THE WAKE UP SONG THEY SANG
By Sridevi, P.
(Translated by Nidadavolu Malathi)
Ramam was walking bit by bit. He was new to walking on a cement road. The rain just
stopped raining. The sun was blazing forth in full blast. It was still midday, no way near
cooling down. The cement road was still wet. Ramam was afraid that he might slip and
fall. That’s why he was watching his steps. He stayed on the left side of the street,
watching for the buses, cars and ambulances that were scurrying away in a hurry on
the street. He kept walking; felt like walking uphill and the road seemed to be getting
longer for each step he’d walked. Ramam was slight of stature, hardly would qualify to
be called a young man.
He was gasping for breath. The top of head was feeling the heat of the midday sun. For
a second, he wondered if he should take a rickshaw. He could see the hospital gate,
not too from where he was; one more furlong, he would be at the Collector’s office. He
wished very badly, oh, god, get me there somehow.
“Orey, Ramam, Ramam,” a familiar voice hollering at him.
Ramam turned around. Srinivasulu was on the sidewalk across the street, holding his
bicycle; a meals carrier was hanging from the handle bar. He waved his hand from
there. Ramam crossed the road and went to Srinivasulu.
“Hey, when did you come here? Where’re you staying? What’s new? By the way, have
you passed the tests?”
Not that Srinivasulu was a stranger to Ramam. They were cousins. Yet it was annoying—
What is problem with him? Why is he blasting off all these questions without break?
Why is he screaming and yelling on the street like this? But what can he do? Srinivasulu
was ten to twelve years older, at the least. He had no choice but give replies to all his
inquiries.
“I came early morning, bava. Staying with Suryam babayi. Yes, I passed the exam. That’
s the reason for my running around now,” he replied.
“What’d you mean?”
“What else? Job search,” Ramam said.
“You, idiot! You’re hardly sixteen! Who do you think will hire you? You say you’ve passed
the high school exam, yet, look very stupid, if you ask me. Did your dad really send you
here? Or, ran away from home?” Srinivasulu kept pouring the questions, nonstop.
That’s the way he is. He would guess what the other might say, and come up with both
sides of the arguments himself in a hurry. But, Ramam cut him short and gave his reply.
It was different from Srinivasulu’s guess. “What’s it, bava, how could you saying such
things? Dad sent me himself. A few days back, he came here too. He made me apply for
a few positions here, of course, entry-level positions, nothing big. He sent me to pursue
them now,” he said. And before Srinivasulu could start again, Ramam added, “By the
way, where’re you heading? Work?”
Srinivasulu broke into a big laughter. “What work at this time of the day? Besides, who
would go to work, with a meals carrier and food? I have never worked in my life, and am
not going ever work in my lifetime again. Those idiots pay sixty or ninety rupees at the
most. How can I run a family with that income?” he said.
Ramam could not follow his argument, not at all. Before he could figure it out, Srinivasulu
seized his arm, and started dragging him toward the hospital. On the way, he said, “If
we stand here chattering, we’ll run out of time; the hospital guard would say the visiting
hours are over and throw us out. Let’s go, hurry. Come on. My wife must be starving.”
Srinivasulu also told him that ten days back his wife gave birth to a baby girl, and that
she will be sent home the following day; he brought food for his wife. At the hospital
gate, he said, “You wait here. They wouldn’t let you in yet. I’ll give the carrier to my wife
and be back in a second.”
Ramam couldn’t tell him that he had something else to take care of.
Srinivasulu took the carrier inside, returned right away and dragged Ramam to his
home. Ramam remembered very clearly all the things his father had told him just before
he left for the city. “Orey, don’t go to any place as you pleased and get stuck in a mess.
Go straight to the street all our relatives are. On that street, you can stay in any home;
one is good as another. There is Suryam babayi for one. Or else, our Subba Rao and
Sita set up their family in the front portion of house at the end of the street. Their set up
is still raw, of course; but for them we are like life itself. And then round the corner,
Venkateswarlu rented a place; you know, the one that has water tap and almond tree
in the yard. You pick the house you like; they all are as good as our own family. In fact,
each one of them is going to insist that you must dine with them at least once; they’re
not going to leave you alone. But, there’s one thing you must keep in mind. It seems
your aunt’s son, Srinivasulu, lives on the next street. He, for one, is a good person; I
must give it to him. I wouldn’t mention this, if he had not gotten that woman and kept
her in his house. The crowds are crows. That’s the proverb. You just keep away from
him; mind your own business.”
Before Ramam left for the city, his father told him lot of things, in addition to that
warning. He told him to stay back one or two more days, if necessary; meet all the
friends I’d mentioned and given you the addresses; behave well, be humble and polite.
In other words, Ramam had to approach some for recommendations; and a few others,
he need to beg for a job.
As it turned out, Ramam had to follow Srinivasulu to his home, despite all the counseling
from dad. The house was quite small—two rooms, a small front porch, and two small
rooms, more like closets, one for cooking and the second for bathing. But it was
separate from other units and thus quite pleasant. Ramam settled down on the bench
on the front porch. Srinivasulu put the bike in a corner, and told him, “Have seat. You
are looking up beat up by the heat. I’ll get you water.” He went in and returned with
water and also a woman. He told her, “Here, he’s our Ramam, Chandram uncle’s son.
Look at him, barely, the size of a thumb; he has passed the school final exam and came,
looking for a job.” Then he turned to Ramam and said with a smile, “She is one more
akkayya for you, Ramam. Her name is Varalakshmi.”
Several conflicting thoughts were nearly choking Ramam; yet, some sort of decorum
from the deepest corner of his brain, made him say namaskaaram. She, with a smile,
good as a jasmine just blossomed, asked, “Did you eat, tammudu?”
Ramam was shocked for the way she addressed him; he said, “Yes. I’d done eating at
babayi’s house by about ten.”
“Bring him in. Coffee and tiffin will be ready in about half hour,” she said with the same
pleasant countenance, and disappeared into the kitchen.
“Come on, Ramam, let’s go in. It’ll be cool there. The stupid humidity is awful here; the
stupid rain.” Srinivasulu went in. Ramam followed him, looking at the little things all
around in the house.
****
Srinivasulu used to go to Ramam’s village frequently in regard to some land dispute. In
fact, this Srinivasulu, Suryam, Subba Rao and Venkateswarlu—all these people used to
live as one extended family some two or three generations back.
Kistayya of that village used to have plenty of property and several children, both boys
and girls. Eventually, the children grew up, got married, had children of their own, and
moved on to other places. Some of them settled down in the city. It even became a
custom for the people who had settled down there first to help others to find a place
and settle down. That’s how they all, the five or six families, happened to settle down
on the same street.
Three years back, Srinivasulu used to live under Suryam babayi’s roof. Suryam’s first
wife died after their first daughter was born. That baby was the same Suseela,
Srinivasulu’s wife, who’s now the new mother at the hospital, the mother who’s
returning home soon.
Suryam married again after his wife died. Srinivasulu was married at the age of 16. His
father had died earlier and his mother after one year. His uncle, now father-in-law, took
him. Srinivasulu had inherited huge piece of land, not small by any count—eighty acres
of high yield farm land. His mother-in-law had children, a baby a year. Srinivasulu too
had children, once every two years. Each time a baby was born, festivities—naming
ceremony etc.—were inevitable. Also, they kept playing the host anytime any relative
came into town; their house became pretty much a shelter. All these expenses had to
be met with from the income on the land Srinivasulu owned. They all wanted the income
from the land but nobody was willing to take care of the land; the expenses exceeded
income. In course of time, the land started disappearing bit by bit. Part of the remaining
land went to the farmers, who were cultivating the land, a result of the new laws that
were put in place. After all this had happened, the father-in-law had come to realize
that he was not going to get any money from the land anymore. Then he started
bickering with Srinivasulu. Finally, Srinivasulu came to his senses, moved out and set up
his own family, and started a new life. Now he and his father-in-law would not talk with
each other.
Ramam has some knowledge of this story. Srinivasulu, after getting into a fight with his
father-in-law, went to their village (where Ramam was living), sold the remaining land
and started his family in the city. Now, the only thing Ramam did not understand was
why did Srinivasulu got involved with another woman, after all this bungling of family
relationships? Why did he ruin his own life in this manner?
* * * *
Srinivasulu ran into Ramam at noon; and he did not leave him alone until after six in the
evening. Ramam managed somehow and got out of his grip by evening. His head was
totally messed up. What was he supposed to now? Should he go to Suryam babayi’s
house? Maybe, not right away; probably, it’s okay if he goes by suppertime; oh, god,
those children! These little devils! They would not even care that he was a stranger;
just walk all over him; one boy would reach into his pocket; a girl would climb on his
shoulders, and so on. He had it for two hours, earlier in the morning. Experience of a
lifetime. And then, Suryam babayi’s wife would start squabbling with the maid—good for
making a movie. She was so upset, she lost it, she dropped the coffee she was bringing
for him, it was such a mess; and it took another hour to bring him another cup of coffee;
that didn’t even taste like coffee; it was some odd mix of a drink without a flavor, smell
or color.
Ramam started tracking down the street he came by and walking toward the beach. He
couldn’t help wondering: what a difference between Srinivasulu’s house and Suryam
babayi’s house! It was small but clean; there was even some furniture and a small radio
in the second room. Srinivasulu also had five children but it didn’t look like a family with
five children. He was old that the older kids had gone to school, and the younger ones
were sleeping in the other room. The eldest, a girl, was 11-years old, was in the 8th
class. Srinivasulu said the girl was very smart; he was planning to send her to medical
school. Ramam thought that’s what I’d call luck. He was smart too, he always scored the
highest marks in his class; in each class he ranked first. Yet, Chandrayya, his father
never said, not even once, that he would send him for higher studies. Chandrayya had
his own way of solving any problem; he could do it in a second. He had gotten rid of his
eldest daughter, Minakshi, as soon as she turned 16; instead of taking time to look for a
good match, he married her to a widower and got done with her. “She’s going as
second wife, so what? They are rich, she will be happy,” he said. Then Ramam. As soon
as he finished high school, Chandrayya went to the city, went around looking for
vacancies, picked up application forms for jobs that paid anywhere from 40 to 60
rupees, and got Ramam to sign them. Then he had shoved 20 rupees in Ramam’s palm,
and had sent him off to the city. His father also told him to join right away in case such
opportunity came up. Look at Srinivasulu, what’s his status? Chandrayya had that much,
no doubt. Yet, Chandrayya had never entertained the thought of sending Ramam for
higher education. In his mind, simply living, that was enough.
Ramam sat in the beach and kept ruminating until it got really dark. Why were they all
living? But then, was he going to do anything different? This kind of heavy thoughts
entered his brain, which was neither raw nor ripe. Then it occurred to him, “Am I really
that old? Look at the younger son of Venkatasamy and the oldest son of the mill
manager; they are the same age I am, and they are playing marbles on the street.” His
brain jumped ahead of his age, and that was scary.
He was beset by the thoughts about Varalakshmi again. Who’s she? It doesn’t matter,
she seem to be a nice person, so kind! There was no small-mindedness, not even a
trace of it! That thought frightened him again. Suryam babayi had warned him in the
morning, “Orey! Remember your brother-in-law, Srinivasulu, Suseela’s husband. He’s
taken to rotten ways. Probably, you’ve heard it too. Don’t even set foot on his doorstep.
You’re still raw, for starters. His life is rotten; and he’s capable of dragging you down
too.” How could Ramam comprehend all this? All he’d known was to achieve top honors
in his class. His brain kept questioning him over and again, “Yes, I stayed in their house
from noon till evening. Does that comprise ruination of my life?” He had to admit it; he
had nothing but respect for Varalakshmi. Based on that, he felt even closer to
Srinivasulu. But, if anyone else had heard of it, it would mean bigger trouble. He couldn’t
shake away that thought. Therefore, he tucked away all this thoughts in the deepest
corners of his heart, and reached his uncle’s home, which felt more like hell.
The next day, Ramam went to several places on business. There was no hope of finding
any job anywhere. By the time he reached home it was quite late. It didn’t seem like
anybody was home. The entire was dark as hell. In that very second, the little baby
started screaming, as if to let Ramam know that he was there after all. The lady of the
house lit up an oil lamp, the size of a nail, and assured the baby, “don’t cry, babu. Here,
I’ve lit the lamp.” The baby was six months’ old. Ramam was scared to walk even one
foot forward in that darkness. He was afraid just in case, afraid that he might step on
some nutty cat, unknowingly.
He told the mother, “Give me a matchbox and the lantern. I’ll light it up,” he said,
without budging from the porch.
Suryam walked in and said to Ramam, “Oh, you’re back. I was waiting for you. Look, we’
re out of kerosene and matchboxes. Take it from me; your pinni is a real thickhead.
Shouldn’t be taking care of such things while it was daylight? I went to Venkatesam’s
house, hoping he would fill the lamp and light it up. But they all went to the movies.
Nobody was home. Anyway, give me a half rupee. I’ll be back in a half hour, with a wick
lamp and matchbox.” He held out his hand for Ramam for the money. Ramam had no
choice but give. Suryam was apologetic, “please, don’t get me wrong. I forgot where I
put my purse. How can I find it in this darkness, you tell me. Don’t worry about it. I’ll
return you money tomorrow.”
In the next three days, Ramam had few more experiences that are unusual. One
afternoon, pinni garu served him only dal and rice and buttermilk. She said it was hard
to get vegetables in the city, even after shelling down lot of money. As it turned out,
that was not a single incident. Almost each day, she served chutney for lunch and rasam
at night, while cursing the city for not making vegetables available. From what Ramam
had seen, that house had been always wanting in something or other. There was only
one thing that seemed to exist there—poverty. Still, they all were living, living with great
assurance at that. None of them would admit that they were living in poverty. The
husband called it his wife’s thickhead; she called it her husband’s amnesia.
One day Suryam said, “We’re out of rice. I told the storekeeper to send a bagful of rice
but that idiot is so forgetful. Give me a rupee, babu, I’ll get rice from the store next
door.” Once again, Ramam had no choice but give.
Out of the twenty rupees his father had given Ramam, Suryam babayi pocketed six
rupees. He had no hope of ever getting them back. The only thing he could not figure
out was: How could they all—two adults and seven children—have been managing to
live, without any income, not even a paisa? Let’s forget the money they did not have.
There was no cleanliness either. Ramam was disgusted with their language, habits as
well as their behavior.
He could not meet Srinivasulu during the three days but he had to, of necessity, visit
with other relatives. Each of the families had been living with a different set of values.
Ramam’s father, Chandram, was part of the same genealogy, yet his ways were
different. Chandram was an ordinary teacher; yet, he was not hit by poverty, or with
filthiness. In his home, nobody suffered any illness. They had enough food to eat and
clothes to wear. They did not want anything more. Chandrayya did not believe in radio,
gramophone, cinema and such things. Even special occasions, he made sure they were
performed on a simple scale as stated in the sastras. He would say, “It’s the
performance of the ritual that’s important, not the show.” Chandrayya was convinced,
based on his experience, that there was only one aim in life. For him, living meant
having food to eat and clothes to wear. Ramam was raised with that single value. He
came to the same city, holding on to the same value—to find a job to meet his basic
needs; he had not seen any life beyond that. Under the circumstances, inevitably all
these characters—Suryam, Venkateswarlu and a pretend brother like Subba Rao—
looked strange.
Venkateswarlu would go to the movies thrice a week, at the least. He would watch each
movie twice at least; and would take his wife with him. His income was 70 rupees a
month, and he is a father of two. He and his wife would go to the movies, leaving the
children in their neighbor’s care. The strange thing about him was he could skip a meal
for want of money; so also his wife. They would feed the children pakodi and water for
supper; they must watch the movies, there was no compromise there. They were
paying twenty rupees rent for their portion. The landlord cut off the electricity because
they defaulted on rent. Still, it was not adding up. How could they manage with 70
rupees, even it meant spending only pakodi and the movies? Ramam, with his high
school education, could not figure it out.
The rumor is Subba Rao’s father had amassed considerable wealth through his
business; but now, it seems, his credit matched debit. Whatever it is, Subba Rao, being
a rich man’s son, took twelve years to get through, from the ninth class to the pre-
degree level, which he’d never finished. That puts his age somewhere around thirty.
Arranging his marriage also took a long time; his parents could not find a bride befitting
their status. Just a few months ago, he was married, which put an end to his education
forever. His job search is another story. He would not take a small job, since that’s
below his status; he’s still waiting for a job that could measure up to his social standing;
that’s yet to come. In the meantime, his father had been sending him money, sufficient
by his own computation. But, for Subba Rao and his new wife, the cash would last a
week, barely. The movies, boat trips, hotels—all these things would cost money. How’re
they managing the other three weeks? - One more question which was perplexing for
Ramam.
* * * *
Ramam went to see Srinivasulu again, after four days. By then, Suseela had come home
with the baby from the hospital. He had seen her in his childhood days. She recognized
him right away and greeted him happily. Srinivasulu was not home. Ramam turned
around, saying, “I’ll come back later.” But Suseela stopped him, “Wait, what’d you
mean? Why act like we are strangers to you? Come on in sit down. Bava will be back in
a few minutes. He told me, you came to the hospital.” She went on and on.
Varalakshmi came in with a cup of coffee. How did she know I was here? Ramam
wondered for a second. He sat there sipping coffee and watching them. A few familiar
thoughts haunted him. How could these two women live in the same house? What a
heartbreaker! Like Venkateswarlu had said yesterday, poor Suseela akkayya must be
heartbroken about this! Just for a second, all his sympathy leaned toward Suseela.
In the next second, he was jolted into the present. Suseela was about to get up to get
some clothes for the baby. Varalakshmi jumped to her rescue, “Oh, no. What’s that?
Why didn’t you say so, if you wanted something? You’re a new mother, you should stay
in bed.”
“Well, I didn’t have that kind of luxury even the first time. Why now?” Suseela said
gently. There was no sarcasm in her tone. Only tenderness.
Ramam was taken aback. What kind of women are these two? Is this all a show for his
benefit? His shock did not last long, though. Srinivasulu, who was supposed to be in
within fifteen minutes, did not show up even after a half hour. Within those thirty
minutes, those two women, who’re known as savathulu, changed several of his
opinions dramatically.
He told himself, “Suseela akkayya is not heartbroken, and it’s just not true. How can
anybody, if heartbroken, be so kind and calm? It’s absolutely wrong to imagine that
there’s a falling-out between these two women. They are quite happy; why the world is
coming down hard on them?
Srinivasulu came home. Ramam told him about all the people he had met and what had
been the outcome. While he was telling his story, Venkateswarlu showed up.
Venkateswarlu was surprised to see Ramam there, and said, “Are you camping here
now?”
“No, just came to see them,” Ramam replied.
Venkateswarlu pulled Srinivasulu to a side and said something. Srinivasulu went in; a
little later, Varalakshmi came to the front porch and gave a bill, probably, five rupees.
The bill was slipped into Venkateswarlu’s pocket and he disappeared into the street—all
this happened in quick succession.
After 15 minutes or so, Suryam’s oldest son came with a handbag. He turned to Suseela
and said, “Amma told me to bring some rice from you.” She said, “Ask Varalakshmi
akkayya.” Ramam watched as the boy went in and returned with the bag filled with rice.
Ramam was stunned, what about all these people? They would sit on their steps and
pour a volley of insults on the same Srinivasulu; and they had no problem borrowing
from the same man again. Strange people, he thought. But he could not hold himself; he
muttered, “What’s this, bava! They’re all coming to you?”
Srinivasulu, took a strong puff, threw away the cigarette butt, and said, lightly, “Oh,
that? That’s a mysterious riddle. They all banned me from our family circle; but the
banning rules do not apply to money and rice, you know.” And then, he added, “Forget
them. What’s your program tomorrow? Would like to go to the movies with me?”
“Movies? No, bava. First, let me be done with the job on hand. I am almost done with
the list dad handed to me; there's one more gentleman to meet and I’m done. He’s out
of town; will be back tomorrow. After meeting him, I’m free.”
“Who?”
“His name is Seshagiri; works at the Collector’s office.”
“God bless you. Seshagiri? Why didn’t you tell me until now? I know him very well. I can
get anything done that can be done with his help. Do you know who he is? A cousin of
Varalakshmi. He was my classmate too.” While speaking those words, Srinivasulu
looked at Ramam with some misgivings. Ramam read a lot in those looks—I can help
you; and only I can, if anybody, can help you, and so on.
Ramam was stuck in a dubious situation—he didn’t know what to do. Srinivasulu patted
on his shoulder and said, “You’re looking lost. You want to ask something; and also too
scared to ask. I can see that. You are still raw, a sort of midstream of knowing and not
knowing. Yet, you’re also smart. You have some understanding of worldly ways, but not
their depth. This is the time for you to get a grip on things. You must have heard a lot
about me. You’re curious about her—Who’s this Varalakshmi? What’s the story?” He
looked into Ramam’s eyes as if asking am I right?
In Ramam’s mind, that sounded just about right, at the same time, also like it was
wrong. He would never ask Srinivasulu for an explanation on his own. But, since
Srinivasulu started it, wanted to know. He became curious.
“But,” Ramam said, fumbling for words.
“All our relatives here said lots of things about me, right? Now, you listen to me, what I
want to say about myself. You are still young. Yet, your dad is pushing into the maze of
life. Therefore, you listen to me; between the two of us, I am the adult. They all told you
that I might be misguiding you, because you’re young. No worry there, I’ve no such
plans. As far as I am concerned, in this wide world, each has to find his or her own path.
It’s wrong to think that one person could turn into a bad person because of another.
Any human becomes a bad person only because of his own stupidity. Nobody takes to
evil ways, if he had a grasp of the ways of the world.” Srinivasulu looked at Ramam
again, keenly. Ramam was listening to him closely.
Srinivasulu continued, “Let me summarize my life for you. Then you think about it—what
is the underlying philosophy of these people? And what happens if we adopt their
philosophy blindly; put all your brains to work and draw your own conclusions.
Varalakshmi had a dad like yours and mine. She was the only daughter. Just like all the
sisters in your family; she also was married, at eleven or twelve, into wealthy family.
Unfortunately, the man died within a year. At the time, she barely had any idea about
money or the husband for that matter.
“But her father had a very good idea about the value of money. He fought with her in-
laws and got 25 thousand rupees. She was still young and had no use for the money.
So he loaned it and collected the interest and thus increased its value. Some friends
suggested remarriage but he would not hear of it; “over my dead body,” said her
father, who’s dead as of now. Varalakshmi went to school; she was good in her studies
up to high school. Her brothers did not let her go to higher studies. They were worried
that, with better qualifications, she might fly away, and take the stash with her. But she
had the spirit of freedom in her blood; and she was alert all the time. By the time she
was twenty, she had a few desires of her own. At the same time, people around started
entertaining thoughts about her property.
“It was at that time, I was introduced to her by this same Seshagiri. She came to the K.
G. Hospital; some problem with her eyes. Ramam, she was looking for a man who would
take care of her and her property. You could say it is a lottery; for some reason, I looked
to be that man in her eyes. She said she put her trust in me; and I said, fine, I wouldn’t
destroy your trust. I couldn’t. Want to know why? Well, think about it; a beautiful
woman, with considerable wealth, came to me, looking for me; am I not man enough
not to take it? We’re not married, not because we’re stupid. On the other hand, we
both are very smart. We’re aware that marriage would mean trouble for her property.
Bigamy is against law, you know; we’d lose on both counts.” Srinivasulu stopped to look
at Ramam again.
Ramam was listening without batting an eye.
Wouldn’t she lose her heart over this?”
To speak the truth, Ramam would not make such a comment. He just came to
understand that there was no harm done.
But Srinivasulu resumed, “Suseela had come to see that this is one way for us to have a
happy life. I don’t think it was patience or generosity on her part. She’s the kind of
those people who would grovel on rich investors. She’s Suryam’s daughter after all. In
fact, she went into bonkers because her father ruined my property; she whined more
than I did. After her father lost most of my land, we sold the remaining strip; that money
was gone in no time. If Varalakshmi had not entered into our lives, we would have been
in the same position as your Suryam babayi. But, see now! Suseela and her children are
wanting for nothing. The entire burden of the family is being straightened because of
Varalakshmi.
“Let’s check this out, too. Suseela is a woman, after all; wouldn’t feel jealous? People
wonder about her. The truth is jealous results from disappointment. Her womanhood
has been satiated ever since she was 14-years old; therefore, she has no such
disappointments. By the time Varalakshmi came here, Suseela is already a mother of
four. Now her wish is only that her children and she should have a good life, no reason
to push away that wealth. She’s very happy internally that now she has got an easy
way to have that good life.
“Don’t get me wrong; no reason to wonder why I was explaining all my life in such a
great detail. You might even be thinking that what’s my greatness in this? After all, a
wealthy woman walked into my arms freely; and I took advantage of it. No, Ramam, I
am not saying this is all my accomplishment. What I am saying is, everybody in the
entire world wants to take advantage of it and use it to his or her selfish ends, without
hurting others, if and when an opportunity came their way. I know how their minds
work—all those people who had been cursing me and speaking ill of me. They’re whining
because they did not get such an opportunity; even Suseela is aware of it. Tell me, how
smart is she? Look at the neighbors; they all keep comforting her endlessly. And
Suseela does not have the poise to turn around and say to their face, stop, my husband
did nothing wrong; he is a hero. No, she can’t say that. Therefore, she also joins them,
and says what can I do? This is all my karma. Whatever’s gotten into his head and
heaves a desperate sigh. And then, she comes home and says to me, idiots, they’re
jealous because we’re happy.
“Let me say this. I won a lottery. They all played it and lost. Know what I did? I turned
over my entire financial management to Varalakshmi. Each morning, somebody or other
from those families, will come to my door, asking for salt, dal, an anna or a rupee,
something or other. That’s not loan but begging, if you ask me. They all know that each
paisa they’d been spending belonged to that ‘woman’. Each one of them holds out his
or her hand, every day, to that very ‘woman’ kept by Srinivasulu. I wanted that happen
and for that reason I would not keep even one paisa with me. My entire family, including
the baby born last week, and I are the pet parrots of Varalakshmi.
“Probably, you are astonished but that is my story,” Srinivasulu finished his story. He
narrated a long story, but without showing any emotion. He narrated it smoothly and
happily, as if he was narrating somebody else’s story.
There are some people in this world; they’re like an inquisitive student who wants to
know every little thing that happens in this world. That student feels inexplicable
pleasure after the teacher taught him a new lesson. He goes around telling everybody,
hey, guess what, I’ve learned a new lesson today. Ramam experienced exactly the
same kind childish pleasure as that student. Not only that, until now, nobody talked to
him about people and the world. At home, whenever he tried to ask what was
happening, all he’d got was the same reply. His mother and father would tell him, no
need for you to bother about. The strange part is, the same parents tell him, you’re not
a child, and rush him, when it comes to taking up a job, getting married and producing
children. On the other hand, to learn about all the worldly matters, he is still too young!
Ramam felt elated. Srinivasulu had no reservations at all; he opened up to him, and told
him his entire story. It was like Srinivasulu took him into his confidence, gave him an
even a respectable status! Ramam was buried in books until yesterday; now suddenly
he opened up like a bud that was moved into a favorable environment. Now he
understood the whole world; that’s how he was feeling, at the least.
The feeling suffocated him. He felt reverential toward Srinivasulu. He couldn’t speak for
a few minutes. And then he got up to leave, “I’ve to go. See you tomorrow.”
“What’d you mean see you? Just come early in the morning. We will go to Seshagiri and
get the appointment order by evening. After that, you’re going to be a plus for all the
five families here. Pretty soon, they all will perform your marriage with a young woman.
That’s the way you are, right? Your father said I’ve put you through school. Now, go and
get a job. And here are, looking for a job. Same thing. Your father will tell you to get
married and you will get married.
In this blessed country of ours, what kind of job you think you can get? Nobody would
be willing to pay better than 60 or 70, at the most. Bless god. I am not saying anything
wrong with that. But, Ramam, you’ve made a mistake in the past. For the job you’re
going to get, you didn’t have to work hard and rank first in school. There is no need for
you to earn the title that you were the smartest school in school. You should’ve left that
opportunity to another student, who’s planning to go to America or England. Never
mind, past is past. Take the job. But never come to me for a five or ten, like
Venkateswarlu. If your father arranges your marriage, go ahead and get married. But
never live like Subba Rao. Same thing with the way your Suryam babayi live; that’s
despicable. And also, you’d better decide how you’d spend the 60 or 70 you’re going to
make. You decide how much you’d spend on your royal wife and how much to keep for
yourself. Or else, you can choose to take to bad ways, like Srinivasulu, and have a good
life. That’s all I am saying. Don’t ever try to live a pious life like all those people. So, are
you coming tomorrow?”
Srinivasulu finished his speech and sent off Ramam.
With this speech, Ramam lost the enthusiasm he had felt earlier; it was like a bolt from
nowhere. Suddenly, he felt like his future flashed in front of his eyes. A series of images
rose in his mind’s eye—the dark house of Suryam babayi, his children, and the five-year
old girl who was stricken with typhoid a year before and who now looks like a skeleton
and her sorry face that never recovered.
He recalled what pinni garu said at the suppertime; she said the child fell sick and was
in bed for 48 days. She could not describe all the suffering they’d been through at the
time—the doctors they’d contacted, the money they’d spent, it was endless. For Ramam,
that was unimaginable. A few months back, his sister also contracted the same disease;
and she was given the new medication recently had come into the market. She was fine
in three days. How come this little girl was not given the same medication?
In his mind, it was horrible. How could these families live such a miserable life? And even
worse was the way they were covering it up. He started wondering. Does every poor
person turn into such a miserable human being? If that’s the case, will he also become
one of them? Suppose he would take the job, with 60 rupees, income because dad said
so. How long could be happy? What if these relatives arrange his marriage, like
Srinivasulu indicated? Could he say no? In fact, there is his uncle’s daughter in the
wings. He knew full well that he did not have the guts to protest. Even after he had a
job, he would still be relying on dad, what a misery! Like Srinivasulu said, he would be
getting 60 rupees at the most, and that would not be enough to run a family. Look at
the way Venkateswarlu is living. He earns 70 rupees. His life may not as bad as Suryam’
s; but the difference is very little. Ramam knew he was not going to waste on the
movies, like they do. But he also knew he could not default on rent for years at a
stretch. He would not stop paying the electricity bill. If he were to pay all the bills in
time, he would not have anything for food. He had to eat pakodi and fill the stomach
with water. But then again, aren’t there many people in this world, who make only 60 or
70 a month and still are alive? Well, maybe they are alive. Probably, that is how some of
them are ending their lives. And some of them are living because they could not die.
Some of them are dying a living death. What is all this—life, death, loans, bribes—what
is the meaning of all this? That’s life. Oh, my god, what a terrible thing this life is!
A host of questions and answers produced thunder, lightning and a huge storm in his
head. Amidst that light and darkness, he drew a picture of his future; and he was
scared to look at it. He felt a monstrous shudder, dread and the feel of a ten-year old—
all at once.
Ramam returned to Suryam babayi’s home. Before he could step inside, he saw Subba
Rao at the end of the street. He invited Ramam to his home. Ramam didn’t like the idea,
but followed him nonetheless.
Subba Rao was renting a two-room apartment. In the front room, there was a
rosewood chair, from their grandfather’s time; it has ivory lion-heads on both the arms.
A cabinet with mirrors was in a corner. The floor was covered with a worn out,
expensive carpet. The walls were filled with several photographs of politicians and gods
in equal proportion and a few sceneries. The remaining wall was covered with two,
three-years old calendars.
Last time Ramam was here, he did not go in. He sat on the front porch. Therefore, he
did not have the pleasure of witnessing all this past glory. Then Subba Rao invited him
into the next room, “Come in. See our house.” In that room, there was a modern
rosewood dressing table. It was filled with facial creams, face powder, perfume bottles
and a silver elephant incense stick holder. Closer to the wall there was a double bed;
and, enlarged pictures of movie stars on the wall. In all, that room was an exemplary
bedroom with a mix of old and new. Ramam has no opinion in such matters. Yet, he
honestly tried to understand the high-class lifestyle of Subba Rao.
His wife, the little young lady, was busy in the dark dungeon called kitchen. Subba Rao
called her, “Get us coffee and tiffin.” She danced her way into the room, with a cunning
smile, and said, “It’s almost time for supper. Now coffee? Have lemon juice.” Then she
went in and returned with two glasses of lemon juice. How could it be suppertime, it’s
only six? Ramam had a time swallowing the drink—it was a horrible mix of sweet, sour
and bitter taste.
Subba Rao said, jokingly, “Hey, Ramam! How come you went to Suryam babayi’s house?
A royal guest there? You didn’t even eat once at our place? So be it, let’s go to a movie,
You’d passed the exam, came to the city, you must see one movie at the least. What do
you say?”
For the moment, Ramam felt the same thing. Yes, why not go to the movies? He was
feeling boggled down for sometime now. “Okay, let’s go,” he replied.
Subba Rao nearly jumped with joy. He called his wife, “Sita, get ready in a minute. We’re
going to the movies.” He rushed her; and Sita is always ready for the movies. They all
left right away.
On the way, Subba Rao stopped at Venkateswarlu’s house and invited him too.
“Movies? I was thinking of the same thing,” and he joined them. After they all reached
the theater, each one of them put his hand in the pocket.
Subba Rao said, “Oh, no. I forgot my wallet. I rushed out fearing that we could be late,”
and turned to Venkateswarlu, “You buy the tickets.”
Venkateswarlu pulled out one rupee from his pocket and said, “This is all I have. I didn’t
know so many of us until I set out, right?” and put it back in his pocket.
Ramam had to pull out ten rupees from his pocket and purchase tickets for all of them;
had no other choice. By the time the movie ended, Ramam ended up paying for drinks,
cigarettes and snacks too. Sita broke into tears while snacking on the pakodi.
“What’s the matter, Sita? Are the pakodi too hot?” Subba Rao asked her.
“No, not the pakodi. It’s so hard to watch their separation,” she said.
The story ended happily. On the way back, Sita said gleefully, “What a beauty, that
heroine!”
Venkateswarlu said, “Forget the heroine. The pakodis are so tasty!”
They arrived at Subba Rao’s house. “Thanks to you, Ramam. We’d seen a nice movie.”
Ramam’s head spun like a top. He could not recall what happened at the theater. It was
depressing. He did not have pakodi or soda. He was hungry. He dragged himself to
babayi’s house. They all were sleeping. It took a half hour before somebody came and
opened the door for him.
“Are you already in bed, pinni garu? I went to the movies. They all insisted. Sorry, I am
giving you trouble,” Ramam said.
“What trouble? No trouble to open the door, right?” she said.
“Not that. Serving food at this late hour …”
“Your uncle said you went to Srinivasulu’s home. I thought you’d eat there. Oh, my silly
boy! Here, have this,” she said. She gave him a glass of buttermilk. Ramam could hardly
look at the glass, an old, discolored enamel piece. He closed his eyes and gulped the
drink. Then he spread his bed on the front porch and lay down, with his knees pulled up
to his chest.
Next morning, Srinivasulu was waiting for Ramam. They were planning to go to
Seshagiri, together. Ramam arrived a half hour late; he did not come alone. He brought
his suitcase with him. His eyes were drawn in; the face was looking beat up. Within one
day, he looked like he was sick for six months.
“What’s the matter?” Srinivasulu asked him.
“I’m not feeling good, bava! I am going home. I’ll be back,” he replied.
“Are you running fever? How can you travel like that?”
“It’s okay. I can. I can’t stay here anymore. I want to go home.”
Varalakshmi came into the room.
“I’m leaving, akkayya,” Ramam told her.
“So I heard. You’re not feeling well?” she said, and turned to Srinivasulu, “He never left
home, I suppose. It seems he is homesick.”
For some reason, Ramam felt at home in her presence; wanted to talk to her. He picked
up the courage and said, “Not homesick, akkayya! It is the people in this town; they can
make anybody sick.”
Varalakshmi did not follow his remark; she looked at Srinivasulu. Srinivasulu ignored her
and said, “Oh, that’s what it is. Okay, now I’m convinced; our boy is going to do just
fine. Listen, you should learn to stay from such sick folks; not falling sick because of
them, that is not right.”
“That’s what I’m trying to do; staying away from them,” Ramam replied, and turned to
Varalakshmi, “Now I must leave, akkayya! If I ever to come to this town again, I’m
camping here, in your home. Where’s Suseela akkayya? Want to say goodbye to her too
before I left.”
Ramam took leave of them all; his rickshaw moved.
* * * *
Ramam went home and announced his latest decision. He had decided to continue his
studies—an uncanny result of his visit to the city.
Chandrayya heard the decision and, in the next second, he hit the roof. “What’s gotten
into you? Whoever’s coached you? What’s there to study more?” he shouted at his
son.
“Nobody’s coached me, nanna! I don’t feel working yet. I want to continue studies,”
Ramam repeated his decision once again.
“Do you have any idea, at what age, I started as a teacher? You don’t want to work
yet, you say. You’re going to be an adult in a year. Are you thinking you’re still a child?”
Parvathamma, Ramam’s mother, intervened, “Let it be. He is young, isn’t he? Even
otherwise, young or old, he is the only son for us. Let him have his way.”
“Nice, you’re supporting him too? What do you mean, harping on, study, study? Why
spend ten more years on studies and go bankrupt? Doesn’t it make sense to start
saving from now on? Tell me, who’s going to benefit from this education?”
“Well, he’s saying he would take care of the expenses himself, if you don’t want to. All
he wanted okay from you,” Parvathamma said.
“He said that too. He’s lost his brain with this trip, I suppose. So be it. Tell him to go to
hell and do whatever he pleased.”
Ramam set out leave, fearing what else he might have hear, if he stayed there any
longer. He did hear the last remarks of his father, though.
* * * *
Ramam sat down on the beach at twilight and was thinking about himself. He looked at
the sky and the birds flying in the air. He was talking to his father, who was not present,
Nanna, I don’t know how to explain it to you. I am not saying I want to study to save
the world or to achieve something big in my life. You’re right about one thing. After
visiting the city, my head spun. I saw the people live like frogs in a rut, biting each
other, and eating up each other. That environment made me sick to the stomach. I don’t
believe that I would land a fancy job because of my higher education. Know why I want
to go to the college? To escape from life; to fly like a bird freely in the sky. Nanna, you
cannot understand this. All those people are amazing powers—the story of Srinivasulu
and Varalakshmi; Suryam babayi and his rowdy children; the typhoid skeleton; Subba
Rao and Venkateswarlu; and their extravagant lifestyles—they all opened my eyes. How
can I explain all this to you? I need to scrutinize the world with this new vision one more
time and make my decision in regard to my place in this world. My education is going to
serve that purpose.
* * * *
(Telugu original, vaallu paadina bhuupaala raagam, was published in Telugu swatantra,
1960s.)