At the knock on the door, I tensed. What would I tell Aunty?
I opened the door, and my eyes fell on that stubby neck.
My grandfather-in-law pushed his way past me, and parked himself on my sofa.
Maybe it was the passage of the years, maybe it was that I was older and wiser, but Kondal Rao was just another old man. Now that I had a plan for my son, he had lost his ability to frighten. I folded my arms and rested a shoulder against the door, curious to see what he would come up with.
He sat back, crossed his legs and looked at me without saying anything. An old trick, a policeman patient of mine had once assured me; an effective interrogation technique to intimidate a person into breaking the silence. I looked right back.
“Aren’t you curious?” he finally asked, the cords in his stubby neck standing out. He hadn’t liked to be the one giving in.
I raised my eyebrows in response.
“Getting very friendly with my grandson, Doctor garu.”
“Is that what caused you to crawl out from that dung pile of yours?”
“Disrespecting your elders, Pullamma? Tch. Tch.”
I snorted.
He sighed. “Your sister. Getting too big for her boots, isn’t she?” He lay back against the cushion of the sofa, folding his hands over his belly. “I’m not a monster, you know –”
“Trying to get me killed is just part of doing business?”
“Bah! You’re going to hold that against me?”
I shook my head in incredulity.
“Give me a berth in the Chief Minister’s Cabinet, and I’m a happy man. Then, you sisters can fight over my grandson, or share him, or bring in a third girl, I don’t really care.”
“What’s the problem, then?” I said, looking him over. The old man was mellowing. “You go your way, I go mine.”
“Pullamma, Pullamma. You can’t be that innocent. Your little sister is turning out to be as unpredictable as a Diwali firecracker. Never know when she’ll explode.”
“What do you mean?”
“Forcing my hand, is what she’s doing. Says she’ll expose my connection to you, if I don’t take you back to the village as my Goddess, the silly girl.”
I gasped.
“Making a proper nuisance of herself, she is.”
“I can’t believe she said that!”
“I don’t like to be manipulated, you know.” He examined a finger nail. “Today she does it, tomorrow you will get bold. It’s the principle of the thing.”
“What do you mean?”
He put his little finger in the ear, then pulled it out to inspect it. “It means you have a journey coming up in the near future.”
“I thought you didn’t like to be manipulated.”
“As it happens, it also serves my purpose.”
I started to get angry. “The last time I went quietly because I was too young to fight back. This time you’ll have to take me kicking and screaming. Don’t think I’ll be the same brainless Goddess as before.”
He leaned forward, the black of his eyes glittery pinpoints. “You will do exactly as I say.”
“Or what?”
“I tracked your father down in the Himalayas. The esteemed Sri. Simhachalam and his two whores are shacked up in a small temple town, very much enjoying earthly pleasures. When this news spreads in the village, oracle Ranga Nayakamma will tremble from the fury the Goddess plans on unleashing on an unrepentant village.” His oily tone conveyed intense satisfaction. “Only thing that’ll calm the Goddess down will be punishment for that sinner’s kin.”
“Ranga Nayakayamma is already under your control,” I shouted. “Why don’t you use her? Why ruin my life?”
“Blame your beloved sister for that.” He sighed. “I was happy enough chugging along with the crackpot oracle. Can you believe it, two bottles of whiskey is all it took for her to set you up as my Goddess?”
Blood rushed to my face.
He cocked his head in thought. “What would be the most suitable punishment for your grandmother, and your other sister, Lalli, is it?”
“Malli!”
“Disrobe them and parade them through the streets? Hmm. Now, that’s a thought.”
I stared at him, appalled. He wouldn’t, would he?
“No Goddess – no honour for grandmother.” He grinned.
Hot tears flooded my eyes. Ammamma would commit suicide, rather than live with the dishonour. “Your wife and my grandmother are childhood friends.”
He snorted, as if my outburst were unworthy of attention.
“And there is something else I can do,” he purred.
“What?” I shivered in spite of myself. I had been very wrong to underestimate this man. He was no more harmless than a snake charmer’s basket of cobras.
“I will personally guarantee your boy is never found.” His tone was conversational, like he was discussing the latest fortunes of the Indian cricket team.
The bastard would do it, too. “Why now? There are no elections. You are secure in your post. Convince Lata to back off, and you’re safe.”
“Ever heard of an invention called the television, Doctor garu? Very useful. Tells you all kinds of things. Like the fact the Chief Minister's government is in danger of collapsing. No confidence motion. New elections might be called.”
“When did that happen?” God, how had I missed that?
Kondal Rao peered at his watch. “Umm... about twenty-two hours ago. Let me weather this crisis, then I’ll worry about your little sister and you.”
I sagged against the door. If Pullaiyya disappeared, both Srikar and Aunty would be devastated. As for Ammamma’s dishonour... that did not bear thinking about.
“I was hoping age and your ‘doctory’ would have made you a worthier opponent.” He sighed. “Such a fancy degree. Of what use? Aiyyo! So disappointed.” He grinned, the pink of his tongue pushing against the fence-like gaps in his teeth.
I looked at him in mute appeal.
“Cha!” he complained. “What is this? You are taking away all my fun.”
“Don’t you care at all for the happiness of your grandson and great-grandson?”
“Bah!” Kondal Rao said with an expression of distaste. “Still the village mentality, I see. You learned nothing in the city?” He abandoned his casual pose, body stiff with tension. “Power, Pullamma. Power. One who has power, has it all. Never forget that.” His eyes had a feverish glint. “Last time you publicly endorsed me, I got a berth in the Chief Minister’s Cabinet. I will not allow anything to get in my way. Not you. Not your mother-in-law. Not that sister of yours.” He jabbed a finger at me, lips tight. “Do. You. Understand?”
I nodded, understanding dawning. As long as one of us lived, I would never be free of this man.
He looked at me, stubby forefinger tapping his chin. I knew what was coming, of course.
“You’re ready to pack, or what?”
Chapter 48
Back At Ammamma’s
Later that night, I stood at Ammamma’s door, suddenly desperate to see her.
Kondal Rao, in a surreal rerun of my journey to the Home, had escorted me back to Ammamma’s, jeep loads of henchmen and all. The sickle-and-bamboo sticks wielding henchmen had given way to gun-toting sidekicks – a sign of changing times.
Ammamma came out. She looked curiously at the group of people at her doorstep.
Eight years had passed since I left behind my beloved grandmother to try and make a life with Srikar. Ammamma’s hair had more grey now, her face more wrinkles. The crumpled cotton sari tucked in at the waist was the same, the white bottu on her forehead, slightly off-centre, was still the same. Throat clogging with emotion, I gave her a tremulous smile.
“We are blessed,” a man exclaimed. “Ammavaru has taken on a new avatar. She’s given darsanam again after so many years.”
The confused expression on Ammamma’s face changed to shock. “Pullamma!” she squealed, dragging me into her arms. She pulled back, her eyes
darting from me to the group of people behind.
Kondal Rao’s lackey, to whom I’d supposedly given darsanam by appearing to him in my Godly form, had become the celebrity of the moment. The man beamed.
“Jai Ammavaru!” a roar went up behind me. Long live the Goddess.
Ammamma’s face paled to the colour of flattened rice.
“Can I come in, Ammamma?” I said softly. “I am very tired.”
><
Ammamma dispatched the people at the gate saying I would give darsanams only after a week of meditation.
I closed the gate and hugged my grandmother tightly, my heart awash with love for her. It was good to see Ammamma again, no matter what the circumstance.
Ammamma pulled back, wiped her damp eyes with the back of her hand and cupped my face, examining my features one by one. “You cut your hair short!” She looked dazed.
Good thing she hadn’t seen me in sleeveless blouses. “Long story. Can I tell you about it later?”
“Of course, of course. Come, I’ll make you coffee.” She took my hand and led me towards the kitchen.
I looked around the courtyard, saddened by the air of neglect. The marble floor, even in the moonlit night, seemed grimy. The walls were patchy.
“You should have used some of the money I sent, for repairs.”
Ammamma smiled noncommittally.
“You did get the money, didn’t you?”
“Every month,” Ammamma said.
“And yet, you never used it. Why?”
Ammamma appeared uncomfortable.
“Ammamma?”
“When a girl sends so much money every month, more than what a man in the village can hope to earn in a year...”
“You thought I’d been selling my body?”
Ammamma’s reddened face gave her away.
I started to laugh. “Oh, Ammamma!” I clutched her and laughed till my sides hurt. “How could you think such a thing?” I said through gasps. “Didn’t you know me better?”
“I didn’t think you were the kind to abandon your child, either.”
That sobered me up. “Kondal Rao stole my child, Ammamma. He kidnapped me, then gave my son to Srikar.” Telling her he’d tried to have me killed would only scare her.
Ammamma’s jaw dropped. “I never, ever believed that you ran away with another man.” She was quite emphatic about that. “But your child was with Srikar, and you were gone.”
“And yet you thought I’d prostituted myself?”
“Perhaps you were desperate.” Ammamma seemed embarrassed.
“Not that desperate. Never that desperate.” I gave Ammamma a hug.
“So what are you doing here?”
I would never, never tell Ammamma about Kondal Rao’s threat to dishonour her. “You know Srikar married Lata?”
Ammamma looked sorrowful. “I know.”
“Lata informed Kondal Rao about our whereabouts in Hyderabad because she couldn’t bear to stay married to Narasu. Kondal Rao kidnapped me. Marriage to Srikar was her payment.”
Ammamma’s face drained of colour. “I can’t believe she descended to such depths.”
“Well, she did.”
Ammamma gave me a lingering hug. Her voice choked. “I’m sorry you suffered so much, but it is so good to see you, Child.”
I held her tightly. I’d missed her so much.
Some fifteen minutes later, we settled on a mat with coffee the way only Ammamma could make.
“Did Kondal Rao harass you a lot after I left?” I said.
“Petty things, nothing major.”
“Like what?”
“Suddenly people I’d been selling pickle to for years wanted to try out someone else, their relatives in the neighbouring villages started to sew their clothes, that sort of thing.”
Paapaatmuda! That sinner had struck at Ammamma’s livelihood!
“I lived alone, it wasn’t hard to get by.” She looked at my face every few minutes, as if to reassure herself that I was really back, but carefully avoided looking at my shortened hair.
“I wished you’d used the money I sent,” I said.
“I managed.” She shrugged. “Enough of me. How did you end up here?”
I realized with a shock that she knew nothing of my life after I’d supposedly sent Pullaiyya back to Srikar for raising. I sat on the floor next to Ammamma, taking her through the happenings in my life. I stressed the love and support I’d received from Janaki aunty, glossing over the more painful moments.
“Would Srikar have let you take Pullaiyya away?”
“He’s a good person, Ammamma. He feels obligated to Lata because she took care of Pullaiyya when he needed the help, but is appalled by what his grandfather did to me.”
“Oh, Child.”
I held my head in my hands and started to cry. “By now I could have been on my way with Pullaiyya, Ammamma. I could have had my son with me. She doesn’t care for him. She’s been using him to remain close to Srikar, and now to control me.”
Ammamma held me as I sobbed. When I raised my head, her face was wet, too.
“All I’ve ever done is bring you sadness, Ammamma.”
“Don’t be silly, Child. You are a mother, too. Could you ever regret Pullaiyya?” She sighed. “The three important people in your life – your child, your husband, your mother-in-law, I hardly know them.”
Catching up with Ammamma was bittersweet. So many changes. Lakshmi garu and Murty garu had moved to the city to be with their children. Vanita’s brother, who had spent all his time playing cricket, was now a teacher in the village school. That one was a little hard to believe. And Chinni. Her family had prospered in Kurnool.
Ammamma brought me up to date on my older sister’s life. Within a year of marriage, Malli was back at Ammamma’s, pregnant. She was there till her delivery, and another three months before she returned home.
That first time Malli delivered two healthy girls. The in-laws claimed to be happy, but there would be more pregnancies. A male heir was not merely a matter of pride, or necessity for the continuity of his clan, he was also needed to perform rituals for the well-being of his parents and ancestors in after-life. Luckily for Malli, she was fertile. In the next six years, she would be back at Ammamma’s annually, delivering another four daughters and then thankfully, three strong sons, the last two, again twins.
“When I finally had enough of this,” Ammamma said, “I told Malli to discretely visit a lady doctor and get herself fixed. No need to involve men in such things, is there? It was a huge relief to both of us.”
It was strange having Ammamma recite Malli’s story to me; I felt like a railway passenger whizzing past the stations in my sister’s life. I was sad for having missed the births and milestones of my nieces and nephews. Before I left, all our energies had been focused on trying to get Malli and Lata married off; Malli and I had not had the time to be sisters; Chinni was more a sister to me than Malli or Lata ever were.
The months Malli was home for her deliveries would have been the time to get to know her; that was when in-laws typically let go of their daughters-in-law. Strict in-laws like Malli’s rarely gave permission to their daughter-in-laws to visit their mothers’ houses at other times – after all, if the daughter-in-law went away, who would cater to their needs?
In the midst of Malli’s pregnancies, Lata’s troubles, and worries about me, Ammamma had aged quietly, but gracefully. She couldn’t be much more than sixty because she’d had my mother at fifteen or so, and my mother had Lata and me when she herself was nineteen; but in village years, it was a lifetime.
I lay back exhausted, marvelling at the starlit sky. The ‘luxuries’ of the city had denied me life’s simpler pleasures. Because of the street lights, stars weren’t always visible in the city.
“How much I missed you, Child. How much I begged Yedukondalaswami for your return,” Ammamma said. Her voice broke. “But not like this; never like this.” She stroked my hair tenderly. She peered at me. “You’re t
he same, but not the same.”
I laughed. “I had to cut my hair so people would not recognize me. And I use makeup.”
“Makeup, Child?” Ammamma looked appalled. As far as Ammamma was concerned, makeup wasn’t something respectable women used – only women who sold their bodies, and film actors. Of course, I used it so sparingly that it was barely there, but it did make me look different.
“And the mole below the nose?”
“I got it removed.”
“It made you pretty, Child. But even English medicine has its limits, hanh? Unable to turn you fair, it was.”
I smiled, strangely comforted. Some things would never change.
“So how did you earn that money? What you sent me?”
“By selling my services,” I teased.
Ammamma smacked my hand.
“I became a doctor, Ammamma.”
Ammamma’s eyes became round. “You had so much brains? I never knew.”
Laughing, I raised myself on an elbow and gave Ammamma a hug. “You didn’t want Lata to be a doctor. Too much education for a woman, you said. Now look at me.”
“Now look at you.” Ammamma shook her head. “Of everything I imagined you to be over the years, this wasn’t it. How much I scolded that headmaster fellow for trying to make Lata one.”
We laughed, but it was a laughter tinged with sadness. A big part of me hated Lata for what she’d done to me. The pain I'd had to deal with should have been too great for me to feel any sympathy for this backstabbing sister of mine. But a part of me felt sadness, too, for the loss of Lata’s dreams. I could still see her, ten years old, walking about the village, chest puffed up, a plastic stethoscope around her neck, listening to the heartbeats of indulgent elders.
“And you still think it is wrong for women to want to make something of themselves?”
“Eight years away, and you have become a city girl. What happiness did your ‘doctory’ bring you, hanh? Or your Janaki aunty, for that matter?”
“But Ammamma, being a doctor did not bring on my troubles. It kept me from destitution, allowed me to lead a life of dignity. Otherwise, I would be weaving baskets at a roadside stall, barely scraping together a living.”
Tell A Thousand Lies Page 25