Tell A Thousand Lies (46 page)

The Swami rose and placed a gentle hand on Srikar’s shoulder. Startled, Srikar jerked his head sideways, breathing heavily. He shoved Kondal Rao backward into the chair. “You deprived me of a mother, now you want to inflict the same on my son?”

“But I provided both of you with a perfectly good step-mothers, no?” Kondal Rao looked bewildered. “Lata is a good lady, your step-mother was a good lady.”
 

Srikar shook his head in disbelief. “My step-mother was a perfectly nice lady. But she was not my mother. You were my grandfather, one of the adults who should have kept my world safe. But you damaged it beyond repair. And now you want to do that to my son?”

My eyes swam, but my heart bubbled over with joy because Srikar had stood up for me.

“It broke my heart to send Pullaiyya away,” Srikar said. “But every child deserves a mother. And every mother deserves her child. All this while I thought you were merely amoral and dangerous. But you truly don’t understand, do you?”

“But I gave you a pretty wife, a fair wife,” Kondal Rao exclaimed.

“You talk like any fair-skinned girl would have done. The only woman I’ve ever wanted for my wife is Pullamma. All I wanted was the chance to raise my son with her.”

I held my breath, counting out the beats in my head.

“But I don’t know how to extricate myself from the mess you’ve made of our lives – my son’s, Pullamma’s, mine, even Lata’s.” Srikar looked sorrowful. “Not without hurting my son.”
 

I watched Srikar, hurting for him, hurting for me.

“Fine, after the next elections are over, take Pullamma back, send Lata on her way. You want me to set her up in a mental asylum?”

Srikar looked at his grandfather bleakly. “You truly don’t understand what you’ve destroyed, do you?”

Kondal Rao started at Srikar with a puzzled frown, shook his head, then turned to the Swami. “
Swamulavaru
?” he said, addressing the Swami in a respectful manner.

 
“It’s time for us older people to step out of the lives of these youngsters,” Swami Chidananda said gently.

Kondal Rao looked as if he would have liked to argue, but he was nobody’s fool. He couldn’t afford to ignore the clout the Swami wielded. He bowed and left, leaving me fretting about his next move.

It was not in Kondal Rao to give up this easily.

Chapter 55

Pullaiyya Questions

N
o one seemed concerned about Kondal Rao’s non-appearance during the hot summer months.

“He is too quiet,” I said to Janaki aunty during our weekly phone conversation.

“Perhaps Srikar’s unexpected blow-up shook him up.”

I gave a short laugh. “Kondal Rao, the self-involved, amoral, conscienceless politician, worried about something as insignificant as someone’s feelings?” Glad as I was to see Srikar stand up to his bully of a grandfather, nothing had changed for the two of us. He was still in Hyderabad, I was still here in the village. “He’s up to something, Aunty.”

“Don’t invent trouble. It is more likely he is just busy managing his new portfolio in the State Government. No time to bother with you.”

I certainly hoped so.

“I miss our days together,” I said.

“I do too, Child. Much as I am grateful to God for giving me a second chance with my son, I miss you terribly.”

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Swami Chidananda, meanwhile, had not been idle. He mobilized funds and started building a complex, with rooms and a central courtyard, around the existing
Durga
temple. He planned to move over all
bhajans
and prayers from my ashram to the temple complex. Then I would be completely free of this onerous responsibility. Dared I think I could lead a normal life?

><

A commotion drew me outside. A group of children stood in a circle, chattering excitedly. Wondering what had caused it, I went closer. Two boys were engaged in a fist fight, rolling in the mud so hard that they were raising dust.

“Stop,” I barked, moving to separate the boys.

One of the boys snarled and pushed me back. He saw me and froze. Pullaiyya!

Wordlessly, I pulled the boys apart. I helped the other child up – his clothes were caked with dirt, his face grimy. He harrumphed and started to limp homeward.

I held out a hand to Pullaiyya, but he ignored me. He wiped the back of his hand across his cheek, smearing mud and blood. My heart lurched. The gash above his upper lip ran all the way across his cheek. “Go home, all of you,” I said, shooing away the children. Silently, I walked Pullaiyya home.

Inside, Ammamma rushed up. “What happened?”

“He got into a fight.”

“Let me help you,” Ammamma said.

“No!” Pullaiyya rushed into the house, and slammed the door behind him.

He refused dinner.

Later that night, he lay in his bed next to mine. I’d turned the lights down. The All India Radio played ‘
dard
bhare
geet
’ in the background – melodious songs of grief and sorrow.

We often talked at night, never looking directly at each other; it seemed less threatening that way. I had come to treasure these late night confidences.

Now, I said, “Do you want to tell me what happened today?”

“Why did you have to name me Pullaiyya, Doctor
amma
?” he burst out.

My poor baby!
He must have gotten into a fight over his name. For a moment I wasn’t sure how to answer him; after all if it had been up to me, Pullaiyya would have been named anything but. Deciding it was best to stick as close to the truth as possible, I said, “My sister named you after me because I had to go away.” I tried not to get distracted by the hurt that he wouldn’t call me Amma – as far he was concerned, his mother was Lata.

“Where do such stupid names come from, anyway?”

Lata, how could you?
“Even in my generation, it wasn’t uncommon for babies to die at birth. Parents who’d lost one or more children resorted to such names in the hope of tricking the fates. Or, in my case, a grandmother who was trying to halt the stream of calamities.”

“How did that help?”

“Well, our names – yours and mine – come from ‘
puli
vistaraku
,’ which means a heap of used or dirty plates. Desperate parents threw their children on a pile of such plates to show the fates that the child was as good as dead. The hope was that once the attention of the fates was diverted, the child would live.”

“Didn’t the child get hurt?”

I laughed. “It’s not like they threw the children on metal plates. They used woven-leaf or plantain leaf plates.”

Pullaiyya pushed himself up on an elbow, looking interested despite himself. “Did they throw us on dirty plates, too?”

I laughed again. “Not you, I’m fairly sure. But Ammamma rested me on twigs, which she thought was better than throwing me on used plates, because ‘
Pulla
’ means twigs, too.”

“So
Pentaiah
or
Pentamma
were thrown in garbage.”

“Symbolically, yes.”

“Any other funny names?”

“
Daanaiyya
or
Daanamma
come from the word ‘
Daanam
.’ Children with these names were donated to another family, then taken back.”

“Would you have called me Pullaiyya, too?”

I wasn’t sure what answer he sought; did he want me to say yes, so he could feel closer to me? Or no, so he could distance himself from me? I hesitated an instant, then decided to be honest. “No, I would have named you something different.” Something nicer, I thought silently.

“Why?”

“Because I got teased a lot, too.”

“Did Amma know about this?”

I shrugged. Not much I could say to that without hurting my child. “Other kids would collect little sticks, tie them up and wrap a ribbon around them, dressing the bundle up as a girl. They would follow me around, but pretend to be talking to the bundle. ‘Pullamma, you little bag of sticks,’ they’d say giggling. Or they’d call me ‘
Nalla
Pulla
.’” Little black sticks. “I hated it.”

“I hate my name, too,” my child said. “It is funny when you tell it as a story, but not so funny when other children tease you.”

I closed my eyes, trying to stem my tears. I hadn’t wanted a child of mine to go through what I had. “Swami Chidananda
suggested a name for you…”

“What is it?”

“Ved.”

“Ved,” he said a couple times, trying it out. “
Swamulavaru
gave me that name?”

I nodded, holding myself rigid.

“Would you be upset if I asked to change my name?”

I felt tears clog the back of my throat. “Not at all,” I managed to whisper.

“You can call me Ved, then,” he said.

He turned on his side, examining my face in the dim light. “You think my parents will mind?”

“I don’t think so.” Srikar wouldn’t; of that I was certain. As for Lata
–
who knew?

“That can be my new name
when I start in my new school
.”

“
I’ll check with Srikar, then speak to Headmaster
garu
and take care of the change.” A rush of love for this child engulfed me. I held out my arms, not really expecting a response.

He crawled over to my bed and got under the covers with me.

I held him tight, and wept.

Chapter 56

Relationship with Ved

T
his was the turning point in the relationship with my son I had so craved. Ved opened up to me. Progress was slower than I would have liked, but it was there. Since I no longer involved myself in ashram activities, I had a lot of time on my hands. I was reluctant to start up my medical practice for the fear it would cut into my time with Ved. I helped him with his homework, listened to his day at school, practiced singing
bhajans
with him. When Ammamma, Ved and I sat down for dinner at night, I came the closest I had to contentment since the time Srikar and I had set up home together.

One evening Ved seemed listless, not his usual self.

“What’s wrong?”

He wouldn’t meet my eye.

“Ved?”

He looked uncomfortable.

“You can tell me whatever is bothering you. I won’t mind.”

“You won’t be angry?” he asked, raising his head.

“No, I promise.”

“Can I keep a photo of my parents next to my bed?”

I drew in a sharp breath.

“Ved!” Ammamma looked agitated.

Ved’s shoulders drooped.

Ammamma said, “Pullamma is your mother. You –”

God bless Ammamma for her support, but this wouldn’t go away by reprimanding. “Ammamma,” I said cutting her off. “Please?”

She didn’t look happy about it, but didn’t say more.

“Child,” I said, holding out a hand. He put his hand in mine. It broke my heart that he looked so fearful. “This is your house as much as it is mine or Ammamma’s. You can do whatever you want. I’ll ask your father for a photo.”

He smiled uncertainly.

“What, Child?”

“Can I go over to
Ramu’s
house? For cricket.”

“Of course,” I said, giving him a hug. He squirmed out of my hold, and ran to the courtyard gate.

Ammamma waited till Ved shut the gate behind him. Then she burst out. “How can you let him put Lata’s photo in your house? You are letting that girl take over your life even when she’s hundreds of kilometers away.”