Tell A Thousand Lies (40 page)

I laughed. “I had to cut my hair so people would not recognize me. And I use makeup.”

“Makeup, Child?” Ammamma looked appalled. As far as Ammamma was concerned, makeup wasn’t something respectable women used – only women who sold their bodies, and film actors. Of course, I used it so sparingly that it was barely there, but it did make me look different.

“And the mole below the nose?”

“I got it removed.”

“It made you pretty, Child. But even English medicine has its limits,
hanh
? Unable to turn you fair, it was.”

I smiled, strangely comforted. Some things would never change.

“So how did you earn that money? What you sent me?”

“By selling my services,” I teased.

Ammamma smacked my hand.

“I became a doctor, Ammamma.”

Ammamma’s eyes became round. “You had so much brains? I never knew.”

Laughing, I raised myself on an elbow and gave Ammamma a hug. “You didn’t want Lata to be a doctor. Too much education for a woman, you said. Now look at me.”

“Now look at you.” Ammamma shook her head. “Of everything I imagined you to be over the years, this wasn’t it. How much I scolded that headmaster fellow for trying to make Lata one.”

We laughed, but it was a laughter tinged with sadness. A big part of me hated Lata for what she’d done to me.
The pain I'd had to deal with should have been too great for me to feel any sympathy for this backstabbing sister of mine.
But a part of me felt sadness, too, for the loss of Lata’s dreams. I could still see her, ten years old, walking about the village, chest puffed up, a plastic stethoscope around her neck, listening to the heartbeats of indulgent elders.

“And you still think it is wrong for women to want to make something of themselves?”

“Eight years away, and you have become a city girl. What happiness did your ‘
doctory
’ bring you,
hanh
? Or your Janaki aunty, for that matter?”

“But Ammamma, being a doctor did not bring on my troubles. It kept me from destitution, allowed me to lead a life of dignity. Otherwise, I would be weaving baskets at a roadside stall, barely scraping together a living.”

“Like me, you mean.”

I sat up. “No! That’s not what I meant and you know it. What you did was very honourable and respectable within the means you had available to you. But I had the chance to do something more with my life, and I took it.”

“You have changed,” Ammamma said. She looked sad. “You talk complicated talk. I don’t understand you anymore.”

“Ammamma, I am the same person I was. It is just the exterior that has changed. I am still the Pullamma of old.”

Ammamma appeared unconvinced, so I just gave her a hug. Not all things in life could fit into prescribed patterns. “I love you anyway.”

“Oh you!” She pushed me away, a little flustered. “You and your citified ways.” But she was smiling.

“What I don’t understand is how Srikar’s marriage to... came about.” I know Kondal Rao had blackmailed Srikar, but how had Ammamma got involved?
 

“That was my fault.” A teardrop made its way down her cheek.

“Don’t,” I said. Ammamma had shed enough tears on my behalf to last a lifetime.

She let out a heartfelt sigh. “I thought I was doing the best for your son.” She gripped my shoulders. “I never believed that you had run away with another man. Not for a single minute.” Her lips tightened, the wrinkles around her mouth bunching up. “When Lata came to me for shelter after her in-laws threw her out, I talked to the bank to take my house and give me money for Lata’s dowry, but they refused.”

Probably Kondal Rao’s doing. It wasn’t inconceivable that he’d also paid Lata’s in-laws to throw her out.

Ammamma looked remorseful. “It’s not right that a married girl continue to live in her birth home. And the infant still needed taking care of. After everything that went on with Lata, her in-laws accusing her of barrenness, then throwing her out on the streets, I felt maybe I had been too harsh with her. I tried to make up for her misfortunes by arranging her wedding to Srikar.”

My husband and my sister!
Though I knew it wasn’t a real marriage, I still couldn’t bear to think of them living together, raising my son together.

Ammamma continued, “This was also my way of making sure your son was loved. How could I trust my great-grandchild with a stranger?”

Put that way, it made sense. Not that ‘sense’ made it any less painful.

“And how does she repay me? By never letting me see my great-grandchild. She won’t come to the village, she won’t let me visit.”

“Did Srikar’s grandmother suggest this alliance?” I asked.

Ammamma looked startled. “How did you know?”

Another round to Kondal Rao.

Chapter 49

Return of the Goddess

B
efore I knew it, I was back where I’d left off. People started to queue up before the temple bells had tolled, before the birds had roused. They waited patiently in line till I was ready to grant them audience. They came in bullock carts, on tractors, on bursting-at-the-seams State Transport buses. In cars, in three-wheel tempos, and on bicycles. They came to see for themselves the miraculous rebirth of their Goddess. A slightly different avatar, but
Ammavaru
nonetheless.

I no longer limited myself to
Mangalagiri
or
Gadwal
cottons – these were fine saris for when I turned sixty, but for now I’d wear whatever I chose. The love of my family might have forced me back here, but I was damned if I would be cowed.

Kondal Rao was not impressed with my little bursts of defiance.

Because I was more ‘mod’ now – with my fancy haircut and un-oiled hair, and owing to my years of seeing patients, I exuded an authority I had not previously had. I was also older and sadly wiser, and therefore able to deal with Kondal Rao a little better.

“Start oiling your hair again,” he ordered. “Your hair looks like discoloured straw.”

“No.”

His eyes widened. “What do you mean, no?”

“Never heard that word before, Politician
garu
? It means I get to decide what to do with my hair.”

His jaw dropped at my defiance, but I had to hand it to the man. Without missing a beat, he ordered, “Very well, you will grow it back. We can pretend your hair is short because you offered it to the Lord of the Seven Hills.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” I said, staring him in the eye. “Don’t confuse my love for my family for weakness. I will not be controlled by you.”

His face darkened, but I was past the point of caring. This was the man who had denied me my son and my husband.

><

It was a month into Goddess-hood my third time around, and I could see no way out. The expected elections hadn't been called because the Chief Minister had managed to cobble together enough support. Janaki aunty had informed Dr.
Govardhan
not to expect me back. She was considering selling my share of the medical practice to another doctor because Dr.
Govardhan
was unable to handle the patient load by himself. This scared me, because it was as good as admitting that she did not expect me to escape Kondal Rao’s clutches.

The one good thing that had come out of this mess was that Aunty was now living with Srikar. After so many years of being denied her son, she deserved every bit of happiness. Being happy for her didn’t stop me from missing her. And Srikar. And the son I’d never met. How I wanted to hold him in my arms. But I was in the village tending to my devotees, and Lata was in the city playing house with my family. I talked often to Aunty, and occasionally with Srikar, too. Lata was another story.

Deciding to give it another try, I called Srikar’s house. Lata picked up. “Why are you harassing us like this?” she screamed.

“Just give me my son,” I begged. “That’s all I ask of you.”

“I put in all the effort, bring him up to this age, and now you want to reap the benefits?”

“Please, Lata.”

“If you go after Pullaiyya, Kondal Rao will not leave Ammamma alone. You know that. Are you willing to take that risk?”

I was speechless.

“Did you hear me?” Her voice was screechy.

“Kondal Rao couldn’t care less about your petty issues. He forced me back to the village only because the government was in danger of collapsing. He’s keeping me around just in case.
 
As long as I stay put, Ammamma’s safe.”

“He’ll never let you get away.” Lata sounded triumphant.

“Maybe not.” I wasn’t about to tell her I would never give up trying. “But I can still raise my son.” I took a deep breath. “Lata, I’ll give you as much money as you want.”

“I thought you’d never touch the Goddess’s money,” Lata mocked. “Never isn’t such a long time, is it, big sister?”

“I’m talking about my own earnings. The money I sent Ammamma over the years is gathering dust.”

“You’re talking about your doctor money.”

“Yes, I –”

“No.” She hung up.

I wished I knew what to do. I didn’t know how to force the issue. There was no hope of Malli interceding, either. She paid a quick visit to the Goddess with her in-laws; her in-laws would not allow a personal visit.

This caused Ammamma deep pain. “My granddaughters are so different,” she lamented. “Lata’s tongue is like a knife, slicing its way through life. And look at Malli. Silly face. Not a proper tongue in her mouth.”

><

As I sat on my freshly polished silver throne – courtesy Kondal Rao – a stream of people walked past, touching my feet, seeking blessings, easing themselves of their burdens. I mechanically touched each of their heads, and gave them
prasadam
. Kondal Rao had arranged for a couple of security guards, whether to keep the lines moving, or me in line, I couldn’t tell.

“Pullamma.”

I jerked up in shock and found myself looking into Lata’s eyes. Next to her stood Srikar. Between the two, below the line of my vision, was a child. But I dared not lower my head, or my guard. I gave Srikar a quick glance, willing him to explain. With so many devotees milling about, I was not in a position to question him. I was aware they were holding up the line of devotees; no one spent more than a minute with me in order to ensure everyone got an audience.

Srikar had an expression in his eyes I could not interpret. He inclined his head slightly at the little boy by his side and nodded.

My son!

My priest, Satyam, was considering me with speculation, so I closed my eyes and desperately willed myself to drain all emotion. When I opened my eyes again, I was calm.

I let Srikar walk past, though
Satyam’s
sharp eyes were trained on me; how could I commit the sacrilege of blessing my own husband? And then I put my hand on my child’s head, touching him for the very first time. My hand trembled. I couldn’t help it. I bit down hard on my lip, trying not to let my mouth quiver. I struggled not to look at my child’s face; if I did, I knew I would break down, yard-full of devotees or not. I trained my glance at his ear as he stood directly in front of me, though I craved to pull him into my arms and never let go.

“Move,” the security guard said, raising his stick to my son.

“No!” I said sharply.

The security guard froze. I had never spoken out loud during
darsanams
. Srikar’s eyes widened in horror, but Lata’s smile bordered on the malicious. Satyam, the priest, looked shocked. I gave Srikar what I hoped was a calm smile, but the speculative look had not left Satyam; whoever said women were gossipy had never had the occasion to cross paths with my priest.

Ammamma sat in her chair across the room, but I dared not glance at her, either. She had not called a halt to the proceedings, probably because we could not afford to draw attention to the incident. She did, however, get up and leave the room soon after my husband and son left.