THE
DEBT RADHA OWED.
(Radhamma
baaki)
Mullapudi
Venkataramana
The story opens with the couple, Radha and Gopalam, chatting while Radha
is cooking supper. Gopalam says ostentatiously that he's going to tell her a
story. Radha teases him that he changed his habit, shifts from reading the
newspaper aloud for her, to telling a story. We will not know until a little
later when Gopalam comments, "God gave you so much beauty, so many
plausible qualities but not the sense to read the daily paper." Radha is
not interested in reading the newspaper, and Gopalam wants her to read the
paper. (We see similar incident in Kantham story.)
The setting in itself--of his reading the newspaper aloud for her
benefit while she was cooking--is not funny but the way it is said brings up a
smile. It's a cheerful setting anybody would like to see in a middle class
home. Compare this incident to the household atmosphere in Kantham story, we
have a historical development in the nature of conjugal relationships in our
society. Up until nineteen fifties, the male and female areas were definitively
separate. By early 1950s, the atmosphere started changing, and males and
females started assuming more supportive roles mutually.
Gopalam ignores her sarcasm and continues to tell her the story. As an
aside, we need to remember that the author, Venkataramana, lives in
"If I'll tell you a story, will you listen?"
Gopalam asked.
He put down his coffee cup and pulled out a cigarette
packet from his pocket.
"What? You want to tell me a story? What about
reading the newspaper?" Radha said. She sat down with the vegetable basket
and cutting knife.
"Will read that later. Let me finish the story
first. I'll be brief. It's called Sasirekha's swayamvaram.[1] Sasi was the
heroine, the setting was: a rainy night, and time
Gopalam stopped and lighted a cigarette. "Say uum,[2]" he said,
blowing a cloud of smoke.
Radha finished peeling the green banana. She cut it
into cubes, and dumped them into a bowl of water. "Uum, and then,"
she said.
"Okay, first the hero came on to the stage. He
didn't like getting drenched in the rain, and so stood on the verandah. Within
a couple of minutes, Sasi, the heroine, showed up at the same place. No more
characters in the story, just the two of them."
"Forget the story, go back to your newspaper,
please," Radha said.
"No, you listen, it's almost over. The young man
stopped staring at the neem tree, the yellow building in front, the house with clay
tiles, dark clouds, the hazy moon, and the young woman next to him. He was just
gaping into the void in front of him.
"What's wrong, poor thing," said Radha,
without raising her head.
"Sudha, the woman on the porch, also thought of
the same thing. She recalled that she'd seen him somewhere.
"The young woman stared at him for a brief
second, and her eyes turned to the fluttering curls on his forehead
painfully."
"Poor thing, what's the matter?" Radha said
with a smile.
"Sudha asked the the same question. And he said
that he was heartbroken and had lost all his faith in the entire female
populace, after watching the movie in which the hero's heart had been crushed
into one thousand pieces; his heart'd been filled with love and his eyes with
tears; he was also the victim of a local woman's deception, and thus his hrudayakunda
[heart jug] was also broken, ...
The phrase, "hrudayakunda" is a hybrid term derived by
combining two words in two languages, Sanskrit and Telugu, to ridicule the
contrived language in the movies. The original phrase commonly used is hrudayabhaandam,
a Sanskrit term, and in case the reader misses this play upon words, the
narrator makes it clear through Radha's comment.
"What is 'heart jug?'.
That's silly," Radha said.
In the rest of Gopalam's narration, satirical comments on social norms
abound.
"The young man on the porch quickly finished his
story and continued to watch his curls, breathing heavily. The young woman felt
an urge to caress his curls."
Radha laughed. "That's ridiculous. What's she
thinking? How can she think of caressing a stranger's hair? and, in an open
place at that--on the porch of a clay-tiled roof house?"
"Who knows? Didn't Shakespeare say that woman's
heart is deep? Maybe not, I'm not sure. Anyway, you just listen. Guess what the
woman said? She said, 'Okay, my boy. Hand me those pieces [of the broken
heart]. I'll put'em together, fill them with life, if that's you want.'"
Gopalam broke into a roaring laught, pleased with his
own ingenuity.
Radha touched the tip of her nose with her index
finger in astonishement. "How could she talk like that with a stranger,
especially when she hadn't seen his face or nose in all her life?" she
said.
"That's nice. Maybe her face and nose are not
like yours; don't stand out like yours, I suppose. Hers is a very ordinary
face."
Obviously, the narrator is sidetracking the issue for the fun of it.
Radha refers to the face of the hero in Gopalam's story, and Gopalam turns that
into an issue about Radha's face and nose. The phrase mukkuu moham eragani
vaaDu in Telugu is normally used in reference to a total stranger.
Radha continues to play along instead of
correcting him about Gopalam's digression.
"Why drag my face and nose into this. Go on with
your story."
"What story. It's over, almost. That young man
said that he would never trust a woman again, no way. The young woman protested
vehemently, turned away and burst into tears. And then that man looked at her
and asked her name. She said 'Sudha' and asked, 'what's yours?' He said
'Mohan', and continued to call her name, 'su ... dha ...'. The word came,
piercing through his heart, you know. And then, she also called out his name,
'mo ...ha ...n.' That also came out, piercing through her heart."
"So, both the names came piercing through their
hearts. That's good. And then?" Radha said. She had scored two notches
higher than Gopalam in math.
"And then what? Like you don't know," He
said.
Radha expressed anger, "What do I know? Only you
can say things like 'Oh my heart,' or 'oh, my love', and then ridicule others;
you can call their hearts 'heart jug' and such. Remember the proverb, like
calling the skipper 'kapot Mallayya' after reaching the other shore.'"
The last line is the second half
of a popular proverb - "Addressing the skipper 'captain Mallayya' before
boarding his boat, and 'kapot Mallayya' after reaching the shore". In
other words, showing no respect after one's done with the other person. Gopalam
changes his tone.
"Don't be angry with me, Radha. All I'm saying is
..."
Radha said with a pout, "You can say whatever
pleases you. That's the way it is always."
Gopalam burst into a big laugh and said,
"Alright, my girl. I did not cross the river in any boat and called nobody
kapot Mallayya. My father and your father met in Vizag, decided to marry us,
and they did so. ... We'd never met before, nor fallen in love with each
other."
The reader comes to know that the story Gopalam was narrating was their
own story, which annoyed Radha. She pick up an onion from the basket. Gopalam
finds one more reason to tease her, and also bring up the subject of her debt,
she supposedly owned him.
"I don't like onions, put it back. ... Also,
because you said I don't have a heart. Therefore, pay back my debt."
This is the first time the core theme, debt, comes up, which is a
surprise both to Radha and the reader.
"What loan?" Radha
said, squinting her eyes.
"The
establishment charges incurred prior to our marriage."
"What establishment
charges?"
"Come on, don't pretend like you don't know.
You've said it yourself that I had written umpteen letters to you. You pay me
the cost of those letters."
They both continue to argue for a while. Gopalam threatens to sue her
father, claiming he was responsible for the expenses on her behalf.
Radha laughs stunningly
beautiful laugh, and says, "your proposition is silly."
Gopalam is knocked down by her gorgeous laugh and
calmed down. And then comments, "God's given you so much beauty, great
qualities, and gorgeous heart but not the interest to read the newspaper,
that's sad. So be it. Don't listen to the news. You may add onions to the
vegetable dish. I'll just sit here and hum a tune."
Radha cringed at the thought. "Oh, no. Look at
me. It's okay, you can read the paper. I can't ignore your words."
Through out the story we see this technique--of switching the
subjects--the author uses to highlight the frivolous nature of the couple's
arguments.
Just in that moment a friend, G.V. Murthy comes to visit them. Gopalam
thinks "it's not nice on the part of any G.V. Murthy or S.K. Rao, to show
up in the mornings when the couple are having coffee and engaged in a playful
chitchat."
Despite his displeasure, Murthy is asked to mediate the husband and wife
in regard to a debt Radha supposedly owed Gopalam. Gopalam provides a list of
items such as the bet he had lost to his friends whether Radha would show up in
a saree at a wedding, and the money he had spent on various items in order to
get her attention.
-- Eighty rupees total spent
on numerous items during the fifteen days prior their wedding day;
-- There must be twenty-five greeting cards, I'd sent
you, that's twenty-five rupees;
-- And the letters. I sent them in special envelopes,
that's twelve rupees.
"Did I ask you to send them?" Radha asked.
"You don't have to. I could see right there; you
laughed each time you saw me on the street. What would any man think?"
"What'd you want me to do if not laugh? Make
faces at you? You showed up every day on my way to school. Let it be. How do
you account for the rest of the fifty rupees?"
The friend intervenes and adds that, gives a list of Gopalam's worries
in those days:
-- Whether you would show up
on the street or not;
-- You would show up, and may
or may not look at him; and,
-- You would look at him and may
or may not smile at him.
While waiting at the paan shop and worrying like that, he used to buy
betel nut packets and cigarettes for Murthy. Murthy adds that Gopalam spent so
much that the shop owner could buy a used car. According to Murthy's account,
Gopalam was also taking his friends to a movie, if Radha had appeared in a
white saree and black blouse.
Radha stopped them and said, "Okay, listen to
what I have to say. According to my calculation, you owe me seventy rupees,
after deducting what I owe you from what you owe me. Let me have the money,
I'll go to the store in the evening and buy myself a saree."
Gopalam stared at her suspiciously, "Are you saying
I have to pay you and not the other way around?"
And she gives him an account of the money she spent in order to please
him.
"You wrote to me that you like green georgette
saree, and so I borrowed thirty rupees from my aunt, bought a green saree and
wore it for your sake. ... I washed my hair, wore katuka on my eyes, anklets on
my ankles--all because you liked them. ...
"On Sundays, I bought pakodi for my friends, whenever
you had shown up at the beach; bought chocolate for my younger sister each time
you had sent a greeting card to me; ... so often I had to spend on busfares and
cofee for my friends. ..."
Gopalam was stunned, touched by Radha's love for him,
and sat there for a while staring down. "Do you really have such strong
love for me?" he said.
Radha dropped the onion she was holding, stared at
him, and said, "Are those words also coming piercing through your heart,
like you had said earlier?"
Gopalam and Radha were in the process of making up.
The friend screamed from
outside, "This rupee is counterfiet."
Gopalam yelled back anxiously, "Take another
rupee from my shirt pocket. Or, take the pocket itself, just go away."
In a way, the story is about two teen-agers romancing each other after
marriage. The couple maybe in their early twenties but, from today's standards,
it is juvenile. That's part of the reason for the enormous popularity of this
anthology--the element of childlike charm and romance in this story. I repeat
that that's only part of the charm. The real captivating part for readers then
and now is the author's command of dictionlanguage. A story like this does not
lend itself for transcultural translation.
***
(Malathi N. March 2006)