The roiling cauldron of humanity closed in, trapping us against the wall. I breathed in short jerky breaths, trying desperately to clamp down on mounting hysteria. Faces blurred together, melding into accusatory eyes. I hugged myself, trembling violently. This couldn’t be happening. Not now, not after all that Srikar, Ved and I had been through.
“Aaa... aaa... aaa... aaa!”
The crowds parted. I watched in shock as they flowed around Lata, enveloping her as well. Where had she come from? There was excited chatter; the crowds parted again, this time to reveal an advancing Kondal Rao. Lata moved closer to me, casting frenzied looks at Kondal Rao. I lunged for her arm.
“What are you doing here?” I shouted in panic. What had she cooked up with that vile man?
She elbowed me aside, raised her arms, grabbed the pins and rubber band from her hair, and threw them on the ground.
“Lata!” Chinni clapped a hand to her mouth.
Kondal Rao was moving closer by the minute.
Lata planted her legs far apart, thrust her head forward, hair spilling over, and started to move her head in a fast circular motion. “Aaa... aaa... aaa... aaa!” Her hips swayed in an almost indecent manner.
Kondal Rao dropped his folded hands and stared at Lata. “What’s wrong with her?”
What! He didn’t know either?
Srikar’s eyes were frozen wide.
“Aaa... aaa... aaa... aaa!” Lata’s voice was eerily high. She began to move faster and faster. Spittle flew from her mouth. Fast and faster, she went, hair covering her face. “Kon...dal... Rao... you have angered the Goddess.”
Sweat began to pour down Kondal Rao’s face. “She is a liar,” he shouted. “Just pretending to be an oracle.” He whirled around. “Jaggaiah? Yaddaiah? Where are those bloody fellows when I need them?”
A couple of henchmen bounded up, one of them waving his rifle wildly. He looked nervously at the skittish crowds.
“Kondal Ra...a...a...o...o...o,” Lata said in a high pitched voice. “The Goddess speaks through me. You have sinned. You pretended Pullamma was a Goddess. You destroyed her life. You lied, you cheated for the sake of elections. Stoning is too good for you. Hell is too good for you.”
“But... but...”
What was Lata doing?
The crowd fixed their gaze on Kondal Rao.
Kondal Rao took a step back. “She’s mad. Don’t believe her.” His voice wobbled.
“Hai...aah,” Lata threw out. “Doubting the Goddess herself, he is.” She pointed an accusing finger at Kondal Rao, moving faster and faster.
The crowd stared at her, then Kondal Rao, in horrified fascination.
“The sinner has to be punished,” Lata moaned at high pitch. “Has to be held accountable for his sins. His lies brought on last year’s drought.”
“I’m the weather or what?” Kondal Rao shouted, terror causing his jowls to quake. “How can I cause drought or floods, you stupid woman?”
“Aw-wa! Calling the Goddess stupid, he is.” Lata swayed. “He has tricked the fates long enough. The Goddess demands retribution. Aaa... aaa... aaa... aaa!”
Crack!
Kondal Rao put a hand to his forehead. It came away bloody. He stared at it in disbelief.
He took one step back.
The crowd took one step forward.
He took another step back.
The crowd spread out, encircling him.
He pushed past, and sprinted to me. He fell at my feet, and looked up. “Protect me, Pullamma, protect me, I beg of you.” He was sobbing.
I was close to fainting.
A man stepped forward and grabbed Kondal Rao by the collar.
“No...o...o...o. Help me. Someone help me.”
The gun-toting henchman fired in the air. The mob froze. A man leapt on the gunman. A wild shot struck the banyan. The gun fell on the ground. The gunman tried to fire another shot, but the gun jammed. Hurling it on the ground, he took to his heels. The other henchman followed, chest heaving. That left Kondal Rao alone – and unprotected.
“This is wrong,” I pleaded. “Don’t harm him. Hand him over to the police. Let the courts punish him.”
Most people separated themselves from the mob, edging the sides of the road. The rest eyed Kondal Rao in tense expectation.
My blood chilled. Srikar was frozen in horror.
The mob took a step forward.
Kondal Rao stumbled to his feet, swerved on his heel and took off at a run.
“There goes the sinner,” the mob roared.
They took off after him.
I stared till the mob grew smaller and smaller. Then they were gone.
I fell against the wall, shuddering violently. The remaining spectators were still as trees on a breezeless day. Not an eyelid moved. When the dust settled, the silence was eerie.
Lata had stopped her swaying. She was breathing heavily, drenched in sweat.
“What about her?” Someone pointed at me. “The kumkum was at her gate. She’s a witch.”
There was murmuring in the crowds. Tense expectation again.
“Fools!” Chinni roared. “All of you are fools. Can’t even see how Kondal Rao manipulated you.” She grabbed my arm. “This is Pullamma, our Pullamma, the same girl who grew up with us, played at our doorsteps, ate food in our houses.”
Chinni’s mother stepped forward, dabbing her forehead with her sari. “Kondal Rao bribed Ranga Nayakkamma to pretend Pullamma was a Goddess. Even today he was behind the planting of the dead chicken and kumkum. I know, because I saw his henchman, the one without the gun, do it.”
The crowd gasped as one.
“But why?” another man shouted.
Chinni’s mother said, “Kondal Rao was on the verge of losing his Chief Minister’s post. He planted the kumkum and the dead chicken at Pullamma’s doorstep to divert attention from his scandal.” She looked at the crowd. “Leave this poor girl alone. She has suffered enough.”
There seemed to be no more questions. I looked at Srikar.
Suddenly, he seemed to reach a decision. He took my arm and pulled me forward. “I am Srikar, grandson of Kondal Rao.” His face was grey.
The crowd gasped.
He slowly moved his eyes around the crowd, meeting eyes with as many people as he could. Then he put his arm around me. “Pullamma is my wife. Ved is our son.”
Another shocked gasp went around. People covered their mouths in disbelief.
“How come you didn’t acknowledge her for so long, hanh?” a belligerent man shouted. “What kind of man leaves his wife to live with the sister?”
“The kind of man who loves his wife enough to protect her from his unspeakably evil grandfather.”
We had been trying to combat gossip, well aware that people thought I was living with my sister’s husband, but in the villages, trust didn’t come easy.
“So you say!” A woman taunted.
“If you had doubts about Pullamma’s character, why didn’t you come forward?” Srikar shouted back. My grandfath–”
A police convoy was pulling up.
We stood in a frozen tableau. I against the wall, Srikar standing protectively in front of me, Lata in the middle of the road.
Eyeing the police, the crowds began to disperse. Chinni’s mother touched my arm in mute apology. I nodded, and she left with Chinni.
“Come,” Srikar said, taking my arm. He looked drained. We stepped through the doorway of the compound’s gate. My twin threw herself against the doorway.
“Can I have Ved?” Lata said, breathing harshly. “I came because I knew Kondal Rao would be here. I helped you out, didn’t I?”
Srikar turned around to face her. “Yes, you did,” he said quietly, “and I’ll never forget it. However, from now on it would be for the best if you stayed away from my family and me.” Gently, he closed the gate on her.
Inside, he put one arm around a terrified Ammamma and Ved, the other around me.
I closed my eyes against his shoulder,
trying to blot the horror out of my mind, and replace it with the warmth of his strong arm around my shoulders.
I was truly home.
Epilogue
Chandrasekhar is now the elected MLA from our district.
Srikar, Ved and I have set up home in the private quarters of my former ashram. Srikar bought our portion of the house from the daughters of Buchaiah, that poor old man who was shunted out from his own house by Kondal Rao, and who later died in an old age home.
Srikar’s grandmother and Janaki aunty moved in with Ammamma. Srikar laughingly complains that as the only males in our household, Ved and he are vastly outnumbered.
Lata is busy setting up a computer training centre for girls; she always was ahead of the times. In an effort to make up to her, Ammamma raised money for the computer centre by mortgaging her house. She asked my permission to add my ‘doctor money’ to it, what was left after the construction of the clinic anyway. I readily agreed. In the grand scheme of things, money sits the lowest on the rungs of my life’s ladder.
Lata phones to talk to Ammamma, and to Ved. We’ve told Ved he is free to visit her, but he isn’t ready. Someday, perhaps.
My Goddess aura has dissipated, thankfully. But life isn’t a fairy tale which ends in ‘happily ever after’ just because the last line of the story is written. Hurts have to heal, resentments have to fade, trusts have to mend.
But I see hope for us.
We adopted a baby girl – Ved, Srikar and I, who we named in honour of my other daughter. The lives of us all of us revolve around the terribly spoilt Vennela.
For this daughter, too, I’d tell a thousand lies.
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About the Author
Rasana Atreya, author of Tell A Thousand Lies, left a comfortable job in IT because she thought roughing it out as a penniless writer was romantic. Her next book, tentatively titled House Inherits Grandson, should be out soon. She has already begun work on The Temple Is Not My Father.
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Website http://RasanaAtreya.com
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Copyright 2012 Rasana Atreya
ASIN: B007IX6W8Q
ISBN-13: 978-1466340374
ISBN-10: 1466340371
Rasana Atreya has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the author’s consent in any form other than this current form and without a similar condition being imposed upon a subsequent purchaser.
Tell A Thousand Lies is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
http://rasanaatreya.com
Cover art Manoj Vijayan
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Acknowledgements
A lot of people encouraged, cajoled, critiqued, proofread and handheld me through the writing of this book. They are (in no particular order): Vrinda Baliga, Carol Kean, Francene Stanley, Holly Michael, Jackie/Jonjo, Frank Chan Loh, Regina Zeller Wingate, Silvia Villalobos, Neil Lambert, Heather Jane O’Connell, Judith Quaempts, Dr. Parang Mehta, Ruth Zavitz, Bob White, Bill Backstrom, John Hutt, Deb O’ Neille, Harimohan Paruvu, Yael Politis, Dr. V Haraprasad, Drupad Parsa and my sister, Vandana Atreya.
For helping me whip the book into shape, the credit goes to my editor, Patricia B. Smith, and also my husband, Aditya Gurajada.
For helping me fill in details about the various rituals and traditions in rural Andhra Pradesh, I owe my mother-in-law, Mrs. G. Satyakumari, a debt of gratitude.
Ben Shipley – thank you for helping with the formatting. Hugh Ashton, thank you for your patience in formatting the book for print, as we went through endless rounds of typo fixing.
The Internet Writing Workshop - you guys are the best!
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