DREAM OF ACCHAMMA
Dr. Vasa Prabhavati.
Aahum … aahum … aahum
They were the divine sound of the pranava emanating from the throat canals of the three untiring
women.
Those three women, looking like the avatars of Dhanyalakshmi, the goddess of paddy, were
pounding paddy.
“We’ve been pounding since dawn, it is mid-day now. We should grab a bite and then return to
work, don’t you think?”
“Thota Acchamma! You are right. Veeramma, let’s go,” Erracchamma said. They both stopped
pounding at Thota Acchamma’s suggestion. They laid their pestles by the wall.
They went into the backyard and opened the food packets they had brought with them. They put
the rice and the onion chutney on the aluminum plates and ate. The lady of the house brought
water in small jugs. They took the jugs, held the pots away from their lips and drank the water in
one gulp. After that, they washed the dishes and the aluminum plates, wrapped them in a cloth and
put them away in a corner.
Erracchamma pulled a tobacco cheroot from her sari folds at the waist and asked, “Where’s the
matchbox?”
“Don’t you have one? I have one,” said Veeramma, pulling her cheroot, tucked in her sari-folds at
the waist and the matchbox.
The three women went behind the tree in the yard, lit up the cheroots, put in their mouths and
started blowing smoke in bubbles. For Erracchamma, smoking the usual way was no pleasure. She
would put the burning end of the cheroot in her mouth, gather the smoke and let it out in puffs like
a train engine.
The owner’s children and a few others from the neighborhood would usually sneak behind the
trees and watch these women smoke. For them, it was strange and amusing. They were watching
the women smoking, and telling each other, “Hey, did you see how they were smoking!” “Yeah!
Look at all that smoke!” and, “I know, that is the way these pestle women are.”
The lady of the house saw the smoke coming from behind the tree and laughed to herself. She had
been seeing it every time they had come to pound the rice. Yet, it was amusing to her every time.
The three women washed their hands and mouths after smoking the cheroots and returned to
pound the rice. They did not know how to sing. They would groan as if they were suffering from a
fever; it was not one of pain or pleasure. That was a wave of inexplicable, pleasurable sound
coming from their hard work, which they had taken up willingly.
The pestles started moving rhythmically and competing with each other. The three pestles in their
hands were going up into the sky and coming down into the hollow in the stone slab on the floor.
They were pushing the paddy with their legs. The three pestles were hitting the hollow one after
another so fast ,one could hardly bat an eye. When the three got together, they were like a
machine, but not the one that worked on coal. Their hands and legs were acting like a pounding
mill. Those three women were never tired; it was a pleasure for them. They were pounding rice for
over twenty years. In their village, they were known as “pounding women” only. They got the label
because of their vocation and it gave them pleasure to be called so. They were getting work once
every twenty days in one house or another. The Goddess Dhanyalakshmi (the paddy) rests in the
storage sheds of the wealthy families in a leisurely fashion. The poor would have to buy rice from
the stores. It was expensive in the stores though. Besides, it was of poor quality; the shopkeepers
would pass the new rice as old rice yet charge the higher price proper for old rice. The rice would
be mushy even when less water was added. The people who bought the rice might cry their hearts
out but nobody cared.
The landowners kept the old rice separately for year-round use and filled the storage sheds with
the new paddy. They kept very old rice for the use of the new mothers and the sick during their
recuperation.
The three women completed pounding by 3:00 p.m. They brought the rice into the verandah and
started winnowing. It was their job to separate the rice from the husk. In order to polish them, they
pounded the rice one more time in the stone mortars and winnowed them one more time. Then only
the rice looked pearly white.
As they gathered the rice in the winnows and started sifting, their fingers clutched the winnows
underneath and made strange sounds. It was no match to any sound coming from any musical
instrument. So also, when they pounded rice in the stone mortars; those sounds also were peculiar
and musical in their own way. They were not the same as the sounds of the flute in the Brundavan,
nor the sounds of drums coming from the waves of a river. That was the beautiful sound, symbolic
of human strength and pleasing to the ear.
While they were winnowing the rice, birds gathered around, trying to pick the grains from their
winnows and fly away. The birds, unable to capture the grain, were flying above their heads. A few
birds of another kind were unable to relate to the human beings and kept flying in the air, at a little
higher level. Crows were on the branches of the trees in the yard and cawing. A chicken was trying
to pick the grains on the ground, with her brood. The baby chicks were running straight into the
women’s feet.
Veeramma saw that, took some of the broken rice and the chaff from and put it on the ground in a
corner. The chicken and the brood ran to the corner. A rooster also came from another corner,
strolling nimbly. Children started chasing the chicken.
It was dark by the time the three women finished their job. Veeramma measured the rice with
kuncham and poured into the storage bin while the lady of the house sat on a three-legged stool
stylishly and watched them. Being the woman in-charge, the imposing attitude came to her naturally.
Erracchamma measured the rice and transferred it into a bamboo basket. Thota Acchamma swept
the floor clean and bagged the chaff. After that, the farmhand came and took the bags of chaff into
the shed to feed the animals.
All the three women received the rice due to them for their labor. The lady gave them some broken
rice also. In the beginning, the women used to receive only rice as their wages. And they sold the
rice to the local storeowner and made money. But now they took only rice.
The lady told them to come back after a couple of days. She told them that she would soak the
broken rice and get it ready to make rice flour.
The three women said they would be back and left.
For about fifteen days, they had been going around from house to house to pound paddy. Among
the three, Thota Acchamma was the oldest and taller too; she was fairly big. It is said that the taller
people tire faster. That is what happened to her. Her shoulders and the waist were hurting bad. By
evening, she felt feverish. Thota Acchamma stayed in the cot; she could not get up. Her
temperature went up the following day.
Veeramma brought medicine from Achari, the native doctor, and stayed with Thota Acchamma,
helping her.
Acchamma had a dream. She had been hoping that her son and the daughter-in-law would have a
life, would want for nothing, and her daughter-in-law would take the pestle after she were gone and
continue to her work. That had been Acchamma’s dream. She was worried whether it would ever
materialize yet she believed too that it would come true.
Erracchamma had come from the East coast. Originally, she had come from a small village called
Buddipalem in Srikakulam district. She came to the shores of the River Godavari, along with her
husband and two children in search of livelihood. The yield was good in the East Godavari area.
They settled in a village past Bobbarlalanka. Her husband was working in the fields. Erracchamma
made friends with Thota Acchamma and Veeramma. By then, Thota Acchamma, Veeramma and
Rajamma were pounding rice. Erracchamma joined them. Up until then, the paddy yield was not
that good. In course of time, they were able to increase the yield with the help of compost and by
learning new methods in farming. The town had earned the reputation as the most productive town
in the area.
Veeramma also was not from that village, originally. She had come from another village in the
neighborhood. Nobody knew whether she was married or not. Some said she had been married
and her husband had left her. She had no children and nobody could say she was one of them.
After she came to this village, she joined Thota Acchamma and picked up the pestle. By then,
Rajamma was already pounding rice along with Thota Acchamma and Erracchamma. The group
now comprised of four. They became quite busy, with the pestles moving up and down in the air
constantly.
Thota Acchamma had been living in the same village always. There was a huge grove on the
outskirts of the village. There was a pond in the middle of the grove. Narasayya, the grove’s
watchman and his wife Acchamma were living in a hut with palm leaf roof. Narasayya’s father and
grandfather also had lived in the same place. They passed away in course of time. Now it was
Narasayya’s time. Because they were living in the Thota [Grove], the names Thota Acchamma and
Thota Narasayya had become permanent on the tongues of the villagers. Thota Acchamma had
given birth to a son and a daughter. The daughter died even before she turned eight. She used to
eat seema tamarind fruits excessively, which, they said, caused her to suffer from pneumonia and
die. Acchamma loved her daughter dearly. She cried for her daughter for a very long time. As a
result, her eyeballs became sore. In those days, there were no western doctors; they relied only on
native remedies. With some native medicine, one eye improved but she never got back the sight in
the other eye. Her sight worsened. Yet, she was pounding all right. The family were doing fine.
One day, while working in the grove, Narasayya was bitten by a snake and died. Snake charmer’s
mantra did not work. Their son stayed with the mother. After her husband’s death, Acchamma
stopped wearing the blouse, per custom.
She was planning to perform her son’s wedding after he turned eighteen. The son however was not
happy with the work in the grove. Some of the local youth were getting ready to leave for Bombay
in search of work. The son turned a deaf ear to Thota Acchamma’s pleas, and left for Bombay
along with the other young men. After losing her only son, Thota Acchamma cried her heart out;
her heart became tough eventually.
However, she kept working harder and harder with the hope that some day her son would return to
her. She even saved quite a bit. She left the grove and the hut and moved into another hut next to
Veeramma’s hut.
Rajamma was the oldest among them. After a while, she quit pounding rice.
The two children of Erracchamma had been married. Since all their relatives were living not too far
from them, she was able to find proposals in the east itself. After their marriages, the son moved in
with his wife and the daughter with her in-laws. Her husband was old and died of some sickness.
Her children invited her to live with them but she did not listen. “I’ll come to you after I’d become
disabled,” she told her son. She stopped wearing blouses after her husband had died. The few
items she wore—an old-fashioned necklace in her neck, rings in her ears and nose, and a tiny
cross stick hanging from the bridge of her nose brought a peculiar beauty to her, in addition to her
fair skin. Because of her fair skin, the villagers called her Erracchamma.
Veeramma wore jewelry, made of fake metal, in her neck, ears and nose. She enjoyed wearing
them. The items were tarnished but the stones set in them were bright.
Thota Acchamma’s fever came down after a week and she recovered fully. She was able to go
about her normal activities.
***
One day, the entire village was shaken by the news as if hit by a lightning. “They will build a rice mill
in our village,” the news said. “There is no need to pound the paddy by hand anymore, no need for
the stone mortars and pestles. The mill can pound bags and bags of paddy in no time.” The news
spread like wildfire.
As soon as the three women heard the news, they were stunned as if hit by a boulder. They told
each other that the mill was a kick in their stomachs. There were no words to describe their worry.
Earlier, when Thota Acchamma had fallen sick, they had told themselves that, when a menace
strikes, we just have to take it in stride. While Thota Acchamma was still in bed, the other two went
around pounding the soaked broken rice and making flour. Several others sent for them to pound
paddy. Pounding the paddy by two was very hard. They prayed for the fast recovery of Acchamma
and even made vows to the god. Now, after Acchamma had recovered, this news of the paddy mill
hit them. Her son had not returned from Bombay yet. Her wish would never be fulfilled, her dream
would not be materialized. Acchamma collapsed on the floor like a rubber ball after the air was let
out.
“Is Thota Acchamma in?”
“Yes, sir, I am here. You came yourself, why?” Thota Acchamma asked, surprised by the landlord’s
visit in person.
Veeramma and Erracchamma were sitting next to her.
“Come in early. There is paddy to pound,” he said and left as if his job was done.
The eyes of all the three women shone like firecrackers. They were nearly choked with joy. For a
while, not one word came out of their mouths. “The god exists only for our sakes,” they said; they
were content. They had not even one wink of sleep that night. They were up all night waiting for
daybreak. They got up before dawn, had broth, packed rice for lunch and left for work, competing
with the rising sun. The three of them had sharp pestles specially made. Wherever they went, they
always took those three pestles on their shoulders. Like the plough on a farmer’s shoulder, they
never left their pestles. On the way, they kept inquiring about the paddy mill.
“Do you think it will be here soon? No way. They need to raise the structure, bring the machinery
and all that will take a year at least,” somebody said.
The women were happy to hear that. They felt relieved to know that it was not going to happen
anytime soon.
About the work on hand: They knew that a wedding was coming soon in the house where they were
heading. They pounded the paddy for four days. After that, they pounded the rice flour. Then, they
ground the coriander powder and toor dal powder on the grinding stone.
That was marriage season. After they were done with the job mentioned before, another family
called them. Thus, they were busy with the pounding work for the next two months, which put plenty
of money in their hands. Veeramma set aside her money safely.
Erracchamma’s daughter came home for delivery. Her daughter-in-law also came for a visit with her
baby. Erracchamma spent the money she had freely and performed the rituals as appropriate.
Thota Acchamma’s son came from Bombay. All the relatives insisted that she should arrange his
marriage. She married him to her brother’s daughter.
“I will be back shortly. Don’t you worry,” the son said to Thota Acchamma, and went away with his
wife to Bombay. The mother hoped that he would be back for sure and sent him off.
The three women kept working as much as the time permitted them and were making money. They
were working as if they had nothing but money on their minds.
Paddy Mill construction was completed and it started working sooner than expected. Several
proprietors started sending their paddy to the paddy mill and the rice to the city for sale. The rice
hulled in the mill was brighter than the hand-pounded rice and was bringing more money to the
owners.
Some people however were still getting the paddy pounded at home, claiming the hand-pounded
rice was healthier. Several were suspicious that the milled rice would cause diabetes and also lost it’
s nutritional value. Usually, when a new thing is introduced, people are reluctant to accept it. Their
hearts would not take it. That is human nature. One however gets used to it over time.
The three women were getting work without break. However, the saying that anything “new is neat
and the old is odd” proved to be true. Gradually, all the people started using the mill for shelling the
paddy. Yet, the milled rice needed to be winnowed, broken rice needed to be separated from the
whole rice, and also needed to be ground into flour. Thus, the three women were getting work.
Still they were not happy. They began to be worried. They were desperate because they were not
getting enough work.
Many families had the pounding holes in their yards removed and got the floor cemented. The
stone mortars were put away. The pestles were gone. They were needed only to make the fine
flour. The stone mortars used for making flat rice were also put away. The readymade flat rice
came into use.
With these worries, the three women felt like they had aged overnight. There was nothing else to
do. Nobody cared for them anymore. Veeramma gave away her pestle to Thota Acchamma. She
opened a tea stall on the main street. It was in her nature to hold the umbrella whichever way the
sun was, so to speak. She became busy; she had her own income.
Erracchamma’s children came and took her with them to their town. She also left her pestle in
Thota Acchamma’s home.
Thota Acchamma could not sleep, not even a wink. As she watched the pestles, her heart was on
the brink of breakdown; it was melting and making a pool of water. When she winnowed rice, the
birds used to hover around above her head in the air. The brood of chicken used to come in her
way and run around her feet. That view rose in front of her eyes as in a movie. She felt aged.
She was thinking—the pestles would be thrown away into a corner. Her dream would remain a
dream forever. She was alone. The life breath would be gone from her soon. Her own son cheated
her. Her life would be stifled like a little lamp in the winds. Acchamma kept brooding over her life. As
she pined for her dream, she withered and shrunk half to her size.
She did not pound the flour either. On one of those days, her son and the daughter-in-law came
from Bombay.
“Mother, I am home, I am here for you,” he said.
The boss at the rice mill gave him a job right away, because he was from Bombay.
“Attamma, I will grind the rice flour, make turmeric powder, and I will make kumkuma and sell it in
the city. Attamma, I am here for you,” the daughter-in-law said.
That gave Acchamma the strength of a mountain.
“Ah! These pestles are sharp. They are good for the job,” the daughter-in-law said.
Acchamma’s dream was about to come true. The old soul was choked for all the pleasure it had
given her. She looked at the pestles with content. Her son and the daughter-in-law did not realize
until late that the mother’s eyes were closed shut.
Acchamma could not hold herself for all the happiness the thought had given her, the thought that
her dream had come true. With that thought, the breath of life escaped from her emaciated body
and dissolved into the eternal wind.
“Her son and the daughter-in-law have returned. She was totally stuck on those pestles. The
daughter-in-law promised her that she would work the pestle. Acchamma’s dream has materialized.
She is a fortunate woman,” the people close to her commented.
The son and the daughter-in-law fell on Acchamma’s body and cried out loud.
***
(The Telugu original, Acchamma kala, was published in Patrika monthly, November 2004.)
(Translated by Nidadavolu Malathi)