Tell A Thousand Lies (44 page)

If I were lucky I would awaken from my nightmare with my heart pounding; but most times I would get up in the morning very tired from all the exercise. Because of the constancy of my nightmares, I lived in terror of losing control; I feared giving in to a crazy impulse during an audience – or perhaps when a
bhajan
was in session – running circles around the singers, arms spread out like a plane, preparing to take off. By the end of each day, the rigid control would have given me a headache; Ammamma now had a woman come in daily to give me a massage to relieve this stress. Much as I loved Ammamma, and was happy to be with her, I desperately missed Aunty and her practical advice. I felt terrible that my stress was taking its toll on my elderly grandmother.

I forced myself to push aside thoughts of Pullaiyya and Srikar and Janaki aunty, and take advantage of the moment. My grandmother was visiting Malli. The devotees had gone home after the morning session and the ashram was blessedly peaceful. The patterned marble flooring – white, with black diamonds – sparkled clean. Our cow was long gone – it had moved on to its reward in the sky. The tamarind tree, a runt in our youth, and now full-grown thanks to the diligent attention of the ashram volunteers, had spread its branches wide against the sky. I lay back and looked up through its tiny green leaves. The sky was a blinding blue, summer having scorched its way past. I closed my eyes, feeling the breeze caress my face. A deliciously sweet smell, sugar and spice, teased my senses. Somewhere, a mother called out to her child. The blissful warmth of the winter sun made me pleasantly drowsy.

When I opened my eyes, Swami Chidananda was settled in his familiar contemplative pose, fingers
steepled
over the white beard flowing down his belly. I jumped out of my chair. “
Swamulavaru
, I didn’t realize you –”

“Child, you were enjoying a beautiful winter morning. What is there to apologize? Sit.”

I sat.

“You appear rested,” he said.

I sighed. “I had a very nice nap, but...”

“Something is bothering you.”

I told him about my dream, about my feeling of being trapped with no way out.

“Are you having a crisis of faith?”

“No!” I was startled. “Yes.” I sat up slowly. “Maybe, I am. After all, how could God let me be a false Goddess?”

“Hmm.”

“I live in fear of losing control.”

“Because you must keep such rigid control over yourself?”

I nodded.

“Is there anything you can do to make you feel you have more control over your life?”

“Be a doctor?” I said, expecting him to laugh.

But he looked thoughtful. “Why not?”

“How will I do that
Swamulavaru
?”

“When they brought you back a second time, did they not say that you had appeared to one of your devotees in the form of a doctor?”

“On my insistence, yes.”

“There you go. That is your solution. Start healing people’s bodies instead of their souls.”

“Will they accept it?”

“Sadly enough, people will believe whatever they are told to believe. You can tell them you have been called to heal. You always worry you are duping people. Isn’t practicing medicine more honest than what you are forced to do now?”

It was true, what the learned Guru said. This time around, I had not conformed to people’s expectation of a Goddess, so people had changed their expectations to accommodate my behaviour. If I now declared I was going to start treating their bodies as well as their souls, perhaps people would take that in their stride, too. I had sensed this change myself.

“What about Kondal Rao?”

“We’ll worry about him when we have to. Till then, you do what you have to.”

I got up and touched Swami
Chidananda’s
feet in gratitude.

“May you find the peace that eludes you so.”

><

With the Swami’s blessings, Ammamma set a plan in motion to distance me from my Goddess role.

We had a
bhajan
session with only a few, key devotees. Swami Chidananda was invited. After the
bhajan
was over, and the
prasadam
distributed, he declared, “Henceforth,
Ammavaru
shall be known as Doctor
amma
.” Small change in wording, huge difference in import – one meant Goddess, the other a normal lady doctor, albeit one deserving respect.

“But,”
Sarala
, my devotee, asked, “why is this,
Swamulavaru
?”

“Because above Doctor
amma
rests a higher power.”

She seemed unsure, but it was amazing how little convincing the other devotees needed, now that the Swami had spoken.

Now, if only Kondal Rao would be convinced.

Chapter 53

Pullaiyya Arrives

T
he Swami had spoken.

The devotees accepted that my audience-giving days were in the past. The ashram activities – the
bhajans
, the group sessions on various spiritual texts – continued, but I stayed away, not wanting to confuse people. Practicing medicine was still unthinkable. How could I, as long as my home was not my own?

I also worried about Kondal Rao’s lack of interference in my life; his continued absence was a phantom itch I could not scratch.

In the meantime, the Swami had not been idle. On one of his visits, he told me that that Lata had agreed to let me have my son.

“But?” I asked.

“But you have to agree to stay away from her home, and her husband.”

Even though this wasn’t unexpected, it still pierced my heart.

“Pullaiyya won’t forgive you,” Ammamma said, “if you take Srikar away from Lata.”

My throat jammed with tears. “And Srikar? What did he say?”

Ammamma gave a short laugh. “What can the poor man say, caught as he is between warring sisters?”

I knew Ammamma didn’t mean this unkindly, but it wounded all the same.

“Srikar said he would want to come to the village every so often to meet the boy,” the Swami said. “Lata wants your assurance that you will make no attempt what-so-ever to reunite with her husband.”

I nodded, though I hurt. “What was my son’s reaction?”

“He cried.” The Swami looked at me with compassion. “But you already knew that.”

><

Srikar had arrived the previous night to drop Pullaiyya off. Now it was time for him to leave. My son clung to Srikar, his little hands gripping his father’s arms. As Srikar tried to gently pry away his hands, my son broke down. “Please, Nanna, if you take me back with you, I will never take your pens without telling you. I will always wash my hands before eating. I will take good care of Amma. Please don’t make me stay here.”

Srikar pulled the little boy to him, close to tears himself.

I watched, heart heavy. What were we adults doing to this poor child?

“Pullamma is your mother, Child. I’m not leaving you with strangers. Don’t think of this as punishment.”

“Please, Nanna, please!”

Srikar knelt by Pullaiyya and put a finger under the child’s chin. “I still love you. Amma still loves you. But you know Amma’s not been well lately, right?”

He nodded tearfully.

“You know she needs time to get better?”

Another nod.

“So you will be a brave boy for me?”

Pullaiyya nodded again.

“Then let me go.”

At the gate to the courtyard, Pullaiyya clung to Srikar’s leg, crying hysterically, not letting go.

“Ammamma,” I said, choking up, “what right do I have to inflict my needs on an innocent child? Maybe it is best he continue to stay with Srikar and Lata.” Lata might be sick, but at least Pullaiyya wouldn’t be traumatised by their separation.

“Don’t you dare!” Ammamma gave me a ferocious look. “It will be hard till he settles down, but settle he will. Because you love that child.”

Srikar gently untangled his leg, gave his son a final hug and walked away. I could see his shoulders shake even beyond the courtyard gate.

><

I phoned Janaki aunty in Hyderabad that night.

“How is he?” she asked.

“Aunty, he has been sitting in the same corner since Srikar left, refusing to move. He’s gotten up only twice, both times to rush to the bathroom and back. He’s had two glasses of milk, but no food.”

“Poor child,” Aunty said. I could tell she was crying.

“I’ll send him back,” I said, defeated.

“No!” Then her tone softened. “No, Child. Much as I miss him, his place is with you, his mother.”

Now, I looked at the little body slouched in the corner of my bedroom. It was the following morning and he’d not moved. My heart sank. This wasn’t going to be easy.

“Are you hungry?”

No response.

“Do you want to see what happens in an ashram?”

No response.

I bent forward and put a tentative hand on his.

“Don’t touch me!” He pushed.

I tripped, falling against the flimsy side table. The table broke from the force of my elbow. I pulled my arm up hard. A sharp pain shot up.

He scuttled to the corner diagonally across from me.

Supporting my throbbing arm with my good one, I got on my knees and propped my good elbow on the chair to get up from the floor. Another sharp pain shot up my elbow. I moaned involuntarily.

My son didn’t spare me a passing glance.

Ammamma came into the room with a plate of food. “Pullaiyya, look what I have for you. I made your favourite
payasam
. Would you like to try some?”

Pullaiyya burrowed his head into the cemented corner.

Ammamma gave a sigh. She turned to me. “
Ai-
yai
-yo
! What are you doing on the floor?” She slammed the bowl of
payasam
on the other side table and rushed to me.

I was woozy with pain now.

Ammamma knelt next to me and exclaimed, “Your arm is broken!” She didn’t need a degree in medicine to determine this – the bone in my arm had pushed all the way through. “What happened?”

The little body across the room stiffened.

“I was careless. I slipped and fell.”

My child raised his head slightly and looked at me from the corner of his eye.

My arm felt like someone had set fire to it. Ammamma opened her mouth to say something, but I gave a slight shake of the head. My son had actually turned around to look at the offending piece of bone. The pain was so fierce I wanted to claw my arm off. And yet, if this was what it took to get a positive response from my son...

Ammamma got up. “I am going to get a doctor.”

“Isn’t she a doctor?” Pullaiyya said, jerking his head at me, as my grandmother ran out of the room.

I almost passed out – from the pain, or from the joy of hearing my son speak, I couldn’t tell; probably a little of both. I was beginning to see two of him. I blinked hard to focus. “Doctors can’t treat themselves,” I said, voice beginning to slur.

“Is that really the bone?”

I supported my broken arm with the good arm and raised it to him; sweat broke out over my upper lip. “Do you want to see?”

He scooted closer. “Are you going to die?”

A laugh was wrenched out of me, even as tears threatened. “I hope not. After all, I’ve just found you.”

“Good. I don’t like to be near dead people.”