangible evidence of Srikar’s existence was the only thing that gave me some measure of comfort. And the baby, of course. So far I had managed to retain control in public, but I knew Ammamma was concerned.

  After gaining ascendancy to a Minister’s post in the State Cabinet, Kondal Rao came to see me. At a packed bhajan one evening, he waddled up to my chair and bowed his head. “Ammavaru, a thousand namaskarams! May I have permission to speak in your benevolent presence?”

  I nodded, almost choking with the effort.

  “With your permission, I would like to build a temple big enough, and grand enough to befit you.”

  Rage flooded my being. He’d lied! He’d never had any intention of letting me go.

  “Please accept this insignificant offering from your most humble devotee.” Since he was facing me, his back to the devotees, he stared directly in to my eyes, warning me not to refuse.

  Blood rushed to my face. The audacity of the infernal man! The sheer gall! He had me in his grip, slowly crushing me like he might an insect, and he wanted bloody acknowledgement? My face hurt from the effort of controlling my fury. I shut my eyes, not wanting anyone to witness my rage. When I opened them, I saw Kondal Rao’s face had darkened even as he struggled to remain calm. I found myself unable to give him the acknowledgement he sought, recognizing at one level that it was dangerous to make an enemy of this man.

  Later that night, after the devotees had gone home for the night, Ammamma and I sat on the swing, looking up at the night sky. A chill invaded my bones. If he went ahead with the temple, I was doomed.

  “You didn’t do a wise thing by crossing Kondal Rao,” Ammamma said. The ‘garu’ honorific for him had long been dispensed with, even by my grandmother.

  “Ammamma,” I exclaimed. “If he builds me that temple –”

  “I know, Child. I know. But you can’t afford to cross him, not in public. He is too powerful a man.”

  “What would you have me do?” I asked, feeling fresh outrage. “Feed his colossal ego?”

  “Hate him if you will, and God knows you have enough reasons, but don’t give him leeway to bury you alive.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Having made his grand announcement, he won’t be able to back out. The key is to give him just enough to keep him happy, but not enough that it harms you.”

  “How?”

  “Let him build something, anything, just not a temple.”

  “Like what?”

  “A small ashram, perhaps.”

  “How will that help?”

  “In the ashram you have the option of starting up vocational training courses for youngsters, teaching bhajans to children, discussing spiritual texts with older people. That puts the donations to good use, he doesn’t lose face, and you aren’t bound by a temple.”

  “He makes me so angry, Ammamma, I can’t get myself to accept anything from him. It is not like he is doing any of it out of the goodness of his heart. He just wants to make a show for his voting public. Besides, you and I both know that no matter what I do, he is never going to let me go.”

  “Then it is even more important that we not let him build that temple. We can always hope things will change. But, till then, it would be foolish to antagonize him further.”

  I recognized the wisdom in Ammamma’s words, but it burned me up that the wretched man was using me to further his own interests. At the expense of my happiness, my life with my husband. “The land he wants to build the temple on is not even his, you know,” I said. “He has intimidated villagers into ‘donating’ it.”

  “When someone controls the police, ordinary people end up getting crushed.”

  “He’s leeched onto our family like a bad omen. Poor Lata, to be forced into that wedding.”

  Ammamma sighed. “Once she got pregnant without the benefit of a wedding, even God couldn’t have saved her.”

  I nodded slowly. There were some things in life you couldn’t expect forgiveness for.

  “That man is lower than the belly of a snake,” Ammamma said, “husband of my dear friend, though he is. But still, you cannot afford to refuse him publicly. Men like him don’t get to where they are by taking ‘no’ for an answer.” She had worry in her eyes. “And there is that other thing.”

  “Ammamma, he is such a powerful man. Do you honestly believe he won’t find out I am carrying his great-grandchild?”

  Ammamma looked around fe
arfully, though she and I were in the empty courtyard and the gate was locked. She leaned forward and whispered, “Forget this fact. Don’t even think about it again. If Kondal Rao finds out, you won’t live long enough to hold your child in your arms.”

  How could I forget my baby? I never referred to it again for Ammamma’s sake, but plans of escape consumed almost all of my waking thoughts, and most of my sleeping ones.

  Chapter 31

  Ashram, Perhaps?

  Early next morning Satyam, the priest – lackey of Kondal Rao – brought word from his master that the ashram was to remain closed. On account of my being in meditation. Hopefully, all this unscheduled meditation was doing me some good.

  Kondal Rao stormed in moments after Satyam’s departure. He tapped his foot impatiently as his sidekicks closed the gate to the courtyard, then erupted. “What game are you playing?”

  “What game?” I said.

  “Don’t try your innocent act with me,” he roared, face so red I feared it would burst.

  “Pullamma,” Ammamma said urgently. “Let me talk.”

  I shut up, but not without effort.

  “Kondal Rao garu,” Ammamma said. “You are like an elder brother to me –”

  “Cut the bullshit!”

  Ammamma was so shocked, she abruptly shut her mouth. It would have never occurred to her that the husband of her childhood friend would disrespect her so.

  Kondal Rao stabbed a finger at me. “Tell this little granddaughter of yours never to forget her place. I made her. I can also break her. I have bought and sold hundreds like her. She should be grateful I am even ready to give her my patronage.”

  “Of course, of course.” Ammamma’s lips quivered. “She is but a child, please forgive her mistake.”

  Trembling with rage, I opened my mouth. Ammamma quelled me with a sharp look.

  Turning to Kondal Rao, she said, “We are simple village folk. What do we know of accepting unimaginable gifts like brand new temples?”

  “She dared throw my gift in my face!” He gave me a furious look. “Have you taught her nothing? Has she no gratitude?”

  “Please forgive her,” Ammamma begged. “She is immature, yet.”

  I ground my teeth down in an effort to stem my words.

  Ammamma soldiered on. “Little people like us cannot think big, Kondal Rao garu. If you were to build Pullamma a temple, and she let you down because she didn’t know how to behave, it would cause you unimaginable loss of face.”

  And the loss of an election, though Ammamma didn’t come out and say it.

  “Hmm.” He appeared to be thinking.

  “I have a suggestion, if I may,” Ammamma said, “which is sure to enhance your prestige.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Build an ashram. Bigger than this little house, if you wish.”

  He snorted. “And that will help me, how?”

  “If you would consider it for a moment.” Ammamma took a deep breath. “If you were to build the temple, people would know, of course, that it was your generosity that built it, but it would forever be associated with Pullamma.” Just in case he’d missed the point, Ammamma reiterated, “The temple might cause her stature to eclipse yours.”

  Kondal Rao pursed his lips. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  I’m sure he hadn’t, the snake.

  “But if the plaque on the ashram carried your name...”

  Kondal Rao’s beady eyes glinted. “Tell me more.”

  “You might consider starting a free school for underprivileged children. Yoga classes. Spiritual classes. Offer free meals. That will do a better job of reminding people of your generosity.” Ammamma cleared her throat. “Pardon me for speaking so, but during election time, this would be of great use.”

  “How so?”

  “The ashram would automatically generate jobs for maintenance, teachers, and so on. Money is not an issue, obviously, with so much pouring in. In these hard times, people who are able to find, and retain, jobs will be grateful to their benefactor, especially if he throws in a little extra here and there.”

  “Hanh!” Kondal Rao stroked his chin.

  “You wouldn’t want people to forget, pardon my impudence, who the real benefactor is, would you? If Pullamma sat in her temple, granting boons, she would be the one who’d stay in people’s minds.”

  I held my breath. Please let him think this is a good idea!

  “Your idea has some merit.” He pursed his lips again. “Very well. Go bring the almanac. We’ll need an auspicious date for the new ashram’s groundbreaking.”

  “Kondal Rao garu?”

  “What now?”

  “I would like to beg something else for your consideration.”

  “What is it?”

  “I came to this house as a seven year old bride. I have seen many harvests pass here.”

  “Most of them bad.”

  “Quite true.” Ammamma inclined her head in acknowledgment. “I have faced many hardships. But I would like to be carried to my funeral from this house only.”

  “You stay then. Your granddaughter will move to the new ashram.”

  “Who will manage her if I am not there?”

  “Then you move to the ashram, too.” And he turned to go.

  All my relief began to dissolve into anger. How dare he talk to my grandmother so?

  “Kondal Rao garu?” Ammamma said.

  “Bah! What is it now?”

  “When Pullamma’s mother died, when it seemed like I might have to sell this house to support my three granddaughters and myself, I promised the Lord on the Seven Hills that if he let me keep this house, I would light a lamp for him in my altar every day for the rest of my life.” She turned toward the kitchen, joined the palms of her hands and bowed. “The altar in this house.”

  Kondal Rao swore under his breath. Even he wasn’t brazen enough to come between a woman and her promise to God. “You were the one who suggested the ashram in the first place.”

  “That I did. Perhaps we could convert part of the house into an ashram...”

  “Then I am going to make it bigger and better.”

  “Not bigger,” I said.

  Kondal Rao looked as if he couldn’t believe I’d dared to open my mouth in his august presence.

  “Quiet, Pullamma!” Ammamma hissed.

  “If you want me to cooperate,” I said, “I will not live in a mansion.”

  Kondal Rao’s jowls quivered.

  “This foolish child doesn’t know what she is saying,” Ammamma said, sweat breaking out on her forehead. “What she means to say is, we won’t be able to manage such a place. We are poor folk. What do we know of grand mansions?” Ammamma’s hands, joined at the palms, trembled.

  “You have so many devotees. Make use of them.”

  Ammamma bent her head. “My granddaughter isn’t able to recognize your big-heartedness. What if she has a breakdown? I humbly request you to set aside one room, kitchen and bathroom in this house for us to live in privacy. The ashram can be built around it.”

  “Hmm.” He considered me, stubby forefinger tapping his chin. “Okay, your current house shall remain the same. We’ll have to upgrade it, of course – Italian marble in the courtyard, fancy fans, modern kitchen, that sort of stuff. This can be the new ashram. I will break open your wall on that side,” he pointed a finger, “and build your private quarters there.”

  I said, “But that is Buchaiah’s hous–”

  “Quiet,” Kondal Rao roared.

  “Don’t let this foolish girl ruin your plan.” Ammamma’s face was white.

  He swerved to a henchman. “Who’s this Buchaiah?”

  “Old man, seventy-plus, no wife or sons.”

  Kondal Rao struggled for control. “Leave Buchaiah to me. Old fellow like him. How much longer will he live, anyway? I can’t build you some village-type rooms. I have my prestige to consider. Enough of these discussions. I shall consult the almanac myself for an auspicious day. Then the work can be
gin.”

  “Not a word,” Ammamma warned as Kondal Rao stalked out.

  Chapter 32

  Buchaiah is Moved Out

  Poor Buchaiah. To be hustled out of his family home, one that had seen so many generations of his family, in so disgraceful a manner. All because he had no male heirs. His wife had died forty years ago, his daughters long married and settled in the city.

  The elderly man was trundled off, no fuss no muss, to an old age home one district over. The courtyard wall to the left of the front room, which adjoined that poor man’s property, was broken down to open into another, smaller, diamond-shaped courtyard. Two bedrooms, each with attached bathrooms, and a kitchen were built around a private courtyard, with a planter occupying the place of honour in the middle – the sacred tulsi planted in it.

  Our sanctuary was truly private. It was off-limits to everyone, including the maids. Sometimes I wished it were off-limits to Lata, too. It wasn’t as if I didn’t understand her anger – she’d been denied her dream of being a doctor, and living a life of comfort. Instead she was married to a man she couldn’t abide, while I’d ended up with the luxurious lifestyle, and the supportive husband. That I was tied down as Goddess, and away from my husband, wasn’t something Lata considered a negative. Still. I wished I could feel closer to my sister, but she had a way of wearing me down.

  If there was any upside to being forced to live away from my husband, it was that I was able to provide Ammamma with the comforts of life. No detail was overlooked in the building of our private quarters – from luxurious furnishings, to air conditioners, to a large television, I did not lack anything.

  Ammamma no longer had tedious chores to take care of. No milking the cow, no backbreaking sewing, no endless rounds of pickle-making. The old house was upgraded, as promised by Kondal Rao. Walls were repaired, paintings put up on them, good quality curtains hung on windows. The courtyard was beautified, the uneven cobblestones replaced with expensive marble. Now it served as a central gathering place for my followers.

  Ammamma and I retired to our private quarters at eight each night, when I shut the door, and the world, out. Ammamma spent an hour cooking up a meal in our fancy kitchen, then got on her hands and knees to scrub the expensive flooring. I had offered to let the maid come in when we were with the devotees, but Ammamma insisted on doing this herself. All her other chores – our breakfast and lunch included – had been taken over by the devotees anyway.