Tell A Thousand Lies (43 page)

I closed my eyes, hearing the rhythmic sounds of water hitting the courtyard floor. I remained like that for many minutes, saying nothing, visualising the falling rain carrying away the torment of my soul. I opened my eyes and looked up.

“So much sadness,” Swami Chidananda said. His eyes were incredibly kind.

I felt grief afresh.

“I’ve spent the last few hours telling
Swamulavaru
about your situation,” Ammamma said, using an honorific for the Swami.

The invisible band around my head loosened; I did not have to put on an act with this gentleman. I fell at the Swami’s feet. He put his hands on my shoulders and bade me to rise. “Sit, Child.” He led me to the chair next to Ammamma’s.

I sank into it, suddenly thinking longingly of Ammamma’s two rickety chairs – back then our biggest worry had been to remember on which side of the chair our clothes caught. Or was it just nostalgia making it seem so?

“
Swamulavaru
,” Ammamma told me, “has frequently counselled Lata and Srikar.”

I wasn’t sure where Ammamma was going with this. As far as I was concerned, I would be happy if I never heard Lata’s name again.

“He is the one person Lata respects,” Ammamma added.

I looked sideways at the Swami; I hadn’t known.

“Child,” Ammamma said, “you should feel free to tell Swami Chidananda all that ails you.”

The dam within burst. “My life is a sham,
Swamulavaru
. I am a married woman, but can’t acknowledge my husband, I am a mother, but can’t lay claim to my child. I have to live my life as a Goddess, without the freedom any ordinary woman could expect.”

“This is your penance for the sins of lives past,” Ammamma said.

But I wasn’t ready accept this explanation any more than I was ready to accept ‘God’s will’; this was a convenient way of explaining away life’s little knife jabs.

“What do you want, then?” the Swami asked.

“What I want and what I can have are two different things,” I said.

“I got a phone call from Srikar this afternoon,” Ammamma said.

Let it not be anything bad, Oh Yedukondalavada!

“Lata is not doing well. She lies in bed all day, unable to care for Pullaiyya, unable to care for herself. If it weren’t for Janaki…”

I felt tears clog my throat.
My poor child!
At what inauspicious moment had he taken birth?

“Srikar is at his wits end.” Ammamma’s voice wobbled. “Trying to take care of them both.”

“Help me out of this vortex,” I begged the Swami. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“How can I be of help?”

“Help me get my family back.”

“Srikar might not agree to leave Lata,” the Swami said.

“It’s just guilt that’s holding him back.”

“Guilt can be a powerful motivator, Child. Don’t dismiss it so lightly.”

“So you’re saying I have to live out my life without my husband or child, because my husband feels misplaced loyalty to another woman?”

“No, I’m saying your best option, your most realistic option, is to negotiate with Lata. Srikar might continue to live with Lata, but at least you’ll have your child back.”

“I can’t accept that.”

“You don’t have that many choices, Child. I talked to Srikar before I came here. He won’t leave Lata because the child won’t allow it, but he is willing to let you have your son. Besides, we need Lata’s cooperation, too. If it came down to you and her, who do you think the child would choose?” He let that sink in. “Lata is an angry woman. I may be able convince her to let you raise your child, saying that it is getting to be too much for her. But she’ll need to feel she hasn’t totally given up control. Lata’s child for her
maangalyam
.”

Maangalyam
.
Marriage-hood
.
The most important thing in a woman’s life. Other than her children, of course. All the
pujas
, the prayers women did, the fasts they kept, were solely to ensure the happiness of their husbands and children.

“Kondal Rao would never allow it.”

“Leave him to me,” the Swami said calmly.

Ammamma said, “Kondal Rao knows
Swamulavaru
has a huge following. He won’t risk alienating his voter base.”

“If that’s the case, why can’t
Swamulavaru
order Kondal Rao to leave me alone?”

“If merely telling him helped, I’d do it right away, Child. But Kondal Rao is power-obsessed. I cannot predict how he’ll react. What if he did something unpredictable – like declaring you
Graam
Devata
?”

“If you try to corner a rabid dog,” Ammamma said, “be prepared for it to pounce on you.”

“Not worth the risk,” the Swami added.

So we were back to Lata’s
maangalyam
. I closed my eyes, my heart aching. This had never been my plan for life. “Will Srikar agree to this?”

“He will, because he is an honourable man. He knows you were cheated of your child,” the Swami said. “He put you off only because he didn’t want to rock the child’s world.”

“Nothing’s changed.”

“Oh, but it has. Lata’s not been well. Srikar understands it is an unhealthy environment for the child to be in. But he will not leave Lata as long as she needs him. Both for her sake and the child’s.”

What about me?
This was no choice at all.

The Swami continued, “The first time Srikar visited me was after you came back into his life. He was heartsick at what his grandfather did to you, at what he himself did to you. We had a long talk about his son, and you two sisters. And the complicated situation he is in. You can trust him to do the right thing.”

Right for whom?

“If I am able to get Lata to agree, how will you claim your son?” the Swami asked. “The world knows him as Lata’s son.”

“If he can’t be the son of my womb, he can be the son of my soul.” Not what I’d have chosen, but like the Swami said, I didn’t have too many choices. Fortunately, no one would think it odd if he or any other child came to live in the ashram.

“It’s not going to be easy,” the Swami warned.

“I know. I will be ripping him away from the only family he’s known. I will be forcing him into something he has no desire for.”

“And you are prepared for that?”

I did not answer right away. I watched rain foam along the sides of the courtyard and tumble into the open gutters by the walls. Inside the gutter, the water swirled around, as much in turmoil as I was, before being swept away.

“No,
Swamulavaru
,” I finally said. “I’m not prepared.” How could anyone possibly prepare for something like this?

The Swami looked at me steadily, his grey eyes piercing.

I turned away, unsettled.

He leaned back, eyes closed, hands
steepled
on his belly. A beak-shaped nose, high cheekbones, which served to reinforce his saintly image. Stories about the elderly Guru were legendary. His followers talked about his gentleness, his love. He offered no magical solutions, but people came away with a feeling of hope.

Now that I had met him, I allowed myself to feel a sliver of hope, too.

He opened his eyes. “I will talk to Lata about letting you keep your son. I make no promises, though.”

I nodded. “
Swamulavaru
?” I said, a little hesitant. I knew Ammamma wasn’t going to like what was coming. “Could you give him a new name?”

“The boy?”

“Yes.”

Ammamma was looking curiously at me, but I forged on. “Growing up, I hated my name. I was teased mercilessly for it. I always thought if I had children, I would give them beautiful names.”

“I never knew that.” Ammamma looked upset. Then something occurred to her. “Lata must have known.”

I nodded.

“Yet, she still named him Pullaiyya...”

What could I say?

“I’m so sorry, Pullamma.”

“I never blamed you.” I put my hand on Ammamma’s. “You did what you thought was best.”

“But children can be very cruel,” the Swami said.

I nodded. “I don’t want my son going through life defending his name. It is possible, of course, that he is happy the way he is. If that is the case, we can let him be. But if he’s not, I want him to have the choice.”

“You can name him whatever you want, Child,” Ammamma said softly.

Thank you God, for a wonderful grandmother.

“Something similar to the name you gave your daughter?”

I nodded.

Ammamma seemed confused. “But
Swamulavaru
, the girl was not Pullamma’s.”

“Pullamma named her, therefore she must have loved her.”

I bit down on my lip, trying to contain my emotions. Though Ammamma and the Swami both knew of my past, only the Swami had been perceptive enough to divine how much Vennela meant to me. Close as I was to her, even Ammamma hadn’t understood. I knew now why the Swami was so highly revered. “Her name was Vennela,” I said, a catch in my voice.

“What a beautiful name,” he said. “How about Ved for her brother?”

“I like it,” Ammamma said.

I smiled gratefully at her.

The Swami bent forward and touched my hair in benediction. His gentleness was my undoing. I rested my forehead on the arm of his chair and broke down. I cried till I could cry no more.

“That many tears,” he said, stroking my head. “You have waited a long time for this.”

Janaki Aunty and I still talked, but I felt adrift, cut off from her. Kondal Rao had decreed, possibly on Lata’s instigation, that I sever ties with Aunty. I had refused to bend quite that far, but now that Aunty lived with her son, I missed her advice, her love. I missed her, but was happy for Aunty and Srikar because they needed this time together. And the way things were going with Lata, I was particularly grateful Aunty was there for my son. “Other than Ammamma, I have no one I can confide in,
Swamulavaru
.”

“Isn’t that the case with Gurus and Goddesses, even reluctant ones? People look to us for solutions. We have to find our own answers from within.”

“Can false Goddesses look to real Swamis for solutions?”

He gave a slight smile. “I know it is hard for you to leave the ashram. May I visit you once every two weeks?”

“Please don’t make me feel small. I am your humble servant. This ashram is yours. Anytime you wish to come.”

“Very well, then,” he said, getting up to leave.

He had been well named, I thought, as I watched him leave. Chidananda. Eternal bliss. If I had been named differently, who knows how my life might have turned out?

Chapter 52

Career Change

S
wami Chidananda kept his word. Every two weeks he came to my ashram to dispense advice, to listen, to hold my hand – whatever it was I needed that particular visit. Looking forward to these visits was what kept me going, the other, unanticipated benefit being that I now had a legitimate reason to ask that the ashram be shut down for the day. The constant din of ashram workers preparing large scale meals, the muted sounds of people in lines waiting for an audience with me, the various day-long activities – these were beginning to wear me down.

Waiting for the Swami, I settled back in one of the four armchairs we now owned. On a regular day, when I saw devotees, the courtyard was chock full of people walking up and down and about, while I was forced to sit in a corner and be Goddess. Some nights I dreamt I’d jumped out of my silver throne, and was running around the courtyard in ever widening circles, even as the crush of devotees pressed themselves against the walls on all sides, shaking their heads in unison because their beloved Goddess had lost her mental balance.