Power cuts, for us, were a thing of the past. Kondal Rao had arranged for power generators running on diesel, keeping us in light while the rest of the village batted mosquitoes in the dark. I felt terrible about this, but Lata told me to get over it. For Lata, a visit to the ashram was her only chance of getting away from the drudgery of life. I felt disloyal for the thought, but I could have done with a little less sisterhood.
“Why do you lock yourself in all the time?” Lata asked as she followed Ammamma in after a particularly gruelling session. Vineeta, my schoolmate in another life, had lost her mother last night, and I wasn’t up to dealing with my twin.
“Leave her alone,” Ammamma said. “She deserves some quiet.”
What Ammamma didn’t add was that we were worried. My pregnancy was advancing, but we weren’t able to feel the baby’s movement.
Ammamma said, “She has a hard life being in the public glare all the time.”
“If you think this is hardship,” Lata said, flouncing on my opulent bed, “you should see our house. No power six hours a day. I have to draw water from the well for cooking, cleaning, for my husband’s and in-laws’ baths; I get to thatch the roof, make pickles for sale, scrounge around for cow dung. My mother-in-law is such a taskmaster. Why hire a servant when there is the sister of the Goddess, right?”
“I’m sorry, Lata,” I said, feeling remorse. “I’ve been so involved in my own problems that I haven’t been able to see how you’re suffering.”
“Then give me a monthly stipend. Enough to upgrade my house. Some for my personal use. I am the Goddess’s kin, after all.”
“Lata, you know I have no money to give you.”
Lata ran her eyes over the place. “You’re swimming in luxury, and you have no money?”
Put that way, it did sound unbelievable. “None of that is mine, Lata. It belongs to the devotees.” Ammamma and I had never used a paisa for personal use, never would.
“Didn’t stop you from improving your lot, did it?”
What could I say? While it was true Kondal Rao had forced me into accepting a higher standard of living so he could look good to his voters, the money had made my life very comfortable indeed.
“Well, are you going to give me the money or not?”
My chest hurt at the thought of denying her. I didn’t want unpleasantness with my sister. “I wish I could, Lata. I really do. But I have no money of my own.” Other than the money Srikar managed to send, here and there. But that was barely enough for my personal use. Ammamma had her monthly pension, at least.
“Oh, so that’s going to be your line, hanh, while you enjoy your earthly pleasures?”
Ammamma was on the verge of an angry retort. I shook my head slightly, guilt churning in my gut. Lata had the right to be bitter. Hers was not a life of choices.
Lata stretched out on the bed and wiggled till she was settled comfortably. “How come you get such a fancy bed, while my fool of a husband and I have to make do with hard, cotton mattresses?”
“Yedukondalavada!” Ammamma said, appalled that Lata would disrespect her husband so.
“Take it.” I wished there was some way I could help my sister, but I wouldn’t touch the devotees’ money. Was giving away the items they had bought for my use as bad as stealing their money? I wished I knew. All I was sure of was that a mat unrolled on the floor would suit me just fine. I would have slept on the cobbled courtyard floor if it meant I could go back to living with my husband in our small flat, with a bathroom that was shared between six other families.
“So how long are you here for?” I asked.
“Already waiting to be rid of me?”
“She never said that, Lata,” Ammamma said, patience strained. I knew she was also wracked by constant guilt. Guilt that she hadn’t been able to prevent the breakup of my marriage, guilt that Lata had been forced into a bad one. But she was also unable to forgive Lata her actions. It was a close contest which of Lata’s two transgressions was the bigger one in her mind – getting pregnant out of wedlock, or putting me in a position where I was forced to come back to the village as Goddess. Probably getting pregnant before marriage, if I had to pick one. Lata and Ammamma were not getting along at all now; quite a change from when Lata had been the favoured one.
For her part, Lata couldn’t get past her anger that Ammamma had not allowed her to pursue her dream. “How come you always take her side? Is it because of all this?” Lata asked indicating the luxury surrounding us.
Ammamma gazed at Lata steadily, till Lata dropped her eyes. Whatever her failings, Ammamma’s integrity was indisputable.
“So what is happening in your in-laws’ house?” I asked. This constant sniping between my grandmother and sister was taking its toll on me. Surprisingly, she chose to answer.
“They are already after me to breed an heir.” Lata inspected her nails. “Do I look like a performing monkey that I can produce a baby on command?”
Ammamma turned away, an expression of distaste on her face.
Chapter 33
Baby is Due
Late one evening, Ammamma and I sat on the swing, savouring the silence of the warm night. The devotees had left for the day. The ashram was blessedly quiet, but we were worried. I was already in my seventh month, but hadn’t been able to feel my baby move.
“Some women can’t feel movement in their first pregnancy,” Ammamma said. “Because of inexperience.” But she looked anxious.
I was worried, too. I should have already been under a doctor’s care. I was also beginning to show. Loosely tied saris wouldn’t work much longer. We had hoped that the months of uneventful days would cause Kondal Rao’s men to slack off, but the wretched men never moved from their posts outside our courtyard gate.
“Help!” A shrill cry shattered the stillness of the night.
Ammamma and I looked at each other in alarm. We ran to the gate.
I could see orange flames licking the thatched straw roof of the house across from us. The guards and the villagers were already running to it, buckets in hand. I started to go towards the fire when Ammamma suddenly veered off in another direction.
“Wait here,” she called over her shoulder. In seconds she was lost in the crowds.
I ran back to the house and grabbed a bucket.
A man approached. “Ammavaru,” he said respectfully, “please take a seat.” He held a hand out for the bucket. “We will handle this.”
For a moment I had forgotten myself.
The man took the bucket, escorted me back to the gate of our compound, bowed respectfully and went back. A few men had climbed the roofs of adjoining houses. A human chain was rapidly forming to the well next door; the villagers passed buckets of water from person to person. Even as people started to throw water on the flames, part of the roof gave way.
I watched, grateful that no one lived in the house.
“You have to leave,” Ammamma said tersely. She had suddenly reappeared.
“What?”
“Leave. Now. This is your chance. Kondal Rao’s men are occupied with the fire.”
“But –”
“Pullamma,” a male voice called.
I spun around so fast, I made myself dizzy.
“Srikar,” Ammamma exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
My heart fluttered. “How did you get here?”
“I paid Narasu to create a diversion,” he said, eyes darting furiously. “All I told him to do was run through the streets, creating a din. Instead, your fool of a brother-in-law seems to have gotten into his head that fire would be a better distraction.”
I turned to the burning house. “That’s a brand new house. Poor Chandu was going to move in tomorrow.”
“There’s no one inside,” Srikar said. “I checked.” He put a hand on my shoulder. “Let’s go, Pullamma. Once we get to Hyderabad, I will send Ammamma the money for damage to the house.”
“And I will get it rebuilt,” Ammamma said. “I promise.” She caught my
arm and steered me to the house. “Now get going.”
I looked at Ammamma, blood surging. This was it.
“Quick,” she said.
I ran back into the house, grabbed a bag and started to dump my things. Then I dragged a chair and started to reach for my precious globe.
“Have you lost your mind?” Ammamma screeched. “There is no time.”
But I wouldn’t leave without it. I tugged at the top of the twine. Luckily, it gave way. Ammamma brought a shawl to cover my head with. We ran out the gate, terrified we would be spotted. Fortunately, everyone’s attention was on the fire.
“Let’s go,” Srikar said, urging me on.
At the car I paused, knowing this was it. I didn’t know if I would see Ammamma again.
Ammamma gave me a quick hug and said, “Get in now.”
I gave Ammamma a lingering hug. Now that I was finally leaving, I almost didn’t want to.
“Hurry, Child,” Ammamma said urgently.
“Come with us,” I said suddenly. “There is no reason for you to stay here. It’s not like either Lata or Malli are going to miss you.”
“I can’t, Child,” Ammamma said, cupping my face. “Tomorrow Malli will have babies, then Lata. Where else will they be able to rest after their deliveries, if not in their mother’s house? Who else will pamper them during recovery, hanh?” She swallowed. “This is my home, Child. It is right that I stay here. Now you need to go to yours.”
“If I never see you again,” I said, swallowing convulsively, “I –”
I broke down.
Ammamma gave me a tight hug. “Yes, yes,” she said, voice choked. “Now go.” She pushed me into the waiting taxi.
I got in, Srikar right behind. We crouched in the backseat of the taxi as it raced into the night.
><
We travelled through the starlit night on the unlit highway. Halfway to Hyderabad we sat up in the backseat. I laid my head against the back. “I can’t believe we got away.”
Srikar’s hand tightened around mine. “The trick will be staying one step ahead of my esteemed grandfather. Hopefully, you’ll be safe for the next five years.”
Till the next elections.
><
That first night back, we sat on the terrace after dark, my back resting against Srikar’s chest, his hands on my belly. I manoeuvred my heavy body sideways and burrowed my face in my husband’s shoulder, savouring his closeness, his smell. I rubbed my cheek against his chest. He tightened his arms around me. I closed my eyes, feeling warmth flood me.
“Uh!” I shot up, hitting my head against Srikar’s chin.
“What happened?” Srikar exclaimed, rubbing his chin.
In response I took his hand and placed it on my belly. I turned to look at him. The expression on his face changed slowly from worry to awe. “The baby?”
I nodded, smile trembling on my lips.
“So we don’t need to worry?”
“I hope not.”
“Thank God!” Srikar pulled me close and buried his face in my neck.
><
“We should start packing,” Srikar said, early next morning.
“What for? I just got here.”
“You know why. Just because my grandfather is busy with his Cabinet post doesn’t mean we’re safe. Besides, you were Goddess for months this time around. There’s a greater chance you’ll be recognized.”
“But your passport application was denied.”
“I didn’t say we’ll leave the country, Pullamma. We’ll just move to a different state.”
“You know Hindi, so you’ll manage. What about me? All I know is Telugu.”
“And some English.”
“Only enough to read, not to speak.”
“Pullamma, be reasonable.”
But I wasn’t in the mood to be reasonable. Bad enough that I was forced to give up Ammamma. I couldn’t give up this flat, where I had come to as a bride. I had friends here, I was comfortable here. Besides, Kondal Rao didn’t know where we were. “Let the baby come. Then we’ll rethink this. Please?”
Srikar nodded, but I could see the worry in his eyes. Why couldn’t he understand that after the last few months, I needed to be in a place where I felt safe?
I settled back into my life in Madhuban Apartments. It was like I had never been away, except now Srikar forbade me to carry water up the stairs. I started the weekly visits to my lady doctor. I also settled back into friendship with Sandhya and Geeta. We’d told them I had to go away because my grandmother needed the help – Srikar thought it best if we stuck as close to the truth as possible. Geeta was curious, but after my stint as Goddess, I felt capable of handling her questions.
I’d never been happier. Thoughts of being back with my husband were what had sustained me through the months of my Goddess-hood. All I had to do was to lie low, and not threaten Kondal Rao’s existence, and I’d be fine.
I didn’t mind standing in line for water again, filling up buckets and pots, while Srikar carried the previous one up. I wasn’t tired anymore. Over Srikar’s protests, I started to cook complicated, fancy meals for my husband. It brought me great pleasure to take care of him again, despite the fact that I found it harder to move because of the baby I carried.
Our neighbours started to gravitate again to our home, for the food definitely, and for the company, I hoped. One thing did change – I found myself unable to spend endless hours in Geeta’s company. I said as much when she knocked at my door. “Can you come back later?”
She looked inside. “Why? It’s not like you are doing anything.”
“I know. But I would like to be alone.”
“What did I do?”
“It’s not you, Geeta. It’s me.”
“You’ll never believe what the people in number three did,” she said, a hopeful expression on her face.
I shook my head, wishing there were some way I could do this without hurting her. She’d been a good friend. But, having been forced to listen to the worries of my devotees, problems that were best left private, I’d lost my appetite for gossip.
With a dispirited sigh, she trudged back to the apartment she shared with her in-laws. I felt terrible because I knew she had nowhere else to go. But my need to be alone was too great.
But I did look forward to Srikar’s return home. After dinner we went for long walks, making plans for our future, and our baby. I felt immense pleasure that I’d reverted to being a nobody. I could talk at will, or not. I could go for walks with my husband, and no one cared. It was wonderful.
“We should talk about my grandfather, you know,” Srikar said. “And leaving Hyderabad.”
“Please,” I begged. “Can’t we talk about something pleasant?”
“Pulla, wishing him away isn’t going to make him disappear. He’ll still search you out the next time elections roll around. Perhaps, sooner.”
“That’s five years away.” I forbade myself to think about Kondal Rao. My baby didn’t need the stress. Most of my day was spent in daydreams about my baby, about our life together as a family. There was a part of me that warned against getting too complaisant, but I determinedly shoved it away. I’d had as much unpleasantness as I could take in a lifetime. Perhaps I was being foolish, but all I wanted to do was savour life with my husband in a familiar environment. I didn’t want to deal with the newness of a different flat, different area, different people.
One evening, I had just finished cleaning the kitchen when there was a knock on the door. I sighed, hoping it wasn’t Geeta again. Sandhya, at least, could take no for an answer. How could I explain to Geeta, without causing her hurt, that after my fishbowl existence in the village I savoured every moment I had to myself? Deciding to ignore the door, I wrung out the cleaning cloth, and set it to dry. Hopefully she would get tired and go away.
The doorbell rang, and the knocking resumed.
Defeated, I opened the door. It was Geeta, as expected.
“You think you’ve become too goo
d for us?”
“No! It’s just that –”
“It’s what?” she snapped.
How could I explain? What could I say?
She gave me a vicious look and left. Closing the door, I unrolled a mat and curled up on the floor, terribly saddened by the way our friendship had ended. I wished Srikar would come back soon, but I was learning that in the construction business, working hours could be unpredictable. When they had ‘pouring out the slab’ scheduled, they couldn’t afford to halt work until the next day. Work had to finish before the concrete set. I fell into an uneasy sleep.
I opened my eyes at a gentle knock. It was pitch dark outside. I must have slept for hours. Combing my hair with my fingers, I opened the door for Srikar.
My eyes fell on a thick, stubby neck. Blood drained out of me.
“Pack your bags,” Kondal Rao said.
For a wild moment, I thought I would run away. Or, seek Geeta’s help. But Kondal Rao filled the doorway.
Numbly I threw a few clothes into a bag, and grabbed a piece of paper, staring at it blindly, wishing I could convey my panic at this turn of events, my deep love for Srikar. Finally, I scribbled, ‘Your grandfather is taking me away. Your devoted wife, Pullamma,’ and left it on Srikar’s pillow. Next to it I left the jewellery Srikar’s grandmother had given me. I unhooked my mirrored globe – the one Srikar had bought for me in Laad Bazaar – from the peg on the wall. Picking up my bag in one hand, the mirrored globe in the other, I followed Kondal Rao out into the dimly lit corridor, out of Srikar’s life.
Kondal Rao stumbled against someone.
“Geeta!” I exclaimed. My heart picked up speed. Maybe she could summon help, maybe –
Kondal Rao grabbed Geeta by the neck and slammed her against the wall. He pushed harder and harder, till her head flopped like a rag doll’s. Then he stopped. “If you know what’s good for you,” he rasped, “you haven’t seen Pullamma or me. Do you understand?” He released her.
Tell A Thousand Lies Page 16