Tell A Thousand Lies

by Rasana Atreya

  Maangalyam. Marriage-hood. The most important thing in a woman’s life. Other than her children, of course. All the pujas, the prayers women did, the fasts they kept, were solely to ensure the happiness of their husbands and children.

  “Kondal Rao would never allow it.”

  “Leave him to me,” the Swami said calmly.

  Ammamma said, “Kondal Rao knows Swamulavaru has a huge following. He won’t risk alienating his voter base.”

  “If that’s the case, why can’t Swamulavaru order Kondal Rao to leave me alone?”

  “If merely telling him helped, I’d do it right away, Child. But Kondal Rao is power-obsessed. I cannot predict how he’ll react. What if he did something unpredictable – like declaring you Graam Devata?”

  “If you try to corner a rabid dog,” Ammamma said, “be prepared for it to pounce on you.”

  “Not worth the risk,” the Swami added.

  So we were back to Lata’s maangalyam. I closed my eyes, my heart aching. This had never been my plan for life. “Will Srikar agree to this?”

  “He will, because he is an honourable man. He knows you were cheated of your child,” the Swami said. “He put you off only because he didn’t want to rock the child’s world.”

  “Nothing’s changed.”

  “Oh, but it has. Lata’s not been well. Srikar understands it is an unhealthy environment for the child to be in. But he will not leave Lata as long as she needs him. Both for her sake and the child’s.”

  What about me? This was no choice at all.

  The Swami continued, “The first time Srikar visited me was after you came back into his life. He was heartsick at what his grandfather did to you, at what he himself did to you. We had a long talk about his son, and you two sisters. And the complicated situation he is in. You can trust him to do the right thing.”

  Right for whom?

  “If I am able to get Lata to agree, how will you claim your son?” the Swami asked. “The world knows him as Lata’s son.”

  “If he can’t be the son of my womb, he can be the son of my soul.” Not what I’d have chosen, but like the Swami said, I didn’t have too many choices. Fortunately, no one would think it odd if he or any other child came to live in the ashram.

  “It’s not going to be easy,” the Swami warned.

  “I know. I will be ripping him away from the only family he’s known. I will be forcing him into something he has no desire for.”

  “And you are prepared for that?”

  I did not answer right away. I watched rain foam along the sides of the courtyard and tumble into the open gutters by the walls. Inside the gutter, the water swirled around, as much in turmoil as I was, before being swept away.

  “No, Swamulavaru,” I finally said. “I’m not prepared.” How could anyone possibly prepare for something like this?

  The Swami looked at me steadily, his grey eyes piercing.

  I turned away, unsettled.

  He leaned back, eyes closed, hands steepled on his belly. A beak-shaped nose, high cheekbones, which served to reinforce his saintly image. Stories about the elderly Guru were legendary. His followers talked about his gentleness, his love. He offered no magical solutions, but people came away with a feeling of hope.

  Now that I had met him, I allowed myself to feel a sliver of hope, too.

  He opened his eyes. “I will talk to Lata about letting you keep your son. I make no promises, though.”

  I nodded. “Swamulavaru?” I said, a little hesitant. I knew Ammamma wasn’t going to like what was coming. “Could you give him a new name?”

  “The boy?”

  “Yes.”

  Ammamma was looking curiously at me, but I forged on. “Growing up, I hated my name. I was teased mercilessly for it. I always thought if I had children, I would give them beautiful names.”

  “I never knew that.” Ammamma looked upset. Then something occurred to her. “Lata must have known.”

  I nodded.

  “Yet, she still named him Pullaiyya...”

  What could I say?

  “I’m so sorry, Pullamma.”

  “I never blamed you.” I put my hand on Ammamma’s. “You did what you thought was best.”

  “But children can be very cruel,” the Swami said.

  I nodded. “I don’t want my son going through life defending his name. It is possible, of course, that he is happy the way he is. If that is the case, we can let him be. But if he’s not, I want him to have the choice.”

  “You can name him whatever you want, Child,” Ammamma said softly.

  Thank you God, for a wonderful grandmother.

  “Something similar to the name you gave your daughter?”

  I nodded.

  Ammamma seemed confused. “But Swamulavaru, the girl was not Pullamma’s.”

  “Pullamma named her, therefore she must have loved her.”

  I bit down on my lip, trying to contain my emotions. Though Ammamma and the Swami both knew of my past, only the Swami had been perceptive enough to divine how much Vennela meant to me. Close as I was to her, even Ammamma hadn’t understood. I knew now why the Swami was so highly revered. “Her name was Vennela,” I said, a catch in my voice.

  “What a beautiful name,” he said. “How about Ved for her brother?”

  “I like it,” Ammamma said.

  I smiled gratefully at her.

  The Swami bent forward and touched my hair in benediction. His gentleness was my undoing. I rested my forehead on the arm of his chair and broke down. I cried till I could cry no more.

  “That many tears,” he said, stroking my head. “You have waited a long time for this.”

  Janaki Aunty and I still talked, but I felt adrift, cut off from her. Kondal Rao had decreed, possibly on Lata’s instigation, that I sever ties with Aunty. I had refused to bend quite that far, but now that Aunty lived with her son, I missed her advice, her love. I missed her, but was happy for Aunty and Srikar because they needed this time together. And the way things were going with Lata, I was particularly grateful Aunty was there for my son. “Other than Ammamma, I have no one I can confide in, Swamulavaru.”

  “Isn’t that the case with Gurus and Goddesses, even reluctant ones? People look to us for solutions. We have to find our own answers from within.”

  “Can false Goddesses look to real Swamis for solutions?”

  He gave a slight smile. “I know it is hard for you to leave the ashram. May I visit you once every two weeks?”

  “Please don’t make me feel small. I am your humble servant. This ashram is yours. Anytime you wish to come.”

  “Very well, then,” he said, getting up to leave.

  He had been well named, I thought, as I watched him leave. Chidananda. Eternal bliss. If I had been named differently, who knows how my life might have turned out?

  Chapter 52

  Career Change

  Swami Chidananda kept his word. Every two weeks he came to my ashram to dispense advice, to listen, to hold my hand – whatever it was I needed that particular visit. Looking forward to these visits was what kept me going, the other, unanticipated benefit being that I now had a legitimate reason to ask that the ashram be shut down for the day. The constant din of ashram workers preparing large scale meals, the muted sounds of people in lines waiting for an audience with me, the various day-long activities – these were beginning to wear me down.

  Waiting for the Swami, I settled back in one of the four armchairs we now owned. On a regular day, when I saw devotees, the courtyard was chock full of people walking up and down and about, while I was forced to sit in a corner and be Goddess. Some nights I dreamt I’d jumped out of my silver throne, and was running around the courtyard in ever widening circles, even as the crush of devotees pressed themselves against the walls on all sides, shaking their heads in unison because their beloved Goddess had lost her mental balance.

  If I were lucky I would awaken from my nightmare with my heart pounding; but most times I would get up
in the morning very tired from all the exercise. Because of the constancy of my nightmares, I lived in terror of losing control; I feared giving in to a crazy impulse during an audience – or perhaps when a bhajan was in session – running circles around the singers, arms spread out like a plane, preparing to take off. By the end of each day, the rigid control would have given me a headache; Ammamma now had a woman come in daily to give me a massage to relieve this stress. Much as I loved Ammamma, and was happy to be with her, I desperately missed Aunty and her practical advice. I felt terrible that my stress was taking its toll on my elderly grandmother.

  I forced myself to push aside thoughts of Pullaiyya and Srikar and Janaki aunty, and take advantage of the moment. My grandmother was visiting Malli. The devotees had gone home after the morning session and the ashram was blessedly peaceful. The patterned marble flooring – white, with black diamonds – sparkled clean. Our cow was long gone – it had moved on to its reward in the sky. The tamarind tree, a runt in our youth, and now full-grown thanks to the diligent attention of the ashram volunteers, had spread its branches wide against the sky. I lay back and looked up through its tiny green leaves. The sky was a blinding blue, summer having scorched its way past. I closed my eyes, feeling the breeze caress my face. A deliciously sweet smell, sugar and spice, teased my senses. Somewhere, a mother called out to her child. The blissful warmth of the winter sun made me pleasantly drowsy.

  When I opened my eyes, Swami Chidananda was settled in his familiar contemplative pose, fingers steepled over the white beard flowing down his belly. I jumped out of my chair. “Swamulavaru, I didn’t realize you –”

  “Child, you were enjoying a beautiful winter morning. What is there to apologize? Sit.”

  I sat.

  “You appear rested,” he said.

  I sighed. “I had a very nice nap, but...”

  “Something is bothering you.”

  I told him about my dream, about my feeling of being trapped with no way out.

  “Are you having a crisis of faith?”

  “No!” I was startled. “Yes.” I sat up slowly. “Maybe, I am. After all, how could God let me be a false Goddess?”

  “Hmm.”

  “I live in fear of losing control.”

  “Because you must keep such rigid control over yourself?”

  I nodded.

  “Is there anything you can do to make you feel you have more control over your life?”

  “Be a doctor?” I said, expecting him to laugh.

  But he looked thoughtful. “Why not?”

  “How will I do that Swamulavaru?”

  “When they brought you back a second time, did they not say that you had appeared to one of your devotees in the form of a doctor?”

  “On my insistence, yes.”

  “There you go. That is your solution. Start healing people’s bodies instead of their souls.”

  “Will they accept it?”

  “Sadly enough, people will believe whatever they are told to believe. You can tell them you have been called to heal. You always worry you are duping people. Isn’t practicing medicine more honest than what you are forced to do now?”

  It was true, what the learned Guru said. This time around, I had not conformed to people’s expectation of a Goddess, so people had changed their expectations to accommodate my behaviour. If I now declared I was going to start treating their bodies as well as their souls, perhaps people would take that in their stride, too. I had sensed this change myself.

  “What about Kondal Rao?”

  “We’ll worry about him when we have to. Till then, you do what you have to.”

  I got up and touched Swami Chidananda’s feet in gratitude.

  “May you find the peace that eludes you so.”

  ><

  With the Swami’s blessings, Ammamma set a plan in motion to distance me from my Goddess role.

  We had a bhajan session with only a few, key devotees. Swami Chidananda was invited. After the bhajan was over, and the prasadam distributed, he declared, “Henceforth, Ammavaru shall be known as Doctor amma.” Small change in wording, huge difference in import – one meant Goddess, the other a normal lady doctor, albeit one deserving respect.

  “But,” Sarala, my devotee, asked, “why is this, Swamulavaru?”

  “Because above Doctor amma rests a higher power.”

  She seemed unsure, but it was amazing how little convincing the other devotees needed, now that the Swami had spoken.

  Now, if only Kondal Rao would be convinced.

  Chapter 53

  Pullaiyya Arrives

  The Swami had spoken.

  The devotees accepted that my audience-giving days were in the past. The ashram activities – the bhajans, the group sessions on various spiritual texts – continued, but I stayed away, not wanting to confuse people. Practicing medicine was still unthinkable. How could I, as long as my home was not my own?

  I also worried about Kondal Rao’s lack of interference in my life; his continued absence was a phantom itch I could not scratch.

  In the meantime, the Swami had not been idle. On one of his visits, he told me that that Lata had agreed to let me have my son.

  “But?” I asked.

  “But you have to agree to stay away from her home, and her husband.”

  Even though this wasn’t unexpected, it still pierced my heart.

  “Pullaiyya won’t forgive you,” Ammamma said, “if you take Srikar away from Lata.”

  My throat jammed with tears. “And Srikar? What did he say?”

  Ammamma gave a short laugh. “What can the poor man say, caught as he is between warring sisters?”

  I knew Ammamma didn’t mean this unkindly, but it wounded all the same.

  “Srikar said he would want to come to the village every so often to meet the boy,” the Swami said. “Lata wants your assurance that you will make no attempt what-so-ever to reunite with her husband.”

  I nodded, though I hurt. “What was my son’s reaction?”

  “He cried.” The Swami looked at me with compassion. “But you already knew that.”

  ><

  Srikar had arrived the previous night to drop Pullaiyya off. Now it was time for him to leave. My son clung to Srikar, his little hands gripping his father’s arms. As Srikar tried to gently pry away his hands, my son broke down. “Please, Nanna, if you take me back with you, I will never take your pens without telling you. I will always wash my hands before eating. I will take good care of Amma. Please don’t make me stay here.”

  Srikar pulled the little boy to him, close to tears himself.

  I watched, heart heavy. What were we adults doing to this poor child?

  “Pullamma is your mother, Child. I’m not leaving you with strangers. Don’t think of this as punishment.”

  “Please, Nanna, please!”

  Srikar knelt by Pullaiyya and put a finger under the child’s chin. “I still love you. Amma still loves you. But you know Amma’s not been well lately, right?”

  He nodded tearfully.

  “You know she needs time to get better?”

  Another nod.

  “So you will be a brave boy for me?”

  Pullaiyya nodded again.

  “Then let me go.”

  At the gate to the courtyard, Pullaiyya clung to Srikar’s leg, crying hysterically, not letting go.

  “Ammamma,” I said, choking up, “what right do I have to inflict my needs on an innocent child? Maybe it is best he continue to stay with Srikar and Lata.” Lata might be sick, but at least Pullaiyya wouldn’t be traumatised by their separation.

  “Don’t you dare!” Ammamma gave me a ferocious look. “It will be hard till he settles down, but settle he will. Because you love that child.”

  Srikar gently untangled his leg, gave his son a final hug and walked away. I could see his shoulders shake even beyond the courtyard gate.

  ><

  I phoned Janaki aunty in Hyderabad that night.

  “How i
s he?” she asked.

  “Aunty, he has been sitting in the same corner since Srikar left, refusing to move. He’s gotten up only twice, both times to rush to the bathroom and back. He’s had two glasses of milk, but no food.”

  “Poor child,” Aunty said. I could tell she was crying.

  “I’ll send him back,” I said, defeated.

  “No!” Then her tone softened. “No, Child. Much as I miss him, his place is with you, his mother.”

  Now, I looked at the little body slouched in the corner of my bedroom. It was the following morning and he’d not moved. My heart sank. This wasn’t going to be easy.

  “Are you hungry?”

  No response.

  “Do you want to see what happens in an ashram?”

  No response.

  I bent forward and put a tentative hand on his.

  “Don’t touch me!” He pushed.

  I tripped, falling against the flimsy side table. The table broke from the force of my elbow. I pulled my arm up hard. A sharp pain shot up.

  He scuttled to the corner diagonally across from me.

  Supporting my throbbing arm with my good one, I got on my knees and propped my good elbow on the chair to get up from the floor. Another sharp pain shot up my elbow. I moaned involuntarily.

  My son didn’t spare me a passing glance.

  Ammamma came into the room with a plate of food. “Pullaiyya, look what I have for you. I made your favourite payasam. Would you like to try some?”

  Pullaiyya burrowed his head into the cemented corner.

  Ammamma gave a sigh. She turned to me. “Ai-yai-yo! What are you doing on the floor?” She slammed the bowl of payasam on the other side table and rushed to me.

  I was woozy with pain now.