Tell A Thousand Lies (5 page)

Ammamma and Murty
garu
hurried up to greet him.

Lakshmi
garu
took a few steps, then stopped. Turning to the villagers gathered by the gate, she said, “Such an important personage Kondal Rao
garu
is. A politician with so much power visiting this house!” She puffed up as if she’d herself conveyed the politician to our house.

They nodded, appropriately awed.

Ammamma joined the palms of her hands together in greeting. “I am honoured you have personally come to grace the occasion
.
”

Kondal Rao
garu
shook his head and got back into the jeep, making me wonder why he had bothered to get down in the first place. “Too many things for me to do. Too
little time. I am such a busy man, you see.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Ammamma stammered, her face a bright red. She slapped her cheeks in remorse. “How could we even
think
that an important personage such as you would have the time to sit through a trifling event such as this?”

He inclined his head.

“Pullamma, Child,” she said to me. “Seek blessings from Kondal Rao
garu
.”

To Kondal Rao
garu
, she said, “With your blessings everything will go well today. My Pullamma’s next in line.”

I touched his feet.

This seemed to mollify Kondal Rao
garu
. “I came merely to reassure you that you couldn’t be marrying your girl into a better family. My man,” he said, pointing an imperious finger at the groom’s father, “has often performed important jobs for me.”

The groom’s father preened.

Ammamma and Lakshmi
garu
exchanged a quick glance – had the market price for the groom just gone up?

As the engines rumbled, the groom’s father hurried forward, palms of his hands joined together. Kondal Rao
garu
raised a hand and the drivers of both vehicles killed their engines. He cocked his head, waiting.

“Please,” the groom’s father said. “I humbly beg of you to consider staying on to preside over this occasion.”

Kondal Rao
garu
tapped a stubby finger on his chin. “I drove seven hours to get here. I can’t fritter away my time sitting through the whole bride viewing, you know.”

“
Aw-
wa
!” The other man slapped his mouth. “How could I be so foolish as to expect you to waste your time over such trivial issues?”

“I suppose I could relax at the Party guest house till you finish with your function. Send word if the outcome is positive. I shall arrive and give my blessings.”

“I’m deeply honoured.” The groom’s father bowed.

Tyres screeched. The jeeps were off. The atmosphere lightened, like the aftermath of a violent thunderstorm.

Murty
garu
gestured at Ammamma. “The girl’s grandmother. Name is Seetamma
garu
. The mother passed away, such a tragedy. As for the father – well, the less said, the better. Poor lady, the grandmother, to be stuck with such responsibility. I am G. V. K. S. S. R.
Satyanarayana
Murty. I live next door, so it is my duty to help with the marriages of the granddaughters, you see.”

Murty
garu
, named for a good number of Gods in the Hindu pantheon, thereby accounting for most of the initials in his name, lived for the respect bride viewings accorded to elders like him. In his daily life Murty
garu
was showed none – not by his sons, certainly not by his wife.

Tradition decreed that married women perform a myriad of rituals and prayers for the well-being of their husbands. Talk in the village was Lakshmi
garu
did these with barely concealed resentment. Since no respect was forthcoming from her, Murty
garu
spent a lot of time attending bride viewings as an elder, trying to leverage his stately appearance to gain the respect he so desired.

“Please come.” He led the party past the open shed. Our only cow, freshly scrubbed and decorated with a long slash of vermilion on its forehead, sat chewing cud. It watched our procession incuriously.

“Pullamma,” Ammamma said.

I hurried forward and settled the parents of the groom, the young child and the groom himself on folding chairs borrowed from the priest’s house for just this occasion; our two rickety metal chairs, with their curling edges, simply wouldn’t do.

An assortment of relatives – the women in bright silk saris, the men in pristine white
panchas
and
kurtas
– sat on either side of them, while Lakshmi
garu
’s two sons arranged themselves on the straw mat. Lakshmi
garu
and I hovered by the door.

I wiped damp palms on the sides of my half-sari and took a jerky breath.
If they accept Malli into their family, I will circle the shrine of Goddess
Durga
one hundred and eight times, I will milk the cow for a whole month without complaining, I –

“Time for refreshments,” Murty
garu
said, pointing his chin at Lakshmi
garu
. He sat across from the groom’s family in a straight-backed chair, his hand resting on a walking stick, the latter more for effect than anything.

“No, no, please don’t bother,” the groom’s father protested, bouncing the toddler on his knee.

It wouldn’t be proper for a guest to accept an offer of drinks or snacks without being cajoled, so Murty
garu
tried again. “What sir! You have come from so far to see our girl. What will you think? We don’t know how to offer proper hospitality, or what?” Turning to his wife he said, “Tea.”

“Coffee,” said the father of the groom.

“Coffee,” said Murty
garu
to Lakshmi
garu
. He turned to one of his sons. “And some
mirchi
bajjis
from the shop. Pronto.”

The groom’s father frowned. “Why are you getting food from the shop? The bride doesn’t know to cook, or what?”

Ammamma shot Murty
garu
a look. “My granddaughter made the
bajjis
with her own hands. She has been properly trained in cooking.”

“Of course, of course,” Murty
garu
said, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief.

“Can’t eat anything made with green chillies,” the groom’s father said, patting his expansive belly. “Too spicy. Some mixture, perhaps?”

“Mixture?” Murty
garu
said.

Ammamma nodded.

“
Laddu
,
laddu
,” the child shouted from his grandfather’s lap.

“
Laddus
for the little one,” Murty
garu
said to his son. He leaned forward and put a finger under the child’s chin. “Like sweets, do you?”

The child bit the finger.

Murty
garu
snatched it back.

“Cute, isn’t he?” said the beaming grandfather.

“Of course, of course.” Murty
garu
massaged the finger discreetly, his smile wobbling just a little. “Can I be of further service?”

“Some
kaajas
, perhaps?”

“Ah!
Kaajas
!” Murty
garu
’s face cleared, pain forgotten. He thumped his cane in approval. “Good choice. Our shop-man... uh... our Malli has magic in her hands when it comes to
kaajas
. Makes them in perfect shapes, she does. Fries them just right – a warm, honey brown.” He leaned back in his chair. “And when you sink your teeth into their delicious sweetness… mm...” He gave a dramatic shudder.

The groom’s family exchanged looks.

Lakshmi
garu
cleared her throat, but Murty
garu
’s eyes were closed in bliss. “
Psst
!” she hissed, sounding desperate. Mortification at her husband’s behaviour caused her face to appear even more angular than usual.

Murty
garu
jerked out of his trance and sat up, a beatific smile on his face.

The groom’s father squinted at Murty
garu
,
a suspicious look on his face,
but Murty
garu
showed not a hint of embarrassment.

The two men resumed their chitchat. The child tried to put his finger up his grandfather’s nostril. The groom’s father waved it away, and accepted the glass of water I offered.

“Pullamma.” Murty
garu
raised a bushy white eyebrow at me.

I nodded, heart kicking against my ribs. It was time to bring out the bride.

Chapter 5

The Bride is Viewed

M
alli was hovering behind the curtained door. I escorted her out. No previous instructions on comportment were necessary for my sister. We had seen enough Telugu movies to know that the bride was supposed to walk demurely, head down. No need to peek at the boy or anyone else – what else were the elders for?

She stood still, a large tray balanced in hand, staring at her big toe, newly painted a shiny red. I stood by her, willing the day to go well for my sister.

A round of introductions ensued. “The bride-to-be is the eldest granddaughter of Seetamma
garu
,” Murty
garu
said.

“And the grandfather?”

“Passed away.”

“So sorry. The father?”

“Has found a nubile maiden in the Himalayas.” Murty
garu
tittered. “She is helping him find God, you see.”

Ammamma’s jaw slackened.

At the glare from his wife, Murty
garu
hastily turned his snicker into a cough. Poor Murty
garu
. Always getting into trouble with someone or the other.

The groom’s father chose not to probe further – about our father, or anything else; he would have made inquiries about the suitability of our family, too.

“The poor lady has two more granddaughters to marry off,” Murty
garu
said.

“Two?” the groom’s father asked, a frown marring the oily smoothness of his forehead. “Who is the number two granddaughter?”

Murty
garu
pointed at me. “That’s Pullamma.”

There I stood in my lime-green-and-yellow half-sari, which was splashed with big purple splotches, which I supposed were flowers. I was miserably aware that this hand-me-down from the fair-skinned Malli
– the nicest I owned – was an unfortunate choice of clothing because it clashed violently with the colour of my skin.

The groom’s father leaned forward. Using his hairy caterpillar fingers, he adjusted the angle of his thick-rimmed oversized spectacles. He shook his head as if to say he couldn’t believe Malli and I came from the same stock.

I tugged at my half-sari, conscious it was five inches too short. Would he compliment me, as people often did after realizing I was sister to the fair-skinned Malli and Lata – on the clearness of my skin and the lustre of my long hair, as if in consolation for my coffee coloured skin and abnormal height of 5’ 9”? Or would he pity me?

He moved his head to inspect Malli. As he scrunched his nose, the hairs within quivered.

My sister stood queen-like, elegantly draped in a red-and-gold
Kanchi
-silk sari. Basket-shaped earrings dangled from her ears. A strand of delicate
malli
-flowers, woven through her long braid, adorned her hair. She had taken special care with the henna on her hands and feet. The
bottu
on her forehead, chosen to accentuate the beauty of her large eyes, shimmered red and gold.

She stood with the tray in hand, tea cups clattering just a little.

“So where is number three?”

“Umm. Well.” Murty
garu
put a fist under his chin in contemplation. “Actually she has gone to help out a relative. Such a sad story, you see. Seetamma
garu
’s second daughter’s third son broke his leg.” He tapped a slim finger on his lips. “Or was it her third daughter’s second son?”