A CORAL CHAIN Achanta Saradadevi (Translated by Malathi Nidadavolu) *** Click on image A CORAL CHAIN Achanta Sarada Devi It is getting dark. Far away, the sun between the two the hills is looking like a blood red sphere; the heat is gone though. Lavish shades of floating clouds are forming into the shapes of leaves, flowers and small hills; the sun is like a crimson ball in their midst. The entire view is like a reflection of nature in a ruby red mirror. Vasanti has washed her hair and goes on to the terrace. She lets her wet hair down to dry and is sitting on the brink of the parapet wall. She is watching the gorgeous sunset. Each time a gentle breeze moved the locks on her forehead, a whiff of fine aroma is spreading around from the sambrani smoke, with which she has treated her hair earlier. A chain of big corals, which she has inherited from her mother, is hanging from her snow-white neck, gently yet solidly. Her velvety cheeks seems to quiver shyly amidst the glow of the corals. Her fingers are like jasmine buds, glowing with henna. The entire composition—the red sari, the corals around her neck, the red kumkuma dot on her forehead, and the henna on her fingers—seems to be competing with the evening glow, and is soaked in it. Vasanti had never been so excited as that evening. What a soothing day … what a beautiful evening … It is mesmerizing. In the next moment, a stray thought comes over her … she is lost in the thought. It has been eight years since she left this place. She had spent all her childhood here. So many memories in this town, in this house, each step of the way … All those emotions she had experienced in her childhood—the grief, the hopes, the disappointments, the happiness, the pleasures, the anxiety and the tears—they all came back and beset her like shadows from a distant past. They all—the pogada flowers she had gathered, the swing she had ridden under the banyan tree, the games she had played in the stairwell under the moonlight—they all are coming back like a series of episodes. Each minute, a new incident keeps springing in her mind. *** In the wee small hours of dawn, she is on her way to her village in a bullock-cart. The bells from the bull’s neck are mesmerizing; she dozes off. It is like in a dream; each episode from the far off past is rising in her mind: The time she went in a bullock-cart on her way to Kesari’s wedding and the dotted silk skirt wavering as the breeze blew gently, Pankajam laughing; she was hungry and sleepy, and yawning; Malathi and herself [Vasanti] were scuffling for a red rose after the cart stopped at the gate. … So many memories … Several changes have taken place in her life in the past eight years. After several stops, one after another, her life has attained the fullness she is enjoying now. She went to college in Kalkota and received her B.A. degree, ranking first. Her father was elated and threw a big party. After that, her marriage was performed with the son of a district health officer. The groom’s family did not ask for dowry. Nevertheless, her father spent money lavishly and performed the wedding on a grand scale. Her husband was lucky to land a job in Lucknow soon after their wedding. She moved to her in-law’s home right away. Within a year, they were blessed with a baby girl. Her husband was promoted to a higher position. She was not short for anything, either financially or otherwise. She had no reason to complain about anything. Her husband put her on a bed of flowers and worshipped her. He never disagreed with her in any matter. She was very fortunate to have such a blissful life. That’s what everybody thought. Yet, trivial memories have been popping up sporadically and making her feel bogged down. Soon after the baby was born, and a few times after that, she tried to visit her hometown but it never materialized. Each time, either her husband transfers, which happened every six months, or some other domestic issue squashed her wish. Now, after so many years, she is able to return to her hometown! *** It is getting dark. The sky is studded with stars and the moonlight is bright like a sheet of gold reaching out to the inmost corners. The moon is glorious. Vasanti goes downstairs, returns with a comb, untangles her hair and puts it in a loose braid. She makes a circlet with the roses she picked in the morning and the jasmines bloomed afresh, and tucks it in her braid. Her mother comes upstairs with the baby in her arms. She asks, “Coming down for supper?” “What’s the hurry? Let’s wait for father …” Vasanti says. Mother asks again, staring into the sky, “When your husband is coming?” “Don’t know. He said he would come for the festival if he could obtain permission.” They both sit quietly for a while watching the mango sprouts in full bloom. Mother feeds the baby, spreads a mattress on the terrace and puts her down to sleep. Vasanti lies down next to the sleeping baby and slips into a reverie. … … The moonlight is caressing her face gently; the moon is splashing tiny smiles all around, like a ball of gold. She could not recall how many moonlit nights and dawns she spent on that terrace in that manner in her childhood—happily, sadly, teasingly … She used to go and sit on the terrace whenever she was bored. From there, she could see the countless small hills and the vast expanse of the meadow in front of her house. Beyond the meadow, there were tall coconut trees and two small hillocks behind the trees, which seemed to be coming from two different directions and meeting there. Every morning, at the stroke of six, the sun in blood red color peeked from behind those hills. Again, in the evening the moon greeted her from the same spot between the coconut trees. Everyday she felt enthralled by the panorama. The baby moves in her sleep, jostling the chain in Vasanti’s neck and pressing it against her body. A feeling of sadness weighs her down at heart. … Abbha! …. For how long, she has been carrying these corals! Each time the chain moved, something in her heart pricked … some inexplicable pain … some anguish. On the meadow in front of their house, there was only one hut, where Lakshumanna, the old man, lived with his old woman and Sita, his grandchild. Sita had lost her mother long time ago. Lakshumanna was running a grocery store, and managing with the little income he was getting from the store. Vasanti looks for that hut as soon as she got out of the bullock-cart. There is not even a sign of it. The meadow is filled with several colorful new, sky-high buildings. She could not see even the far-off mountains. Down the memory lane again. Poor Lakshumanna thatha! He was a nice man, was very kind to her. He called her bullemma garu [little girl], and treated her like a princess. Sita and she used to play in the green pastures in front of the hut all day. Vasanti was about seven or eight-years old at the time, the same age as Sita. Everyday, she got up early morning, took a bath, braided her hair, wore a silk frock and went to play. Sita came out of the hut with unkempt hair and in a tattered skirt. Both played any number of games in the grass there: Started out with gujjanagullu, gudugudu kuncham, and performed the doll’s wedding and finished the day with kaalla gajjee kankanamma. She never remembered even the supper until her mother came out the door and called her into the house. Vasanti played so much in the dirt that her frock got dirty and torn ever so many times. Then mother yelled at her and told her that she should not play with the beggar girls in the dirt, and dragged her into the house. No matter how many times mother yelled at her, Vasanti always found a way to run out and play with Sita. Mother got tired and let go of it eventually. Whenever the business was slow, Lakshumanna thatha came and sat with them and told them stories. Vasanti also called him thatha since Sita was calling him thatha. Thatha favored her more than his own granddaughter. Vasanti used to pick up tin strips and brass pieces and give them to thatha telling him that they were silver and gold. Thatha took those worthless pieces zealously and put them in a tin box as if they were real silver and gold. In return, he gave the two girls peppermints, chocolate and paan. It became a daily game. Each day, she gave him some worthless piece, received chocolate in return and ate it, feeling she had accomplished something big. … One day, she told her mother too about this game. “What? Are you giving away all those gold nuggets I’ve been saving in the silver box?” mother asked. Vasanti was nervous. “Oh, no, not them … Only the pieces I found on the floor,” she said hastily, and turning livid. Mother did not believe her. “I told you so many times not to go to that hovel, you don’t listen,” she said, vexed. *** One day, a coral vendor came to the door. Mother haggled with him for over an hour and bought three strings of corals in three sizes— small, medium and big They were bright red-colored and beautiful. Later, mother took the corals and the gold nuggets, she had been saving for sometime, to the goldsmith and had three coral chains made. On the very day the chains were brought home, Vasanti picked the one with the biggest corals and wore it around her neck. Mother was not happy about it. She said, “Cchi. They don’t look good on you, too big for you. Here, this chain is cute with little corals. I got it made especially for you. Wear this one.” Vasanti did not listen to her mother’s pleas. She fussed over it for a while and said, “I don’t want them. I like this one only.” Mother tried to persuade the best she could but no use. Vasanti would not listen. She wore that wretched coral chain and went to play. It was heavy and her neck started hurting. It flew into the air each time she jumped yet she did not care. She got carried away by the excitement of wearing the new chain. Then, she was completely lost in the games she was playing. After a while, she forgot about the chain. After it got dark, she returned home. Mother helped her take a hot water bath and served food in the silver plate. It was then she noticed that the chain was missing. “Oh, no, where are the corals?” she asked anxiously. Vasanti cringed. She felt her neck; her face turned white. The chain was gone. She forgot about the chain entirely while playing. She did not know when or how it got lost. Mother was angry and miserable. She snarled, “I told you so many times and you did not listen. Here you are now, lost it in a minute, cchi.” After that, both mother and father asked her several questions. The torrent of questions did not slow down even the next day. God only knows how many people asked her the same questions over and again. She was exhausted. All that questioning made her angry, annoyed, and cry too. “What all places you had been to since morning?” “Where did you play?” “With whom did you play?” “When was the last time you had checked the coral chain in your neck?” They went on asking like that all day. She answered all their questions, some she knew and others she just guessed. “I played in the hallway. I played with Savitri upstairs. I was checking the chain now and then.” However, for some reason, she did not tell them that she had played with Sita for a long time in front of thatha’s store. She was afraid that mother would be upset, and she might blame Sita and thatha for it. That night mother and father kept searching the entire house several times but did not find the coral chain. Vasanti went to bed, frightened and depressed and crying. In the morning, once again, they all searched every nook and corner. Everybody in the neighborhood heard about the missing corals. They all came to express their sympathies. There was no end to the people saying soothing words and giving suggestions: Did you search all the places? What a loss, costs twenty-five rupees at least to buy again. Maybe somebody stole it. Do you suspect anybody? … There were so many questions and so many comments. Poor mother, she answered them all patiently and categorically. In fact, she was happy, even seemed to be enjoying repeating the answers in great detail. It was almost like she had found the item. By 8:00 in the morning, babayi [father’s brother], who lived in the same neighborhood, came. He started his share of questioning right away. He asked mother, “When did you let her wear the chain? And when did you see it again?” Mother answered suitably. Babaayi asked abruptly, “She goes to the old man’s hut to play every day. Didn’t she go yesterday?” Mother was dumbfounded. Why that did not occur to her, a thought so obvious? She felt bad for being so stupid. She called Vasanti, who was hiding in a corner, and asked, “Did you not go to play with Sita yesterday?” Vasanti said cautiously, “I went in the morning.” Babaayi concluded at once, “Say so. Probably, you lost it while playing in front of the hut. That old man must have taken it.” Mother supported it. “Yes, he must have taken it. In fact, he has been bothering our little girl to bring silver and gold from our house everyday.” Vasanti was flabbergasted. “That’s a lie. Thatha never asked me to bring anything. I was giving them on my own—and only the pieces I’ ve found here and there. Thatha took them only to please me,” she wanted to scream and let mother know the truth. However, she could not open her mouth amidst all that clamor. Babaayi went and brought thatha to the house. Arbitration started. Babayi screamed all kinds of bad words and showered a volley of insults in every possible way. “Our little girl was playing in front of your hut all morning. Who could have taken it if not you?” he said. Thatha stood there pallid for quite sometime, as if he had not heard the words, had not understood them. He could not comprehend what all those people were talking about. He was crushed, humiliated and was in pain. He was miserable as he spoke, “I do not know about the chain, madam.. I have not seen the corals in the little one’s neck at all.” He then said, “I love bullemma garu more than my Sita. How can I touch any piece of jewelry on her?” But nobody was inclined to listen to his appeals. Mother said, “Fine. You just return the chain like a nice boy. Why subject yourself to public humiliation?” “But I did not take it, madam. I don’t have it,” thatha said in a faint but clear voice, and stood there as if he did not know what else he could do. Babaayi said, “Look, Lakshumanna, just return the piece politely and pray for our forgiveness. Otherwise, we will have to report to the police. You know what happens when it falls into the hands of the police.” Thatha was terrified at the mention of police. He shook like a leaf. Not a word came out of his mouth. Just in time, policeman Narasayya was passing by. He saw the commotion and came in. “What? What happened?” he asked babayi, waving his baton. “Nothing,” said baabayi and narrated the entire incident as if he was telling a story. Police Narasayya said to thatha, taunting him, “Why give us trouble? Make up your mind quickly … or, start walking to the police station.” He shouted, thumping on the ground with his baton. Thatha stood there heartbroken, and as if he lost his mind. Despair shrouded him, which reflected in his eyes too. It was burning him. Sita clung to his legs and cried loudly. Vasanti also felt his suffering and cried. Thatha stopped for a second not knowing what to do. Then, he walked toward his store like walking in his sleep. He brought the cashbox, pulled out a ten-rupee note, old and crumpled into a ball, and gave it to babaayi. He said, “Babu, I did not see the corals. Take this money and leave me alone. I am poor and old. I cannot even see clearly. What will you gain by badgering me, Babu?” Tears sprang to his eyes as he spoke. Babayi and others conferred for a few minutes and decided that they had better take the money since they could not recover the corals. Mother said, “The corals are worth twenty-five rupees and you are offering ten? Make it twenty. We will leave it at that, considering we've known you for so long.” “Yes, that is right,” babaayi said. Thatha said, trembling, “That’s all I have. I cannot give you any more even if you kill me.” The empty cashbox slipped from his hands and fell on the ground making big noise. Babayi was about to say something. Father was in a chair, a little away from the crowd, and as if all it was no concern of his; he was scared of mother’s loudmouth. Finally, he said, “Let him go, why pester the poor old man?” With that, babaayi kept quiet. So also mother. Thatha took Sita’s hand and went away, walking slowly. Policeman Narasayya ran his fingers through his hair as if he had done a great job, and held out his hand, “Sir, as you please.” Babayi gave him two rupees. Narasayya left the scene. Rest of the crowd dispersed too. Vasanti sat there in the hallway. Tears rolled down from her eyes without break. She knew that thatha did not take the corals. He would never take anything, which belonged to others. But she could not tell that to anybody. She sat there watching thatha suffer and she did nothing. She wanted to run to thatha, hold his hand and tell him, “I know, thatha, you did not take my corals. Don’t get me wrong.” She went to the door. Mother came from behind, grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back into the house. After that, mother never let her go near thatha’s store again. A few days passed. One day the maid, Polamma, was sweeping a room upstairs and found the coral chain. It popped out from under the chest of drawers. Polamma screamed, “Amma garu, here is the coral chain.” Vasanti jumped for joy. Mother came running up the staircase and was surprised to see the red coral chain on the floor. She picked it up in her hand. She was happy and embarrassed too, a little. She said, “We have searched the entire house but it never occurred to us to look under the chest.” Polamma said, sounding philosophical, “that is the old man’s karma, I suppose,” and went away waving the broom. Vasanti said exuberantly, “Amma, shall I go and tell thatha that we’ve found the coral chain?” Mother held the corals close to her bosom and sneered, “Cchi, how can we do that? What would neighbors say? Don’t they think that we’ ve had the corals all along and harassed the old man for nothing? What a shame! What a disgrace!” Vasanti could not understand her mother’s logic. Thatha was humiliated and blamed for something he did not do. What about him? Was it not shameful and humiliating to him? How admitting that the corals were found and that they were wrong in blaming thatha could be shameful and inappropriate for mother? She hoped that mother would call thatha and return his ten rupees as soon as the corals were found. That did not happen either. Additionally, whatever mother might have told Polamma, the fact that the corals had been found never came to light. The pain in Vasanti’s heart remained forever. That her family had committed an abominable crime against the old man and taken the ten- rupees, his sweat money, from him, remained a huge weight in her heart forever. Thatha did not recuperate from this horrible incident for a very long time. He was devastated by the humiliation inflicted on him. His business went down and finally was closed. Sita grew up and started working. All the three of them were managing barely with the measly earnings of Sita. After the incident, Vasanti used to stand on the terrace and watch Sita and thatha. She saw them watching her pitiably, kindly, and sadly. Then she felt ashamed, wiped her tears and went back into the house. Eventually, she left the town. On the day she was leaving, thatha came out of his hut and watched her with affectionate, tearful eyes as she went away in the cart. Poor thatha! He was hurt so bad yet never stopped thinking about her. Vasanti could never figure out what kind of blessings he had bestowed on her when he shed those tears but his candid love enveloped her like a shadow and protected her. Vasanti had never forgotten thatha despite all the time that had lapsed and the numerous changes that had occurred in her life. Each time the corals in her neck moved, she was reminded of thatha. She longed on several occasions to pay off the debt she felt she owed to him. She was however too scared of her mother. She could do nothing about it. *** The winds are blowing and the branches of the banyan tree are wavering. Mother calls from downstairs, “Come on, let us eat. Father is home.” Vasanti covers the baby with a sheet, gets up and goes into the kitchen. At supper, she asks mother, “Old thatha and Sita used to live in the hut across from us. Where are they now, do you know?” Mother says with a grimace, “Who knows. A few years back, things went real bad. The old couple passed away, I guess. After that, some distant relative came and took Sita with him. I don’t know where she is now.” Hum, Vasanti moans. Her heart is ripped apart and mother is speaking about it as if it means nothing. Vasanti could not relish the food. She swallows a few bites quickly and returns to the terrace. Mother calls from behind, “What is that? You barely ate two bites.” On the terrace, the baby is asleep, looking innocent, happy, and without a care in the world. She is holding the rubber doll close to her chest. Tears fill Vasanti’s eyes. She sits on the cot, leans forward and strokes the curls on the baby’s forehead tenderly. The corals from her neck are dangling, touching the baby’s lips scantily. At a distance, a star falls from the sky in the moonlight on that night. As she watches the baby’s eyes, sleep takes over. The corals mumble densely at heart. *** (The Telugu original, pagadaalu, was published possibly in the mid-forties.) (Translated by Nidadavolu Malathi) |
