Z3 /\ *-\

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 — To you all, this Spring w ith love.

When I started writing ‘Unto Lichable Spring’, I thought of dedicating

it to my mother and father. But by the time the novel was to be
completed as a serial, Shyam, Mahesh, Murali and Lakshmirajam
became martyrs along with them. That’s why I dedicated it to the
four of them along with my parents.
Mother was born in Sambasivapura agraharam. That is close
to Kavali. Father was born in Alakurapadu. It is close to Ongole.
Alakurapadu is to the north of the agraharam. According to our
people’s reckoning, mother is a northern daughter-in-law. Father is a
southern son-in-law.
Father’s name is Gango. u Ramaiah. An elementary school
teacher. Mother’s name is Baanagamma. Mother would perform a
number of (Hindu rituals). In our community’s words,
(eating only once). Father would offer (Christian
prayers). Her ‘vokka poddulu did not in his His ‘Christ’
did not come in her way. ifferent religions. Same Mother,
Balanagamma, died in jmy My
even take her photo thinking it will down her life span. After
mother died, the mother who me up is Kamalamma.
Shyam, Mahesh and Mura who
'eopk movement. The three of them came from different
uis. bhvan; (Adiredd’ was extremely poor. He came from a
large joint family. He grew from an ordinary jstatus to an extraordinary
one. Mahesh (Santoshreddy) came from an educated family. Was
highly educated. Theorist. Philosopher, Murali (Naresh) came from
an educated middle-class family. It was the Revolutionary movement
that brought the three of them togethdr. Andhra police arrested the
three of them on the night of 1 Decem ber 1999 in Bangalore. Shot
them. Keeping the corpses in Koyyuru forests, faked an ‘encounter’
to show they were killed in it. Lakshmi: ■ajarjn was a dalit. To fake the
Koyyuru encounter, they shot Lakshmirajam, dressed him in olive
green and declared him as Arun along with! the three top leaders.
This Spring was forbidden then.
Now, too, forbidden.

The caste of birth forbidden.

The chosen struggle forbidden.

It may have been yesterday. Maybe today.

Maybe any time.

This Spring was forbidden then.

Now, too, forbidden.
 First, I will introduce Ruth to you. Then I will tell you the story.
Those who know her asla writer may ask me not to dare introduce
their favourite writer to them anew. True. She has written innumerable
stories. Innumerable poerns. But I am not going to introduce you
now to Ruth, the writer,; or to her writings. Just to Ruth. The Ruth
I know.
Ruth sits all by herself all day. Since Reuben’s death, she has been
sitting alone for many years.
She sits alone and stare;; ar the sky. In the sky a lone star is visible.
The rest of the stars disappear as if they have nothing to do with her.
Then in front of her eyes, on the half-broken high wall, appear! the
painting of Jesus on the Gross.
The region used to be beautiful then. More than medicines, it was
the environment that would heal the sick. She used to be a nurse
there. Her Reuben was the hospital’s pastor.
The past recedes. The present -is before her. If we build a nest and
perch in the past that haa gone by, the present too will become the
past. But Ruth says her memory does not relate to the past. She says
Reuben is always her present.
As silently as Reuben came into her life, he left just as silently He
who went away did not go just like that. He showered innumerable
springs on her all through her life and left. He narrated how a memory
blossomed at every turn aind withered away. Told stories. Wove poems.
Causing an upsurge he left, asking her to keep this memory in her
heart. In truth, it is not a memory. A surge. How to contain that flow!
He started to tell his story on a moonlit night. He told it over many
nights. He said the same t.ling over and over again. He laughed as he
narrated. Cried as he nariated. His eyes sparkled then. His eyes got
wet then. She hid that sparkle in her eyes. She smeared that wetness’
on her eyelids. In truth they are not just the memories he shared. Wet
eyes wrench the heart. Touch the spinal chord. They haunt.
 He and his ancestors swam in the savige flow of flood waters. Some
were washed away. Some sought sho res like untiring boatswains,
W hat kind of a man was her Reuben! W hat a wonderful person— that
beautiful untouchable! These words may sound strange. But Ruth
uses those words simply, naturally. She used to speak those words to
Reuben himself. ‘Oh, my beautiful u;:ntouchabIe man!’ She would
call him like that innumerable times. T len Reuben would look at her
like a child. His eyes would be filled wi th innocence.
Something that happened many years ago. It seems as if it had
happened only yesterday. Not yesterday, it seems to be happening
right now in front of her eyes. She ha.d set out with him when he
told her he would show her his ancestc rs’ place. On foot. Soon after
their marriage. It was the first time they had walked together, just the
two of them, after marriage. A journey along the stream bund, the
sky spreading the moonlight. The flutter of tiny little fish jumping
about in the stream. As she walked ale rig with him, alone together.
An amazing solitary experience.
Then he began narrating.
About the downpour of moonshine
About the movement of the rapid stream.
About the untouchable spring.
‘We’ve walked a long distance. We’ve got to walk this much more.
It may take the whole night. How do yiou feel? Are you tired?’
‘No. It’s new. It’s strange.’
‘Shall I tell you a story?’
‘Tell me.’
Reuben had not yet begun the stoiy. For a moment they didn’t
know what happened. A night bird darted in from the side making
a horrendous noise. In the moonlight, diey kept looking at it as long
as it was visible. Its cry kept ringing in their ears.
Always like that, It shrieks as if something
catastrophic has happened. Speeds past as if someone is chasing it. Is
not seen again. Is not heard again.’
 If Reuben were to tell her those things now, she would not
believe him. She remembers the bird vividly. Hears it, always.
Whenever she remembers the story Reuben narrated, she remembers
the yennela pitta.
It was a story told to ^Reuben’s grandfather by his grandfather.
There is Siva in it, Parvati, t'6o. They have a cow, Kamadhenu1. It
gives honeyed milk. Normally, a cow’s milk does not ooze honey. But
Kamadhenu’s milk is suffused with honey. W ith that milk Parvati
makes a feast for the gods and goddesses. Only the gods have a right
to that feast. are the only special invitees.
There is a young man who takes care of this Kamadhenu which
has special powers. His name is Chennaiah. One day he is tempted to
drink the honeyed milk. He reveals his desire to Parvati. Parvati says
no. But the young man cannot overcome his desire. He repeats it to
Parvati many a time. Parvati tells Chennaiah, ‘Go, ask Kamadhenu,
yourself, Chenna.’ He does just that. He reveals his desire to
Kamadhenu. A wonder! As soon as Kamadhenu hears the request,
she collapses on the ground— dead.
Siva and Parvati come to know of Kamadhenu’s death. The
news travels to the gods and goddesses. Siva and Parvati think of
cooking Kamadhenu’s meat and offering it as a feast for the gods and
goddesses. Kamadhenu’s milk used to ooze honey. Anticipating how
delicious her meat would be, all the gods, goddesses and rishis swarm
around the dead Kamadhenu, smacking their lips.
But there is a problem. Kamadhenu has to be moved from the
spot where it died. ‘That’s the say the gods and goddesses.
that’s not done, the will not accept it,’ say the rishis. Everyone
agrees. But even all the gods and goddesses do not possess the
strength to move the dead Kamadhenu. Finally, the rishis suggest that
Jambavanta alone has the power to move it. Siva calls Chennaiah. He
orders him to go and get Jambavanta.
‘ .’ (‘ . great . . . come
down.’)
Chennaiah shouts so loudly that he can be heard in all the corners
of the world. Whether Jambavanta climbed down from the sky or
rose from the earth, we do not know. He appears from somewhere
in the three worlds. He looks at Kamadhenu. He sees the gods and
 goddesses. He speaks to the rishis. They tell him what to do. That’s
it. Jambavanta lifts Kamadhenu with his left hand. The gods and
goddesses bless Jambavanta. The rishis shout cries of victory. On
such occasions, gods, goddesses and rishis do just that. That may
be a convention. They tell him how far and where he should take
Kamadhenu. As the gods, goddesses and rishis follow him, Jambavanta
takes Kamadhenu to the place where they ask him to.
The gods cut up the cow. Skin it. Then they ask Jambavanta to
divide the meat of the cow into two parts. They ask him to cook only
one part. They say that they will recite a and bring Kamadhenu
back to life. They depart. They are immersed in a discussion about
the cow’s meat they are about to eat.
Jambavanta dofes not divide the meat into two parts as told. He
starts to cook the entire meat. he is stirring the meat, a piece falls
to the ground. It gets smeared with mud. That piece becomes defiled.
Chennaiah cleans the piece and puts it back in the meat that is being
cooked.
Siva and Parvati come to know of this. The gods and goddesses
are furious with Jambavanta for not dividing the meat into two
parts. They are angry with Chennaiah for putting the defiled piece
of meat into the meat being cooked. Neither Siva nor the gods can
do anything but curse when they are angry. Siva curses. He curses
Jambavanta and Chennaiah to live in eating the meat of
dead cows and sweeping the bazaars. All the gods, goddesses and
rishis sing a chorus that this curse would last till eternity.
Jambavanta and Chennaiah eat the cooked meat. In Kaliyuga,
Jambavanta’s children become Chennaiah’s children become

Reuben had looked at her as if to say that the story was over. She
did not speak a word. She is silent.
‘How’s the concocted story?’ he ^sked smiling.
‘M y grandfather told it so convincingly. His grandfather narrated
it as if it were really true. The story of my birth and your birth.
Where did we come from? From a curse. From the wrath of the gods.
From the piece of meat that fell out. W hy is it so?’ Though he spoke
forcefully, he did not speak in anger. He was smiling as he spoke.
But she did not say anything even then. She searched for the yennela
 pitta. She felt it would be nice if it went by making a deafening noise.
She said this to Reuben, tie replied that he would call out to the
yennela pitta. He cried ouit almost like the yennela pitta. His shout
would have reached a great distance, tearing through the silence. It
would have echoed till a grneat distance,
At that time it had just seemed like a strange tale. It would n o t'
appear simply strange nowl It would appear grotesque. Would seem
as if there were no other story more cruel than that. She feels that in
Reuben’s laugh that day there was rejection of and ridicule for that
story. It comes back to her, If she sifts through every detail carefully,
she feels that when she unthinkingly talked of the yennela pitta,
Reuben imitated its call. Now she feels it was not an imitation. She
was not able to hear a man’s agony in the imitation that day. Truly,
it was the agony of an un touchable. It was a condemnation of his
birth that was so cruelly painted, of the crime committed on him in
histoiy. A true remonstran A rejection, indeed,
That’s why Ruth says th it her memory is not past. She says it is an
untouchable spring. Begin ning like waves upon waves and touching
the sky, it breaks out and booms like the thunderous sound of the
oceanic wave, she says. The re is no twist in the tale for that spring. All
that there is is a continuati on, like a song . . . like a poem, plumbing
the depths, scraping the cc nscience.

Ruth’s memories are many years old. Some of these are those she had
shared with Reuben. Somej are from the time before Reuben met her.
Others are about the ancestors Reuben had introduced her to. Of
Ruth’s sweet thoughts of the yennela pitta. O f that the
yennela pitta tapped awake at night.
Reuben said that to think of Yennela Dinni was to remember
the flute tunes that are born between the lips of the untouchable.
That was where Reuben’s grandfather Yellanna was born. He grew up
there. Sang songs. Danced.
Yellanna did not write! sjongs. He knew no alphabet to write them
in. All he had was a feeling heart, a shareable experience, tear-shedding
 6 K alyana jj?^ \

eyes, swelling nerves, a turbulent blood-stream . . . that was it, the

song would weave itself. He wove the song like that. Not just weaving
the song, he danced, too. They calleijljtiiijn. singing Yelladu. Dancing
Yelladu. But his father’s sister, Boodevi, called him ‘Yellanna’.
Recalling Yellanna’s song and dance, Reuben would sing their
praise. In his last days he would speak about them again and again.
He would then turn into a child. It se :ms that when Yellanna donned
the role of Hiranyakasipu they would; beat the drums asking pregnant
women not to come. True— they say this in that village even today.
They sang Yellana’s songs for us. Village life peeped out through those
songs. The moving tune that combined yxitouchability and hunger
was heard. That Yellanna could brinig! toj mind Narasimhaswami in
C henchulakshm i as if he was right there iv/as narrated by the elders
who in turn had been told so by th eir eiders. Those words brought
to Ruth’s eyes the happiness that was; hidden and held somewhere in
some corner. Yellanna was a great artist* Reuben was born in a great
artist’s family. Now Ruth is an heir to that family.
How wonderful it would be to ask her jto hide only Yennela Dinni
Yellanna’s song and dance in her heart! How securely she would have
hidden it! How many times she had recollected it and remained a
p a lla v i* to that song! She would be the talam~ to that dance. But
the background to the song comes to; the ifore. The rhythmic steps of
ghastly time that had merged with th at performance danced in front
of her eyes.
Yennela Dinni was not such a great plate. That does not mean you
can think of it as insignificant. There g atild be thirty houses of Reddys.
Only one brahmin house. That was th e karajiam’s house. Washerman,
barber, balija, cowherd, potter— together all would probably make
the same number of houses. Two on.; the Reddys’ mound, two on
the brahmins’ lake bund—ya n a d i houses. At a distance, twenty mala
houses. Further off the same number of madiga houses. The place
where those who belonged to the foui castes lived was ooru. The place

* Pallavi is the initiation or the main motif o f a song. C haranam is the

conclusion or base o f the song.
+ Talam is the rhythmic beat o f a dance cir;song.
 where malas lived— where the madigas lived—
Amazingly, all those parts put together formed Yennela Dinni.
There is a proverb: ‘If there is an won’t there be a Ruth
would keep the proverb in mind and reflect on it now and again.
As she reflects she will see a cruel horizontal line across the lives of
the people of this country. On that side of the horizontal line, the
touchable people, on this side, the untouchable people. That side
is definitely the upper portion. This side is undoubtedly the lower
portion. Yennela Dinni was not an exception to this dividing line.
We cannot sketch it without drawing this line.
Yellanna’s life was on this side of the horizontal line. One did not
know when his ancestors were pushed on to this side of the line.
Several hundreds may be born every second on this earth, maybe
thousands; or maybe much more. Yellanna, too, was born like that.
Born like everyone else. He, too, cut his umbilical cord with hit
mother and was born with a sudden shriek. In that shriek, there
was not that strange warning, ‘Oh, you upper caste people! I, ar
untouchable, am walking on your pure, regal paths. Move aside
Move aside.’ He shrieked like everyone else. He announced his birtb
like anyone else.
Like each ones birth touching one’s fathers heart, his, too, touchec
his father’s heart. ‘A male,’ he shouted out to the caste elder. He fillec
the caste elder’s stomach with toddy and felt elated. Like all othe/
mothers, his mother, too, might or might not have heard his shriek
in her tired state. But Boodevi looked repeatedly at the face of th-
tired Lingalu and at the tiny body of the child that shrieked. The
midwife said the shriek was very loud. She did not stop there. She
said, looking at Boodevi, that the child was born with his father’;;
sister’s nose. Then Boodevi noticed. She searched for her image ii
the child. She stopped at the nose. She wanted to hear the midwife’:-
words again.
The day they bathed the mother and the child, they named him.
Yerrenkadu said he would name him after his grandfather. Boodev
wanted to name him after her father. Yerrenkadu did not oppose her.
Not just now, Yerrenkadu had never opposed his sister. It was not a:
if there was no reason. There were two children before Yerrenkadu
There were two after Boodevi. The four siblings had died. Only the
 two of them remained. They grew up in Yennela Dinni as if each had
only the other. His father wanted to give Boodevi away to someone
in Kolia Dinni. Yerrenkadu did not agree. He said that they must
give his sister only to someone in Yennela Dinni. They performed
Boodevi’s marriage joining their half of low, swampy field to
the field. Though he disposed of the entire swampy piece of
land to meet his sisters marriage expenses, Yerrenkadu did not feel
bad. His sister got married to a man in Yennela Dinni. She was living
next to his house. That was enough, he felt.
Yerrenkadu’s brother-in-law, Yenkatanarsu, was not to be taken
lightly. Actually, Yennela Dinni was not his ancestors’ native place.
They were from; the Chirala and Perala region. Yenkatanarsu’s
grandfather had come to Yennela Dinni, bringing the loom along.
W hen his grandfather sat near the loom and wove, they would look
at him in amazement at Yennela Dinni. After the old man passed
away, Yenkatanarsu’s father worked on it for a while. When he died,
the loom remained more as a symbol and was shelved. Though
Yenkatanarsu did not weave on it, he did not stop going to Chirala
and Perala, bundling the bed-sheets and coarse dhotis woven there
and going around villages to sell them. He would spend two or three
months a year like that, roaming.
There was no dearth of grain at home. Though they found
it difficult between the old and the new crops, they were able to
somehow pull along on the whole. There were and coins
on him but no rupee notes. Boodevi gave betel nut and betel leaves
to others but never knew the taste of those bitten by someone else.
‘W hat’s there for her? Her husband goes around villages and brings
her things. She places the cot right in the middle of the house and
squats on it.’ Those who did not like her would say this scornfully
and those who liked her would say it affectionately.
Whatever anyone might have thought, Yerrenkadu would act only
according to his sister’s wishes. Even when he was to marry Lingalu,
he sent Boodevi to meet her. When Yenkatanarsu said, ‘W hat’s this,
are you marrying her or is she?’, he replied, ‘If my sister likes her,
then I’ll like her, too.’
 Boodevi went and saw lingalu, and spoke about it the whole day.
She said, ‘The girl is good, She said, ‘She can carry hay for five
bullocks at one go.’ ‘A home without a male child, you’ll survive,’ she
said. ‘The girl is like the branch of a tree,’ she said. Boodevi did not
lie. Lingalu was no ordinary person. If she stood up, she seemed to
ro6f. ‘You must increase the height of the
entrance; anna, Boodevi: said.
Yerrenkadu asked whe ther the eyes of the kapus and
would redden if he raised the height of the entrance. It was not as if
Boodevi did not know this . If the mala’s entrance was high enough for
one to get in without ben ding down, this information would reach
the ooru somehow. That debate would end in the Among the
elders of the Rama tem pi;, there should be no talk of the malas. If
such a thing happened, they would have to put up with it for ten
generations. They did no : raise the height of the entrance though
Lingalu became the daughter-in-law of Yennela Dinni. But whenever
Lingalu bent down to go in, Boodevi would say, ‘It would be nice to
raise the height of the entiance, anna’.
Yerrenkadu was not able to do just that one thing Boodevi wanted.
For the rest, he had tcj do what his sister wanted. He wanted to give
his grandfather’s name to his son. W hen Boodevi said they should
keep their father’s name for the child, he did not object.
The caste elder looked at the child and said, ‘Sinasubba.’
Yerrenkadu said, ‘Not Si lasubba, but Yelladu.’ ‘Not Yelladu, but
Yellanna,’ said Boodevi. The caste elder said, ‘She has great love for
her father, Yerrenka.’
Boodevi lifted her nephew up. she said. ‘Yellaiah,’ she said.
that call, she somehow created her own
world. She appeared as if ;;he was in a hurry to carry on her work in
that world. Her nephew was born with a nose that measured up to
hers. W ith the fi ngers of t le iittle hand, she measured her nose,
In the ooru, the elcjer karanam gave fifty acres of wet land to
the younger karanam -yv :n he died, two mango groves, five acres
of groundnut mound, |riventy arm-iengths of palm groves, and
vast unculrivable land, lit did not st; -) there. He handed over the
karaunm’s dutv in '“vejviM es and the ;i died. la the palle, Boodevi’s
far! ouU' V-qtica h his nose when he died. That, too, he
Md
 did not give his son. He gave it to his daughter. Now the grandson
snatched it away. Saying, ‘The pr Dperty of my household is mine,
he measured the nose in ~he womb itself and was born with it.
He was not his father’s pet. Nor his mother’s. But his aunt’s. Paternal
aunt Boodevi’s, pet. As tree is witness. As goddess
is witness. As in the outskirts is witness. Paternal
aunt’s pet. Thinking like that, Boodevi erected her entire future only
around a single principle.
The caste elder asked them to tie die uncle’s
Yenkatanarsu, came forward. But Uncle’s pancha did not mean
yellow silk. Only a black loin cloth. Yenkatanarsu tied a loin cloth
around the child. The child lccke:d out with both legs and struck
Boodevi’s nose. A few urine drpps from the loin cloth fell on
Yenkatanarsu. ‘Pour it into her mouth, wretched . . . ’, he uttered an
obscenity as usual. Boodevi said, ‘Don’t say that. We have given him
father’s name.’
Boodevi brought up her nephew with dance. Brought him up
with songs. Laying him down on hsr legs, she sang Kamamma’s story,
bathing him. W hile patting him to sleep, she sang Lakshmamma’s
story. Listening to the song, he danced. Listening to the song, he ate.
Listening to the song, he slept. Lingalu, the mother, left him with
Boodevi. Boodevi did not conceiVe. She thought her nephew was
her own son.
Those days, when there was little: to do, women would eat whatever
was available very early in the evening, clear up everything, and in the
moonlight they would gather in front of Boodevi’s house. Boodevi
would begin Nallathanga’s story. She would begin with, ‘Daivaraya—
Daivaraya.’ The song that went, ‘In the town of Kashyapoori,’, would
extend till the midnight moon wjined. The refrain of the song was
, which the rest pf the women would sing. Yellanna
would sit on his aunt’s lap in the jmidst of the women. Curbing his
sleep, yawning, he would say, ‘thontaddindakka’. When he said that,
Boodevi would find it endearing. She would cuddle her nephew and
make him lie down on her lap. In the middle of his sleep, he would
mutter, ‘thontaddindakka’.
Yellanna, while growing up, packed up whatever tune his aunt
sang. Sang whatever.song she sanlg. Carried by his aunt, he would
 U ntouchable S pring 11

watch puppet shows. In the morning he would jump like K etigadu.

He would say, ‘Attha, you’re Bangarakka.’* Boodevi would feel
elated.
When yerra golla lu came to the ooru, there was excitement
all over. They would put up street plays for ten to fifteen days in
a row Among all of them, Boodevi was crazy about the C henchu
Natakam.+She would go to the play, taking her nephew along.
The yerra gollalu would perform in the outskirts of the ooru.
They used to erect a palm post on either side tying a palm frond
connecting the two and place a large table in the middle. The
musicians playing the tabla and harmonium would sit on it.
People singing in the chorus would stand around the table with
cymbals. Those who performed would do so in the space in front oJ
the table. Till the performance lasted, castor oil torches and lamps
with d in d iga seed oil would glow.
Karanams and kapus would sit close to the performers. Behind
them, people from the washermen, barber and potter castes would
sit. The malas would sit on the mala mound. The madigas would sit
on die madiga mound. Those two groups would be far away from
the arena. Sitting like that, they would not be visible to the village
elders and elders of other castes. They would not come to the mound
till the performance began. Generally, the play would not begin til]
the karanam and the higher kapus arrived. After the higher kapu.s
came, the karanam would stride in leisurely. As soon as he came, they
would praise him to the skies. Then the sutradhara (narrator) would
begin the performance. Once diey knew the karanam had come, the
malas and madigas would get to the top of their mounds. By mistake,
if they arrived early, the elders would find fault with them.
Yellanna would tell his aunt, ‘I can’t see.’ If she stood up and
lifted him, she might be seen by the kapus. M ight be seen by the
karanam. Normally, they would not turn around. But if by chance
they saw them, it was like asking for trouble. But she would dare
stand up for the sake of her nephew. The performance would last

* See note 14.

+ See note 15.
 till the morning. Yellanna would give up his sleep to watch the
performance.
‘ Saying this
in the morning, he would pat his aunt’s back. Boodevi would feel
as thrilled as if she had conquered a mountain peak. He would not
stop at that. In the same vein, he would weave his own song. ‘Can
you cook rice, Boodevi, can you cook curries, can you cook curries
and give some for Yelladu’s belly?’ He would sing like that. Boodevi
would look at him amazed. He would change the lines when his aunt
looked at him. He would weave a new one now. ‘W hy do you look
like that— oh, how’s my song?’ he would sing. Boodevi would
laugh. She would roll in laughter. Laughing, she would drag him to
Lingalu. She would tell her how Yellanna danced, how Yellanna sang.
Lingalu would stare at her sister-in-law.
One day, Yellanna had a new experience. It was not new for
Boodevi. Not new for her brother. Not new for her sister-in-law. It
was not new for the older people who were born and brought up in
Yennela Dinni. It was new for Yellanna who was seeing the world
just then.
That morning, after seeing the play at night, Yellanna felt like going
towards the tents in which the yerra gollalu lived outside the ooru.
W hen he said this to his aunt, she said no. He did not understand
why his aunt was saying no. Actually, he wanted to see the play from
close quarters. If he were to tell his aunt that they go near and see, she
would say, ‘No, let’s remain here.’
Taking the 4 box and basket, the aunt went looking for
dindiga oil seeds. The child thought of going to the yerra gollalu and
coming back by the tim'e his aunt returned. He did just that.
Near the yerra gollalu’s tents there were many like him. They
were looking, fascinated, at the crowns that were being repaired. He,
too, made his way into the crowd that was looking with interest.
Really, those crowns appeared strange. In the meanwhile, he noticed
someone looking in his direction. That person did not simply look at
him. He struck up a conversation.
 ‘Aren’t you a mala.'5’
‘I’m Yerrenkadu’s son.’
All those around him stared at Yellanna. The one who asked did
not stop at that. He started lashing him on his back with a palm
frond. Before Yellanna oould understand what was happening, he
felt as if all those at that place were about to pounce on him. He ran
involuntarily. Felt they were chasing him. It seemed to him as though
they were pelting stones. They were falling next to him. One hit him
hard. He did not stop. He kept running. He did not know in which
direction he ran. Bu.t he did not stop. He ran a great distance. So
far away that the ooru was not visible . . . he was still running. He
jumped over bushes.1He jumped over mounds of thorny brambles.
He stumbled over logs. As he struck some boulders in his path, he fell
flat on his face. Broke his nose. Blood flowed. He scraped his knees.
His feet did not feel Hike feet. They looked like pieces of broken red
sandalwood. Even then, he did not stop running.
The stream came in the way.
There was no way he could stop. As he ran, he jumped into the
water. The water came up to the waist. He was simply surging ahead.
Water rose above his chest. It was strange. Around him, the water was
red. Red streaks on black shoulders looked grotesque in the sun. He
was going deeper still. He lifted his hands. A circle of blood around
his neck. A gradual; change. As if getting on to the shore all of a
sudden . . . water below his chest, then below the w aist. . . he reached
the shore. W hen he did, he realised he did not have a cloth around
his waist. Did not know when it had been washed away. He looked
puzzled. He was walking on the shore of the stream with nothing
around his waist.
On this side of the stream, Yennela Dinni. Did not know what
was on the other side. There was just a path. And he did not know
whether he could walk on that path or not.

They say. M any Elders. Among them are prophets.

Philosphers. They all |say tirelessly. That at birth itself what a man’s
 life will be like is written on his fa<ce, that things will happen only
according to what is written, that nothing will change even if he
thinks otherwise.
Philosophies have gone a step further. There is a ‘nest,’ there,
A parrot comes into that nest. Aft(er a while, the parrot abandons
the nest and goes away. Don’t kno'rtv where it goes. They say to the
Infinite.
But in fact, the nest that the parrot stayed in and left is on a spacious
stage. On that stage innumerable e:r)itrances. Innumerable exits. One
after another. As per the instructions of the director behind the stage.
Like puppets on a string.
The puppets cry- The puppets lau;gh. Aparrot-puppet is mercilessly
chopped up and dies. A baby parriOt;, just born, announces itself to
the world in its feeble voice. All pan •ots. All people. Spreading across
the world. Occupying the entire sta ?e-
All this is philosophy. Theory of the fate-line. Has no beginning,
Has no end. Infinite. Incomprehens ble. Except for a few. Something
they alone can explain.
Let them die. Let those few cry th emselves hoarse on the stage and
die, their throats parched.
No need. Ruth does not need all these.
These philosophies, these deceit s, these parrots, these puppets,
these stages— not necessary. W hat she wants are lives. W hat she
wants are realities. Yellannas in her memories who run with their
lives in their hands.
When she thinks of it, Ruth feels uneasy.
When she thinks of Yellanna, Rei^ibens ancestor, when she thinks
of him running as a child many yea rs ago, she feels as if that deceit
was born on the earth, had pierced through the sky and was at an
unattainable height.
Yellanna’s looking for a second at iie path in front and walking on
without turning back appear strange to her. She cannot understand
how that young boy could walk like that. Fear would have given
him that strength. Actually, he did walk a great distance. Did not
know when the sun came right aboive his head, when it slid down
the horizon and vanished. The tw:ilight began as a thin streak and
gradually became dense. Then Yella:nna merged with the darkness
 and walked. He was sure that now he would not be seen by anyone.
Once he gained that confidence fear left him. Felt like sitting down.
Felt he had enough freedom to sit down. He sat down. He lay down
on the sand mound. Up above, the sky. A star here, a star there.
Yes!
On which stage did this scene take place? That forbidden stage
came alive in Ruth’s memory—whose creation is it?
Who is the creator? H alf man. H alf animal. Not god. Not devil.
Not man. Not monkey.* A terribly distorted shape that no other
living being had.
Who is that terribly distorted one that prepared the scene and its
stage for Yellanna? If it is the yerra gollalu, they would not practise
untouchability with Yellanna. When he went to see them, when he
pushed his way into the crowd that was watching, when that crowd
was of upper castes— that Yellanna should not be in that crowd, that
if he were there, his back would be lashed with palm fronds, that he
would be chased till blood flowed, that he would have to cover his
naked waist with the blanket of darkness . . . Who is that half man
who drew the line on Yellanna’s forehead and on his life? Who is that
half animal? W hat must be the name of the awesome, distorted one ?
The answer is clear. It is in the shape of papers. The term is also
appended to his name.
That half animal is Manu. That terribly distorted Manu. He
expounded the special dharmas, expounded the principles
of the caste system. They say he is only one. The say that he is
not one but many. They say the ones born of him are human beings.
W hy then could he not see Yellanna as a human being?
He said. The one called Manu said. His dharma said. That one
would be born a if one killed a brahmin. If that were true,
how many brahmins must have been killed for so many malas and
madigas to be born in Yennela Dinni? Manu must identify the
brahmin whom Yellanna killed. W ill have to identify. If he does not,
the castes that protect his dharma must. The upper castes must.
 Revenge, anger, tears. Filling Ruth’s heart, filling Ruth’s thoughts
. . ; after all these years . . . after generations . . . when so much of
sadness turning into a stream is encircling her.
Ruth turns into a volcano when she thinks ofYellanna, of Boodevi,
of Yennela Dinni and the cast-away lives, and when she is reminded
of such instances. Her tent of memories is filled with perspiration.
She feels suffocated. All the memories seem to melt and flow like
lava. Enraged, the sequence of memory is lost. A search begins
again for the order. She would need to make a great deal of effort to
recollect Yellanna’s shape that lay alone on the sand mound in the
dense darkness staring into the sky.
At first, Yellanna looked at the stars, confident that there was
no fear of death. Then he remembered hunger. Along with hunger
he remembered his aunt. She had kept fried dry fish in the pot in
the sling hung from the roof. She had asked him to eat it with rice.
She had shut the thatched door and asked him to lie down under
the Had asked him not to go anywhere till she came back.
But he had not listened to his aunt’s words. Actually, it would have
been better had he gone along with his aunt for dindiga seeds. He
did not think it would turn out like this. He did not think going
there would turn out to be such a crime. He was now beginning to
understand why his aunt had asked him not to go. But why should
he not go? That was the question, the sense of turmoil raised in his
tender heart.
Now his aunt would search for him. Foolish one. She would
weep searching for him. He thought of going back. Going back for
aunt’s sake. Before sleep, aunt would not just sing for him but tell
stories, too. Last night when she was telling him a story, he said, ‘I’m
sleepy, and slept. ‘Remember, Yellanna, . . . the prince came
to house. If you ask me to start the story from
the beginning tomorrow, I can’t do it,’ said his aunt. It would have
been nice if he had got her to tell him who Pedarasi Pedamma was.
 She must have been goodL She must have been good like his aunt.
She sang songs. Told stories. How many stories she must have told
the prince. . . ! i
He was overcome with jsadness. Hunger . . . aunt . . . once more,
he thought of going back.' But where was he now? How far was he
from Yennela Dinni? Coijnplete darkness . . . . He was unable to
decide which way to go.
Exhausted, he tried to see what was ahead.. He kept peering into
the darkness. His eyes hurt. No use. He thought of spending the
night there and going back in the morning. He thought of telling his
aunt he would never do such a thing again.
He could not tell if was blowing or the wind was blowing.
It felt as if cold was being brought from far away. The touch of the
wind was cold. Not just thje cold, the wind brought along a rhythmic
sound. He turned in the direction of the sound.
He could see a light f|r away. It was a feeble light that peeped
through the palm trees on the high sand mounds. There seemed to be
a village there. He did not know what it was. Yellanna did not know
that it was Pakkela Dinni and that Gariga festival was taking
place there.
Except for lamplight iif- a house, the brightness of the starlit sky
and the voyage of the modn above, he never knew loneliness that was
like a vast sand desert. It was strange.
He got up. | .
He started walking.
He did not stop. It appeared as if the light was getting submerged.
The thought that in the mlids" of trees drenched in darkness there was
a high mound did not occur to him. W hen he walked a little further,
there was in fact no light visible at all.
Yellanna was naked. He was truly a child of nature now. Nude
Yellanna. Playful light. Enveloping darkness. Stars like holes in a
torn bed-sheet. Sand mounds. Nothing was by itself. All together—
nature. All together—movement. There was no untouchability to this
movement. There was no state of untouchability in this union. There
was no caste in this movement. There were no four parts within it,
no fifth outside of it. There were not hundreds of sub-castes. There
 18

was no caste-centred respect, positidn, (disrespect or lowliness. This

movement was not mean. This move "nent was not unjust.
Darkness. Darkness of a t ha tehee, screen like a protective circle
shielding him. He felt free. It felt as ,f his hunger and his aunt were
moving away from him, as if the stirrings that were proclaiming his
freedom from the depths of his h em were finding release.. That
stirring might be a song. The song might be fear. Might be hunger.
Might be his aunt. Above all, it m.ght be a proclamation of the
freedom he had achieved. Now Yella in a was walking, accompanied
not only by darkness but also by the ;;ong.
W ind has a naturalness about it. Whatever it touches, it speaks
feeling clearly like the feelings of the one there.:Yellanna’s
song too would emerge just like ths.t. lit would go ahead weaving
like that. Difficult to say. It might not be possible to be definite and
say whether the song was making Yel annia walk or whether Yellanna
was walking along with the song. H e; stopped singing and listened. A
rhythmic sound was approaching.
The light that had vanished was Sfpreading and moving forward,
Now it was not between the palm tr«:qs; es. It looked like a fire outside
the ooru. People around the fire. Without hout his knowledge, Yellanna’s
footsteps were quickening their pac: The sounds and light were
mingling and coming closer.
The light in the midst of sounds was like speeding lightning
amidst breaking clouds. Anguish was making Yellanna walk. It was
not a walk. It was a run. A driving forrefce that had been pushing him
for generations. The stirring of an artists heart.
The scene was very close. Was wonderful. There, around that fire,
a deluge was dancing. Charged-up emotion, thunder, lightning,
cloud. Breaking out somewhere, crashing down like thunderbolt
somewhere. A grotesque scene . . . a turbulence in Yellanna’s tender
heart.
A crowd encircled the fire. He push* di his way in. There was a tremor
near the fire amidst the crowd. The de: uge emanated from there.
Yellanna’s eyes were full of rage, He looked at those who were
creating the deluge-like roar above tile thunder in front of him.
Their attire was impressive. Better thai ri Giod Narasimha. Better than
Chenchulakshmi. Colourful towels tied aiound the heads. Necklaces
of coins around their necks. Shawls covering them. Some red, some
green, long On the membranes of the thunder that had tensed
up the moving sticks. On the other side, friction caused by a
cane. An immense roar forming. A circular movement. A horrendous
sound. An awesome dance.

The 2 o f th e m alas

Yellanna’s feet were moving. His legs were shaking. The feet refused
to remain on the ground. Some rage. Aturm oil somewhere else. The
sound ceased. Yellanna’s heart seemed to stop suddenly.
The song began.
The musicians of the Urumula Nrityam began their song. In the
song, Ganga was overflowing. All along the way, the land was dry
and parched. It was groaning for water. Ganga must be born in the
dried-up bed. The cracked earth must drink greedily. Ganga must fill
up. Ganga must swell. Ganga must touch all the worlds. Till then
the thunder will not stop. The dance will not stop. The song will not
stop.
The song was going on.
The era was still unborn. The world was not born. Ganga was
born. The cunning Ganga. The jealous and mean Ganga. The devil
that fed on corpses. Abuses. Curses. Getting upset with Ganga. For
a mouthful of water. For a small crop getting wet. But the Ganga
that was born before man or god, the Donakonda Ganga, the Ganga
that filled the earth . . . had given her word. Gave her word to man.
Said she would not in the case of children go back on the word she
had given to the elders. She would not in the case of little children
go back on the word she had given to the children. She would not in
the case of little children go back on the word she had given to the
infants . . . The song was continuing. On Ganga, on Ganga’s word,
on Ganga’s life.
A little respite in between.
A sound again breaking that pause. In the finale, a crashing
sound. A rhythmic dance making the sound its own. Like heroes in
the shape of rings, with entwined legs, the entire body swaying, and
jumping—like labourers bringing down Ganga to the earth. . . . A
 jump for every sound. A shout for every jump. All force. All deluge.
The end. The beginning.
Yellanna could not contain himself.
Did not remember Yennela Dinni. Did not remember Boodevi.
Did not remember the lashings with the palm fronds . . . Fear of life,
the running, crossing the stream with rings of blood . . . walking to
unknown regions . . . darkness . . . hunger . . . aunt . . . stars— did
not remember anything.
Right in front of him something he could relate to was happening.
On his head a coloured kerchief. Round his neck a shawl hanging
. . . a jubba over his entire body . . . in the neck thunder.
A feeling.
On one side the rhythmic dance of the kaduru sticks. On the
other side, the grating noise of the cane sticks . . . he in the ring. He
in the song . . . he in the dance. His entirety was being born and
brought up here.
The vermilion dance began.
Those who had poured well water over their heads. Those who
with both their hands had held a bunch of peacock feathers on their
heads. Those listening to the roar of thunder closing their eyes. Those
swaying with turmeric on their chests and Vermillion smeared on their
foreheads . . . those who had until then controlled with difficulty the
rage that the sound of thunder produced. . . . A crowd all around.
The masses. An untouchable crowd. A mala and madiga crowd.
As vermilion was being sprinkled, the crowd muttered,
‘ . . swaying with frenzy,
and dancing like Siva. . .
Vermilion dance. . .
A ferocious earth. Blood soaked. Dance. As if a war was taking
place. As if it was the worlds battlefield and nothing else. Swords
hitting the chest, for Ganga, for a mouthful of water, postures,
many furious Sivas seeming to dance the of deluge . . .
illusion, reality, dance, war, the grotesque, life-like dance, like song
. . . Urumula dance.
 The grand thunder-spring; of the untouchables. Just as everything
was stolen. Just as life on earth was stolen. Urumula dance having been
stolen and hidden in temples by the upper castes as Perini dance.
The tempo of the dance was proceeding with great fury. Those
who could not stand it, those who were weak, were moving back.
Yellanna did not withdraw. Came forward instead. Came very much
ahead. He said, ’ A voice that burst out of
the heart. ,
The sound stopped. Urumula Naganna turned towards that voice,
towards Yellanna who had shouted. Silence was more fierce than
sound. Yellanna, the nude Siva. Was looking piercingly. On his head
neem twigs. On his body the blood-like vermilion that people had
sprinkled.
Urumula Naganna kept stiring.
He looked at the child Sivi in front of him.
He saw Siva’s third eye in the two eyes of the child Siva. He looked
at the feet of child Siva. Well formed, wonderful, beautiful, as if born
to dance. . . . Gazing like that, he signalled to the Urumula people.
The sound was rhythmic. Dance was in the shape of child Siva.
Touching the earth, jumping—beautiful feet, swaying waist. Eyes
that were spreading inspiration. A sharp pointed nose. . . Siva was a
boy. Siva’s colour was black. . . Siva was Yellanna.
Urumula Naganna kept staring.
‘Who are you, my child?’ Naganna asked.
‘I’m a mala from Yennela; p in n i,’ the child Siva replied.
‘W hat’s your name?’
‘Yellanna.’
The sound became a roar once more.
Till the child Siva collapsed tired . . . the thunder was being heard.
After the concluding song was sung, after they prayed to goddess
Ganga, the sound stopped completely. Deluge. Peace afterwards.
Now Yellana lay down on Urumula Naganna’s chest and placed his
head on his shoulders.
Urumula Naganna’s coarse hands were caressing Yellanna’s back
affectionately. Without opening his eyes, Yellanna asked, ‘W hat’s
this place?’ ‘Pakkela Dinni malapalli.’ Saying this, Naganna kept
walking. I
 In Yennela Dinni, Boodevi was not aware of this incident.

Yellanna was sleeping soundly. Urumula Naganna was not able to

sleep. Yellannas arrival seemed to have caused some turmoil in him.
Something forgotten seemed to have pushed itself forward. He came
beyond the house front.
The morning star had just corrje out. The early morning cock
was crowing its heart out. Near thej wooden peg, the young calf was
tugging at the rope for its mother’s milk.
It was three days since Naganna came to ‘Pakkela Dinni.’
Gangamma Jatara had ended the previous night. If the
mala* were to give him the fee fo? the dance, he would return to
Anantapuram that day itself. The Urumala dancers who had come
with him had already left the previous night. He had stayed behind
to collect the fee for the dance. He did not know what to do with
Yellanna when he returned with the :money.
When Yellanna, who was tired frcom dancing, continued to sleep,
he woke him up and poured water all over his body. He gave him
clothes to wear. When Naganna serVied him food, Yellana ate eagerly,
famished. When he asked, ‘W hy did Yennela Dinni chase you away?’,
the child’s eyes were clouded. When !he drew him close, he burst into
tears. Then he told him. The same old story. The usual story. The
terrifying story. The sorrowful story, But there was no way out. Was
such a story Yellanna’s alone? Didnitt he have one? A crueller story.
From that same Yennela Dinni.
Dharamaram Urumula Naganna was famous not only in the
Anantapuram region but also in the; coastal areas. Gangamma
would not want to have a jatara without Naganna’s troupe, without
that troupe roaring thunder. Pointing towards Srisailam Mallanna,
Urumula Chandrappa put the on Naganna’s shoulder for
the first time.
 Who was Urumula Chandrappa? W hat was he to Naganna? He
had taught Naganna the nuances of playing the urumulu. taught
him how to make his throat voice the depths, the breaks and the
ferocity in the song of Ganga. He taught him how not to miss a beat
in his steps. Not just that. Saying, ‘Come, I’ll tell you the secrets
of the Naga,’ he told him many secrets. ‘The brahmins
didn’t say all this like that. They said it like this. They said everything
wrong.’ He said this as if he was speaking to himself. He gave life to
Naganna. He introduced him to the world as Urumula Naganna and
went away.
Naganna has a special place in Ruth’s memories. The same
intensity of rage Reuben experienced when he spoke about Yellanna,
he experienced when he spoke about Naganna. It really feels so. That
that untouchable body housed a wonderful living art. When such
a thought occurs, it is not the eyes that shed tears. Her heart. Her
entire life.
In reality what was Chandrappa to Naganna? Naganna’s mother,
Latchimi, said, ‘He’s your like your father’s younger
brother, Naga.’ He called him that. He called him sinnabba. When
Chandrappa was alive, he called him only But on the day
he died, he said, ‘Call me Naga.’ He tried to call out loud like
that. The old man passed away, smiling. he kept calling.
There was no Chandrappa to hear him.
Naganna did everything for Chandrappa according to convention.
His brother’s children disputed over the half a kunta of land given for
performing Urumula dance. The dispute was decided in their favour.
When the pot was broken in the corner of the house, there were
fifty thirty and three hundred coins. He was
asked to take the money. He took the money. But he did not keep it.
He divided it among the troupe that danced with Chandrappa. He
formed a new troupe. He earned a name for himself in Rayalaseema
and the coastal region.
Urumula Naganna’s eyes were remarkable. His voice was
remarkable. His dance was remarkable. Not just that. He knew
numerous secrets of the puranas. He could outsmart any learned
person. That was how people talked about Naganna. That was how
life went on. But Yellanna had begun a turmoil in Naganna that day.
 When he said, ‘I’m a mala from Yennela Dinni,’ the present raced
back at one go and stopped there. He remembered the hurt the past
had inflicted.
Naganna had been born in Yennela Dinni. His father, Narigadu,
had been born there. Mother, Latchimi, too had been born there.
Father did not have even a tiny parcel of land. All that he had was
an axe to fell trees. He could fell a palm tree with ten blows. Striking
a blow here and a blow there, he would chop the tree into bits right
in front of their eyes. It was not possible to say when he climbed up
the tree, chopped the fronds and got down. His life was tied to the
palm tree. Naganna would go with his father to fell the palm tree.
Mother, too, would come. His father would bring down the kernels
for him. Mother would bet with him about eating the kernel before
she could cut another. He would eat it like that. Before mother cut
up a fruit, he would scoop out the kernel with his thumb and eat it.
He would eat all the three kernels even before she broke the fruit.
Naganna would feel like laughing, thinking of it.
After eating the kernels, he would go towards the ridges in the
fields. He would string thin snail shells with palm withes into a
necklace. If he shook the necklace rhythmically, it would sound
just like water rolling down. He would keep the necklace near crab
holes and make a sound. The crabs would think water was entering
the holes and come up. He would hold the crabs that came out.
He would break their large claws and would put them into a palm
frond. Sometimes he could not catch them easily. They would run
along the bank. They would lift their claws and frighten him. Even
then he would catch them. Like that, he would catch about ten to
fifteen crabs by the afternoon. He would light a fire with palm leaves
in the field and roast them. As soon as father washed his feet and
came to the canal bank, mother would bring the food basket. Father
would eat the roasted crabs with rice, and praise Naganna to his
mother saying, ‘That’s what a son means!’ Father would say he was
like mother. Naganna did not know what his grandmother
had looked like.
Father would chop the palm trees till afternoon. Then he would
cut them to prices. By the time the work was over it would be
evening. In the meanwhile he would, along with mother, pick and
 place the snails, bear the shell ojn the shore and put the meat in the
pot. For firewood, they would collect palm sticks and make them
into bundles. They would not stop with just that. In the eastern
wasteland there used to be a grove. Along with his mother he
would collect tumma stalks.!"[hey would dry the tumma stalks and
give them to Pattapu Subbulu. The latter would bring fish
and fish. Mother would make If he said he would not
go to the tumma grove, shie would ask if he did not want karavadi fish
and sora pittu. As soon as he heard those words, he would go with
mother to the tumma grove.;:
Mother would keep the buncle of palm stalks on his head. She
would keep the tumma stalk on her head and carry the snail meat
pot in her hand. By the time the cattle that had gone to feed in the
wasteland came back to the village, mother, father and he would be
heading home. After they reached the lake bund, they would bring
down the load from their heads and sit down. Father would climb
the palm trees and bring down; the toddy pots. Like that he would
climb five trees. Among the jive trees, he would smear lime on the
rims of only three of the pots He would not smear lime on the rims
of two of them. Into the pots smeared with lime, ‘juice’ would ooze.
Into the pots not smeared wi sh lime, ‘toddy would ooze. He would
hide three palm fronds at the foot of the trees. Father would drink
toddy in his frond. Mother ar d he would drink palm juice. The juice
would be sweet. Father would bring the juice home everyday. Not
adulterated toddy. Not adulterated juice. Father would bring home
the leftover toddy after he drank some. He would sell the toddy he
brought home for food grains. Sometimes he would sell a potfu!
of toddy for a dammiddee. IIf he got five dammiddees in his hand,
father’s face would glow. If there were gj-ains for that day’s meal,
mother would jump with joy.
Boiling the juice, one get palm syrup. On letting the palm
syrup stand, palm sugar crystals would settle at the bottom. Naganna
would cut raw mango, it in the palm syrup and eat it. When this
syrup filled two or three cauldrons, they would boil it again. They
would get thick jaggery-like syrup. They would dig holes and pour
the syrup into them. The jaggery would solidify. Father would go out
occasionally vo seli those jisjgtery blocks. .
 In the summer season the palm £:uits would ripen. Some would
become overripe. They would roast; nd eat the ripened fruits. These
would be broken up and the skin peeeled- They would boil the skin,
The skin that was boiled would taste ’very sweet.
The palm seeds that remained after peeling would be buried.
They would sprout. Digging the ground. in a row, they would
pull out the sprouts. When the boiled sprouts were put on the
pandal at night and got soaked in the early morning dew, they
would be wonderful to eat in the m<orning. He was fond of eating
them like that. The inside of thes, hardened seed would taste
really good.
In this way the palm tree had been entwined with the lives of
mother and father. Naganna’s chil,cdhood was spent among the
palm trees, on the fields and in the shade of the tumma groves of
Yennela Dinni. He did not know how many among them had
died by now in front of people’s eyes, or got stuck to their beds
counting their days, and continued singing and dancing like him.
In fact, how was Yennela Dinni now'' It came back to memory after
many years.
Yellanna said he was Yerrenkadu’s son. Said he was Boodevi’s
nephew. At that time Yerrenkadu was a very small boy. Who clung to
his mother. Boodevi had not been bo::::n then. Yerrenkadu’s father had
been the watchman at the elder karanam’s mango grove. Not just a
watchman, it looked as if he practically lived there. It was a kind of
bonded labour. Horrid even to think of it. Naganna was happy his
father was not like that. But father tp<o had to fell palm trees free for
the karanam and cut palm fronds.
In fact, a mala or a madiga could no)t live in Yennela Dinni without
doing bonded labour. The life of Yeinnela Dinni was all under the
elder karanam’s surveillance. It revoJ:ved around the lines he drew,
Most of the vast area of Yennela Dinjni was in his hands. Very little
was in the hands of other castes. Tho ugh the Reddys had some land,
they were just under-tenants. The other castes had a cent or a kunta,
but they too were dictated by him. Malas and madigas had no land at
all. People would say that Yerrenkadu’s father had a piece of land on
the eastern side. Perhaps so. Yerrenkadu’s father would carry manure
 from the dump in baskets there. That’s all. No other mala or madiga
had any land.
The elder karanam was an extremely cruel fellow. Had no pity. No
compassion. Did not have a generous nature. He had one son. And
a daughter before him. He gave his daughter away to someone in
Nellore region. The son-in-law "had a number In the
very second year after the marriage, the son-in-law died. Collecting
the money she got by selling some of the lands in the agraharams,
the daughter came back to Yennela Dinni. She leased out the
remaining lands.
The brahmin from Kolia Dinni would look after the monetary
dealings of the karanams daughter. There were rumours that he
did not stop there. He went to the extent of making the karanam’s
daughter pregnant. Nobody knew what happened. One day, the
Kolia Dinni brahmin died vomiting blood. After that, not even a
month passed by The karanam’s daughter hanged herself. The barber
Ramulu told everyone in the ooru that her body was full of wounds.
Everyone knew everything. Knew that it was the elder karanam who
had killed the Kolia Dinni brahmin, his own daughter and the foetus
in her womb. But no one spoke out. The barber, Ramulu, who told
everyone in the ooru about the wounds on the daughter’s body, left the
ooru and nobody knew his whereabouts. Among the barber families
in Yennela Dinni, one ceased to remain there. The elder karanam did
not feel bad about his daughter’s husband’s death; He praised the
younger karanam’s luck. The younger karanam did not get angry over
the fact that his father had cruelly killed his sister. He counted the
silver coins his sister had hidden in the chest of her poster bed. The
elder karanam was elated that a precious jewel was born to him when
he saw the younger karanam counting in that manner.
Father would tell the entire story, as if he were whispering into
mother’s ear. When he thought of the karanam, the karanam’s lands
and those guarding them appeared in front of his eyes.
When the first rains came, the higher-ups among the karanam’s
servants would come to malapalli and madigapalli. ‘We have to
harness the karanam’s plough, one per family, come,’ one of them
would say. Karanams fields had no boundaries. He would get
the ploughs not only from Yennela Dinni but from surrounding
villages, too. Ploughing would be done for a week. Ploughing and
levelling would be done all at once. The entire mala and madiga
families would be on the karanams land. In the afternoon, lunch
baskets would arrive. When t.ie malas and madigas sat down in a
line, trusted workers would serve them on palm leaf plates. That was
their wage. Nothing more than that. The same during planting the
saplings, too. For plucking the saplings, for carrying them in loads,
for planting them again, only the mala and madiga families were
used. They would say a n a n and a woman per family, but actually
entire families would be there. For that too only the afternoon meal
was the wage.
In some cases, it was only for the afternoon meal that families
after families would go. In fact, that meal was like a What
was surprising was that one woman would start a commotion, saying
the pickle ‘was served more for that one’ and another would say,
‘it was served more for this one.’ Their bickerings would not stop
at this point. The people of that house would be called all kinds of
horrible names. The quarrels would sometimes lead to a fight. Sitting
on the ridge, the karanam and other elders would look at all this
with amusement. They would seat the malas and madigas in different
rows. Each one to his caste, the karanam would say. The two castes
should not come together on any issue. That was what he wanted.
No sooner was the sowing over than the watch would begin.
Other castes would not come to guard the karanam’s fields. A person
from each home from these castes would take turns to guard.
It was the same when it came to harvesting. Even the threshing was
done in that way. The wage was only an afternoon meal. But in the
threshing floors alone they would be given three small baskets of
grain per house as ‘karanam’s largesse’. After this they would let go
of the grain on the threshing floor. They would fight over it. For the
empty ears of grain that remained on the floor, for the hard grains
hidden in the cracks of the earth, these people would vie with each
other. They would go to the extent of drawing lines with their family
names on the threshing floor. Even then, fights would not cease.
They would not remember the bonded labour they had done during
 the whole year. The fight for the leftover grains on the floor would
not stop in a day. The women’s fight at the threshing floor would turn
into something like the bazaar fights in the palles. Sometimes, the
elder karanam himself would give the verdict. He would abuse and
sometimes get them beaten up, saying, ‘Feeling sorry, I left the grain
on the threshing floor for yoi; and you want to kill yourself fighting,
you riff-raff donkeys.’ It was ;;trange. It was atrocious.
If the fight for the grain on the threshing floor had taken place
independently in the mala and madiga streets, it would not have
mattered. Sometimes it would take place between the two palles.
Under such circumstances, the karanam himself would distribute
the grain. None would even think that each one of them had a
right not just on these grain? but also on the grains filled up in the
karanam’s granary. They were asking the very same karanam who
had turned their labour into bonded labour and exploited them to
apportion things to them. Ihe karanam, who was waiting for just
this opportunity, would try his best to drive a permanent wedge
between them. He would postpone the solution. He would wait to
learn whether anyone’s head had been broken. As a child in Yennela
Dinni then, Naganna did not understand a thing. Now, as Urumula
Naganna, he was able to understand the reality he saw.
Using the malas to beat up the madigas and the madigas to beat
up the malas, the karanam would bolster their pride, saying each of
their castes was great. They 'would fight hard.
Naganna was able to see his shape in Yennela Dinni right in front
of his eyes. With the loin cjodi covering his waist, too. Sometimes
with just a loin cloth. Such ong hair. Hair tied in a tight knot. The
prepared by mother in the coconut shell. The hair now was just
like it was then. Only it had become tangled now.
The malapalli and madigapalli were on the threshold of danger in
Yennela Dinni. They were n ear the stream. If there was flood, water
would come first into those palles. The flood would break down the
bank of the stream. If the harvesting began in a succession of such
floods, both the palles would certainly be washed away.
Many times they thought of raising the level the two palles.
There was a mound on the \jracant top of the ooru. If the palles were
built there, there would be no danger. But building them there was no
 small matter. The upper castes woulffl not tolerate the untouchables
living on a higher plane. They would say that the malas and
madigas ought always to live in the lower regions. If they lived on a
higher plane, the arrogance of the upper castes would not tolerate
it. That was why the desire of the rndas and madigas remained just
that—a desire.
In Yennela Dinni, these wretched:people’s lives remained mere
desires. They were distraught with desires. They were ruined due to
their desires.
It happened just like that with father, Narigadu. His life was ruined
with desires. Only that it remained ai the malas mound. How did it
come about?
At midnight it started to drizzle It did not stop even in the
morning. The day passed. It did npt stop raining. The next day
passed. The rain did not stop. It kep: raining on the third day. The
third day’s rain was accompanied by wind. The wind blew on and off.
Now and then it would change direction and blow. Once in a while
a warm steamy wind gushed out.
An atmosphere difficult to comprehend. In fact, the rain was
pouring down on the hearts of the pc«or in Yennela Dinni. The wind
was blowing over their huts. The po es of the houses were swaying
due to the wind. The mud walls w :re collapsing. The roofs were
blowing off, twirling in the wind and falling somewhere.
There was no sign of the rain stopping soon. The wind had
increased and had not come down But in fact, it was stopping,
and then blowing hard. W hen it stopped, it appeared as if nature
stood still and as if some unimaginab! e feax was haunting the people,
When it blew, huts and palm trees; were becoming one with the
earth.
In the meanwhile came thunderb dlt-Iike news. There was fresh
water flowing in the stream. The elders were running towards the
stream. The fresh water was spewing foam and flowing. The water
was crossing the bank. Only a mon th ago, there were floods that
breached the bank and came up to (lie tree. Once
you crossed the Maluchchamma tree; there was temple.
 Once the floods crossed Yellamma’s temple, they would cross
Then there would be no malapalli. No madigapalli.
If the land between the Maiuchchamma tree and Yellamma temple
was flooded, the danger would be enormous.
Even at four, darkness was overpowering. A new sound was heard
amidst the floods. As if it had conspired secretly with darkness, the
water from the stream touched the Maluchchamma tree. As if there
was a pact, the bank of the stream went on a rampage.
‘No use. If it crosses Yellamma temple, both the palles will be
submerged completely, Mutta,’ said the mala elder.
‘We should see to it that it doesn’t breach, Subba,’ the madiga
elder joined in.
They did all they could to ensure that the flood did not cross
Yellamma temple. In the roaring wind, in the heavy downpour,
holding their lives in their fists, to live, to save the lives of their people,
without reference to age, they chopped palm logs and placed them
across as barrages, stuffed hay stacks and did all they could. Father
took part in all the work. Madiga Mataiah was there with father.
Those two were working, daring their lives to prevent the floods and
the breach.
The breach of the bank could not be stopped. The force of the
water did not diminish. It kept breaching. It kept swelling. It was
ready to pounce on the palle.
In the meanwhile, the roar of the wind surprisingly stopped.
It felt as if noting had happened and as if an awesome silence had
encompassed the entire world. The experience caused fear. The deluge
that would come after such peace stood right in front of the eyes.
Water was flowing around Yellamma temple. Mungamooramma
had been submerged. There was heat in the atmosphere. Like turmoil
in the ocean, the force that had been struggling to find a way out
would burst in no time.
The people of both palles gathered together at one place. Children
huddled close to their mothers. Cries. Shrieks.
‘Let’s go to the mound on the other side of the ooru.’
‘The elders in the ooru will kill us.’
‘The flood will drown us.’
 ‘If the belly of the ocean bursts, there is no escaping the floods/
Talk amidst chaos. A mad rush. Cries. Fears.
In that confusion, hurry, cries and fears, father was heard saying
aloud, ‘I’m going over to the mound. Those who want may come
along.’
Everyone looked at him surprised, confused. Father carried
Naganna on his hip. Mother placed the basket on her head. Mataiah
went along with father.
‘If you want to live, come along. Whoever comes in the way will
be the target of this axe . . . those who want to live, come along . .
. we’ll die any way . . . Yellamma too has been submerged. Come,
come, you coward bastards . . . come on, you . . .
When Naganna recounted the story now, he
remembered father. Father who wielded the axe was in fact
Parasurama.
‘Till now we had no piece of land here. Now we won’t have even
our lives. I don’t want to die. I want to live.’
No sooner had father taken a step, than the people got up like a
flood. As the floods chased them, they were running ahead of the
floods. If they had to go to the mound, they had to go through the
ooru. Water all around. Those who had walked till there, stopped
as if a spell was cast on them. Father turned back to look. Everyone
looked confused.
‘Walk. If you want to live, walk. . . Must live. We must live . . .
walk!’
The belly of the ocean must have burst. The roaring wind had
brought along the deluge. Endless rain. Cyclonic storm. . . . For
the first time, the untouchable storm fell on the ooru. For the first
time in the life of Yennela Dinni, so many malas and madigas were
walking amidst houses of upper castes, on their paths, in the middle
of the ooru, crossing the lanes of the temples . . . walking towards
the mound.
It was indeed a cyclonic storm.
The sound of the central pillar of the temple crashing down with
a horrifying noise . . . the sound of the tiled shed of the karanam
crumbling . . . the scene of the cattle tied to wooden pegs breaking free
of their ropes and rushing about grotesquely in the raging tempest.
 The real stamp of Nagaana’s childhood.
Ordinary masses. They have stepped on to the mound the upper
castes had till then prohibited. Floods around the mound.
Even so no fear. A very- high mound. In such a roaring wind,
in such rain, in the awesome stormy night, getting wet, shivering,
straining on hungry stomachs— on the mound, at a higher level
than the upper castes. Some obstinate courage. Confidence that they
would not die.
That night passed by.
When they looked from the mound in the morning, it appeared
as if malapalli and madigapalli had been washed away. Water
everywhere . . .
Nothing is more of a cheat tJian nature. The sun was shining as if
nothing had happened.
They poured the rice they had carried in baskets, pots and boxes
in one place.
Father spread out his pancha.
Madiga Matiah collectejd and the rice there.
Subbaiah thatha took out the flint stone. No matter how much he
struck it, there was no firej Muthaiah took over. As he kept striking,
it lit up. There was fire. W ith jtiat fire even wet wood would burn. If
only there was fire, there was no question of not burning.
What they cooked, what they ate, they did not know. They ate.
They ate together. The two ate together. When Subbaiah thatha
coughed, Muthaiah thatha patted him on his head. When Muthaiah
thatha had hiccups, Subbdiah thatha gave him water. It might have
been flood water. He gave h in water. Sometimes tragedy could be
wonderful.
It looked as if the rain h^td stopped completely. In the ooru,
people gathered around the central pillar that had collapsed. Those
who had climbed on to the wall of the temple seemed to have looked
towards the mound. Did not know what they said. One after the
other they climbed the temple wall and looked round.

hurriedly as it had rushed in

|the malapalli and madigapalli, it had
 left a pole standing here and a polej standing there, as if to say that
people lived here till yesterday.
It seemed strange at night on thee mound. They lit a fire for the
sake of light. Women, old people, and children, around the fire. As
for the younger people, they sat away from it. The rice they brought
along was enough for the morning. (As they had eaten late, they did
not feel hungry yet. But as the night went along, they started feeling
hungry. W ith what was left, they fed the children. Unable to resist
sleep, they slept on the wet ground, j
When he looked for father, he was not there in the crowd.
Ayya!’ he cried out.
‘But yes. Where is Narigadu? . . .[’ someone else asked.
‘Mataiah and he went that side.j Must be to relieve themselves,’
someone said.
Subbaiah thatha looked around. |
Muthaiah thatha rose up to his fijxll height and looked.
Both searched the entire mound. Not just father and Mataiah,
two more of that age group were also missing.
‘Where could they have gone?’ J
All around, wherever they looked, water . . .
If they got down from the mounid, water up to the waist. Pits in
between. The entire Dinni was full of ups and downs. In the floods
one could not make out which higlji portion had been washed away
and which low-lying area had gaineji height.
‘Wretched rascals. Where the hell have they gone without
informing?’ !
The night was receding. Everyone came to know about the four of
them. Anxiety in everyone. Mother was: looking perplexed.
When there was commotion in the water, all of them looked in
that direction. As the noise neared they looked out eagerly. It appeared
as if far away four shapes were coming along, pushing through the
water. As the four shapes approached, it was clear how heavily they
were trudging along. On the shoulders of the four, gunny sacks. They
climbed the mound, threw the gurjiny sacks on the ground and sat
down tired. Everyone was looking sjurprised.
‘W hat’s this, Nariga?’
‘Rice.’ !
 ‘From where?’
‘From the sahukar’s shop.’
‘That means. . . ?’
‘Light the fire. Have to live. That’s all. We’ve to live. Our children
have to live. Light the fire.’
No one spoke. The fire was lit. After cooking, they woke up those
who were sleeping. At midnight everyone ate greedily.
The sky was peaceful. The water had receded by an elbow length
from the stick planted at the foot of the mound. The stream was
drawing it in quickly.
After everyone slept, when the pedda mala, the pfedda madiga and
a few others were still there, Mataiah said, ‘The elders in the ooru
had a meeting.’
‘The sahukar too was at the meeting.’
‘Even when we broke open the lock of the shop, his wife and
children did not wake up.’
‘If they had got up?’

‘The meeting must be about us.

‘A nything may happen.’
‘Let’s die, let’s die here.’
‘If any one moves from here. . . . , we’ll bury whoever moves right
here.’
Both the elders looked in fear. The karanam was a cruel man.
Experience was making them all the more scared.
‘We aren’t born only to die . . . ’
‘They tell us not to live on heights. The stream tells us not to live
on low-lying areas. If we come to the top, they’ll kill us. If we are
in the lower areas, the stream will kill us. No matter what, death is
inescapable. But . . . listen . . . listen to our words. We aren’t born
only to die.’
‘That means. . . ?’
‘We are also born to kill.’
Father and Mataiah said the last words in one voice. Though
children of his age were sleeping, Naganna could not sleep, He sat
near father. He sat yawning. He was on this side of father. Mataiah
 on the other side. Between the two of them, an axe. A knife that can
butcher cattle.
‘If rain hadn’t come, if floods hadn’t come, if the stream hadn’t
breached and Mungamooramma hadn’t been submerged, not one
would have come here if we had asked them. Floods chased us. Floods
united us. All of us moved togecher. We can live here . . . ’
‘It felt strange when so many of us walked through the ooru. They
had remained in the houses cue to the storm. Otherwise, wonder
what it would have been like!’
‘How would it be? If there had been no storm, would we have
walked amidst their houses to know how it would be!’
Laughter.
It was morning.
The water had receded. The banks were visible here and there.
Because it was sandy soil, though there was so much water, it was not
slushy. White sand mounds as if nothing had happened.
The real story began now. The karanam did not come atop the
mound. The sahukar did not come. They did not know what was
decided at the meeting . . .
But . . .
Everything was over on the second day. No idea how it happened.
Father who had gone in search of sticks for the huts did not return.
Came back a corpse. Mataiah brought him on his shoulders.
‘“I’ll look for the sticks. You look for the leaves, Mata”, he said.
After collecting the leaves, I looked out for him for a long time, he
didn’t come . . . When I went towards the forest, at the turning to the
forest, he was lying in a pool of blood . . . ’
The crowd that had gathered around the corpse wailed. They beat
their chests.
‘Narigadu didn’t die . . . brother . . . didn’t die . . . he didn’t die!
. . . ’ Mataiah was crying out loud.
Mother had collapsed on the ground quite some time ago.
On the third day, the crowd on the mound had scattered. Everyone
knew how father had died. Everyone knew who had killed him. But
no one spoke out. Had no strength to speak. Narigadu who had
the strength had died. Mataiah who had the strength was roaming
around muttering, ‘He’s not dead. He’s not dead.’
 The huts sprung up in the old place itself. Mother remained in a
state of shock. She remained looking at the ones building the huts.
They also built a hut in the name of father.
Together, all of them performed fathers last rites. But Mataiah
continued to say, ‘He’s not dead . . . he’s not dead
But he was not seen from that night on. No one knew where he
went. No matter how much they searched, father’s axe, too, could
not be found.
As Mataiah said, father did not die, Narigadu did not die. Even
now, ‘Mala’s mound’ stood just like that in Yennela Dinni.
For a long time it: was rumoured that a mala was roaming around
there like a ghost. No idea how the mound was like now. Could be
dense with palm trees. No idea whether they would pluck those fruits
or not. No idea whether they would cut the fronds. No idea whether
they would draw out the toddy. The malas mound existed without
malas being there.
You tear up your guts, they would only fall at your feet.
True. All tearing up. Guts being torn up.
A month after father’s death, it became necessary to bid farewell
to Yennela Dinni. When the southern people were going north for
harvesting, mother, too, joined them. The elders of Yennela Dinni
asked her to stay back. Mother said she would go for a little while
and come back.
When he was leaving Yennela Dinni, he cried a lot. He felt uneasy
leaving father, palm trees, ridges of the rice field, crabs running,
tumma grove and everything else. Felt as if his childhood came to an
end in Yennela Dinni.
‘We’ll come back, Naga.’ Mother said. As she said it, she stuffed
the end of her saree in her mouth.
They went around Yelamma. temple. They bowed to Maluchchamma
tree. When they were crossing the field ridges, a crab was running. He
held it carefully. Equally carefully, he left it down the ridge. It started
to run. He could not stop laughing. That was the last memory. The
last emotional bond with Yennela Dinni was the running crab.
Did not think the journey north would distance him from Yennela
Dinni permanently. Came to know Urumula Chandrappa there.
Better to say he entered mother’s life than to say he came to know
 him. He came for Ganga Jatara. Eve.n after the jatara was over, he did
not go.
One night when he got up from ileep, he saw Chandrappa sitting
in front of the lamp and telling motther something. Next morning a
bullock cart stopped in the shed they lived in.
‘Get in, Naganna.’
Did not ask where to. Got on to the cart. Mother, too, sat down.
Chandrappa sat near the bullocks. The cart crossed the village. After
crossing two or three such villages, they got down from the cart. The
cart went back. Did not know whiclh village it was. Mother cooked
next to the Rama temple. They slept there itself that night. Walking,
getting on to the cart, sleeping at niight at some place or the other,
they reached Dharmaram. That was Chandrappa’s birth place. That
was the place where Urumula Chandrappa grew up
Naganna grew up there. Grew up to a marriageable age. Got
married. After Ramulu came to live witih him, mother passed away
happily. As if she had completed her work, as if she had nothing
more to do, she bade goodbye to Dharmaram, as she had done to
Yennela Dinni. But this was a permanent farewell.
When mother passed away, Chandrappa remained with her. He
sat right next to her. Mother died in Chandrappa’s lap.
Ramulu became pregnant. Chandrappa said they would call the
child Latchimi if it was a girl. ‘W hat if it is a boy?’ said Naganna. He
said he would name him Naraiah.
Life had decided to make him. a lonely man. Chandrappa died,
Unable to deliver, Ramulu died. The child in the womb, too, died
along with the mother.
All this while, he spent his time aknidst the sound of thunder. His
life was filled with Gangamma’s song. Was filled with the excitement
of the vermilion dance. When he had nothing to do, inexplicable
pain and fear would haunt him. Mother, father, Chandrappa,
Ramulu and the stillborn child v/oul d haunt him. That was why he
did not give respite to the moving feet, the roaring thunder and the
singing mouth.
Now when he saw Yellanna, he did not know why, but he felt
tired. He felt like talking to him at leisure.
 He felt like telling Yellanna the secrets Chandrappa had
told him. He felt like sharing with Yellanna the steps and movements
Chandrappa had taught him. Yennela Dinni had chased away this
child only for him. Naganna thought that he had come searching for
him alone.
When Yellanna talked af night, Boodevi’s name was heard
repeatedly in his words. He did not mention his father’s name that
many times. Did not mention mother’s name that many times. He
would not come with him to Dharmaram leaving Boodevi behind.
Not sure if he would come. Did no.t know why. Felt as if the
Naganna of yesterday was not there this morning. Felt as if he could
no longer tolerate the loneliness of being without any relationships,
for those bonds had been severed. Yellanna reminded him again of
his childhood.
The dusky darkness had not yet passed. Naganna felt like walking
towards the fields o f‘Pakkela Dinni’. He felt as if this tiredness would
not go unless he sat under a tree and drank half a pot of the toddy
just tapped. No sooner had he taken a step, than he felt as if Yellanna
had got off the cot. When he turned back, Yellanna had not just got
up from sleep but had come near him.
They walked towards the fields in the dusky darkness.
‘You’ve walked a long way, my child.’
‘I don’t know. Don’t know if I walked or ran. Don’t know
anything.’
‘W ill you learn to dance?’
‘I know.’
Naganna burst into peals of laughter. It appeared as if the dusky
darkness was running away due to that laughter.
‘Can you also sing?’
‘A ttha taught me.’
‘Okay, will you learn Urumu?’
‘I’ll learn . . . but, aunt doesn’t know.’
Naganna laughed again. Birds that were tasting dew on the blade
of grass flew away in a flutter.
‘I’ll teach you. W ill you come to Dharmaram?’
Yellanna did not speak. Naganna stopped near the toddy tree. He
saw the toddy tapper bringing down the toddy pot.
 Having the tapped toddy poured into the frond, Naganna looked
at Yellanna as he was about to drink.
‘W ill you drink?’
‘I drink only the “juice”.’
Immediately, he remembered his childhood. Father who had
brought down the toddy pot. He who looked forward to the ‘juice.’
His mother. Tears filled his eyes. Naganna put his fingers through
Yellanna’s hair and caressed it affectionately.
The tapper brought the ‘juice’ pot that was kept under another
tree. He poured it into the frcnd and gave it to Yellanna.
‘How’s it?’
‘Sweet.’
‘Drink . . . not just once . . . as much as you want.’
Now there was not even dusky darkness. Mild sunlight was
spreading across the fields.
Naganna, walking on the bank, stopped near the crab holes.
‘Let’s make a conch necklace.’
He kept looking at Yellanna who said those words. He drew him
close affectionately.
‘When I was young I caught a lot of them with conch necklaces.
Now I gave it up . . . Leaving Yennela Dinni, I left the crab I had
caught
‘Do you know Yennela Dinni?’
‘I was born there.’
Yellanna looked at him in surprise. Naganna began his story. The
story did not end even when they reached home.
The elder from Pakkela Dinni’s malapalli said they had to stay
that day to collect the fee for the dance. They killed the hen that
afternoon. Brought toddy. Fell asleep. By the time he got up, Yellanna
was sleeping with his legs on his tummy. He caressed his feet. How
wonderful his feet, he thought! As if made to a measure. These were
not feet, they were the sound of steps that did not miss a beat.
Yellanna when he got up talked about his aunt. He said aunt
would be crying for him. He wept wanting to see his aunt.
The moon was seen in the sky. Looking towards it, Naganna shut
his eyes tight and asked Yellanna to come fox-ward. When Yellanna
came in front of him he opened his eyes and looked at Yellanna’s
face.
‘A ttha too is like this.’ j
In the pale moonlight, thejf walked towards the field ridges. They
sat in front of each other ori the ridge. As if he had made some
decisions in his mind, Naganna looked into Yellanna’s eyes.
‘We’ll go to Yennela Dinni when it’s dark.’
Yellanna looked on happily
Suddenly the yennela pitta shot through making a noise,
‘Wretched bird. Doesn’t let us sit in peace. When the moon comes
up, that’s it . . . how proud it js! Proud bird.’
But Yellanna kept looking at the yennela pitta that was flying
away, raising a din. I
Felt as if it was going towards Yennela Dinni.
How would Yennela DinniJ be now, thought Naganna.
Poor aunt would be crying;in Yennela Dinni, thought Yellanna.
Did not know how far the yennela pitta went. But its call was still
being heard.
Many years later, this happened.
As Ruth heard it, as Reuben imitated it . . .

Ruth feels as if Naganna arid Yellanna who were walking in the

hazy morning light, stamping on the dew-filled grass on the road to
Yennela Dinni, are walking ri; jht in front of her eyes,
In Ruth’s words, that is a beautiful scene. A wonderful journey.
One of them is known. The other needs to be introduced. That
recognition has not come so easily. That introduction is not all that
easy. Unless they have a lot of worth, people of those castes do not
get recognised. They are not ljucky enough to be well known. Many
artists were buried in the depths of the past. There are no records that
history has made a note of them in its pages. In this country caste is
more important than arc. Art is also weighed in the scale of caste.
for those of certain castes, nol: just being not weighed, they have not
even been allowed near die Scale.
 Ruth thinks. Thinks over and over again. So many songs have
taken birth on this earth. Who po ured life into those songs? Who
gave the tune to those songs? W hj r don’t researchers and historians
think a bit carefully?
They ploughed the fields. Mad e beds. Watered them. Plucked
weeds. Protected the cobs. Harvested the crop. Prepared the threshing
floor. Threshed the grain. Heaped them; Separated the chaff from the
grain. They did everything. H alf hungty, under the stars in the sky,
on sand mounds, folding their knees into their bellies, they slept.
They did not get hold of the fields. They did not get hold of the
field beds. The grains did not belong [to them. Without anything
belonging to them, they rained sweat 6n the earth. Like that, they
were kept cruelly away from the fru it of their toil.
The song was born from every v ork done on the earth. Planting
saplings, plucking weeds, harvesti ig the crop and labouring, the
coolie mother sang. To forget hunger, tjo forget the child crying out
for milk, to forget the pain of the bent back, the pallavi was heard
from the silent voice. Distributed charinams through toil. A coolie
mother, a mala mother, a madiga mother. Hundreds repeated after
that pallavi. Hundred voices sound sd like one voice. W hat did they
call that song? Called it a village sc ng. Said it was a duet. Said that
the folk song was immortal.
Ruth speaks. Says it does not ma tter jwhat people think about her
saying this. She asks us to mark t le words in those village songs,
Analyse them. She says only those words that come out of that life
roll out vibrantly.
Planting the saplings, they sang the sowing songs. Plucking the
weeds, they sang the plucking song, . Reaping the harvest, they sang
the harvest songs. They hid life in th :>se songs. They made them voice
love, sexuality, humour, compassion, h<j>t artificially like great poets
wrote, but very naturally like air, wa ter, jsun, moon and stars.
Just as the land they toiled on did not belong to them, why has
this wide knowledge become so nan ow is not to acknowledge that it
is they who wove those songs that h ave jsurvived? What is surprising
is that there is no shame for being na rrow-minded. This attitude rules
the literary world proudly.
 Ruth remembers. That in those days Yenki-Nayudu enjoyed
great popularity. It is there till today. If she were alive, in the last
days of her completing a centenary too, Yenki and Naidu bava will
remain a symbol of Teluguness. Perhaps so. There is nothing sinful
or wrong about it. But which stars in the sky have swallowed Subbi,
Koti, Lachchi, Maremma etc., who sweated out on the vast universe
to weave words and songs? Which vicious snakes bit them?
Ruth says these are not questions. Ruth says there is no need
to look for answers to these questions. But she only feels bad that
recognition and awareness have all turned one-sided. She detests it
only for its remaining such a hatred. In truth her memories are only
representations of that pain and hatred.
‘A ll of it happened like that. It really happened like that. Nagannas
and Yellannas did not go after recognition. Didn’t dance to be known.
Didn’t sing. Art was in their veins. In their blood. In the depths of
their hearts. In their very sweat.’
Reuben used to repeatedly tell those words to Ruth.
‘Naganna used to think his dance was only to worship Ganga.
Only to please Siva, he thought. He was under the illusion that the
roar of thunder that touched the heart and reverberated in nature
was to bring down Ganga. His rhythmic beats and expressions of
emotion, all stopped there in the jataras. But every bit of the ‘puranic
secrets’ that Chandrappa told him, the words that Naganna spoke
whenever necessary, were only to say that he and his people were not
any less. W hat was visible in him then was revolt. He may not even
be aware that it was revolt. But it was definitely a revolt.’
Reuben analysed Naganna thus. Ruth thinks that that is true. If
we proceed a little further, we will feel Ruth’s belief is true. In front
of the eyes, Naganna.
When they reached the outskirts of Yennela Dinni, Naganna
stopped and looked. The village of his childhood. After many years,
he was stepping there. When he left, he had gone with mother. When
he came back, he came as companion to Yellana. That day he tied his
childhood in a bundle and left. Today he was coming back carrying
pain and loneliness. They crossed the stream.
‘Let’s sit down there, my child.’
 Yellanna sat down. This bank. The bank of Yennela Dinni’s stream.
Naganna sat against the tree. He shut his eyes tight. Yellanna did not
know what emotions were overpowering his heart. All that Yellanna
knew was the eagerness to hide in aunt’s lap.
‘Let’s go.’
Naganna opened his eyes and saw. Yellanna was anxious to see
his aunt.
‘We’ll go, my child.’ Saying this he broke a tumma twig. He asked
Yellanna to brush his teeth. He asked him to go behind a tree if he
needed to relieve himself. He hid behind the mound as he brushed
his teeth.
As he was dipping into the Yennela Dinni stream, Naganna
remembered father. He used to ask his father to hold his nose saying
he would slide into the water with nose closed like a fish. Father
would search for him here and there. As if he could not find him, he
would say, ‘Where are you?’ Saying ‘Here!’ Naganna would jump up
and climb on to his father’s shoulders. Father would carry him like
that to the shore. He would sit in the mild sun till his body dried. As
he sat like that, in the sand under his feet crabs would move about.
If he kept his feet like that and caught them, they would bite him.
If he moved his feet, they would run away. If he chased them, the
tiny little crabs that hid themselves in sand would run; not one, but
hundreds of them. As if a mat had been woven, the tiny little crabs’
running would look strange. They would in a line become one with
the water. That was a game. . . . The childhood that belonged to the
earth hid such wonders. In truth, that was something wonderful!
‘I will stop for the sun.’
Saying that, Yellanna got on to the bank. Naganna, too, came on
to the bank. He took the sacred ash from the cloth bag. Put it on the
forehead. Smeared it on the throat. Yellanna looked on.

From the day Yellanna had left, Boodevi had not eaten. Those who
were searching were continuing to search. Yenkatanarsu who had
gone with a bundle of clothes had come back that day. Throwing
 the bundle down, he had been searching for Yellanna from that day
on. Boodevi had asked him hot to come home until he brought
Yellanna back. That was what she told Yerrenkadu too. Taking her
sister-in-law along, she looked around in all places she could.
What happened near the yetra gollalu’s tents spread to malapalli by
word of mouth. Those who hadIchased Yellanna talked enthusiastically
about their chasing him.. That too, came to be known. Coming to
know of it, Boodevi was not at le to tolerate it. She set out saying she
would see the end of therii.i Eders dissuaded her. People of her age
group restrained her. I hen she! bo ated and commanded them, ‘Bring
my child back.’ She berated the elders, wondering how they could be
called elders. But nothing!happened. There was no sign of pride in
the elders. There was no movement in people of her age group. She
said that if she did not finjii Ye Janna, she would put an end to those
who had chased him away. She said she would turn their lives to
ashes. Yerrenkadu stood listening to those words. Yenkatanarsu was
afraid of the lengths to which Boodevi wanted to go. That night the
two of them did not sleepi They stood guard in front of the house.
If Boodevi was bent oh doing something, she would go to any
lengths. She would not care what would happen later. Yerrenkadu
knew that quite well. Thej pec da mala told Yenkatanarsu, ‘Restrain
her mouth.’ The pedda mala knew how dangerous it would be if
her words reached the meetin;: place. Yenkatanarsu panicked at the
pedda malas warning. But there was no stopping Boodevi s mouth.
Mothers and sisters said she had gone mad. Coming to know that the
pedda mala wanted her to cor.trol her mouth, she went towards his
house. The pedda mala snarled at her. He said, ‘If you keep abusing
like that, the entire malapalli will turn to ashes.’ Boodevi answered
him word for word. She: saic, the palle would turn to ashes if it
had elders like him. She did not stop at that. She abused the ones
who beat up Yellanna by narre. "When she abused the pedda mala,
his pride was hurt. If she abused the people in the ooru, he would
tremble with fear. This problem reached its height right in the middle
of the palle. Yenkatanarsi| fel: there was no point now. He pulled
Boodevi by her hair. He fell on her like one enraged and kept beating
her. Actually, Yenkatanarsuj not angry with Boodevi. He was
scared as to what would Iif the elders of the ooru heard these
 !
words. That fear made him crazy, Yerrenkadu remained watching.
Till now, Boodevi had never been beaten. But now she received a
beating. What did she do to get that beating? His eyes filled with
tears. He was a coward. Actually should have uttered the words she
did. If he could, he should have doijie something to those who had
chased away his child. If someone from his caste had done this, how
angrily he would have responded td that family! What indignation
he would have demonstrated! He felt disgusted with himself. Bent
his head down.
Yenkatanarsu’s crazy rage had not!abated yet. Did not know what
he would have done if Lingalu had not prevented him. Lingalu
stood between them. She felt bad ail seeing her sister-in-law beaten.
She cried her heart out for Yellannai More than that, she could not
tolerate the lashing on her sister-in-laws back. Boodevi was not just
her sister-in-law. Like her unborn child. Or like a mother. She was
fighting for her child. Did not know what it would have been like
if one man from malapalli had talked like Boodevi but Boodevi was
greater than all of them.
‘W hat did she say, my sister-in-law . . . when all the men are
cowardly, my child spoke. Not just my child, I, too, am speaking . .
. kill me too. She’s Yelladu’s daughter. Subbadu’s granddaughter. Not
cowardly . . . '
Yenkatanarsu looked at her stunned. He now realised how he had
behaved. Yerrenkadu had beaten Lingalu many times. But was unable
to beat her now. He was not just a coward. He was a thoroughly
useless fellow. Lingalu lifted her sister-in-law up. She sat in front of
her sister-in-law inside the house.
That night there was a meeting ih the middle of the palle. In the
meeting, there was more discussion about Boodevi abusing the pedda
mala than of Yellanna. More than that Boodevi had abused the ooru
elders. The discussion was about what to say if word reached the ooru.
Yerrenkadu was not there at the discussion. Yenkatanarsu was not
there. When they were asked to come to the meeting, they refused.
Yenkatanarsu lay on the cot in front! of the house. Yerrenkadu sat on
the mound. A man came from the meeting and said, "They are asking
you to come.’ When, they were called a second time, they could not
refuse to go. That -would be considered -wrong in their caste. They
 looked into the house. Boodevi sat, resting her back against the
pole. Neither one of them had the courage to say they were going
to the meeting. They got up with the intention of going. No sooner
had they taken a couple of steps than they heard Boodevi crying.
They met Lingalu who was coming to her sister-in-laws house after
cooking food in her place. She ’did not speak to the men. She heard
her sister-in-law crying. She went straight into the house.
As if they were waiting only for these two, the elders at the meeting
said, ‘Come, sit down.’ They said, ‘W hy did Yellanna go like that?
If he hadn’t, would all this have happened?’ Yenkatanarsu did not
speak. Yerrenkadu did not speak. For a while each said something
about this. Some said, ‘He is a small boy. What does he know?’ Some
said, ‘When they beat him, it would have been good if he had come
home.’
‘What would we have done had he come home?’
Yerrenkadu did not say those words. Yenkatanarsu did not say
them either.
The pedda mala looked around as if to ask who said those words.
The other caste elders also looked on.
“W hy did you go, you wretched rascal!’— saying this Yerrenkadu
would have given him a few kicks. The elders would have
shouted, ‘Never go like that and invite trouble’.’
It was the same voice heard again.
‘Who’s that fellow? Come forward and speak.’
Pittodu who was sitting in a corner in the dark came forward.
Yenkatanarsu looked at Pittodu in surprise. Yerrenkadu thought that
if there was a real man in Yennela Dinni, it was Pittodu alone.
Pittodu, who had come forward, looked at the
mala. He looked at others as if to greet them. He reminded them
how Boodevi had beaten her own chest and mouth and cried the
child was nowhere to be seen. All had asked why he had gone near
the tents but why had no one tried to find out what happened, he
questioned. They had come to know how he went, and why he ran. He
asked whether any of these elders had courage to question those
responsible for the boy’s act once they knew what had happened. He
berated them and asked them how it was wrong of the woman who
had lost her nephew to abuse them.
 Pittodu spoke sharply. The elders could not swallow his words.
Youngsters sat down more comfortably. They felt as if they themselves
were asking these questions. Yenkatanarsu thought he was not saying
anything wrong.
Pittodu was thought of as a firebrand. He did not have a good
name among the elders. He would speak without mincing words.
Actually, they would not have called him to the meeting. Even if he
was not called, he would come a.nd sit there. He would not keep quiet
when the elders were speaking. He would get up hurling obscenities
at them. The crowd would pull him away in the middle of it all. He
would leave saying, ‘Die, you bastards. Die your deaths.’ This would
happen at every meeting. But this time he did not go away like that.
He did not speak obscenities. He spoke something that stayed in
each one’s heart: ‘If Narayi mama were alive, he would have hacked
those bastards to death.’
The elders were startled by those words. They remembered
Narigadu. The mala’s mound was just like that. The youngsters had
heard of Narigadu. Now Yellanna was not a part of the meeting.
Boodevi was not there. Narigadu remained. The ghost of the malas
mound hovered over the meeting. It made the pedda mala who was
conducting the meeting lose his sleep.
Though the pedda mala went home, he kept remembering Pittodu’s
words. He had told the truth. There are Naraiahs among malas and
madigas. There are Mataiahs. Everyone was not, as Boodevi called
them, cowards. Not all were those who went around with bent heads.
Actually, the pedda mala did not like going with a bent head. He
would have wanted to walk with his head held high. But when he
saw people from the ooru, his head would bend down of its own
accord. The feet which till then had walked freely would step aside.
The walk would turn into that of a sick person. He did not like his
walk changing like that. His father was the pedda mala before him.
Thick moustaches. They used to call him Moustachioed Subbadu.
Definitely, he bent down a bit on the day Narigadu died. As he grew
older he grew thin like a stick. He was then middle-aged. He was as
old as Narigadu. He always thought of Narigadu. Was a courageous
man. Was stubborn. As for Mataiah, the same determination, the
same verve.
 It was about ten years sincej Narigadu died. There were rumours
that a ghost was waxidering about on the mala’s mound. It was
abandoned. So many years aiter the death, they wondered what
the rumours were in malapalli and madigapalli. As it was a village,
the rumours took a different shape each day. At midnight some tall
man would roam around with an axe. He would merge with the
darkness. He would walk till thb karanam’s mound. At the turn of the
stream, there were whirlpools. |He would drown in those whirlpools.
He would not be seen again. It would happen like that sometimes.
Sometimes, it would happen Itwice a week. Another time once a
month. For a while such a ttyng would not happen at all. Lots of
stories were circulated. There were those who thought that Narigadu
had turned into a ghost and Was roaming around. There were those
who would say that they heard the sound of him holding an axe and
felling a tree. Once in a whilp, they would say that it felt as if he
was rushing towards the karatiams cattle shed. They would say he
jumped over a thick bush in front of the karanam’s house and ran
away. The stories took a different shape each day.
They would crowd together in hordes and say that when the
sahukar was coming with the| things from the fair, he felt someone
was hiding in the middle of the tumma grove, turned around, spotted
a dark shape coming from the grove, jumped out of the cart and ran,
and when he went back for the cart, it was there just like that; he
felt if it were a thief, the things would not have been there, and so
it must most definitely be the ghost of the mala’s mound. Did not
know what happened there blit the sahukar was laid up in bed with
fever due to shock. Those who spells, cast a spell around the
house. For a couple of days, |there was a lot of hue and cry in the
sahukar’s house.
Another story that went ground caused more excitement than
this. As that happened to the karanam, it caused a lot of commotion.
When the elder karanam was coming from the cattle shed of the
eastern fields at midnight someone chased him. The elder karanam
fled. He was terrified. But he repeatedly said at the meeting that
nothing like that happened. Not that there was no reason to say that.
He felt that his amorous de;ilings at that hour would be exposed.
 But because the karanam said no, ev :iyone had to nod their heads in
front of him. Later they laughed and talked about it in his absence.
But the elder karanam’s son, the; younger karanam, did not take
it lightly. He attacked the elder karanainci. Not even caring that he
was his father, he threatened to kill and bury him if he had amorous
affairs at his age. He had kept a watch over the elder karanam so that
he could not go out at nights. He called the elders of the ooru. He
said that this was not like a ghost story to him. The elders said that
for whatever it was worth, it was better'to call the big sorcerer. The
younger karanam did not ignore the eldets’ words. He did follow their
advice. But he did not refrain from carrying out his plan. He gathered
the youngsters of the ooru. After a certain hour, ten people would
patrol each direction. The strange news :that young men of Yennela
Dinni were patrolling at night spread to the neighbouring places.
When someone from Yennela Dinni went to the neighbouring place,
people would surround him. The sariie news— about the patrol. Even
at the fields, more than one would keep watch. At each place two or
three malas and madigas would be on guard. Once the watch began,
real fear overtook everyone.
No one knew what happened but there was no sign of the ghost
for a long time. The elders said that this was due to the greatness of
the big sorcerer. The youngsters said it was because of the watch. Five
years went by. The pedda mala’s father passed away. The younger
karanam got married. There were qo other significant incidents to
report in Yennela Dinni. Except that there were a few changes on the
land. The younger karanam sold sonie of the lands in Yennela Dinni
to the tenant farmers. After a few farmers bought the lands from
the karanam in Yennela Dinni, they became small-time landlords.
Except for those few, the rest of the peoples lives were as before. There
was a difference in their behaviour. During the jataras they began to
stand a little in front. If that was the change in the ooru, there was a
different kind of change in malapalli and madigapalli. They did not
know why it happened like that. Aoart from doing bonded labour
for the karanam, the two palles wen: being referred to by the names
of the small-time landlords. Not only were they called such and such
a Reddy’s mala or such and such a Reddy’s madiga, they were also
being divided on those lines. That was to say the two palles had to
 work according to the old norms on the karanam’s fields. As for the
others, a particular Reddy’s mala or a Reddy’s madiga had to work in
each of their Reddys fields.
It was then that some unforeseen incident occurred. The younger
karanam had not thought that would happen. The elder karanam did
not think so. The small-time Recldys who were just being counted in
the list of important people did not think so. Among the farmers,
Subbireddy and Atchireddy did not think of it at all. It happened.
The entire region . . . it happened as quickly as one stopping to take
a deep breath.
This was how the incident took place. It was more than a week
since the younger karanam had gone to his in-laws’ place. The news
had also reached that it would not be possible for him to return for
another week. The elder karanam sat in the meeting till late in the
evening. Then he came up to the house in the company of Subbireddy
and Atchireddy. These days, Atchireddy was going about like that. It
felt like a status symbol to him. He was taking care of the tenancy
and handing it back to the farmers. In other words, after the younger
karanam it was Atchireddy’s name that was spoken first in the ooru.
This would appear strange to Atchireddy sometimes. At times, he
would feel proud. The farmers, who would stand up when the elder
karanam and the younger karanam passed by, would also stand when
Atchireddy passed by.
‘Now, you may go, Reddy,’ said the elder karanam as he did
everyday. Atchireddy left, bidding goodbye. The elder karanam did
not go inside the house. He walked as a matter of routine towards
the eastern field near the cattle shed. It had become a habit to go
there when the younger karanam was not in the ooru. They say the
amorous nature that comes with birth will not leave till death.
The cattle-sheds in the eastern field were on the stream bank.
Though they were supposed to be cattle sheds, cattle were never kept
there except during summer. In front of the sheds, the banyan tree
with hanging branches occupied about a kunta of land. They would
tie the cattle under its shade during day tir n ^ ^ ^ if e a n a m ’s shore
was under the shade of the banyan tree/ Ify^i^rosseq^the'karanams
shore and went on to the other siid<^,< there was a mnfe.-loii'g palm
 grove. The palm trees too were dense. A buffalo with horns would get
caught somewhere in there.
They said that the brahmin from Kolia Dinni who was close to
the elder karanam’s daughter was killed there. Not just him, but
many lives stopped seeing the light of day there. Better to say that
the karanam saw to it that they never saw the light of day rather than
say they never saw the light of day. The cattle shed of the eastern
field, the karanam’s shore and the palm grove in front of the shore
present a sort of fearsome scenes. At such a late hour, only the
elder karanam could go there all by himself. At such a late hour,
only Atchireddy’s mother could wait for the karanam under the
banyan tree.
For many years now, Atchireddy’s mother had been sitting under
the banyan tree at an unearthly hour. She would sit there for the
karanam. She sat when Atchireddy was a small child. She sat there
when he worked as a young boy in the elder karanam’s fields. She sat
there like that, after his marriage, when he took the karanam’s lands
on lease and was an under-tenant. She had to squat there even when
the younger karanam sold the land and he became the owner of two
acres. Sitting like a little ghost, under the banyan tree, on the edge
of the karanam’s shore, at an unearthly hour when no man dared to
come, she sat waiting for the elder karanam.
Her husband, Peddireddy Subbireddy, was not a man to be taken
lightly. He was a bull-like man. He would slog like oxen. He used
to graze cattle in the Nallamala Hills. Had land to live on. Rugged
land. The yield, nominal. O f little use. Found it difficult to survive.
He went out into the world driving his cattle. Atchireddy was a tiny
tot. Selling the cattle,4 he tried to find a living. On the way, sweet
potato carts5 joined him. Those carts came to Yennela Dinni. They
came with those carts to Yenr.ela Dinni. The karanam bought the
good ones among the cattle. He sold the useless ones to the madigas.
The karanam looked Subbireddy up and down. Asked his name.
Subbireddy told him. Said his wife’s name was Rangayi. The karanam
looked on benignly. He asked him to work for him. He gave wood
to build his hut. He asked him to take the leaves from his trees. He
appeared like God. Subbireddy kept the money he got from selling
the cattle with the karanam.
 53

Peddireddy Subbireddy was reduced to a servant. His cattle

became the karanam’s cattle. He used to graze them along with the
karanam’s cattle in the karanarii’s wastelands. Rangayi looked after
all the work at the cattle shed. Whenever Subbireddy took his salary
he would keep it with the karanam. He never asked him how much
there was. The karanam too never said how much there was. Time
was proceeding on its own. !
One day, Rangayi asked Subbireddy to settle the accounts. She said
they should go back to their village. Subbireddy was unable to say no
to his wife. He asked the karaiiam for the accounts. The karanam
looked surprised. For the first |time he came across a servant who
asked for the accounts. Subbireddy appeared strange. This strange
feeling had never been a part of the karanam’s experience. Was unable
to stomach it. He had never known a strange person like Subbireddi
before. He should not have kfrown such a person. Not just now.
Should never happen. i
‘The woman is adamant.’
The karanam did not speak, i
Subbireddy was staring at the ground and the karanam looked
towards Subbireddy. He kept lQoking like that for a long time. After
this, he said they could see the accounts the next day.
The karanam looked into the accounts the next day. There was no
Subbireddy to take the money.! He slept at night in the cattle shed.
The next morning he was found dead due to snakebite.
His co-workers were not surprised that there were no marks of
snakebite. Rangayi did not say that the throat was dark as if someone
had strangled him to death. She saw in the karanam’s accounts the
additions and subtractions for jAtchireddy. That was it. In front of
her eyes, Subbireddy was burning in the flames. Their shared life
too was burnt in those flames. W hat remained were the ashes of the
crematorium. That was the lifii under the dark banyan tree. When
she sat under the tree, she wished that the reptiles would bite the
karanam on the way. But no reptile would bite the karanam. During
the recent ghost incident, she| hoped that the ghost may strangle
him. But she thought the ghojst was a lie. Even when she sat here
at midnight, nothing happened. No terrible ghost was seen in the
palm grove either. There could be no greater ghost than the karanam.
 The karanam himself was a big ghost. She thought so many times.
Thinking like that, she lifted her head and saw.
The man in front was not die karartam. The karanam did not have
a beard. He would not appear so dark even in darkness. In fact, there
would be no axe in the karanam’s han
Before she could figure out who it was, the karanam came,
It was then that the incident took place. The incident that shook
up all villages. The incident that sprejad the name of Yennela Dinni
to each and every village.
It happened then . . .
The incident of the elder karanam’s head being chopped off by
madiga Mataiah’s axe.
As Rangayi was witness.
As the dark banyan tree was witness.
As the karanam’s shore and palmgrove were witnesses
Rangayi became dumbstruck. Became as dumb as the banyan tree.
As dumb as the shore. As dumb as the palmgrove. That dumbness
frightened Mataiah. !
‘He killed Narigadu. He died in my hands now.’ He felt like saying
this. He looked straight at Rangayi. Rangayi was looking silently.
Looking like a dumb person. He decided not to. He decided not
to say anything. Both the palles appeared before his eyes. That was
why he decided not to say anything. But Mataiah did not know that
in Rangayi’s silence, in Rangayi s dunbness, Mataiah’s figure seemed
like the figure of God. Mataiah was not a ghost. Mataiah was God.
Mataiah went away just as quickly as he had completed his job.
He went straight to malapalli. He stopped next to the pedda malas
cot. He patted and woke him up. The pedda mala got up irritably.
He did not at first recognise the man standing in front of him. Then
he recognised Mataiah. After many >ears. He had gone away saying,
‘He didn’t die. He didn’t die.’ He had come back now. Had changed
a lot. The pedda mala asked him to sit down. Mataiah did not sit
down. He said they should go to a secluded place. Both came out.
Sat on the stream bank.
The night stars were twinkling, Fireflies were rushing past like
bright diamonds. Fish that were swimming against the current were
jumping very high. A little distance away, on the edge of the bank
 where the two were sitting, the thin stream that was flowing over the
pebbles was making a strange sound that appeared to be close by. In
truth, nature that night was not silent. Not dark. It was its usual self,
like stars, like fireflies, like fish swimming and jumping up against
the current, and like the water-music nature had created for itself.
Otherwise, it was like the echo b'orn out of the depths of the heart of
a courageous man.
Then Mataiah narrated all that had happened. The pedda mala
listened. Mataiah’s words produced fear in him. Mataiah’s words
infuriated him. Mataiah’s words appeared as if they had tugged at his
nerves and let them go. Did not know why but they made him cry
out aloud. He hugged Mataiah and wept.
The sound of fish swimming against the current jumping at one
go. The endless noise of the water flowing in the midst of the hearts
of the pebbles.
The pedda mala felt like suddenly getting up and shouting out
loud so that the people of malapalli and madigapalli could hear him.
‘Our Mataiah killed the elder karanam. The brave man is next to
me. Get up and come.’ But he could not shout out. He remembered
the houses in the palles he wanted to shout out to. Remembered
the people. Immediately fear overcame him. He controlled his rage.
Actually, Mataiah himself had wanted to tell Rangayi why he killed
the elder karanam. But he held back; The pedda mala, too, stopped
for the same reason Mataiah had stopped.
‘Rangayi!...’
‘Did she recognise you?’
‘Don’t know.’
That night, the two of them came to a decision. They decided
to keep the information between the two of them. If it came to be
known that Mataiah had committed that act, both palles would be
reduced to dust. That was why they came to that decision.
After coming to that decision Mataiah got up. The pedda mala
felt uneasy as Mataiah was leaving. He felt like spending hours with
Mataiah. But the morning’s scene stood before his eyes. It was not safe
for Mataiah to remain there. There was danger if Rangayi recognised
him. That was why he could not say no to Mataiah when he said, ‘I’ll
make a move.’
 Along with Mataiah, he got down from the stream bank and walked
towards the lake. Wading through the waters of the lake, Mataiah
went, turning back and looking often. The pedda mala stood staring
after him. It appeared as if the entire light was walking on the other
side ofYennela Dinni s stream. A brave man always walked like that.
Like the lightning flash across the sky, like the sunbeam spreading
over the earth, like the typhoon completing its job in seconds.
It was then that Rangayi came. He looked surprised. He looked
frightened. She did not appear to have run. She appeared as if she
had come searching, calmly.
‘Mataiah is God,’ she said. It sounded strange to the pedda mala.
He did not speak. He did not feel as if he was at the stream bank of
Yennela Dinni.
‘I will hide the fact in my stomach . . . Even if the entire ooru is
upon me I won’t say
She kept saying like that. She said she was born in the Nallamala
hills. She said she had come searching for a living to Yennela Dinni.
She said she had sacrificed Subbireddy to Yennela Dinni. She said
that it was the karanam who took away his life. She said he then
seduced her. She said she yielded to him for her child’s sake. Saying
these words, she cried. It felt as if his sister was crying. She said she
looked forward to the karanam’s death. She said Mataiah was God.
She said those words many times. When Mataiah came away in a
hurry after killing the karanam she said she followed him. She said
she waited for him outside, when Mataiah sneaked into malapalli.
She said that she had wanted to come to the stream bank when
they sat down there. She said she restrained herself because she did
not want Mataiah to think she had recognised him. She very much
desired Mataiah’s safety. She said he should live forever. She said he
should add her years to him and live. Saying all this, she went back.
She started walking back as calmly as she had come and as calmly as
she had spoken. He remained looking at her till she was visible.
Mataiah who was walking on the other side of the stream.
On this side, the pedda mala.
Rangayi who was on her way to the ooru.
 That dark night hid within itself the reality of the lives of
untouchable people and the: live? of women hidden in the life of
Yennela Dinni.
There was a lot of hue and cry i Yennela Dinni the next morning.
What happened within, the pedda mala did not know. But the two
palles did not become targets p f 4itnger. He thought that was enough.
Thinking so, he had spent all these years. He had hidden that bitter
truth in his heart all these years.! !
Did not know why, but he fel : it was difficult to hide any longer
the Mataiah and the Rangsjyl he had hidden all these years. He
thought that the truth he had hi Aden should not die with him. He
might not live much longer. If he died, Mataiah was not there to tell
the truth. Did not know what happened to him. Rangayi was not
there. After the son was old enough to take care of things, she had left
Yennela Dinni. She saicl she would come back after selling her fields
in her village. She said she woulc; stay there till the sale of the fields
was over. The fields were sold. Yet she did not come. The pedda mala
knew she would not come. On the day she left, it was he who drove
the cart for the journey. She spoi e to him during the entire journey.
Said she would not come back. Mataiah was the only man she would
remember in Yennela D3nnl| shell said. She said it would be good if
they met accidentally on the way as they had met the other day.
They came to know after many days that she joined Brahmamgaru s
In those days malas and madigas would join that religious group
in great numbers. If not this, they would become a part of Nasaraiahs
religious group. RamanujaroV rjejigion had entrenched itself among
the malas and madigas. Brahmamgaru s religion might not have had
such an impact on Yennela JDinni but it had a lot on regions like
Kanigiri, Kandukuru, Kambham, Kurnool and Podili. Nasaraiahs
religion had spread to regions like Vinukonda, Narsaraopet, Bapatla,
Darsi, Markapuram and Pajanaliu. That was an effort man made
to retain his identity. There was no caste discrimination in the
preachings of Sri Virat Potuloori Veerabrahmam. Nasaraiah began
a serious attack on caste. Ramanujam’s religion said there was no
caste discrimination. That was why the malas and the madigas were
attracted to those teaching societies were formed.
58

Once a troupe came to Yennela Dinni singing Brahmamgaru’s

They sang tatvas in malapalli and madigapalli. The songs were
pleasing to the ear. The songs would speak about Kakkadu. The malas
and madigas felt he was like their own son. After that the troupe went
to the ooru. The people in the ooru did not allow them to enter.
Rangayi left for her village the third day after this happened.
Some said she was still alive. Thoiigh she came twice to Podili, she
did not show any interest in visiting Atchireddy. People did not know
what happened. But she did not come to Yennela Dinni.
Mataiah’s courage, karanam’s death and Rangayi’s greatness should
not be entombed without anyone in Yennela Dinni knowing about
them. The pedda mala thought about it quite keenly. Not just that he
wanted to tell the truth to Pittodu. |
Told him. He woke him up at night and told him right there,
where Mataiah had said good-bye. He talked of Mataiah. Talked of
Rangayi.
After listening to everything, Pittodu looked at both the palles in
Yennela Dinni. He looked at the pedda mala. There were unheard
sounds in the heart of Yennela Dinni. There were quite a few.
That night Pittodu did not sleep. In the darkness, he went towards
madigapalli. When Poladu was in front of the heaps of meat, he asked
him to pick up one. Usually, Poladu’s wife would come to malapalli
with heaps of meat in the daily basket of chopped meat. Poladu said,
‘Pittoda, you’re so greedy, aren’t you?’ ‘As she said it was calf meat,
I wondered if it would last till it reached my place,’ he said. That
was not the truth. He did not know why. He felt like coming to
madigapalli and he came. That was it. ‘You’ve come any way. W hy
don’t you eat a bit of before you go?’ said Poladu’s wife. On
hearing the word, ‘nalla’ Pittodu came alive. He said, ‘Bring it, attha.’
‘You rascal, why don’t you take it for your wife?’ said Poladu. ‘Let him
eat. W hy for her?’ said Poladu’s wife1.When Pittodu said, ‘Whatever
you say mama, attha is special,’ Poladu’s wife tied the cooked nalla
into a bundle and placed it in Pittpdu’s hand. When Poladu said,
‘Don’t you eat all the pieces in the nalla, keep some for your wife,’
Pittodu walked back home smiling.
 At home, Chinnammi said Yellanna had come back. He kept both
the bundles in the hands of Chinnammi and went towards Boodevi’s
house.
"The entire malapalli in Yennela Dinni was in front of Boodevi’s
house. Boodevi hugged Yellanna and was crying. He saw a man
sitting a little distance away on a cot. There was a crowd around him.
Pittodu wanted to keep looking at the man. After a while, he came
to know that the man was Urumula Naganna and he had brought
Yellanna home.

The malapalli of Yennela Dinni at first looked strangely at Naganna.

Those who had seen the Urumula dance here and there recognised
him as Naganna. Some kept looking at his grey hair and the sacred
ash on his face and said, A guru.’
But for Boodevi, Naganna did not look like a human being. It
appeared as if goddess Yellamma had sent him. That was what she
was saying aloud too. The people were talking openly about him. He
was listening to all of it quietly. He was searching for his childhood
friends. He was not able to see the resemblance between the figures
of those days with the people now. But he recognised the ones who
were his father’s age then. The pedda mala of that time might not be
alive now. But he saw the elder who came shouting at the crowd. He
was of his father’s age. The pedda mala’s son who had now become
the pedda mala was bent with age. He was looking at Naganna in
admiration. He felt like saying, ‘I’m Narigadu’s son.’ Yellanna had
not yet got off his aunt’s lap. He did not know how to say he was so
and so. After leaving Yennela Dinni, he had come back only now.
He kept staring at Yellana’s father, Yerrenkadu. No use. Was
difficult to recognise younger people. In fact, he was not able to
figure out Yerrenkadu in his imagination.
When he was looking around like that, his eyes fell on a dark boy
who was staring with wide open eyes. He was short. He was like
the bird that slips away from the hand even as it seems to
be caught. Looking at the youngster reminded him not of Mataiah
 but NaUenka mama, one of the other two, who had carried bundles
and crossed the floods along with his father. Nallenka mama was
the youngest of the four of them. The same scared looks. The same
dark skin. His hair was reddish like the colour of a crow. But
a strange attraction peeping out of those disturbed looks. Yes, the
figure of Nallenka mama. Just then the boy was saying something.
As he spoke, eyes that looked around in all four directions at one go.
Eyes of a nallanchi bird.
‘Come here!’
He came. He looked as if he would slip away if he was held. He
was not only like a nallanchi. If one looked at his swiftness, he looked
slippery like a fish.
‘Name?’
‘Pittodu.’
Could not stop laughing. Was really Pittodu. Nallenka mama’s
son.
‘Father’s name?’
‘Nallenkadu.’
Nallenkadu in the flood waters. The youngest among those four.
Fast heart beats. Flood waters behind the eyelids.
‘Do you know my father?’
Nodded his head— everyone was looking with gaping eyes as if
they came to know something new.
Pedda mala joined in. He said that Nallenkadu had died recently.
‘Chinarangadu?’
Chinarangadu was one of those four. He was not found no matter
how much they searched. Could not help asking. Someone said,
‘Sinarangayi thatha is calling.’ He looked eagerly.
Chinarangadu was sitting cn his haunches. Resting due to the
heat of the sun. A stick in his hand. Was not looking in this direction.
Turning his back this way, he was looking in the other direction.
They said he could not see. A loin cloth wrapped around the waist
and tucked into the thread around the waist.
A small child placed a hollow vessel in front of Chinarangadu. They
said she was his son’s daughter. Tliat child would also mix sour gruel
with rice in the hollow vessel and bring it wherever Chinarangadu
sat in the sun for warmth. She would give a roasted chilli to her
 grandfather. She ate along with hjer grandfather from that plate. After
eating like that, when she poured water into the vessel after rinsing
it, Chinarangadu would drink tljiat water. That day too, the girl did
the same and looked at the crowd in front of Boodevi’s house. She
looked straight into Nagannas face. Small eyes, mischievous eyes.
A running nose. A parting in the unkempt hair that started in the
middle and went awry. The girl was quite cute. She stood making
faces. Her name, Simpiri.
‘How do you know Sinarang4du?’
‘How’s Mataiah?’
On hearing those words, there was a change in the pedda mala’s
face. He looked keenly at Nagan na. Searched. Searched a long time.
Of which tree was this seed? W hat happened to that tree on this
mound? What kind of a tree was that! The pedda mala searched
eyed for the tree that had dropped this seed. Did not stop. The flood
behind Naganna’s eyelids could not be contained. Yellamma could
not stop it. Mungamoorairtma did not stop it. Malutchamma tree
had been swept away in those fl oods a long time ago. He could not
contain it any longer . . . Did nd>t have the strength to contain it.
‘I’m Narigadu’s son.’ j
Those words were in fact pushed out by the flood of tears. Amidst
well-wishers, on the mound where he was born, on the mound that
poured life into him. Tears did jnot stop. That day he had cried for
father. W hy was he crying today?
‘Narayi mama’s son!’ Pittodu repeated these words many times.
Shouted aloud. Boodevi stopped caressing her nephew and looked
in that direction. Chinarangadu who was basking in the sun
said, ‘Simpiri, go get the sticlf.’ There was an unusual agility in
Chinarangadu. Simpiri had not seen that agility in her grandfather
before. Everything was strange. Chinarangadu groped his way
forward and stood in front of [Naganna. ‘Where’s Narigadu’s son?’
He kept saying.
Though we may think otherwise, nothing is greater value on
earth than sacrifice. However that may be. No mutter how
small the man who does it. Its strength is its own. It a nest in
people’s hearts and lives immortal in their words. Those who see only
dark spots in life may be suspicious of its value. It may not be that
 valuable. But Yennela Dinni’s malas were Very ordinary people. They
were people groping for light. That sacrifice would not appear small
for them. It would not appear as something to be brushed aside.
Naganna held Chinarangadus hands. Chinarangadu asked about
his mother. Did not tell the entire stoiy. Only said that she was dead.
Tears rolled down the sightless eyes. Chinarangadu would scare him
in childhood saying, ‘I’ll carry your mi>thdr away.’ Naganna would be
scared that he would really carry her off. Once in a while he would
say, ‘Come along, my girl,’ and pull ijnbtlfer’s hand. Naganna would
get angry. He would pull, asking him to let her go. Father would
keep smiling. Chinarangadu would not let go of her at all. He would
bite his hand. He would let go sayir g, ‘He’s bitten me.’ He would
place the thatch of the house carefully at night. He would latch the
stick tied in the middle with the ropj securely to the front wall. To
prevent die thatch on the other side qf the fr wall being removed,
the stick tied to it would be stuck to the wall on this side. Even then a
suspicion. He would pull at the stick and test. The thatch would not
move. When his mother would ask why h® did that, he would remind
her about Chinarangadus words. Mother would laugh. Would roar
with laughter. Only his mother would laugh like that. No other
mother could do that. If he heard a sound through the slits of the
thatch in the middle of the night, he would get up. Mother would say,
‘Chinarangadu mama has come. Chase him away.’ When he looked,
it would only be a spotted dog. He would pull the stick, remove the
thatch and shoo the dog away. He could not stop laughing.
Meetings and partings are sweet. Are painful. But meeting Yellana,
meeting Pittodu was something special. They were the final stopovers
in Naganna’s long journey.
He did not think Pittodu was such a dose person. When he
was told that Pittodu had in fact married his father’s elder brother’s
son’s daughter, and when Chinam; said, ‘Stay back,’ he thought
of staying back. He did stay back, e fchild in Chinnammi’s arms
climbed on to Naganna’s shoulders.
Naganna was not alone no’ nna, Boodevi, Pittodu,
Chinnammi— ail of them were hi; e. . . He became all the
more close to their child. That chill would scratch his nose. Pull his
hair. Chinnammi’s colour, Pittodu’s hair, the child was wonderful.
Naganna named the child himself.
Subhadra.
Pittodu could not pronounce it. Chinnammi could not pronounce
it. Even then it was Subhadra. The new name was becoming familiar
in Yennela Dinni.
Time was speeding by. During its passage, Yennela Dinni became
a target for many changes. Now Yellanna was not the nude boy who
had run away, to Pakkela Dinni. A young dancer and musician who
had grown a beard and moustache. Dancer Yelladu. Singer Yelladu.

Ruth remembers Reubens words.

Some have snatched wonderful opportunities and infinite resources
from this country. Number of years have gone by.
So many crimes, such hypocrisy as if knowledge is their property.
They ruled, covering themselves with the blanket of caste, holding
the sword of caste. Took lives.
They are the lords of the universe. Equal to Gods. We must pray
to them, must look after them, must revere them. Must mortgage
our entire selves to them. There is purity in their feet. All the holy
shrines are hidden in their left foot. Must wash them. Their feet.
Then infinite holy shrines will be visible.
Some more years passed by on this expansive earth. Kings died.
Their kingdoms collapsed. The white man crossed the oceans and
began to ride over this terrain. Some more years went by.
Wonder. Nothing was destroyed. Caste, untouchability, criminal
acts, looting— nothing ended. In fact, those who said everything was
in the Vedas began seeing everything in the white men’s feet. Do
not know what happened to the holy shrines in the left feet of the
locals. They started to accept holy water from the white men’s feet.
All higher positions only for them. At one instance at
another a colonial mindset. That’s the only difference.
Strange. Saw everything only in English. Completely abandoning
Vedic chants, the speeches began on European lines. When a line was
drawn there, the brush here also drew the same line. When an actor
removed half his moustache there, here too the actor cut it according
to the same measurement.
Literature was born like this. Painting was born like this. Drama
meant this. It would not be otherwise. Resolutions were made.
Judgements were given out. If one were to count the names, except for
one or two that could be set aside, all the others were
All were of colonial mindset.
Some were praised to the skies. Some were stamped into the nether
world. Ravi Varma7 was one of those praised to the skies. They wrote
about the beauties he alone could capture. True. There are many
beauties that he could not capture. Except that they are untouchable
springs. The cast-away movements that showered and shone on
this earth.
Rajamanhar8 does not like to see the roots of Telugu drama in
those outcaste movements. These ‘blessed jurists’ who search for
Telugu drama behind European curtains cannot find drama in the
rhythmic feet of Yellanna’s acting and dance. It is not visible, that’s all.
As Viswanatha9 asked, why is it not visible? It is not visible because
it is not visible. W hat is more, a certain Krishnamurthi can only see
crooked shapes in Yellana’s faces.
Ruth is stupid. Must cut off Reuben’s tongue. In the past, they
poured lead. A developed age. Now it must definitely be cut off. Do
you mean to say there is dance in the mere jumping of the malas, the
madigas and the yanadis? Do you want us to search for the roots of
drama? W hat right do they have to say this? Whatever has to be said
must be said by those who have a right to say. Only when it is said like
that will it become a theory. The words of several good-for-nothing
people like the malas, madigas, yanadis, yerukalas, washermen are
mere good-for-nothing words. The word ‘intellectual’ applies to
only to a few. Perhaps the others will come under ‘good-for-nothing’
category*. This term ‘good-for-nothing’ seems to be a new term. It
would be good to turn the pages of the dictionary. If it is nor there,
it would be better to add it.
 How should expression be? It should be in a particular way. Should
jump up for reason. The other person must not know why you have
jumped. You should not jump lik^: human beings. From somewhere,
somehow, if you float in air, you ijnust be like gods or demons. Take
a step, place a foot there, pull it very daintily, and turn around with
ease, if you combine ‘Om’ with ‘thom’ that is grace. That is dance.
That is the crowning moment of feting. In the creation the great
sage, Bharata, there, there lies the entire secret.
In the houses of the malas ar d madigas of Yennela Dinni, no
cream of milk was kept, no balls of butter.- If there was anything at
all, it would be dried fish. If not t vat, it would be ?!0 No
child Krishna would come for them. There were no Yasodammas
who are told, ‘Have you heard, Ya|odamma?,+ while beating Krishna
daintily in dance and scolding hinji in the musical tones,
The Yasodattha of Yennela Dinni would not sit at that time outside
the threshold awaiting a beautiful, extremely dainty and tuneful
complaint to be made. She would be cutting greens
into the curry vessel. Otherwise sl>e would be pulling out weeds in a
field not her own. She would search the entire earth for a morsel of
food for the moment. All, only a Search. All, only a struggle. To that
Yasoda when child Krishna woul4 open his mouth the entire world
would be visible. That Yasoda w-puld be awe-struck. On her face,
wonder and amazement. But to thfs Yasodattha when the child opens
his mouth, she would see hunger. [She would not be awe-struck. She
would cry. On her face the woncjler and amazement would not be
visible. She would abuse the night that had not kept the leftovers of
food for the following morning. She would curse her birth. But her
anger would not be satiated. She \yould beat her child. After beating
him she would draw him close. She would hide him in her hungry
stomach. Asking him to search for grains of food if only he could
find them. Thus Reuben narrated for hours and days together history
 and literature. Those were not mere words. They were heartaches, the
nails through the cross. I
Reuben! How much this literature has done injustice to the child’s
role! How unnaturally, how artificially has it shaped it! Can one do
such injustice to a mother’s role . . . ? !
W hat is all this, as if the scene his been frozen at a spot after
death, as if it danced after stopping.; A crooked physical shape. A
wonderful crooked shape. A beautiful] crooked sculpture. How even
the beautiful is so ugly! It really seems! that the meaning of beautiful
must be re-written. '
Ruth remembers time and again the sparkle in Reuben’s eyes and
the mischievous smile that showed onihis face when she told him on
hearing his words that the meaning of beauty must be re-written.
When she thinks of it now, Ruth feels! like laughing.
W hat else did Ruth say? Those words must be recollected exactly.
Reuben had in fact recited poetry that]day. Ruth had seen the beauty
of poetry only on that day.
What did she really say?
‘When you talk of beauty, I remember something, Reuben. How
was your Yellanna’s Subhadra? Was she beautiful? More beautiful
than me? . . .’
‘Pick up the stars, arrange them arid draw a line of How
would that be? She was like that,’ saidjReuben. Actually, what a poet
Reuben was! How did he get the skill jcf picking the music from the
pigeon that flew through the slits in| the rocks,11 of chiselling and
arranging it?
Ruth has etched this imaginative pjicture in her heart. She is not
able to get the right strokes. But, she keeps thinking of the word,

‘Yellanna himself wove a song that she was like that. He brought
down the stars into his weave. Combining one star with another, he
kept Subhadra there,’ said Reuben again.
 67

1116 Reuben who said that remained looking into Ruth. Then
| R u t h felt that the final words ought not to have been said. But she
had spoken them. ‘More beautiful than me . . . ’ Did not know why
■but those words felt uncomfortable at that time. Reuben did not turn
his.eyes away.
‘ ‘Your grandson will sing of your beaury.’
Though they very much wanted to, they could not stop laughing
at those words. She can still hear that laughter. That was a laughter
they shared along with Subhadra and Yellanna. Ruth wants to stop
and wants to recollect that laughter over and over again. When
she remembers it, she remembers Subhadra. She was a daughter-in-
law who had stepped into the house just like her. She did not go away
just like that. She departed remaining behind like a song.
Chukkala muggukarra stands in front. How did she grow? In
Nagannas heart, on Pittodu’s affection. How did she learn to take
steps as she tricked Chinnammi? If Boodevi was asked, she would
say she grew up bundling up affection. As for Lingalu, she would
look at the girl without blinking an eye. When the girl played
hopscotch, she would think what could be lost if she jumped over
this threshold. Yerrenkadu would tell Lingalu not to be greedy.
Yerrenkadu had no confidence that Pittodu would give his daughter
to Yellanna who danced and went from place to place.
But what did Yerrenkadu know? If anyone knew anything, only
Boodevi did. Yellanna wove a song. She thought he was weaving an
ordinary song. He interspersed stars in his song. Drew muggus. Sang
it for them. He did not sing it at all times. After the village slept he
sang it over and over again. One day the truth came out. Boodevi did
not think that the girl in the song would stealthily come to his cot.
‘Oh! You, Chukkala muggukarra!’ She said in Subhadra’s hearing.
The girl was startled. She ran, stepping on the thatched gate. The
songster was scared. But the girl turned to look back as she ran. A
strange look. A look like that of Pittodu. A look of the fishing line.
The fish cannot but be caught. But Boodevi felt sorry for her. She
appeared to be frightened. It was surprising that it appeared like that
to her.
It was the peak of summer. On purpose she went and stood under
the tree in front of Pittodu’s house. Subhadra would place a
 cot and lie down on it in the shade of that tree. Boodevi went there. As
soon as Subhadra saw Boodevi, she got up with a start and was about
to go into the house. A scared bird. She took after Pittodu’s looks, not
his courage. Boodevi held her hand and made her sit down.
W hile Subhadra sat on the cot she sat on the floor. She gave
Subhadra a wooden comb. Subhadra was perplexed. She placed the
wooden comb on Boodevi’s hair and tried to find lice. ‘Not lice,
M y back, my back is swollen. Prickly heat.’ Saying
this, she pulled up the blouse on her back. ‘Sit a wooden plank,
appa,’ said Chinnammi bringing a wooden plank. Boodevi sat on
the plank. Subhadra started scratching the spots of prickly heat one
by one with the wooden comb. She would not have done diat had
her mother asked her to. Under different circumstances she would
not have done that for Boodevi either. She remembered the previous
night* incident and agreed. Even otherwise, Subhadra was of the
view that aunt Boodevi was a good person.
Chinnammi began to speak about this and that. There would be
no head or tail to Chinnammi’s conversation. Subhadra felt that it
would be better if mother did not speak. But Chinnammi could not
but speak. After some random talk, the topic of Subhadras marriage
came up. Subhadra heard unexpected words from Boodevi’s mouth.
Boodevi said, ‘W hy don’t you give her to Yellanna? Lingalu’s wish
would be satisfied.’ ‘W hat is there for me? M y husbands wish. The
girl’s wish.’ Saying this, she hurled sharp words to indicate that
her words had no value in this house. Subhadra scratched hard on
Boodevi’s back. ‘That’s enough, my dear. W hy are you showing your
anger towards her on my back?’ said Boodevi. Subhadra was hurt.
‘That’s enough, come, sit here.’ Saying this, Boodevi made her sit on
the wooden plank, and she sat on the cot. She said, ‘Sinni, give the
Chinnammi gave the iribbani. Subhadra untied her hair,
Boodevi put the iribbani in her hair and started parting it and pulling
it down. However much she tried, she could not find any lice. ‘What
kind o f hair is this without lice?’ Saying this, she placed the iribbani
aside, and started stroking with her fingers. Though copper coloured,
how well groomed her hair is, she thought. She said the same words
 aloud. ‘For some, copper coloured hair is fine. If she had black hair,
it wouldn’t have been so good,’ she said. Chinnammi felt at that time
that if the girl moved into their house, she would be happy: But she
did not know Pittodu’s views.
If anyone had enough to eat in Yennela Dinni, it was Pittodu.
Pittodu had a good reputatiofi for carpentry. He went around
villages and built houses. By the! evening, he would bring something
or the other for Subhadra. In Pittodu’s eyes, Subhadra was always a
young girl. He was not bringing Subhadra up like all the other girls
in malapalli. He bought anklet^ for her feet. Bought studs for her
ears. When she wanted to wear a nose ring, he got Lakshmi of the
and was next to her when she pierced her nose. He had a
nose ring made that fitted the nose well. It was only Subhadra in the
entire mala and madiga pajles who wore a saree below her knees.
They would talk about it as a stjrange act in the ooru. He heard the
Reddys comment about tying the saree like that. No one said it to his
face. They knew that if they said it, Pittodu could use his foul mouth.
When he said, ‘Polayi mama, the child wants slippers,’ Poladu got
soft leather and stitched nice ojjies. He also did some art work here
and there. Though it was soft leather, Pittodu rubbed castor oil on it
for three days.
When she went to Bitragunta , 12 wearing her saree below
the knees, slippers, hanging earrings and a nose ring, Madireddy
Subbayamma’s daughter-in-law asked, ‘Who’s this
girl?’ When people next to her said she was Pittodus daughter, she
said, ‘She looks like the karanam’s daughter,’ and praised the girls
colour, hair and dress. She asked her to come to her. She looked at the
girl’s dress and bottu again and again. Coming to know of it, Pittodu
took her to ward off evil all through the night. Chinnammi
took all the dishtis that were needed. Not knowing what other disthi
to be taken, they sent for Boodevi. They told her in detail all the
dishtis they had taken. After listening to everything, Boodevi broke
the betel leaf, applied spit on it [and put it on Subhadras cheek. She
said, ‘That’s enough, Pittoda.’ A&Tiat was funny was that her body
was hot that night. Pittodu abussed Sulochanamma’s eyes with all the
abuses he knew. In the morning, he came to know that it was not
Sulochanamma’s eyes that caused the body to be hot. However soft
 the slipper, would it not bite if it were new? The big toe was sore. That
was all. ‘W hy does my daughter have sores on her big toe, Polayi?’
Pittodu pounced all over Poladu. Pdladu laughed and said, ‘That’s
the hard surface of the slipper, rascsi. Everything will be all tight
by tomorrow.’ It subsided just as he said. Pittodu said, ‘It’s Polayi
manna’s blessings.’ That was how he Brought up Subhadra. That was
why Yerrenkadu suspected that he would not give the girl in marriage
to his son who danced. But Boodevi jfelt that Pittodu would not say
no to his daughter and go somewhere else. Not that there was no
reason to believe that. She knew how much Subhadra liked Yellanna.
She also knew better how Pittodu’s hard heart would melt if he saw
tears in the girl’s, eyes.
It happened just as Boodevi imagined. Pittodu looked for a match
from Kolia Dinni. He said they would come for a feast the next
day. Then Silbhadra spoke in a cut and dried manner. That if at all
she married, she would marry Yellanna. Then Pittodu thought of
Yellanna in a composed frame of miind. He was the only child of
Yerrenkadu’s family on the one hand and Boodevi’s on the other. He
himself had only one daughter. Yellan.na would go around villages to
dance. Let him go around so long a:> he returned home. There was
no need for him to toil to take care cff Subhadra. After thinking like
that, he conveyed his view to Chinnaimmi. Chinnammi whispered it
to Boodevi. Boodevi, Yenkatanarsu and Lingalu went along with the
pedda mala to Pittodu’s house for ths feast. They decided on giving
the girl three rupees and six anas as bride price, anklets and ear studs.
Fixing the auspicious time and performing the marriage took place
in the next few Boodevi said char Yellanna and Subhadra would
live with her. Yerrenkadu said okay td this.

Subhadra did not come in the way of his dancing and singing. As for
Boodevi, she felt satisfied if he returned at night even if he roamed
around during the day. Did not knovjr what it was, but Yenkatanarusu
went around villages saying it was for business. Yellanna was going
around villages saying i t was for dancing. Only the two women were left
 in the house. Somehow Boodevi did r_ot like that mode of behaviour.
But she was looking after Subhadra better than Chinnammi did. She
felt as if more than Yellanna, Subhadra was close to her, as if born
to her. She would feel that the sooner she got pregnant the better it
would be. Subhadra fulfilled Boodevi s and became pregnant.
Had a male child. It was Naganna who named him Sivaiah. Sivaiah
was the whole world for Boodevi and Subhadra.
The impression made on Yellanna in childhood was not erased. As
a young person he developed a knack for singing. He perfected the
rhythm of the dance steps. When he was- older he was determined
to learn the play. He urged Naganna. Naganna
not only had knowledge of Urumula dance but also Bayalata of
Rayalaseema. Chandrappa who had made him such an artist was no
less an artist. He knew .14To sum up, Chandrappa had
a good command of the folk. It is that knowledge which he instilled,
along with that of Urumula dance, in Naganna. Chandrappa had a
natural anger towards the pundits. In that anger, he narrated many
stories. Rather than say narrated, it would be better to say wove. All
that Chandrappa told him, Naganna told Yellanna. He combined it
with dance and song.
‘A Maharashtrian, our man. He narrated the puranas with puppets.
Let these pundits try and create the Ketugadu and Bangarakka15 he
made. Where will their Krishna anc. Radha stand in front of our
Bangarakka and Ketugadu?’ He used to say such things. After saying
everything he would ask, ‘Haven’t you understood? Must understand.
This is a small matter. If you dig, there’s a lot. If you want to bury,
it’s quite deep. Must dig. Must scoop out basketfuls of mud. Must
fill huge pits.’ He would go on like this. Yellanna would fix his eyes
solely on Naganna and listen.
One day, he narrated a story saying, ‘Brahma is a great crook.’
Brahmadeva wrote a play and gave it to the gods.
The play began. Among the audience there are gods and there are
demons. In his natural style, Naganna said, means gods and
means demons.’ When he said that, he had confidence that
not only they but we too knew the meaning.
The play began. It was half way through.
 There was commotion in the audience. The (demons)
were impatient. In the play, injustice was being done to them. As a
writer, Brahma plotted. As a director he took the side of the gods.
The rakshasa characters were losing. The rakshasa spectators could
not tolerate it. They revolted. They kicked soundly the ones among
the gods they could lay their hands on. The gods ran in all four
directions. Yellanna! He. Who? That Bemma, the crook of the
world . . . when his loin cloth was coming off and he was running.
He was going to defecate on the banks of Ganga . . . W ill Ganga
keep quiet . . . Who is she? Whose mother is she? Our mother. The
mother of the Urumula people. "Bemma, don’t do such dirty things,”
she said. Not just that. “Your are polluting me. Take them away
too,” she said. Brahma cut a sorry figure. Ganga called her thousand
and one sons and thousand and one daughters. The thousand and
one sons were just then draining honey from the hives. The thousand
and one daughters were just then working on the fields. Hearing
their mothers voice, Ganga’s children left their work behind and
assembled at their mother’s bank. They saluted their mother ten
thousand times. They asked her to tell them why she had called
them. It was then that Ganga saw the children. Her eyes were filled
with tears. The children were shaken. They said their mother’s pain
was theirs. “Come, , Gangamma, primeval Gangamma! Oh
golden doll! We are your children, amma. We are your babies, amma.
Tell us what to do, our mother. Tell us, amma.” They thus prayed to
their mother. The mother’s heart melted. She was overwhelmed. She
touched the children’s bodies. She moistened her children’s throats.
She said, “Chase away the stinking pundits.” Ganga’s children made
Brahma and his rishis run around the three worlds. Chasing them,
they came near the mother. Seeing her children, the mother swelled
and rolled. A swelled up stream merged with the ocean. The swelled
up stream irrigated all the fields. Ganga calmed down. But, Yellanna!
The pundits who were chased by Ganga’s children conspired. They
put on curtains for the play. They built tents around the curtains.
Closing the temple doors they performed Surasura Puranam. Have
you understood? They don’t have the courage to perform in front
of the people. We are not like that. Our jumping is only in front
of crowds. Whether Bangarakka dances on the screen, whether
 Alisigadu tells jokes, whether Narasimhaswami is on the way out, it
is all in front of the people.’ (
Thus Naganna would tell Yellanna all the secrets of the puranas
that Chandrappa had told him. He would ask, ‘Have you
understood?’ just the way Chandrappa had. He w eald say chat
the matter was a small one but 'that it was as deep as you dug. He
would say it was a pit as far as you could fill. Must dig, must fill, he
would say. Yellanna would listen. Would listen intently. He did
not think there was so much difficulty in digging. Did not think
burying was such a big task. j
One day when the full motjm cast her full glow, he made the
Bagotam troupe sit on the sand pnounds of Yennela Dinni.
They would toil all day long They would assemble on the sand
mounds at night. They would learn as Naganna taught them. They
would not keep the written p ay of Chenchulakshmi in front of
them. Whatever Naganna said were Chenchulakshmi’s words and
song. The same for other roles too. It took them two months to learn
the text. Everyone ought to knpw the entire play. Each one would
have to be in a position to tak e on any role. Another month was
taken up to learn the steps. On the whole, the play was ready to be
performed in three months.
At first Naganna asked Yellinna to perform Chenchulakshmi’s
role. But they could not find anyone' for Narasimhaswami’s role. So
Yellanna learnt that role. From then on that role was talked about in
the neighbourhood as Yellanna’si
It was known in the neighbouring places that the Bagotam troupe
had got together in the palle of Yennela Dinni. It became a kind of
wonder to the ooru of Yennela Dinni. It became a joke. They would
make fun of it with those who came to work. It became a topic of
amusement at the meeting place.
The first performance was i t the malapalli of Yennela Dinni.
Yellana played the role of Narasimhaswami. Subhadra sat between
Boodevi and Chinnammi and watched Yellanna’s song and dance
without blinking an eye. When they quarrelled saying, ‘A dilatchmi,
I’m going hunting and will be back,’ she thought, ‘Did he ever tell
me anything like that when he went somewhere?’ When he told
Chenchulakshmi, ‘I can climb; trees, I can climb hills,’ she thought
 to herself, ‘Just boasting, ask him t© climb a tamarind tree and pluck
the fruit, and then see his greatness!’
She said aloud to Boodevi, ‘He can’t climb a tamarind tree.’
Boodevi pulled Subhadra close. Subhadra moved very close. It was
not Yellanna or the actors along with Yellanna who performed the
play. It was Naganna who performed. He played every role that was
needed, from the sutradhara to anything else. The play that began
after the night meal lasted till the morning.
Performing here or at what level it was performed was not
significant. People from the neighbouring mala and madiga palles
came. They knew that people from such castes did perform in
Rayalaseema in that manner. They knew that in the northern
regions too they performed this here and there. They had at least
heard of Sindu Bagotam of the madigas in Telangana, and Veedi
Bagotam in coastal Rayalaseema of the malas. It was in fact new
in the Yennela Dinni region. That was why people came from Kolia
Dinni, Pakkela Dinni, Chintalagunta and other neighbouring
villages. The malapalli and madigapalli of Yennela Dinni were
packed with kinsfolk. The local people killed chickens to satisfy their
relatives. It looked as if the entire; moonlight of a moonlit night
shone on the palle of Yennela Di:ini. Women dressed in the best
they had. They removed the knots in their hair. They decorated their
hair with flowers. As for Boodevi, she was ecstatic. Looking at her
nephew with make-up smeared oil his face, with shoulder blades
glistening, jewellery in the ears, a necklace, a sword and other such
ornaments, she remembered the Yellanna who had got on to her arms
and said, ‘A ttha, I cant see.’ She i’elt like laughing. She wanted to
take his dishti to ward off evil. She tihought of doing it after the
performance. As for Naganna, he p it sQme camphor on a coconut, lit
it, rotated it four times around Yellanna and threw it on the ground.
Boodevi thought Naganna had a kxge heart.
Those who in the past had sat Unseen at a great distance, now
sat on wooden planks and sheets they brought along next to ‘the
circular space reserved for the pe rformance.’ That was an amazing
experience. It was also new to watch it from so near. If the one who
was sitting got up for some reaso n, Vie found someone sitting there
when Vie got back. "When tbe on e v/Vio came back asked tbe person
 who sat in his place to get up, fights, shouts, abuses, all happened quite
openly. When Pittodu sat down with a stick and swung it around
saying, ‘Hey, sit down,’ the people said, that’s Atchireddy!’
When any jatara took place, when happened finally or
when took place in the ooru, Atchireddy would swing his stick
like that and threaten. That was a kind of power. That was a kind of
authority. But Naganna was very happy with that commotion. He
could pinpoint the reason.
Something strange happened before the performance began. In
the surrounding areas, that was discussed more than the performance.
The prayer to Gananadha was over. The song on Potulooraiah too was
over. Then Naganna, the narrator said, ‘ , servant.’ Then the one
playing the cymbals came forward and said, ‘A yya.’ ‘Are you guarding
the gateway?’ he said. ‘I am. Come soon, ayya. Got to releieve myself
urgently,’ he said. Everyone burst out laughing. Naganna waited till
that laughter subsided. People were laughing freely watching the
performance. They were not afraid that the karanam would see. They
were not inhibited that the rich kapus would listen. The performance
was theirs. Those who performed, those who were watching were
they themselves. When the laughter ceased, Naganna said words that
lifted their self-respect to the sky. Words that gave a different turn to
tradition.
‘Arey, servant!’
‘A yya.’
‘Have the great pedda mala and the pedda madiga who is as great
come and adorned the seats?’
The same expression.
That single word. . .
Silence. The people wondered whether they had really heard the
words they had. W hat did he say? Ah! Did he say that! The crowd
was wonder-struck. The sky was a picture where the moonlit clouds
were scurrying hurriedly for some odd reason. A severe turmoil in
Pittodu’s blood, did not know why, or even if he did, he did not quite
understand.
 ‘W hy don’t you speak, servant. . . Have the great pedda mala and
the pedda madiga who is as great come or not? . . . ’
He said it again. Now the people heard it very clearly.
‘They’re coming, my lord.’
The people turned to look behind. Naganna had told the two
of them not to come till they heard those words. The two of them
were sitting on a mound far away from the performance. They felt
as if they were sitting, as was dhe practice in the past, till they were
called. After their names were called out, they thought it was not like
that. They felt difficulty in walking that short distance. They did not
know how to take those steps. It was new. It was strange as the crowd
looked towards them.
‘We have two karanams, Pittodu,’ said someone. Loud peals of
laughter. In the midst of that laughter, the two elders continued
to walk and sat down in front as if they had made that final journey.
The performance began.
Narasimhaswami told Adilakshmi that he was going hunting.
Adilakshmi did not agree at first. She finally agreed. Narasimhaswami
saw Chenchulakshmi in the forest. He liked her. If he were to be
her companion, Chenchulakshmi needed to find out certain facts
starting from whether he could climb trees to whether he could
squeeze honey from the hive, all that an ordinary forest boy could
do. Narasimhaswami said he would do everything. In the play you
could witness only real people. Not gods, goddesses, mantras and
You could only see the every-day life in those characters.
W hen Chenchulakshmi asked.her questions, old Subbaratnam in the
crowd said, ‘Oh girl! Find out whether he’ll reap the harvest?’
Someone said, ‘Yerrenka, does your son know how to reap the
harvest?’ Yellanna, in the role of Narisimhaswami, said without
flinching, ‘I know that, too.’ ‘What boasting, said
Subhadra to Boodevi. ‘Naughty girl!’ Boodevi said, pinching
Subhadra’s cheeks. Subhadra was looking, with her head almost in
Boodevi’s lap.
Chenchulakshmi told Narasimhaswami to ask her father. The
talks between Chenchulakshmi’s father and Narasimhaswami began.
Chenchulakshmi’s father would say how much the ‘bride price’ was.
He would say a of betelnuts. He would say five bundles of leaves.
 When he said that, ‘Not a seer pf betelnuts but a seer and a half,
Kotiga,’ someone from the crowd piped in. Kotigadu played the role
of Chenchulakshmi’s father. Someone else said, ‘Not a seer and a
half, two seers.’ That was someone from Pakkela Dinni. Someone
else said, ‘It’s only a seer and a half in Kolia Dinni.’ Another said,
‘For Chintalagunta, betelnuts do:at count . . . leaves, leaves not five
bundles, but seven.’ ‘What counts; is Yennela Dinni’s practice!’ ‘What
counts is Pakkela Dinni’s practice.’ . . . A big debate began about
bride price in the crowd.
Yellanna was surprised.
Naganna was happy.
Kotigadu was looking on, unaltble to understand what practice to
support.
The real play was going oh like that. In the midst of the crowd,
along with the crowd. . .
‘A nd now which bride price do you want, oh, King of the
mountains!’ Yellanna, as Narasimhaswami, asked.
‘A dd everything and say, Kotiga,’ the pedda mala gave his verdict
as if he was opening the
Sutradhara Naganna took the role of the elder on Narasimhaswami’s
side and started speaking. He said, ‘Okay, King, according to the
convention of Yennela Dinni, according to the convention of
Pakkela Dinni, according to the convention of Kolia Dinni and
according to the convention of C aintalagunta—we’ll add everything
and give as many seers of betelhut ;md as many bundles of leaves as the
total. Do you agree to give your daughter to our Narasimhaswami?’
The crowd said that was good.
As for the fights of co-wives, that between Chenchulakshmi and
Adilakshmi, there was no need to talk about it. It was such fun!
The performance continued till morning. They watched it with
contentment. More than that, they watched it freely.
 After the performance was over, Pakkela Dinni malapalli people
said, ‘You should perform in our palle.’ Kolia Dinni said, ‘Afterwards,
in ours.’ Chintalagunta people said, "What about our palle?’
Yellanna said it was up to Naganna. Naganna said yes to all the
three villages. All the three villages said the performance was great.
By the time they came to Chintalagunta, Narasimhaswami’s awesome
godly figure was clearly visible in Yellanna. Naganna thought that
the differences between the Narasimhaswami with Adilakshmi,
the ferocious Narasimhaswami, arid the Narasimhaswami with
Chenchulakshmi were clearly visible in his acting and song. Yellanna
was a natural actor. Not just an ordinary person. In fact, Veedhi
Bagotam is a great representation of the combination of song, music,
dance and expression. A society. A culture. A living art of turning gods
and goddesses into true village folk, c}f conversing and of performing
amidst people without the obstructing curtains.
Everywhere around, the only thing you heard was that if you had
to see anything, you had to see Yenne% Dinni Atelladu perform. After
the Chenchu they learnt Yellanna left a mark on the
crowd as Hiranyakasipu. He grew to such proportions that they beat
the drum to advise pregnant women hot to come to the performance.
Naganna in his last days began Potuluri Veerabrahmam’s play.
W hile on the one hand Atelladu’sj name and fame were growing,
on the other there was the beginningjof a strange atmosphere among
the upper castes. That was not just the elders of the upper
castes of Yennela Dinni. That atmosphere which was hard to swallow
even for them was beginning to bd seen in Pakkela Dinni, Kolia
Dinni, Chintalagunta and every villajge in other neighbouring areas.
As for the elders of the ooru of Yennela Dinni, it appeared as if it was
something that was shameful. I
As Chandrappa had said, the master was small. But there would
be a great depth. If you buried it wotild take a lot of mud.
The performance of Atelladu was on only in the mala and madiga
palles. That was not a problem. They yrould not any way call them and
organise a performance in the ooru. Atelladu’s name was known not
only among the malas and madigas but also among other castes. After
coming to know that the performance vn Yennela Dinni was good,
the washermen, barbers and potters went at first to the neighbouring
 village on some pretext and saw it. Later they went saying it was to
see the performance. It did not stop there. They started going to the
Yennela Dinni palle itself. . . Even then, this was not a big issue. But
the Reddys did not budge. That was enough for Atchireddy.
But as to where the problem began, it was customary for the
narrator to ask before the performance, ‘Has the karanamgaru come,
have the kapus come?’ and to begin the performance only after
their arrival. Once in a while, if the Reddy came late and asked for
the performance to start all over again, it would begin again. But
in Atelladu’s performance, the sutradhara Naganna was not asking,
‘Has the great karanamagaru come?’ He was saying, ‘Have the great
‘pedda mala’ and the ‘pedda madiga’ who is as great come? The two
of them were coming and sitting down like karanams. That became
the major issue. For the young karanam, for Atchireddy and for some
other elders of Yennela Dinni it was as if they had been put to shame.
The upper caste arrogance could not digest that change. In their eyes,
Naganna and Yellanna appeared like big criminals. They thought
they ought not to swallow the heinous act of raising the mala and
madiga to the level of a karanam or a kapu. They thought of teaching
them both a lesson.
They made Dibbalamitta the scene of the battlefield. Dibbalamitta
was a mile away from Chintalagunta. That was Atchireddy’s in­
laws’ village. It was well known that there was no one around those
neighbourhoods who was as much of an obstinate fool as Atchireddy’s
father-in-law. When there was an argument, he hit his wife with a
three-legged plank and she died. Without even informing her people,
he performed her last rites. As washerman Mangaiah’s land was next
to his, he pushed the life out of him till he made it a part of his. When
the elder karanam was still alive he would visit him often. It was then
that he saw Atchireddy. He gave away his daughter and along with
her gave five acres of wet land and two acres of dry land. Once when
he came to visit his daughter at Yennela Dinni he heard the younger
karanam and Atchireddy discussing Atelladu. He said after listening
to everything, ‘If it were me, I would kill those two bastards.’ When
he knew that there was a performance in Dibbalamitta he sent word
about it through a man to his son-in-law and asked him to let him
know through the man what he should do. Atchireddy sent word
 through the naan, ‘W hat is there for me to say? Let him do what he
thimks fit.’
Bukkireddy sent word to the mala and madiga elders the day before
the performance. He told them that if Atelladu’s performance took
place in Dibbalamitta both the palles would be reduced to ashes.
He thought that it was unnecessary to say anything more to them.
And if they still wanted the performance to take place, he said they
should not call out to the pedda mala and the pedda madiga the way
the karanams and kapus were called. He said they could have the
performance if they did not call in that manner and then told them
they could go home. That very night a man went from Dibbalamitta
to Yennela Dinmi After telling them what Bukkireddy said, he told them,
‘We’ll have it later, Yellanna.’ Yellanna looked at Naganna. Naganna
began to think. He felt that the battle was turning another way.
Till now, neither Naganna nor Yellanna had suspected that inviting
the pedda mala and the pedda madiga before the performance would
turn so When Naganna came to know of Bukkireddy’s
threat, he remembered Chandrappa’s words once again. He thought
there was a lot to be dug, a lot to be filled. He thought that his
life was being pushed in anotner direction without his knowledge.
He looked at Yellanna. He thought that Yellanna was not a fish in
the net. He thought he was a fish swimming against the net. He
felt that the fish was unaware it was swimming like that. He felt
that he ought to tell Yellanna all that was happening now. He sent
word for Pittodu. He asked nim to go to madigapalli and bring
Polayi, and Mataiah’s nephew Musalaiah. He asked the man who had
come to stay overnight and then go back. They walked towards the
stream bank.
The four of them sat down on the bank. Naganna told them
all that had happened. After listening to everything, Polayi said it
would not be right not to have the performance. Pittodu said that the
performance must take place. Musalaiah remained silent. As far as
possible he remained quiet. He spoke rarely. Mataiah’s father’s sister’s
son, Musaliah, reminded him of Mataiah. The situation of the palle,
if the performance took place, was quite evident. They thought it
would be better to go to that palle that very night and talk. They felt
they could take a decision rignt there. After the meal, they walked
 towards Dibbalamitta along with the man who came. A strange mist
combined with moonlight dew \yas running over the sand dunes.
The barks of watch dogs of the fields were heard. Dibbalamitta was
not that far away. Could reach before the moving star appeared.
That very night, at the very hoiir the four of them sat at the stream
bank, the elders of the ooru sat atjthe meeting place. Atchireddy was
proud to hear one or two say in the conversation, ‘If there’s any one
who is a man, it’s Bukkireddy.’ A couple of others praised Atchireddy
too. The young karanam did not jfind those words palatable. He felt
that Bukkireddy was usurping hijs fathers place and Atchireddy his
place unobtrusively. He wanted to divert the conversation.
‘Isn’t Naganna Narigadu’s son?,’
As soon as the young karanam Said it, Atchireddy looked at him. It
was not because the young karanam did not know that Naganna was
Narigadu’s son that he was asking the question. He said it purposely.
Atchireddy knew that the young karanam would not say anything
just like that. For that moment hq said yes and kept quiet. Even when
everyone else left, the two of the^n sat on at the meeting place. As if
they had decided together, ‘Farming on the mala’s mound’ occurred
to them both.
‘That day itself we should have prevented,’ the young karanam said.
‘Which day?’ Though Atchireddy knew which day, he wanted to
hear it from the young karanams mouth.
‘The day the malas and madigas started farming on the mala’s
mound,’ the karanam said calmly.
The farming on mala’s mound appeared in front of
Atchireddy’s eyes.

Not just the farming on the malas mound but the younger karanam s
words, ‘Let the devil’s m ound;eat the devils, Atchireddy,’ struck
Atchireddy as significant. [
That day the younger karanam had said just that. But in fact there
were many fields other than the jmaJa’s mound that did not count in
the surroundings of Yennela! Diijni.
 Even now people knew of those only as karanam’s fields. Not that
the people of Yennela Dinni did not al »o understand the true story of
the gifted lands. No one had the courage to talk about the extent of
land the elder karanam had encroach*ed upon, not only in Yennela
Dinni but in the surrounding villages, in the guise of land gifted to
him.
The people belonging to the categories of washermen, barbers,
potters, blacksmiths and the carpenter castes did not know how
much of the lands given to them in exchange for their bonded labour
was encroached upon by the karanam. Everyone knew of the two
acres of land that was given as gift for the potters’ clay. Only the
elder karanam knew it was five acres. The washermen
knew only of the lake and the six acres! adjacent to it for washing and
drying clothes. T^e rest only the elder {karanam could tell. There were
no devadasis in that village. But twentjy-five acres were accounted for
in the name .of the. devadasis. The karjanaim would say it was part of
god’s land. It was the karanam who enjoyed all of that, whether it was
in the name of god or in the name of die devadasis. The gift of land in
exchange of the bonded labour would be cancelled out with the grain
measured out during harvest time. The bonded labourers did not ask
if they had lands, and if they did, how much they had. The karanam
did not say. It was no wonder that the people of Yennela Dinni did
not know that there was ‘land gifted in exchange of work’. But those
gifts were there in the karanam’s accounts.
When Naganna had just arrived in Yennela
Rayalaseema, when in some content the words
were mentioned, Yerrenkadu and Yenkatanarsu had their mouths
wide open. But only Pittodu insistejd oh his telling them what it
meant. W hen there was a border dispute between Yennela Dinni
and Chintalagunta to the east of it, Naganna jokingly said he would
resolve the fight if he were given ‘muddala inam’. It was then that they
heard that expression. There would foe a person appointed to resolve
the border dispute; he would determine the borders and would place
balls of rice ( ) along the borders. That was called muddala
inam’. Such things that surprised people like Pittodu brought
luck to the karanam. WTiat is surprising is that when the British
government started paying the village servants in terms of money, the
 major part of these payniernts remained with the karanams and the
landlords as their own property. This is an amazing drama performed
concerning land.
The younger karanam was indeed very farsighted. He sold lands
to the peasants with foresight. He was observing quite keenly the
contours of the village which were changing day by day. He would
sometimes think of leaving Yennela Dinni and going to Nellore.
The elder son was studying. The son-in-law had a good say under
the landlord’s patronage. Even in the ooru, farmers like Atchireddy
were gaining importance in the governing of the village. Bukkireddy
of Dibbalamitta gave some lands to Atchireddy when he gave his
daughter in marriage to him. The previous year he had bought ten
acres of land. As there was wasteland next to it, he encroached on
it and added it to his fields without even a word to the younger
karanam. When he turned a blind eye to Atchireddy, a couple of
other farmers too the same. Ordinary people themselves
as belonging to such-and-such a reddy did not for some reason please
him. Some things that happened without his knowledge were not in
his favour. There, under those circumstances, he said, ‘Let the devils
eat the mala’s mound, Atchireddy.’
But the younger karanam did not call them and say, ‘Mala’s
mound—you cultivate it.’ On the day of the border dispute between
Yennela Dinni and Chintalagunta, Pittodu and Naganna talked
about a number of things in a light- vein. Pittodu felt a bit agitated.
He tried to egg on people of his age group. He felt a little hopeful.
They said, ‘It would be good if you egg on the madiga youth.’ The
madiga youth in madigapalli got ready. Musalaiah and Poladu came
forward.
Naganna drew up the strategy. They thought of chopping down
the trees on the mala’s mound first. They thought that if the karanam
asked or if farmers like Atchireddy asked, they would say it was for
firewood. They set out rather scared the first day. They stopped after
chopping down two or three trees. Those who went that day were
all young. Only Naganna was with them. Though he did not cut
the trees, Yellanna stayed on with Naganna. Because Yellanna went
there, Yerrenkadu almost had fever from fright. The second day, the
number increased. They chopped trees until afternoon. It appeared
 as if no farmer paid any attention to it. The third day the number
increased further. They chopped down about half the trees and the
thorny bushes of the mound.
It was then that the ooru started to think. The elders of the ooru had
a meeting. They asked the malas and madigas to assemble under the
tree in the morning. Outside the village, on the road separating
the two palles, is a huge neem tree. Some say it was there even before
the village was born, and some others say that the elder karanam’s
father planted it. tree slowly became the geviti tree. There
was also a platform under it. If they had to call the malas and madigas
they would do so under that very tree. To give verdicts to the malas
and the madigas in the ooru was not considered proper. That was
why they did not call them to the usual meeting place but to the
meeting place under the geviti tree. Some came from malapalli and
some from madigapalli. The younger karanam sat on the platform.
Atchireddy too sat next to him. The other Reddys sat in the back row.
The barber, Veeraswami, and the washerman, Singanna, whom they
had brought along, stood on either side. Far away from them stood
the bonded labourer, Yellamanda, and the paid servant.
‘Malas mound has remained unused. We thought of cleaning
it up.’
Naganna spoke those words. The younger karanam kept staring at
Naganna. Naganna was Narigacu’s son. It was not as if the younger
karanam did not know how Narigadu had died. The younger karanam
had his own suspicions about his father s death. But for ‘Rangayi’ in
between, he too would have gone a long way. Atchireddy had fallen
at his feet appealing to him not to drag his mother on to the streets.
In any case, the father who was dead would not come back. That
was why though there were all kinds of talk outside about his fathers
death, he kept his thoughts to himself. Not just that, the changes
that were taking place in Yennela Dinni too were making him think
in a different vein. Whether Atchireddy or the other reddys noticed,
the younger karanam did not know, but he noticed something.
The meeting at the geviti tree happened very rarely. When such a
thing happens, however much the malas and madigas were asked to
come, so many people would never come. Sometimes they had to be
threatened and brought to the meeting. But now a great many had
 come. In the past, when something happened, each one would blame
the other. But now Naganna himself began to speak. The younger
karanam thought that there was ainother thing to be noticed. When
they used to work in the elder karanam’s fields, even the meal baskets
for the malas and madigas were kept separately. Even at the meeting
place they would sit in separate grpups. Now it was not like that. All
of them sat together. The looks of Pittodu among the malas and of
Poladu among the madigas seemed slightly different. They seemed
suspicious. The looks of the pedda fcnala and the pedda madiga did not
seem agitated. They were not scareid. The yoUnger karanam looked at
Atchireddy. Though it was not new for Atchireddy to take part in the
meeting, it was new to sit next to the karanam. The karanam thought
it would be good if Atchireddy dijd not sit next to him like that but
sat in the row behind him. I
‘We thought of telling you aftet chopping down the trees.’ It was
not as if the younger karanam dicj not know that Naganna was not
telling the truth.
‘When we wanted to tell you earlier, we came to know you had
gone to Nellore.’
The younger karanam thought that those words were in fact
appropriate to his status. He felt t^iat for someone desiring change it
was good to guard his status to that extent. Whether Naganna had
told the truth or not, he felt he had placed him on a higher plane.
But as for Atchireddy, he did not like those words. In the words of
Naganna where he said, ‘We wantjed to inform you after chopping,’
he felt the ‘you’ included himself. But the second remark revealed
that he was not included. Even if the karanam was not there, could
they not have told him? He did hot like their considering him so
low.
‘What if he wasn’t there? Aren’t we there? You could’ve told us,’
he said unable to contain the words. Atchireddy’s words made the
karanam angry. But thinking it wai better not to say anything aloud,
he said, ‘If I weren’t there, you could’ve told Atchireddy.’ Though he
said that, he was worried Naganna blight say he was wrong not to teil
Atchireddy. He felt it would be gpod if he did not say so. Naganna
did not say anything. The younget: karanam was happy that he did
not say
 Naganna had his own reasons. Not that the karanam was unaware
of it. After all, intelligence is no one persons property. From the rat in
the hole to the snake next to the hale—-each to its own intelligence.
Except that ‘hole’ alone is the problem. This institution has only dug
pits for the Nagannas. It asked them to live in the darkness of the pit.
Nagannas would not but learn to dig If they kept quiet, it
would not be history. There would be no progress in it. It would be
like history written and cast away by some rishi with matted hair. For
every hole dug by the rat in the fields, there would be a second secret
outlet elsewhere. That’s known as the elikalugu. That passage might
have been made a little late. That’s the only difference.
The younger karanam was looking at Naganna. As for Atchireddy,
he was unable to tolerate the fact that not a word was coming out of
Nagannas mouth. Fie came to the conclusion that it was not right to
speak in such a calm manner with the riff-raff. He was mouthing curse
words. The younger karanam kept watching. It was not Atchireddy
that he was watching. Not his words. He was observing Pittodu’s
eyes when Atchireddy was mouthing curse words. He was studying
Musalaiah’s looks. He was thinking of Polaiah who was moving
uneasily. He was measuring the impatience in the looks and the
agitation in the movement with a karanam’s sense of accounting. His
fathers death came to be on the debit side. Atchireddy’s behaviour
came to be on the credit side. He thought it would be good if the
land belonged to them. It was not the intelligence of a single day. The
white man was not doing anything new on this land when he divided
and ruled. He only used what was already there.
The elder karanam used to keep dividing the malas and the
madigas. He drew lines scientifically so they could not unite. Then,
there were no Atchireddys in his circle, at his level. When he drew
the line and said. ‘Do this much, Atchireddy,’ he did just that, gave
him his share and kept the rest. During the younger karanam’s time
there appeared a huge change in status. The Atchireddys were not in
a state where a line could be drawn and they would accept what was
given. At one time Bukkireddy would come asking, ‘W hat shall we
do, But now, Vie was saying,, ‘If I were to. . . ’ In dividing,
t\\e yo u n g s Wtananv was nvoving tVve pawns in anotWt direction.
 ‘It would have been good to have told Atchireddy.’ He said this
easily, two or three times.
‘But Atchireddy, let the devil’s mound eat the devils, Atchireddy.’
Saying this, he got up. Whatever might be, he felt the meeting ought
to end with his words.
‘Let’s go now.’
Saying these words, he got up. Atchireddy got up unwillingly. On
the way, he told Atchireddy, ‘Families shouldn’t sit on our heads. But
they aren’t clearing up the mala’s mound for families to live, right?’
He kept talking. No matter what he said, Atchireddy found the
words empty.
Pittodu did not think that the problem would be solved like
that. Pittodu also did not like Naganna saying, ‘We thought of
telling you after we chopped down the trees.’ WTaen he told this to
Poladu, he said, ‘What else could he say other than that,
As for Musalaiah, he said, ‘I too didn’t like it.’ That night, he asked
Naganna outright. Naganna did not kugh it off. He explained his
thinking in great detail. ‘They did not storm the field. They called
for a meeting. I felt a slight rift was developing between the younger
karanam and Atchireddy at the meeting. That’s why I spoke like that.
As it’s the devil’s mound and as the karanam thinks that the elder
karanam’s death too is tied up with it, been able to get the land.
Otherwise it wouldn’t have been so easy/ said Naganna.
Whatever be the reasons, the malas and madigas made the mala’s
mound cultivable. They shared a piece of land each. They ought to
remember Narigadu and Mataiah. Their sacrifice. Their courage. The
blood they shed. The debt of blood they repaid. History continued
like that. Not just the head of Sambuka or the thumb of Ekalavya.
The examples of dalit history did not stop with them. The revolts, the
struggles, the sacrifices and the courage of the untouchables— that
history had not taken into account or even if it had, had not given
it due importance—were not lucky to see the light and became one
with darkness. Those who speak with little knowledge would say
something or the other but struggle is not an ideal for the malas and
madigas. It is a necessity. As it is a necessiry, the Narigas and Mataiahs
dared so much. There is no page in the history of the struggle of this
country that has not been soaked in their blood. There is no instance
which is not connected with their courage. They have fought for
the land. They have fought for their livelihood. They have fought
for their self-respect. The present too is the same. The present life
struggle too is the same. That is not an ideal. A necessity.
In feet the malas mound was cultivated. It became a thing of the
past. But Atchireddy and the younger karanam were reminded of
it in the self-respect hidden in Yellannas performance. The younger
karanam took the giving up of the mala’s mound lighdy. But he
was unable to tolerate placing the mala and madiga elders on the
same plane as the karanam ai Yellanna’s performance. He took it as
a grave insult. But he only thought that he should not soil his hand.
That was why he,told Atchireddy, ‘We should have confronted them
that day itself.’ That which happened that day was not going to be
repeated again. But if he were to suggest, ‘I didn’t pay heed to your
words, Reddy,’ Atchireddy would lift him on to his shoulders. In fact,
that was what actually happened. The younger karanam instigated
Atchireddy and went to his daughter’s place. The enraged Atchireddy
charged directly towards Dibbalamitta.
Yellanna and Naganna came across a strange atmosphere at
Dibbalamitta. The people from both palles were finding it difficult to
speak to them. That atmosphere put Pittodu, Musalaiah and Poladu
in an awkward situation. As if the pedda mala and the pedda madiga
had concurred, as if there was nothing more they could do, they
said, ‘Perform without addressing us.’ They said, ‘If not, we can’t
live confronting Bukkireddy.’ They also came to know the news that
Atchireddy too was in Dibbalamitta. There were strong rumours
that the reddys of the neighbouring villages were coming in bullock
carts to Dibblamitta and that they would attack the palles any time.
Naganna thought that the price of self-respect was too high.
‘W hy are Atchireddy and his father-in-law more concerned about
their status than the karanam?’
‘Who said the karanam isn’t concerned? He instigated them and
slinked away.’
‘The people of the ooru will come. W hy should you address the
elders like that? Stop it. And perform.’
‘Women and elders are so keen about seeing Yellannas performance.’
‘Perform without addressing like that,’ said Bukkireddy.
 ‘To perform as he wants, are We cattle confined to his shed?’
‘W hat a man!’ j
Words. Around Yellanna. Arqunc Naganna. They kept listening.
Did not understand what to say. ljiid to say something. Had to decide
on something. That something wa> whether to perform without
addressing the elders with respect?'Or not to perform? Yellanna
thought they had to decide on one of the two. The entire problem
was not in performing. It was with the elders. The palles did not
dare have a performance addressing the elders with respect. Doing
such a thing needed a lot of couraj; ;e. Therefore, Yellanna thought
not to perform would be the best way to save self-respect. He felt he
should at least retain that. He said that to Naganna. Naganna too
was waiting for that decision. Actually, he himself thought of saying
that. His life was now in the dusky rwiiight. Yellanna was the newly
blazing dawn. He thought that] it was good that the decision came
from there.
Not only that, this atmosphere had an impact on his life. He felt
that some unknown turmoil and a nxiery were squeezing his heart.
He felt as if he was not in a state to accept defeat. An unknown
uneasiness was swirling in his heart, pelianna looked at Naganna. He
felt as if darkness was visible on his Face. So he took the opportunity
and said, ‘Let’s not perform noy■v. Let’s do it another time.’ Everyone
felt unhappy. The elders asked them co perform. Yellanna thought
self-respect was more important :th;in performance. He repeated it.
Said they could perform anothdr tinie. Said they would definitely do
it. Naganna looked at YellannaJ He felt that Yellanna’s eye was never
that red before. Naganna now knew what was foremost in Yellanna’s
heart. Land to till, house live] ihi cloches to wear and performance
to enact. None . . . none . . . ; not easy to get any of them. A lot
to dig and fill up. He looked ijnto Yellanna’s eyes once again. They
remained red. He thought, let jthem remain like that. He felt they
should remain like that. j i
The walk to Yennela Dinni [was very heavy. Pittodu, Musalaiah
and Poladu were saying something;. Yellanna was walking silently.
But Naganna was unable to bear even the silence. He was unable to
understand in which direction; thi: incident would turn Yellannas
life. Yellanna was an artist. jRe^poirse was the special characteristic
 of an artist’s heart. The nature of hii response would depend on his
understanding of the people of Dibbalamitta. If he could understand
the fear of these people and if a response came out from him that
would root out this fear, there would be a new meaning to the redness
in the eyes. It would remain like the rising flood that took a turn
and like the love that was shared. Instead, if in a different manner,
this response arose out of trusting qhese people and from a feeling
that nothing should be done, that would pave the way for danger.
Responding is a very sensitive aspect; of an artist.
Naganna was finding it difficult even to walk. That which happened
then seemed like a scene where an enemy kicked him on his chest
and went away. A bullock cart wis kicking the dust on the Yennela
Dinni dust track and was racing towards Yennela Dinni. That was
Atchireddy’s cart. Pittodu said that the din of the bells was that of
Atchireddy’s bulls. Naganna too locked in that direction. That cart
was going towards the road leading to the ooru. Naganna was feeling
brtfathless. He kept hearing the din of the bells tied to the bulls. The
din was proclaiming his defeat and Atchireddy’s victory.
The walk was not easy. Dusky darkness was enveloping them.
He said they ought to go towards the mala’s mound. They turned
towards the malas mound. As they approached it, Naganna’s heart
was beating very rapidly. They came to the mala’s mound.
‘Let’s stop here, my
Yellanna looked at Naganna. He used to call him bidda (child) at
first. He had not called him that :n the recent past. That too he said
it now like one who is tired.
‘Let’s sit down for a while.’
Darkness completely enveloped them. They had grown crop
all over mala’s mound. The cobs had come up. In a few days it would
be up for harvesting. All were tender cobs. Naganna looked leisurely
at the milky cobs. He thought it would have been good if it were
moonlight. Even then he thought darkness would not come in the
way of his viewing. Pittodu shouted to the man near the guarding
platform to get some drinking water.
‘The crop is good . . . no problem for food.’
Everyone said yes to Naganna’s words . . . Even in that darkness
Naganna seemed to be searching for something. Everyone looked in
 the direction he was looking. In the middle of Atchireddys fields,
near the guarding platform, a torch light was visible.
‘That’s not Atchireddys father’s property. It is not in the karanam’s
accounts.’
They looked in the direction in which Naganna was pointing
his finger. In the barren land between Atchireddys fields and the
mala’s mound, black tumma trees appeared like devils with their hair
flowing.
‘This field boundary should be there.’
Yellanna looked piercingly at Naganna. He patted Yellanna, who
was looking at Naganna like that, on his back. He got up and drank
the water that the man at the guarding platform brought. He was
speaking all along the way. It appeared as if he was straining to speak.
His voice sounded feeble. He spoke tne entire night. He said the
performance must change. He said the song must change. He sang
a few songs. Those songs appeared new. Hunger, land, tears, malas,
madigas— the songs were full of them.
Yellanna stayed back with Naganna that night. As Naganna was
singing new songs, he sat confining those songs in his heart. He said,
‘Listen to the song of Ganga, bidda.’ He sang it. It was not Bagiratha
who brought Ganga to the earth. It was the Urumula people.
Bagiratha was a lie. The Urumula people were the truth. Deluge was
born out of the sound of the thunderous Urumulu. Those who made
the first farm sectors were the madigas, malas, yerukulas, yanadis and
the girijans who slept in the hearts of the mountains. They made fire.
Brought water. Ploughed the land. Cooked food. Whoever came,
came only later. Whoever came to snatch the food away from the
mouth came only later. He kept singing like that. He sang till the
early hours. The first cock crowed. ‘Am sleepy. Come, bidda,’ he said.
Everyday he would get up in the early hours. That day he said he
felt sleepy. Closed his eyes. Did not open them again. Did not know
which way Ganga ran breaching the banks. Did not know which
far away shores the sound of thunder was touching and creating a
deluge.
Naganna went without revealing the secret of death in the secrets
of Chandrappa’s puranas. But Naganna sang quite some time ago.
The song of the The sticks alone, the relatives. The
 wood alone, the kith and kin. The logs of the pyre, brother-in-law
and sister-in-law. Fistfuls of mud, the heartbeats. Relatives and close
people sit around. Shed tears. Then each to himself. Goes away. But
though no one went along with Naganna, Naganna remained in
Yennela Dinni.
Yellanna did everything for Naganna. Till he performed everything,
he remained with a strong heart. After everything was over, he felt as
if nothing was left for him and everything in front of him had come
to nought. He remained all alone staring in all directions. He was
searching for Naganna in every direction. He brought to mind every
word Naganna spoke before his death. He felt as if the new songs
he sang, the words he spoke and the song of Ganga, all told him
something new. He was unable to make out what was new.
All the people from the villages from whom he took advance for
the performance were coming and going back. He was returning
the advance and sending them back. Did not feel like performing
without Naganna. Could not tolerate Nagannas defeat. Otherwise he
would not have died. Self-respect. That was no small thing. Whatever
it was, should have performed in Dibbalamitta. The people of that
ooru ought to have come forward to settle it one way or the other.
He abused them for not coming forward like that. Immediately
he remembered Nagannas words. Naganna had taught him to
love. Naganna had taught him to hate too. Naganna had hated the
younger karanam and Atchireddy. Though the malas and madigas
of Dibbalamitta did not support him, he spoke affectionately with
them. All the way long he kept showering love on them. Near the
malas mound, how he had pointed his index finger at the barren land
even in darkness! He had said it was not Atchireddys father’s. He had
said that this boundary should fall on the other side. Strangest of all
were the new songs he had sung that night. W hy did he sing them?
Songs of hunger, songs of the piece of land, songs of the huts around.
W hy did he sing them? In the song of Ganga, fire, water and food.
W hat were they the occasions for? Could not come to a conclusion.
There was something. There was something he had not done so far,
something he had to do now. That was what Yellanna was unable to
understand.
 Life was full of inexplicable agony, dryness, a loss that could not
be filled, a thirst that could not Ibe quenched. What happened to
the happiness he experienced whije performing? Where did the artisc
who had journeyed along with hiijn till then go? The one within him.
The one The one who wove W hy was he becoming
just sage-like, and dumb?
That did not mean Yellanna became completely sage-like and dumb.
Only shadows were lurking abdut his creativity. The relationship
between the society and himself was weakening. If he remained here
any longer, there would be dangeir of its not only weakening but also
being severed. !
He sang. Till now happiness and contentment alone were
the reasons for his singing. Wh^re was the impetus for it? It was
somewhere. this was the search for Trees, hill, crow, tears,
perfumed water, hunger, field, fallow land . . . if he thought again
hunger, field, fallow land and again . . . again field, fallow
land, hunger, self-respect . . . it stopped there. Everything stopped
there. The ridge here should fall on the other side . . . should fall
there . . . near Atchireddy’s fields,| right there, actually there. There, it
should fall there . . . Should address the elders, the pedda mala, the
pedda madiga better than the karanam so as to make Atchireddy die
of jealousy. Should definitely address. When not addressed, when
unable to address like that, dance, word, song . . . self-respect, would
all remain vague, mere words.
How he came and how he went away! W hat
did he leave undone before he weijit away! The Urumula mala. Yennela
Dinni s Narigadus a great artist. What in fact did he
search for? When what he searched for seemed to be found only to
slip away, he stopped, a pathetic! sight— like one who did not know
how to walk. Lying down like that, as if tired out, not opening the
eyes he had closed. Yellannas teirs would not stop. All the struggle
would stop there. Would not broceed further. Heart filled with
turmoil. Life full of anxiety. Felt like revolting against something,
and yet was unable to understand that revolt.
Lets think like this for a m,pment. Let us search whether the
relationship between the society and the artist had weakened
anywhere, in unrest, in agitation , in revolt, in great revolutions. No.
 Did not happen like that. An excellent artistic creation occurred.
Every change on earth kept changing the art. Lets go to the corners
of the world. Everywhere it happened like that. At every corner it
was confrontation that remained as history. If you pour all the words
born from 17 to 18 in a heap, what you
find in that heap are just three words. Turmoil, agitation, revolt. That
turmoil is art. That agitation is sons. That revolt is dance.
In fact, what was happeningwithin Yellanna without his knowledge,
without his understanding, was just that: turmoil, that agitation, that
revolt. But they were not clearly visible to him. Narigadu, Mataiah,
Naganna standing in front, touching his heart, water gushing out
of the eyes, they were floating eveiry second. But how many such
Narigadus, how many such M atakhs, how many such Nagannas?
That question was troubling him. tie wanted an answer. He felt he
ought not to stay there for the ansliver.; Felt like going somewhere.
Did not know where. That was where he made a mistake. But he still
went. We cannot even say he made a mistake. If he stayed there, his
protest would end with Naganna. It would become an utter chaos and
confusion in that lack. That was why he went. He crossed Yennela
Dinni and went beyond. Once whdn the upper caste arrogance had
chased him he had run naked beyond Yennela Dinni. Now he went
of his own accord. He went in searqti. He left chukkala muggukarra
Subhadra behind. He forgot Sivaisits Smiles. He left Boodevi to
Yennela Dinni itself. His ties with his father and mother were in fact
weak. He did not remember them when he left.
For a week before he left, he played with Sivaiah. Sang with
Boodevi. Boodevi was thrilled to sOe a spark in her nephew’s face
after many days. Spent time with friends. He played with
his troupe. Chinnammi sent for Boodevi and asked her to make
for her son-in-law. All e f them ate along with Boodevi
there that day. Subhadra did not think that life would be such a
powerful swell of the stream. During that week one night Yellanna
sat amidst his friends and wove a new song. A very long song. He
took the cue from a folk song his aunt used to sing the whole night
and sang it.
In that song figured Narigadu, the flood, the journey of the malas
and madigas to the top of the mound. Narigadus death. Mala’s
 mound. It proceeded like history. When the brave Naraiah fell to
the ground, the heart ache of Mataiah. The hearts of friends broke.
After the song began, the people in the palle came there one by one.
Saw the scene in front of their eyes. Yellanna did not imagine that
his song would have such an impact. The song continued for two
hours. It was not a Not a It was the sequence
women would sing in a leisurely manner after finishing their meal.
Yellanna made a number of changes in that very sequence. The elders
asked him to narrate it as a story the following night. The story began
the next day. It went on not for two hours but for three hours. The
women in fact cried out loud. The men wiped their eyes. Pittodu
who heard the story could not contain himself. That night he called
his son-in-law to come near him and told him about Mataiah. He
said it, even as he thought he ought not to.
Yellanna listened to everything. After listening, he felt that life was
not tears alone. He felt his story would not end in tears. In fact, he
felt no story should end in tears. Mataiah occupied all of untouchable
life. Life was greatly courageous. How courageous— as courageous as
Mataiah. The song was weaving itself. The story took a different turn.
The shape of Yennela Dinni village, the status and situation of the
malas and madigas, the elder karanam, land— the story began like
that. It took a turn with the floods and Narigadu’s death. It ended
with Mataiah killing the elder karanam. he wove the
Yellanna did not know he was pouring life into a heroic tale. In
fact what Yellanna wove was a circle of a heroic tale. But perhaps
there might not have been more than thirty stories as in Katamraju’s
heroic tale circle. But there are two heroes. One brave man died a
heroic death. Another brave man repaid the debt of blood of that
brave man. There was land behind both these people. There was self-
respect. Yellanna perhaps was not aware of such a reading that day.
But he wove. Yellanna might not be the Srinatha who wrote ‘
But he was a great artist’s responsive heart. Words were his
property. Words that he knew. Words that people around him knew.
Life was his experience. The reality that was born and grew up around
him. He did not run along with the tune. He dragged the tune along
with him. That was naturalness. Every folklorist did just that. He was
not imprisoned anywhere. Did not imprison meaning in any prison.
Pundits call it a wind-swept song. The synonym of a spontaneous
outburst is a wind-swept song. Like every natural action, change,
turn, slowly wafting breeze happening very freely in nature . . . like
the flute played by the cowherd in any which way that pleased him.
He said, ‘I have a little work. I’ll be back.’ Subhadra did not
imagine that a little work would cause so many years of separation.
Boodevi did not think that going and coming back would mean such
a distance. They looked out for him on the day he said he would go
and come back. They looked out for him the next day. On the third
day, Pittodu placed a towel on his shoulder and set out. Yenkatanarsu
said he too would go along. They went around all the villages they
thought Yellanna would go to. No trace of him.

In fact, Yellanna did not go with the intention of not coming back.
He intended to come back. But even he did not know when. He was
swept away like, that. Like the leaf being blown off by the whirlwind
in a direction it does not know, he did not stay put at any place for
even ten days. Only in Guntur district did he stay in one place for a
few months.
He wove songs on growing fields. He sang, sharing the toil of the
labourers bending down to plant the seeds. He spoke out verses about
carrying saplings at the field ridges. He spoke of every happening like
the harvesting of crops, of threshing heaps of grain and of every act
on the field. That was all he did. To weave on and on as and when
things took place.
"Whichever village he reached, he would go to the malapalli and
madigapalli. He would spend the few days he stayed there with them.
Those few days, songs all night long. Lot of excitement all night long.
He did not name himself '. The people called him that.
He kept quiet, allowing them to call him so.
He had Subhadra in every song he wove. He sang as if he was
talking to Subhadra. Subhadra was the pallavi of his song. She
 was the real thread of his weave.' He wove garlands of songs round
that thread.
In the falling rain, in the glistening cloud, in the flowing irrigation
canals, in the tender cool breeze wafting across the field, in the tender
leaf-cups, in the tumbling desires,j in the heart that is stirred, in the cry
of the yennela pitta, in the silence, in the dance, in the life-line— like
that, at every edge of his life, hiS pallavi was Subhadra. Like that he
roamed about taking Subhadra’s inemory along. If he was asked, who
was this Subhadra, he would not say a thing. He would laugh and
keep quiet. It was that laugh th?it made him a bairagi, made him a
mala bairagi.
Those were the days when jthe white man Brown19 who had
excavated Vemana20 was toiling hard for the Telugu language. There
are a lot of amazing things in Telugu literature and culture. We
cannot ignore them as the days when Brown searched
for Vemana, in the research done on palm-leaf manuscripts, there
was very little invasion of brahmin writers. It was only because of this
that Vemana could surface.
Brahmin pundits21 swarmed around Brown. Brown did not
have the opportunity to see people like Yellanna. Those brahmin
pundits and copy writers went ground villages and collected works.
All all ancient puranasj and histories, ,
—you know how far they went,
so far that they passed off even the magician’s magic and spells as
Telugu literature. Leaving asidej Vemana, Kavi Chowdappa,22
,23 they passed off even those that
were not Telugu as Telugu. The Velagapudis, the Mulagapakas, the
Ravipatis, the Chilakamarris, the Samudralas, the Tippabhatlus, the
Puranams, the Puwadas— all off them together saw to it that there
was no opportunity for the realiTelugu word to be unearthed and to
be preserved. j
As if justice was ever done tcj the lives ofYellanas! Their emotions
were betrayed. The injustice done to their word and speech is not
insignificant. They took the life out of people’s culture. Being
opportunistic, they gave authority to the culture which is not of the
people and crowned it. Wanting to retain the power of their postion,
these scholars did not hesitate to[ curry any kind, of favour. They forced
 down the art and literature that only five or six people appreciated on
ninety per cent of the people.
The art, the literature and the culture outside the temple became
those of the ordinary people. All the lifeless struggles inside the
temple became art and came to the fore. Shankuntala of Kalidasa
and Varudhini of Allasani of the past, the recent Yenki of Nanduri
and the present Kinnera ofViswanatha are all imagined beauties. But
Yellanna’s Subhadra is no figment of his imagination. The caste she
was born into raised in is a figment of the imagination.
The steps she took, her looks, and Yennela Dinni are no figments of
anybody’s imagination. A real-life picture that combines blood, flesh
and breath.
Even so, it is not Kshetrayya’s song. Not Annamayya’s song. Not
Tyagayya’s song. Not the golden tamarind leaf pendant for Sita. A
mala’s life. A madigas life . . . An untouchable’s song. That’s why
Yellanna’s songs never got written as a book. No matter how much
people obstruct they cannot stem the outpourings of the human
heart.
Wind carried Yellannna’s songs. When labour migrated from that
village to this or from this village to that, it carried those songs. In
Nellore district there was no malapaJli or madigapalli that did not
utter Yellanna’s songs. There were no fields that did not sing the
group song.
It was then that an incident took place. It was an incident that
happened when scholars were searching each and every village
enthusiastically for palm-leaf manuscripts, for correcting them and
displaying their skill in establishing the authentic texts.
The potter, Pedakoteswarudu, started writing poems
alongside making pots. Wrote a lot. Also had the reputation of
writing well. But a great one among scholars born to the Samudrala
family flung a witticism that Pedakoteswarudu’s pots were better
than his dvipadas. The world of pundits applauded. Like that, they
lightened their hearts’ burden. That which is poured into a conch
alone is sacred water. Even if it is utterly obscene, what the brahmin
speaks alone is the Veda. Whatever is spoken must be spoken by
them alone. Only when utter, Sanskrit becomes Sanskrit. Telugu
becomes Telugu. Finally, even if English has to become English, it
has to be spoken by them. If need be they can make a Brown of a
Brahma and a Brahma of a Brown. That’s exactly what they did. They
called Brown, for having collected and brought to the open the works
of Vemana who abused brahmins, the enemy of Hinduism. The same
brahmins who criticised the dvipadas as ‘
worked as coolies at so many dvipadas a rupee when
Brown showed interest in the dvipadas. Strange beings! Saying,
this is a donkey,” they have the ability to hear the note in its
braying if the need arises.
Potter Pedakoteswarudu did not write dvipadas on Siva. He saw
greatness in Jangas dvipadas. He wrote of Potuluri Veerabrahmam26
in his dvipadas. He condemned hierarchies in the name of caste.
He gave up his caste. He moulded the wheel of life on the potter’s
wheel. Everything was mud. Brahmin, reddy, potter, washerman,
mala, barber, madiga— everyone was mud. As the wheel turns, as
it is moulded, that which comes out is the shape of man. He is just
one. Like that, in the manner that struck him, he wrote his
Pundits made fun of it as mud pot Vedanta. But he did not withdraw.
He made Vinayaka with mud. He sold that for a beda. When that
was being bought for the he laughed louder than the scholars.
He went to malapalli. He sat near the well of their loom and talked.
When he was hungry he drank sour gruel from their hands. Except
that he asked them to add a little dried ginger. He would go to
madigapalli. He would eat there if he was hungry. He would not
ask what was served to him. Now and then, he would say he was
searching for ‘Basavadu’.27 The potters would not allow him into
their houses. He would go to the houses of those who allowed him
to come in. He searched for Basavadu in the people around him. He
spent his life searching.
He would say that the real form of his dvipada was a combination
of Veeerabrahmam and Basavadu. Such a potter, Pedakoteswarudu,
heard of mala bairagi. He heard his song that wind and toil brought
along. He wanted to see him. Coming to know was in
neighbouring village, he set out with a bundle of roasted
and jaggery.
He searched for his way to the destination he wanted to reach.
He reached the village by dusk. He asked around for mala bairagi.
 The pundit of that village recognised him. He asked him loudly, ‘For
whom?’ He said in a very calm voice that it was for mala bairagi.
The pundit looked at him strangely. He asked again. He questioned
that pundit, ‘W hy did your God make you deaf?’ The pundit got
angry. ‘You don’t have the right to walk on the royal path, that too
in the brahmin bazaar to meet the mala bairagi. Tradition doesn’t
mean making pots. Get out of here at once.’ Saying this, he took
the copper pot on the platform to sprinkle water from the pot.
Some people surrounded him. ‘This potter was walking through the
brahmin bazaar to meet the mala,’ he started screaming, ‘Chase away
this outcast.’ The potter Koteswarudu looked sharply at that scholar.
He lifted his foot. He took out the mud on his foot into his hand.
Saying, ‘M y foot has become impure with this mud,’ he shook off
the mud right there. He cleared his throat and spat. Saying, ‘If this
spit is untouchable, pick it up with your sacred hands and throw it
away,’ he walked towards malaoalli without turning back. Everyone
stood staring. Even though he left, the pundit kept ranting. He
said, ‘The potter caste has excommunicated him.’ He said, ‘Don’t
keep quiet about such a man who has insulted us so much.’ He
screamed aloud saying, ‘Come forward to save The spirit of
dharma possessed some. They swayed. They thought they ought to
teach a lesson to the traitor, potter Koteswarudu. They got ready to
lay siege.
M ala bairagi was not in malapalli. He came to know that he was
on the yanadi s mound. He walked towards that mound. The yanadis
mound was nearing. A wonderful, light tune was heard. The sound
was that of a (drum), but it did not sound like the sound of
a dappu of the madigas. That was a strange sound. Accompanied by
the tune of a flute, the voice was not that of a man. As he went closer,
the song became clear. Now a male voice was heard.
, my name they say is Abhimanyudu.
As for m y father, he’s Arjuna, my mother Subhadra
Bhamaro . . .
The composition began at the place ‘Bhamaro, my name.’
At ‘they say my name’s Abhimanyudu’, the chorus joined.
Potter Koteswarudu stopped at a distance. A wonderful scene in
front. His eyes searched for msAa bairagi. He assumed that where he
 cast a look, the bearded persdn sitting on a sand mound and looking
intently must be the mala bairagi! He was about to take a step ahead.
In the meanwhile, a sonorous lig it voice.
W hat does it matter who; it is, go away.
W hy are you joking with me?
Keep away, don’t come near. Keep away
At ‘keep away,’ ragada again . .. Mala bairagi looked on, lost to the
world. The potter went up to the mala bairagi. Suddenly the song,
dance and beat stopped.
He told him who he was. Told him why he came. Mala bairagi
looked at Pedakoteswarudu. W hite hair combed in front. A twisted
beard that was three-fourths grey Must be an old wound, a bandage
tied round his foot. His locfks were direct. If he looked sharply, his
looks seemed capable of burning the other person to ashes. Did not
know why but Koteswarudu felt like according him a guru’s status.
Though he did not say it aloud, mala bairagi looked with as much
reverence at him. Pedakoteswarudu sat next to mala bairagi.
Stars in the sky So much commotion, theirs. How they ran from
this end to that! W hy did much of starry light spread on its own
volition on the sand mounds? '\Xfh.y did nature love those who merge
with it so well?
‘It’s many years since I left home. I saw the dance of the yerra
gollalu. I saw the dances of and people. I
also saw the dances of the chindu people, the china madiga and the
chilakala people. I also saw -thfe dances of the jangam people and
the people of Jangalipalli. € saw the dances of the dasari and the
pitchikaguntala people. Okay, I danced the mala people’s dance. But
I couldn’t find the control of the yanadi’s dances anywhere else. The
greatness lies in their waists. No other caste possesses such a beautiful
waist. That waist was born for dance. One might have that curve but
everyone can’t have its exact stamp.’
Mala bairagi kept talking. The potter Pedakoteswarudu was
looking at him in amazement, tie felt there was no jealousy like that
among pundits and the treacheries involved in attaining the highest
position. In fact, it is only i|i fo art that there is purity and integrity,
There is frankness and ,n; ness. That’s why it is still alive even
though it has been thrown and cast away.
 ‘How are the stars . . . ?’ Pedakoteswarudu began.
At these words, mala bairagi looked at the sky. Constellations of
stars. The running of lone stars from'one constellation to another. No
matter how long you look, your :hiiist is not quenched.
‘Sing a song on the stars. I came lall the way just to listen to you.
Sing all night long. I’ll write down every song you sing. In Cuddapah,
there’s plenty of paper. It is also sold in Nellore. The white man is
putting on paper all the verses which were on palm-leaf. All the
pundits are searching every village. I’m roaming about for Basavadu.
I want his words. I’ve written most ojf it. Let’s light a fire. I’ll write in
that glow. I’ve brought along good leaves.’
Pedakoteswarudu stopped speaking and looked towards mala
bairagi.
The fire place was glowing. Thq fire, the twinkle of the stars.
Nothing would be defeated. Everything would unite. How would
they merge? Ought to see with the heart. That’s it.
At night, a strange sound was heard. Yanadi Ramanaiah was
hitting the dappu with a stick. Tine stick of the dappu merged with
the strange sound of the night. At one go nature stretched its body
and opened its eyes really wide. It made the strange excitement its
own, every moment. Hiding would be like that.
Mala bairagi began to sing. Pedakoteswarudu was writing.
How far away was Yennela Dinni? Not so far away. It was being
hidden in Pedakoteswarudu’s writing!
The night was passing by, saying ‘Friends, I’m unable to wait, don’t
think otherwise.’
The voice of mala bairagi. The rhythmic beat of the stick on yanadi
Ramanaiah’s dappu. The writing of potter Pedakoteswarudu. The
showering moonlight. Nature that isi getting wet. Tine gentle breeze
that unites.
W hat was happening here! What literature —as the glow of the
fire place was witness! What music!!W hy this wonderful creation!
They say it is , the truth. They say it is , prosperity. They
say it is beauty. W hy has this trinity become
untouchable?
There were a thousand thoughts in Pedakoteswarudu’s mind. W hat
heart-wrenching pain to the mud pot that was gaining a beautiful
shape on the wheel and whetstone! What anxiety to get away from
that heat! When it was mud, when it was just mud, what life in
its every atom! How much friendship it had with flowers, trees and
reeds! Isn’t it so, isn’t that very mud these songs? Isn’t that very being
this song? W hy don’t you allow such naturalness, such full-blooded
life to live? Spewing sastras, why have these pundits ruthlessly killed
the word and the song? These burnt pots. These breakable pots.
Lifeless images. How wonderfully has this weave of the mud united
with nature? ‘Tell me your name, mala bairagi. I’m writing down.
I’ve written down Subhadra. I’ve written, down Yennela Dinni. I’ve
written down Naganna and Mataiah. Ive written down Narigadu.
Tell me your name. Do tell me, tell me.’ Pedakoteswarudu asked
even as he wrote.
After two mala bairagi said stirring the embers of the fire,
‘You’ve asked me, I’ll tell you. Yellanna. Atalelladu. Patalelladu.’
Pedakoteswarudu kept looking like that. Next to him, the yennela
pitta darted away, making a horrendously shrill call. Yellanna felt
like laughing.
‘Listen to its cry.’
Its cry was heard a long way off.
‘W hat do you hear in its cry?’
‘The heart-rending voice of an untouchable.’
‘Heart-rending voice. How did y6u weave that phrase?’
‘Not I. Life. Life wove it. Isn’t it so? Isn’t it the weave of life? When
young Yelladu ran like that and stopped . . . isn’t it the sound of the
Urumula dance that saved him? That’s life. It’s the one that wove.
Dance and word. Song was born in my house. Word was born in my
house. Dance learnt its beat from my life. That’s why, no matter how
far they flung me, they only ran towards my house. They were born
with me and will become dust with me.’
‘You’re a Vedantist.’
‘That’s the crown of pundits. I don’t want that term. Mine is life.
A man’s life. The life of the dust.’
‘Sound is at your feet.’
‘No. In heart.’
That’s how it went between them till two jamus went by.
 Afterwards, the two of them went into deep slumber. Yanadi
Ramanaiah’s stick kept beating the dappu, even as the man had
slipped into sleep a long while ago.
Dawn broke. Pedakoteswarudu tied up all that he wrote into a
bundle and placed it in mala bairagi s hand. He said no. Mala bairagi
said, ‘Keep it with you.’
‘I’ll see you later, Yellanna.’
‘M any years since I heard that name.’
Laughter. They bade goodbye to each other, laughing. They
walked a long distance even as they said goodbye. Yanadi Ramanaiah
was smiling, with his eyes. Speaking, with his eyes. His waist would
display dance and his eyes his emotions. He had no need for the word
except rarely.
They stopped at the boundary that divided the mala and madiga
palles from the ooru.
‘I won’t go way.’

‘When I came, I wiped the dust off my feet and flung it. I came
only after I cleared my throat and spat.’
‘The side road isn’t good.’
‘The path is never good. It’ll improve as you walk along. All that
needs to be done is to walk. This isn’t Vedanta. Life’s lesson.’ Saying
so, he laughed. Yellanna laughed. Ramanaiah’s eyes smiled.
He hugged Yellanna close to his chest. He hugged Ramanaiah to
his chest. Farewell ought not to be so painful. Even so, there was no
other way. He gave up the path taken by everyone and introducing
the walk to the path not trodden by anyone, he went ahead. Mala
bairagi YelVanna and Yanadi RamanaiVv stood gazing at Vum.
Did not feel like turning back. Ramanaiah looked towards the
top of the only palm tree that had grown tall. He tied a string to his
leg. He tucked a knife in his waist. He sat near the top of the palm
tree. He cut two palm fruit bunches that were hanging down. They
remained there cutting the palm fruits and eating them.
Only because they were like that did they hear the cry of pain. No
sooner had they raised their heads than they saw Pedakoteswarudu
running for his life. They saw the upper castes chasing him. They saw
sticks, crowbars, spades and axes in their hands. They saw the brahmin
 running ahead of everyone. They saw their friend fall to the ground
right in front of their eyes. They saw the crowbar that had pierced his
back and the stick that had attacked his head. They saw the written
pages flung by the brahmin burnjing in a corner. Though they were at
a distance, they saw all this in aj second. They ran screaming loudly.
Their shrieks reached malapalli* Reached madigapalli. The anthill
burst in yanadis mound. Screaming, everyone was running towards
that gruesome scene. j
Seeing people coming, the |upper castes having done all they
wanted to ran away. The ordinary people reached there.
Potter Pedakoteswarudu in a j>oo! of blood. The last written record
of mala bairagi Yellana being burnt away.
Yellanna placed his friend’s |head on his lap. Pedakoteswarudu
looked towards Yellanna. Looked towards Ramanaiah. Looked
towards people surrounding hink. Laughed with contentment. Called
out, ‘I’m going, Basavadu!’ He spoke the last words to Yellanna.
Yellanna himself lit: the funeral pyre.
Who was this Basavadu?
How could one meet him? Yejlanna thought looking into the flames
of the pyre. He knew Potulurifs verses. He had never heard of this
Basavadu. But he had heard of this Basavadu from Pedakoteswarudu
two or three times. Those were the last words, too. Naganna had not
included this in the secrets of the puranas. Perhaps Chandrappa had
not said it. But of what period was this Basavadu?
He remained there till the pyre burnt completely. He gathered
the ashes and built a tomb. Ramanaiah planted a sapling
there. He planted a fence of trees around it. Even after
Yellanna left that village, Ramanaiah continued to sprinkle water on
the trees.
returned to that place after two years. Ramanaiah was
moving about in the pf those trees. Now it looked
tranquil forest. Ramanaiah appeared like an ascetic
and hypocrisy. The smile had not vanished from those eyes.
That night in the moonlight, the aroma of sampenga flowers. Mala
bairagi Yellanna’s song stirring that silence. The sound of the dappu
sticks of Ramanaiah. One mojre time a strange experience for nature.
In the moonlit shade o f the gangiregu trees, the fireflies
about as if on some business. As for! die were they quiet? How
much of excitement in them!
Mala bairagi Yellanna would come there like that once in a year or
two after roaming about the villages,
in the shades of a year malas, madigas
and yanadis assembled there. The tomb of potter Pedakoteswarudu
became a meeting place for the ordinary people. In every corner of
this country an occasion like this |s; trUly a wonderful scene. The
year mala bairagi Yellana came, it would be an arena of art. The
dance, songs and plays of yanadis . . . the roaring sound of dappus
. . . a meeting arranged on their aw by, those below the line. What
name would tradition give to this meeting? Something or the other.
All the more surprising was that the potter’s community would fast
on that day; If such a meeting of upper tastes took place, it would
turn into a holy shrine. Saying that some God passing by stepped
there, a There was no place here for such unbelievable
fantastic imagination. No artificial tradition imposed this. There is a
beautiful scene combining dance, word and song here. That’s all.

Yellanna was moving from village to! village.

Sivaiah was growing up in Yennela. Dinni.
There was nothing more that Subhadra could do than wait for the
wandering Yellanna and to work her heart out in the fields for the
sake of the growing Sivaiah. Everything, a hope. A hope that Yellanna
would return some day. A hope that even though the father was not
with him, Sivaiah should grow up well. Hope knows no distance.
Knows no proximity. It has no place for gain or loss. That’s why it
is called hope. For man to live, the dependable medicine that was
born before man is hope. It only knows to make man live. It does
not at all know how to kill. If in fact without that hope, that small
hope that Yellanna would some day come back, that great hope to
bring up Sivaiah happily in Yennela Dinni, Subhadra would have
caused great heartache to Pittodu. le would not have been able to
bear that ache.
 Yerrenkadu died on the cot yearning to see his son. Telling Sivaiah,
‘How can I say no to my husband and live?’ Lingalu looked out for
her own path. Did time stop, did the wind take a vow and sit tight
that it would not cross the outskirts of Yennela Dinni? Did summer
stop just right there? Did the branches keep quiet when the trees
shed leaves? Did new shoots not sprout? Nothing stopped. Along
with time, along with its tread, along with its racing, tears of joy and
sorrow had been sprinkled in equal measure in the mala and madiga
households and frontyards of Yennela Dinni. The muggukarralu were
continuing to draw patterns.
Pittodu said it was not possible to build houses roaming around
villages. He sat in front of the house making ploughs. The big adze
that is to be carried on the shoulder, the small one that is to be held in
the hand and the chisel were all lying idle. Except that Chinnammi
was holding the rope to catch hold of the drill. Looking at the two of
them like that was like seeing them observe penance. All that penance
was only for Sivaiah. Sivaiah was not a God. If he were a God, they
would have been satisfied with a coconut. They would have applied
this much of sacred ash on their faces. Sivaiah was a grandson. This
was a penance forgetting their age for his sake. Toil. All that was left
for malas and madigas. That was all that they gained. Toil.
There was some change somewhere on the globe. The white man
aimed straight and shot at the weaver’s livelihood. In the north the
looms had stopped moving and the thread started moving only
on the wheel. Someone would come and give the cotton. Then
he would come and pick up the thread bundles. The rate was so
many dammiddees per bundle. The spun thread would go to a mill
somewhere. What would happen to the cloth? Everything was the
white man’s trick. The trick of the black middlemen who had joined
hands with the whites. Not just the regions of Chirala or Perala. It
was just like that in every place that depended on the loom. The salis
dependent on weaving, the malas dependent on weaving, no matter
who— that was it.
Till this point Yenkatanarsu would keep the advance paid near the
well of the loom. He would tie up the cut bedsheets, and the panchas
he bought at the well of the loom into a bundle and roam about.
But it was not so now. The houses that spun the loom now stopped
with making the thread. They stopped with making the bundles of
thread. W hat could he do with spindles and bundles of thread? To
go to the mill was something new to him. The language of business
there was different. The mode was different. Had changed a great
deal. He could not digest the change. He thought there was no point
in going around. On his final return he brought stacks of skein.
He began weaving the string for the cot. He stayed back home. He
began to make different patterns with the gogu skein. It transformed
itself thus into the cot string, the belt for the bullocks with bells, the
loop around their mouths to prevent them from eating and the nose-
string and reins for them. Yenkatanarsu felt that the life that was tied
to the cotton cloth would end with the gogu skein. They planted
gogu plants on the fields of the mala’s mound. When it was ready for
use, they would pull it out and dry it. They would soak it in the water
in the stream. They would take out the gogu after it had soaked.
Boodevi would find it strange when she saw Yenkatanarsu keep the
soaked gogu in front of him and remove it from the water. It would
appear quite nice. The man was staying in and around the house. At
that moment she would remember Yellanna. The happiness of the
man staying at home would be swept away by some wind. Even so, it
was wonderful to see the gogu skein turn into so many kinds of art.
We call them the arts. We say there are sixty four arts. How did
those arts come to be? If we think about it, it feels somewhat strange.
It is both surprising and wonderful. How have those live arts that
have given life support to so many come to be! To skin the animal’s
hide very skilfully, making it soft, to make pots with mud, stick and
wood, to milk if there was enough milk, to churn butter, to melt it
and make ghee, to extract oil from sesame, coconut, castor seeds,
and wild dindiga plants, to spin cotton, to weave cloth, to hold the
plough and to dig it straight into the earth and plough, to sow, to
thresh grain, to scout for the place where there is water, to plant a
stick to indicate the place and to find either drinking or salt water, to
weave coir baskets and different things, with palm, with gogu skein,
with palm leaf, with bamboo, with cane, with date palm, finally
even with the water reeds growing along canal banks, to turn iron
into knives and axes in the furnace of a blacksmith, to build houses,
to hang on to the village and to hang on to life— how many arts!
 How wonderfully the folklorist has said that art is only for the
masses. To think of it, what is Ijudden in people’s lives is not small,
insignificant art. !
W hat wonderful artists are Poladu who skins the hide of a buffalo
skilfully with ease, Pittodu who carves wood, and Yenkatanarsu who
makes the thread dance in myriad ways!
Sivaiah would put his fingers into the greyed beards of those
three people, then stroke themj, and watch them performing their
tasks. He would ask Poladu, ‘Thatha, how can you skin the hide so
well?’ Poladu would say, ‘Tell thlat wretched Pittodu to skin like this.’
Sivaiah would laugh aloud. ‘C|an you wield the plough like him?’
Poladu’s wife would berate him. He would skin the hide saying, ‘She
won’t tolerate anyone saying a jword against him.’ On either side of
the hide, as Sivaiah and Poladiji’s wife would hold it, Poladu would
hold it on one side, stretch it} spread it on the ground, stretch it
further and nail it on four sides so it would not curl up. So that dogs
would not touch it, he would overturn the string cot and place four
stones in the four corners. Sivaiah would remain watching all that.
He would also be close by and watch the hide being soaked in water
after it was dry. Making the soaked hide soft would appear amazing.
Sivaiah would share this feeling of amazement.
Pittodu shaping the top would appear amazing. Chinnammi’s
hand moving as she pulled the rope while the top was being made,
too, would appear very appealing. When the top was given to him
after driving a nail and saying, ‘Go, play, Siva/ he would take the
top and run towards Yenkatanarsu. Yenkatanarsu would put the
thread around the top. When Yenkatanarsu was spinning the thread
so finely and so adeptly, Sivaiah would look with wide open eyes.
When he tied a little single belli at the knot the thread and asked,
‘How’s that, Siva?’, the child would jump on to bis shoulders. He
would roam around the entire bazaar like that and then would slide
down at one go. Running frojm there, he would reach madigapalli.
He would spin the top in front of Poladu’s house, stroke Poladu’s
grey beard and tap his cheek jWith the little bell on the string. The
bell would ring sweetly. Lookiing at the spinning top and listening to
the ringing bell, Poladu would pick up two small pieces of hide. He
would make anklets. He would put them round Sivaiah’s feet. Only
 110

Sivaiah knew how ecstatic he was. Looking at him, Boodevi would

feel, ‘I brought up Yellanna as more special.’ In the
meanwhile, inexplicable sorrow would touch her heart.
Pittodu, Yenkatanarsu and Poladu were crushed completely. But
they were doing something or the otjher as if their patience was not
lost. They did not feel like getting lip from around the winter fire.
Boodevi was crushing betel leaves and betelnuts and giving them to
Yenkatanarsu. Pittodu would say his teeth and jaw hurt when a meat
piece touched them. Poladu was a bit better than the two of them.
When asked what it was, he would sdy, ‘This is a body that has eaten
seven heads at a time, Pittodu, wretched fellow.’
When the three of them sat together at one place now, it was
only to talk about the past. Their conversation would be about
how Atchireddy became prosperous. It would be about how the
younger karanam took to living in the city. As he left, the younger
karanam did something. It was not known whether he did it for good
or bad. He gave the entire fallow land between Atchireddy’s field
and the mala’s mound to the malas and madigas. No one doubted
whom it belonged to. They were not yet far away from the belief
that government meant only the karanam. said it was
not possible to give it away like that. The younger karanam said,
‘I felt like giving and I gave it awa^.’ Atchireddy did not get the
opportunity to say no to the younger Icaranam. But he spewed out all
his anger in the presence of the karanam when the malas and madigas
distributed it among themselves. The karanam, too, wanted just that.
He felt there ought to be some problem between Atchireddy and the
malas and the madigas. That was why he acted like such a charitable
person. The mala and madiga elders said that the younger karanam
was not ‘one like that’ compared to the elder karanam. No one knew
the meaning o f ‘one like that’. It could be anything.
The
situation he wanted. In Yennala Dinni,' the water collected for the fields
was distributed in a particular mannef. That method was determined
by the elder karanam. First, the karinams fields must be watered.
After that, the prosperous reddys, then the poorer reddys, followed
by the other castes. Till the mala’s mound began to be cultivated, the
malas and madigas had no problem about water. By the time the
sequence was water flow in the culvert would stop. The malas
mound would not be watered. It was about the days when Naganna
was alive. In the fallow land that the karanam donated, when they
watered the fields of the karanam and the reddys, the canals in the
fields would overflow. Such an overflow would turn the stony path in
the fallow land into a water canal. Ifrthere were pits here and there on
the way, they, too, would be filled. Along with that, the ground water
in the fields, too, would reach there. Naganna had diverted that water
towards the mala’s mound. They turned the water on the bullock cart
track and the ground water into the pits. They made the pit large.
They placed a water lift on that pit. From the water lift to the malas
mound they made a waist-high sand mound. They turned that into
a canal. The water from the water lift would reach the mala’s mound
through that high sandy canal. They would operate in turns.
After the fallow land was donated, Atchireddy was seething with
anger. He had had an idea of adding ail of it to his own. He was not
able to digest the fact that the malas and madigas had got hold of so
much land. He incited his fellow reddys. He
flowed through the field canal. Even if the ground water flowed into
the fallow field, it would only come to ten or fifteen tubs of water
that would not be enough to wet the fields.
The culvert water irrigated the karanam’s fields. It was irrigating
Atchireddys fields. After that it would have to moisten the poor
reddys’ plots. If something remained; it would wet a cent or a small
piece of land of the people of other castes. That it did not seem
as if it would go that far. If the culvert water did not wet it, there was
nothing else that would happen to the malas mound but dry up. The
malas and madigas did not know what to do. The overflowing water
had been diverted and was reaching outside Atchireddys western
field. There was no possibility of utilising it from there. Atchireddys
lame excuse was that as the pathway was meant for everyone and
as the fallow land belonged the malas and madigas, if the joint
pathway was filled with water like that, there would be no path for
the reddy carts to travel. The maias and madigas said, Anyway, what
has never been there, how can you get it now?’ Atchireddy jumped
all over them saying, ‘Hasn’t the fallow land that never was yours
become yours now?’
 The malas and madigas were unable to find a way out. They
understood Atchireddy’s jealousy. They gathered at one place. They
keenly felt Nagannas absence. In their conversation, the karanam’s
scheming was not exposed. It was not possible to understand it too. It
was Atchireddy who appeared a5 a big traitor to them. They gathered
like that for two days. Placing :he burden on Pittodu and Poladu’s
heads saying, ‘You do something,’ on the third day, they began to
slide into Vedanta. ‘Did we depend on land all these days?’ On the
third day, Poladu, Pittodu, Musalaiah and five others of the same age
sat at the meeting place.
It was midnight. Nothing was clear. Mallaiah came out with the
water cauldron from the house in front of the meeting place. He
said, ‘Won’t you come for water, Pittayyamama?’ ‘Is the middle of the
night already?’, asked Pittodu. ‘You think it’ll wait for you?’ Saying
this, he went away.
‘How will it be if we do like this?’ said Poladu.
‘How?’
‘Aren’t we collecting drinking water in the middle of the night
. . . like that?’
Pittodu did not brush aside Poladu’s words. He felt a way out had
been found.
There was no drinking water well for the malas and madigas. The
entire village had only one drinking water well. They called it the
central well. Except there, everywhere else there was only tasteless
water. That well was to the east of the geviti tree. Except for the malas
and madigas every one else in that village drank only that water. As
for the malas and madigas, they would stand a distance from the
well carrying pots. If kind-hearted upper castes who came to draw
water felt sorry and poured water into their pots, they would get
water to drink. Otherwise not. As long as they poured the water these
untouchables would praise those kind-hearted people, and those
kind-hearted ones would keep abusing these untouchables. For a
potful of water, there would be a big fight. Every morning that was a
strange scene near the well. Pleadings, insults, abuses, rejections— all
for a mouthful of water, for quenching thirst.
 one had to keep waiting till noon, as scaiding sand burnt the feet,
for the kind-hearted one, for the kind-hearted one who would pour
water. Look, it is at such times that men would become water thieves.
They would wait till midnight. They would go stealthily to the well.
They would draw water stealthily. Knowing that they would lose
their lives if they were would run with the water pot. It
was normal to tumble and the pots to break while they ran. The theft
of water would happen only during days of work. On those days,
it was not possible to sit at the well with eager eyes. For the lives of
labourers, only those few days were festive days.
‘Do think we should divert the flow of the water channel
stealthily?’
‘There’s no other choice.’
Pittodu felt like laughing. Theft for the throat getting wet. Theft
for wetting the throat. The man was an untouchable. His piece of
land, too, was untouchable. Theft, to be able to ‘touch’. Would the
sastras give this another name? Would the society think of this act as
something else? Did not know. Pittodus laugh did not know any of
this. All he knew was the struggle for life.
Dark night. Nothing other than the water of the flowing canal
could be heard. The beating of the heart could be heard only by
Pittodu, Poladu, Musalaiah and Mallaiah. Mallaiah was well known
as a water thief. Among the malas and madigas there are such well-
known thieves. That is the strange thing in the great culture of this
country. Mallaiah himselfwent near the water channel at Atchireddy s
field.
The senior paid-servant at the water channel had gone home.
He would return only after the first star rose. Whatever was to
happen had to happen before that. Near the channel, the
whirlpools of water for irrigating the fields was visible. The water
from the culvert came up to that point, from there, it would go
whichever way it was diverted. They would then build a bund on the
other side. For the bund to hold, they would even stuff it with palm
trunks. Mallaiah stood there and looked towards the fields. There
was it till here. In which direction was the
water to be diverted? W hat direction should it to be diverted for
it to go towards the sand mound canal at the malas mound? If it
 ! ¥.
j i
1
114

was diverted towards the poorer peasants, it could be reached from

a shorter distance. But Atchireddy’s fields had not yet become wet.
If the water were to flow towards the|poor farmers that night, there
would be a lot of suspicion. He placjed the shovel on his shoulder
and came towards Pittodu. Pittodu and Poladu were near the culvert. f
They were awaiting Mallaiah’s clearance. If Mallaiah were to tell
them to lift the sluices they were ready to lift them. Just in front of
the mala’s mound, they had placed four others. They had to divert
the water towards fields there. Mallaiah brought the real problem to
the fore.
All sat under the palm tree. They wjere unable to decide which side
to divert the water. Poladu got up. He went towards the row of the
newly grown palm trees. He cut the pjalm fronds and made a ring to
climb up the trees. Very silently he got on to the tree they sat under.
He brought down the toddy pot. pittodu said laughing, ‘Toddy
thief.’ They drank toddy. They walked towards the malas mound.
They walked all around the mound. ./|U1 of them together came near
the water channel. Pittodu took the spade that was in Mallaiah’s
hand. He diverted it towards the fields of the poor reddys. They made
it appear as if it was not diverted by spade but as if the bund had
broken. All the stored up water in the canal flowed only that way.
They thought that that was enough fajr that day. They felt that if they
broke it the next day it would not appear as if it was freshly broken.
It happened just like that. Atchireddy;abused the senior paid-servant.
As the bund looked just as it was at djie poor reddys’ fields, it did not
appear as if the canal was broken on purpose. But as for the water, it
filled the entire route of the canal.
The next1day they did according tic plan. They let the water flow
as much as it would till the star appjeared at midnight. Dark night.
Thieves’ hour. Water too changed direction like a thief. Like a thief it
wet the throat of the mala’s mound, i
The day broke. A strange experience in malapalli and madigapalli.
Inexplicable fear. Incomprehensible anxiety. Happiness at seeing the
wet mound. But happiness too had liarking fear. That experience too
was anxiety. But courage had no fear. No anxiety. If it did, it would
be no courage. As it was not so, Pittodu, Poladu, Musalaiah and
Mallaiah sat on the mala’s mound ijtself. Their thought was how to
 wet the two corners that needed to become wet. It was then that an
unforeseen incident took place.
We cannot believe that it happened in this manner then. No one
for the life of him agrees that ordinary people are so courageous. But
some things happen in that manner.
No one would have imagined. That Subhadra would have so
much courage. Yennela Dinni did not imagine. Even her own father
did not think that his daughter had so much guts. He only thought
she was adamant.
This incident occurred on the third day after the mala’s mound got
wet. Then the poor peasants’ fields were getting wet. W hile the poor
peasants’ fields were getting wet one midnight, the mala’s mound was
getting wet the second time. They thought that much of water was
enough for that year. There was a discussion in Atchireddy’s meeting
as to how the mala’s mound had got wet without using the water lift.
They caught hold of Chandrayi, the most timid person in malapalli,
tied him in the cattleshed and lashed him soundly. He revealed
everything. Atchireddy was enraged. He sent people to attack the
mala’s mound. They caught hold of Pittodu, Poladu and whoever
they could lay their hands on, threw them down and beat them with
sticks. Though it was not an unexpected incident, they did not think
it would happen so suddenly. Everyone was confused. Atchireddy’s
people assaulted them as per their plan and went away. Pittodu’s arm
was broken. There was a big blow on Poladu’s waist. Mallaiah escaped
but Musalaiah was hurt.
The malas and madigas watched, stunned. In the time it took
them to get over it, the damage that was to be done was done. None
of them was able to look at Pittodu a_nd Poiadu who were hurt.
Pittodu’s arm was bleeding. Poladu’s back was bleeding. The malas
and madigas were shedding tears.
Subhadra was amidst that blood. Subhadra was amidst those tears.
She picked up the spade next to her. All were watching. She tucked
her saree tight between her legs. Everyone was looking at her with
wide-open eyes. She swirled the fringe of her saree and tucked it in.
She was like the yellow golden wire glowing in the sun. Eyes were like
a burning furnace. She moved forward with the spade.
‘Where to, Subhadra?’
 That was not only Pittodu’s voice. Not just of Boodevi. Not of
Poladu alone. It was the voice of a number of untouchable people.
‘Where to, Subhadra?’ were the words uttered by all the malas and
madigas of Yennela Dinni in one voice.
Subhadra did not stop.
She did not wait for anyone’s words. They were not steps but a run.
A run filled with vengeance. Did not know why she moved. Did not
know where she was running to. Poladu’s wife shrieked crazily. ‘Stop,
Subhadra . . . Come, my co-wives . . . Stop, my bidda . . .’ Crazy
running. Mother running for the child. That was Boodevi running.
After that the mothers and daughters of Yennela Dinni . . .
‘Stop, Subhadra . . . Stop, Subhadra.’
Subhadra stopped. Near Atchireddys water channel. She stepped
on the edge of Atchireddys water channel. Subhadra was a weak
turmeric stick. Subhadra was the delicate golden wire that would burn
in flames immediately if the workman were to lose his concentration
. . . bent her waist. Stubborn strength. She sent down the spade
powerfully into the channel. She dug the mud and threw it to one
side. Water gushed out. Lifting the spade she stood like that. She
looked like Kali at Atchireddys men who were looking wonderstruck
at the sunshine over the flowing water dancing on her golden body.
At that moment, Atchireddy arrived.
On that side the malas and the madigas. On this side, the reddys.
In between people of other castes working in Atchireddys fields.
Among them washermen, barbers and potters were watching. They
kept looking on.
‘Subbappa, a goodess has sprung up.’
The washerwoman, Venkayi looking stunned.
‘Is she Subhadra . . . ’?’
The potter’s daughter-in-law who had recently come to live with
her in-Jaws asked Venkayi.
‘Yes, it’s that girl. Real gold . . . Has never crossed the threshold.
A mala. Pittodu brought her up like a maharaja’s daughter. Her
husband’s Atalelladu. He went away to places to perform.’
‘Wretched fellow. How could he go?’
 117

‘Her life has become wretched like that. It’s for the child that
she stepped into the fields like a daughter-in-law of the Bayyarapu
household.’
The sun was not right on top. He hid in Subhadra’s eyes that were
looking on, sharply.
The scene was chaotic.
The scene was lashing the heart. It was an unimaginably strange
experience as if something was to be burnt to ashes. The reddys
were unable to fathom how to comprehend it. The malas and madigas
did not care how it was going to end.
All that they were seeing was just one thing.
A woman. And a mala at that. She had diverted the water in the
canal and stood holding the spade. She was throwing a challenge to
move her if they had the courage.
‘A spirit has possessed the girlf
Chukkireddy of the reddys saiid this. Atchireddy was next to him.
Chukkireddy did not stop at that. Chukkireddy was of the firm view
that only those possessed by the spirit could do this.
‘It’s so even in the jataras. girl’s body swells. The eyeballs
won’t move. The mouth won’t utter a word.’
Atchireddy kept listening. he listened, he looked towards
Subhadra. It was true— the not moving. Was not shifting
her gaze. Did not bring down the spade she had lifted up. Was not
withdrawing the foot she had placed. The water was flowing round
her feet. Atchireddy stared. Did not know why, but a small shiver
went down his body. Chukkireddy kept talking. In fact Subhadra did
not appear like Subhadra to Chiikkireddy. That girl was possessed by
mother goddess. Only mother goddess could do that.
The beliefs of the palle are strange. One cannot find reasons for
them. They recognise every wonderful act in gods, goddesses and
ghosts. That is why so many village deities reside in the iife of the palle.
They believe that human beingS do not act in that manner. There
are hundreds of mother goddesses like Poleramma, Ankalamma and
Mungamooramma. Parvati is a perfect untouchable goddess. Malas
call her ‘Paratamma’ endearingly. Mungamooramma was Pittodu’s
household deity. She is the sister of Parvatamma. In this manner,
there was a goddess in each house in the malapalli of Yennela Dinni.
 There was a god. All of them were siblings of Parvatamma. In fact,
if Subhadra collapsed on to the grc und here and now, she would
indeed become a goddess. She woqId become Parvatammas sister
or niece. There a stone would sprouj:. Yenkatalakshmi who read the
future that would be possessed by j. spirit. In that possessed state,
Subhadra would say, ‘I’ve no temple,' Atchiga.’ Atchireddy would say
he would build a temple. She would spit on the ground and ask
him to build it before it dried up. Mungamooramma asked that of
Pittodu’s great grandfather when he Avas alive. Since then, to this day
there had been no temple for Mungamooramma in Yennela Dinni.
Subhadra would take on Parvatamrr.a’s form. Would become a part
of Mungamooramma. That was why she would place that condition.
But that would not happen. There Would be no temple built there.
But a jatara would take place. Subhsdra could have become a water
goddess. Could have become a goddess 6f the water channel. Could
have become a field goddess. Could nave become a goddess of plots.
Or could have become even goddess Subhadra. W hat was strange was
that Atchireddy could have himself performed the jatara every year
so that his family would not be a target of Subhadra’s ire. If turmeric
and vermilion came from Pittodus house to Yellannas house every
year, Yellana’s progeny could have Brought that on the day of the
jatara. It could have happened like that.
Subhadra had broken the bund ofthe water canal. She stood holding
up the spade. Subhadra was the daughter of the mala household.
She was born in the untouchable caste. If she was just a mala or an
untouchable she would not have dared do such a thing. She would
have stolen at night like Pittodu or Poladu. She would have, like
Mallaiah, stolen well water at midnight. She would not have dared to
do such things in front of all reddys, not caring for the repercussions.
Therefore, it must be a goddess that possessed Subhadra. In the jatara
Subhadra would be possessed by a spirit. Therefore, in truth, it was
a goddess who had entered her. Cliukkireddy would believe that.
Chukkireddy would not believe even if Subhadra shouted loud and
clear that it was she, Subhadra, who did this work.
Washerwoman Venkayi was extremely fond of Subhadra. She
very much liked her form. When Subhadra was young, Chinnammi
took her in her arms and went to iJhe washermans shore. She put
 the child down on the sand and put the wet clothes to dry on the
banks. Venkayi saw the child as it was crawling. She felt as if gold was
glistening. She could not keep quiet, jusc watching her. She looked
this way and that. There was nobody else on the shore. She lifted
the child. Again she looked around. She would have to put up with
abuses if she lifted a mala child- She felt no one was watching her.
She kissed the child. Chinnammi was looking as she was washing the
clothes in the water. Venkayi lifted the child and hid behind a tree.
As Chinnammi did not know why she went there, she went near the
tree, peeped and was surprised. Venkayi had given her breast to the
child and was suckling her.
‘I’m feeding her.’
Chinnammi stood looking around. If someone saw a mala child
in Venkayis lap and saw her feeding it, they would not keep quiet.
The child drank as much as it wanted, pushed the breast aside, placed
its tongue against the palate and said ‘Ta’. How happy Venkayi was!
Looking into the child’s eyes, she said many ‘Sinni, how did
she get those eyes?’ Wasn’t that child this Subhadra! How crazily she
laughed when she said, ‘Ta’. How she kicked her on her stomach
with her anklet on her tiny legs! In that manner the one born in
a mala home and who stood with her foot on Atchireddys water
channel was no human being. No way. A goddess. Was definitely
Mungamooramma. Was Parvatamma for sure.
‘She’s a goddess’s child, you fellow . . . How long can she remain
like th a t. . . bring the spade down . . . ’
Venkayi ran towards Subhadra. As for the potters’ new daughter-
in-law, she was only looking at Subhadras nose ring.
Atchireddy heard Venkayis words. He retreated. He felt he should
not remain there any longer. Chukkireddy not stop
kept talking. He said Venkayis words were true. As she recognised this
like he did, she said, ‘She’s the goddess’s child.’ Not just then, he kept
speaking even after he came back to the ooru. Venkayi went around
each house and kept saying that Chukkireddy said so. Atchireddys
wife dragged Venkayi to the backyard and asked her to tell her all
that had happened. Chukkireddy settled the issue. It was the goddess
that had entered Subhadra. Though Subhadra was born in a mala’s
house, she was brought up in a different manner. The way she went
 around was entirely different. If Subhadra who had never mingled
with a crowd before did such a thing it was all the handiwork of the
goddess. Most certainly the work of the goddess. Venkayi believed
Chukkireddy all the more. She added more to the story. Atchireddy’s
wife involuntarily lifted her hands and paid obeisance.
W hat is surprising is that on the third day, Atchireddy offered food
near the Malutchamma tree. The malas and madigas ate that food.
After they ate, they were chased away with neem twigs up to the
outskirts. Now the water that was flowing in the fallow land began
to flow through the cart track. There began the use of the water lift,
and the mala’s mound started getting wet once again. Years passed by.
No matter what people thought, no matter how many stories took
birth, Subhadra was only an ordinary person. A very ordinary person
indeed. A mother who toiled for Sivaiah. A housewife who awaited
Yellanna.
That was all in the past. Pittodu, Yenkatanarsu and Poladu would
sit keeping all that in front of them. Their past kept returning to
them and stopping with Subhadra. It would stop with the worry as to
how Yellanna was, till Sivaiah came and scolded them a bit. During
sankranti days, they would never get up from near the fire, lit for the
cold. While in summer, they would keep talking and would sleep at
the meeting place. At some hour Poladu would get up, dusting off
the sand, saying, ‘Rascals, if we fall asleep why don’t you wake us up?’
Their lives would go by in Yennela Dinni in that manner. Yennela
Dinni would appear strange to them once in a while. Sometimes
they would love it so much so as to say, ‘If we die, we’ll do so here.’
Sometimes they would be irritated enough to say, ‘Wretched place,
it’d have been nice to have been born somewhere else.’ Yesterday went
by somehow. Today would go by like this. Tomorrow, there would be
nothing they could call their own.
Subhadra had no such disappointment. All she had was hope.
She would get up in the morning. She would go towards the mala’s
mound. She would spend the entire day digging, weeding, or doing
something or the other. Next to her piece of land were Pittodu’s
and Boodevi’s. They were cultivating crops in all the three together.
Whether paddy was planted and harvested, or whether gogulu grew,
it was all in that land. Even when the three pieces of land were put
together, they would be two cents less than an acre. Subhadra would
not listen even if Pittodu asked her not to work. She would not pay
attention even when he said, ‘We cian’t see you toil so hard, my little
one.’ She was no longer a little one:. Sivaiah was right in front of her
eyes. Yellanna who was not present there was in her heart. She had
drawn a circle for herself. She:was^ moving about within that circle.
She did not care what meaning the palle ascribed to that circle.
She moved within that circle for many years. Her hair was greying
here and there.
Pittodu said it was early greying. Chinnammi felt like laughing.
For Pittodu, Subhadra was still a little one. If she went to the mala’s
mound forgetting her slippers, he would run carrying them, and
would not return till he had made her wear them. He would not eat
till then. Where one has no property, affection is indeed the property,
love alone is life. In truth, what wonderful lovers are the poor! W hy
do they love a person like that? ’What greater value is there in the
world than doing such a thing? Preachers teach values. The poor
live them.
Once she came to know the news about Yellanna through
coolies when they migrated for the harvest season. Finding this out
also happened in a curious manner. The coolies sang as they were
harvesting,
Listen Subhadra.28 j
The mouse drank the water under the roof. Listen
Listen Subhadra.
How will it rain at a cloudless place? Listen
Listen Subhadra.
How will the stream fill up wi thout rain? Listen
Listen Subhadra.
How will the field become wer without the stream filling?
|| Listen
Listen Subhadra.
How will we plant saplings without the wet?
II Listen I
 122
1
Listen Subhadra.
How will the corn flower without planting the saplings?
; ||Listen [|
Listen Subhadra.
How will the grains fall without threshing the yield? || Listen j|
Listen Subhadra. i
How will the granary fill without ;the grain falling? || Listen ||
Listen Subhadra.
How to pay back the withbut the granary filling?
|| Listen ||
Listen Subhadra. !
The is paid back, hunger remains. ||Listen ||
Listen Subhadra. ]
The year-long crops are measured! out to the landlords.
|| Listen ||
Listen Subhadra.
The mouse drank the water undet the roof. ||Listen ||

She listened to the entire song die coolies sang. The song began
with her name. Her name was in die refrain. The voice of the girl
who sang was also sweet. The way the girl changed the tune at the
end of each stanza was just like the Way Yellanna did.
It was Yellanna who wove that song.
It was Yellanna who had constructed the song in the village the girl
lived in and sang it. He must have sung it many times. Otherwise,
that change of tune could not have been reproduced. She only knew
that the coolies came from the north. For the Nellore region, all of
Guntur and Krishna came under thejnorthern region. To which place
in the north did they belong? She shared her doubts with Boodevi.
Boodevi, too, listened to that song. jPoladu’s wife who was working
next to her also listened. Both of them, too, could not but think so
as Subhadra’s name was in the song. When Subhadra told Boodevi
this, her hunch was strengthened. She wanted to meet them at night.
Subhadra, too, said she would go along to meet them.
The northern coolies were staying on the reddenadi mound. The
reddenadi mound was in the middle field. There was only one
family of yanadis there. Reddenadi came from Chakicharla. There
his father and grandfather took care of the reddy and lived where
the cattle feed was stacked. Did not know' how many years ago they
had set up their family. They forgot their family name. The older son
of the reddenadis came to Yennela Dinni.. He guarded the reddys
fields and remained on the mound. The male reddenadi, the woman
and their two children. The mound was very big. The coolies who
migrated there during harvest time would stay there. They left for
that place. When they went past madigapalli, Poladu and his wife
went along with them to keep them company.
Subhadra looked up as she walked.
Shining stars. Tender moonlight. You could call it a crescent moon.
The tender moonlight wondering whether it ought to shine on the
paddy heaps spread out on the ground. In the paddy fields which
were empty as paddy was not spread out there sounded the quacking
of a flock of ducks driven there by their owners. They sounded very
strange. Like the singing a chorus of experienced singers. They
would stop all of a sudden. A strange silence. Would commence
again. Once again in unison.
At such times, Yellanna would stop and listen. One could not
understand why he was fond of listening to those sounds. Thinking
of how much Yellanna would be elated at the coming of the flock of
ducks at the close of the harvesting season was indeed amazing. That,
too, in tender moonlight. Yellanna would refer to such an instance
as bright moonlight. Once in a while he would refer to it as cool
moonlight. Subhadra did not know the difference between bright
moonlight and cool moonlight. It was just that her man would say
such a thing. She did not search for their distinctive features when
he was next to her.
But now she was searching for them. When the moon rose, when
the shining stars were twinkling, when the flocks of ducks were
flapping their wings and quacking, the bright moonlight on the
124

muddy ground among the fields and at the edge of the field canals
that were almost dry. How would it be? The wonderful moonlight.
W hy would it be that? However much she searched, her search would
come to nought. He made it so. He gathered all the moonlight from
Yennela Dinni and left just the Dinni behind. The mean one.
How many names he gave to the moonlight! Was it just one
or two! Tender moonlight, full moonlight, ripe moonlight, flour
moonlight—how many such names! Felt like laughing. Sometimes,
he would give such a mischievous name and burst out laughing.
Now he would not have found any moonlight here. Everything was
pitch dark. Black smoke. All that remained before her, however, were
the songs and words he had woven. How he wove songs about her!
Thinking of this, her heart swelled with pride. She would forget
she was the mother of a grown-up child. Everything was stealthy
moonlight. Felt like singing. Though the women walking behind her
could hear her, though Polayi mama walking in front could hear
her, her lips were moving. A silent tune came out from the depths
of her heart. But she alone could hear the tune. She was not the one
singing, it was he. Yellanna. Yelladu. The one who held her heart in
his grip. The one who had sketched her picture in the moonlight the
way he desired. How he said it!
On the mattress of the sky
On the cotton sheet
Subhadra, the starry flower bunch
Subhadra, you’re truly a real coral.
Mattress of the sky, cotton sheet, starry flower bunch. How would
each one be? As if he would say what each one was for. Real coral.
How did she appear to him then? Could not stop crying. W hy did
he make her cry now?
W hen he sang before their marriage of a starry muggukarra.
W hen she went to him stealthily, though her father was upset and
her mother scolded her, saying it was his fault entirely. When she hid
herself against his chest and spoke out the concluding lines to his
song. W hy did he yearn so much then? How could she throw away
that yearning saying that that was all a lie? If it were a lie why would
it be like that? As she approached the reddenadi mound, what did she
recall? How often did his calling her by many names on the edge of
 the row of palm trees next to the mound, her getting wet in the rain,
her running away so as not to be seen when the reddenadi called out,
‘Who’s there?’ as he guarded the field canal— how often had these
diijtigs not happened? Those were shameless days. But what good
days! Those were certainly not untrue. The moonlight shining over
the stream. The cold baths in that moonlight. Even when mother
cursed her saying she was totally shameless, they did not appear as
abuses then. Those baths were not lies. Those curses were not lies.
As he looked out eagerly for her and kept away from sleep saying, ‘I
didn’t sleep all night thinking you’d come,’ looking at the red streak
in his eyes, how sorry she felt. Wasn’t it then, when he stood in the
bazaar gazing like that, that she broke all rules, held his hand and
pulled him into the house? Wasn’t it then that her father saw them?
Wasn’t she upset and didn’t she refuse to eat? Her father searched for
a bridegroom from Kolia Dinni. When she was adamant, when she
said she would not marry anyone but Yellanna, did he not perform
the marriage grandly? How could all those be lies? He was not a
lie. Her marriage with him was not a lie. Moonlight, stream, the
verses, the running around— none these was a lie. When it was
not so, when nothing was a lie, why did he throw away everything
and leave?
The tears were not hiding in the eyes. The heartache was not
hiding in the heart. Felt like sitting down right there. Felt like crying
loudly. Felt like shouting aloud, had the three not been there,. W hy
had the moonlight and shining stars appeared only now? Memory
haunting her like a wound. She steadied herself. She wiped her
with the edge of her saree.
Perhaps the reddenadi had been watching for a long time; he said,
‘W hat’s it, how come you’re here?’ Poladu said, ‘To meet the migrant
coolies.’ They seemed to have just eaten their food. All the women
were sitting together in a group. The men had spread the mats on
the sand and were lying down. They got up on seeing those who
had come. The women raised their heads and saw. In the moonlight,
Subhadra gave them a strange feeling. They invited them cordially to
sit down. Subhadra sat next to the girl who had been singing.
‘I want to listen to the song you sang while harvesting,’ she said.
 The girl felt shy. All the women isaid in unison, ‘Sing.’ The girl
raised her voice. The song began. Siibhadra made her sing two or
three stanzas over and over again.
‘Where did you learn it?’
‘Mala bairagi taught me.’ i
‘Only this song?’
‘He taught me many.’
‘On the mattress of the sky
No sooner had Subhadra started on the first line, the girl caught
on. Saying ‘on the cotton sheet,’ she sang the entire song.
W hat she thought turned out to be true. It was Yellanna. Her
Yelladu. But the girl said mala bairagi.
‘Who did you say taught you?’
‘Mala bairagi. ’
‘Isn’t it Yellanna?’
‘Yellanna?’
‘That’s it . . . the dancing Yelladu, the singing Yelladu.’
‘I don’t know who Yellanna is.’
Subhadra gave a weak look. She jdid not understand how to tell
the girl. She did not understand hojw to get it out of this girl.
bent her head. Drops were falling djown. The father of the girl who
had been looking keenly only at Subhadra till then came forward.
Said his name was Sina Subbanna. Said he performed. Said he was
well-known for his role of Baiarama. Said proudly that he would play
no role other than that role. When they were told the girl’s name, it
was clear why he had such craze for the role of Baiarama. The girl’s
name was Sasirekha.
He also uttered that name just as Baiarama would utter it. Naganna
would call Subhadra just like that. T}us was a strange trait among the
malas who performed Veedhi Bagotams. There was no special sect in
that caste who performed Veedhi Bagotams. Anyone would learn it.
But if a girl was born into that famiily and if the father, grandfather
or uncles or someone was a dancer, they would give a name from the
puranas to the girl. They would also pronounce it quite clearly. Not
like saying Boodevi or Latchimdevi, but very clearly like Subhadra,
Sasirekha or Prabhavati.
When they told her the girl’s name, Subhadra looked at the girl.
 Sasirekha! Did not know why she spoke like that. She spoke. The
girl raised her head and saw. She lifted the lamp with dindiga seed
oil that was at a distance and looked. Felt jealous. She was not so
clearly visible in the tender moonlight earlier. But the girl’s look was
different. The girl was fair. Not too dark. Captivating looks.
In that light, Boodevi too looked^at the girl. She looked at her eyes.
The same attraction. The captivating look. Boodevi felt like laughing.
When Subhadra came searching for Yellanna, she too looked like that.
Involuntarily, Subhadra took the kohl from her eye with her fingertip
and placed a dot on the girl’s cheek. The girl was nonplussed.
Sina Subbanna began to narrate how they met Yellanna.
Sina Subbanna saw a man teaching songs to boys who tended
the cattle. He saw Yellanna like that the first time. The voice was
great. Went near. A song from the Chenchu play. The man was tired
out. The beard had grown. It was grey here and there. Eyes were
large. Nose was sharp. Was straight. He looked wonderful when he
laughed.
‘Bairagi of which village?’
He looked surprised. Sina Subbanna did not know why his words
surprised him. Yellanna looked at him as if he was searching for
something. He looked as if he was being addressed strangely. Did not
tell the name of the village.
‘W hat’s your name?’
‘B airagi. . . mala bairagi.’
He said laughing. Did not understand why he laughed. But he
felt it would be good if he laughed again. He opened the bundle of
food and kept it in front of him. He ate. When Sina Subbanna said
they should come home, he did not object. He came. He taught the
dramatic art to malapalli. He made them perform. They gave him
clothes. They gave him He did not say where he came
from. He did not say why he came. But he would always weave some
song or the other. Subhadra would be in every song he wove. When
asked who this Subhadra was, he did not tell them. One day Sasirekha
asked him. She asked, ‘Is Subhadra atthas name?’ He looked at her
when atrha name?’ the he did
when he was asked, ‘Bairagi from which village?’
 Sina Subbanna could not digest it. The girl called Subhadra
attha.
Sina Subbanna kept narrating.
Subhadra looked at Sasirekha once again. The girl had continued
to keep her head bent.
‘Lift your head,’ said Subhadra.
Sasirekha lifted her head.
‘Look at me. How do you find me?’
The wind that was wafting over the stacks of crop stopped all of a
sudden. The migrant coolies, all looked at her at the same time. Sina
Subbanna could not utter a word. The songs that wafted through all
their minds at one go were Yellanna’s songs.

Subhadra went to the reddenadi’s mound to find out about Yellanna

and search for him. Though she could not find out where Yellanna
was, she found a daughter-in-law. Even ten days before Subbanna
set out for Yennela Dinni as a migrant coolie, Yellanna had left that
village. Though Yellanna was not there, she performed the marriage
of Sivaiah and Sasirekha. In the open yard next to her house she
had a hut built for both of them. Now, in the morning, Sasirekha
accompanied her to the malas mound. Boodevi remained at home
weaving the string of the cot. As Chinnammi was a strong person,
she was not crushed.
In the villages there are pairs such as Ramudu and Ramulamma.
Sitaiah and Sitamma. If there are such pairs, they would make them
rotate the pestle to cure back pain. But it was indeed strange that
Subhadra and Sasirekha were mother-in-law and daughter-in-law.
For the washerwoman Venkayi that was something strange too. As
for Chukkireddy, some spirit kept chasing him. Atchireddy’s wife
sent for the washerwoman Venkayi to her backyard, made her sit
and relate everything to her. Venkayi told her everything. Later, as
Atchireddy’s wife walked past dhe mala’s mound, she wanted, without
being noticed, to look at the mother-in-law and daughter-in-law
 bending low in the mound and removing the weeds. But once she
saw them, she did not feel like moving.
Time was fleeing on its own accord.
The drought that had started somewhere seemed to hit Yennela
Dinni rather obliquely. It appeared as if the wind was blowing only
now. Every evening there was some change in the wind blowing across
the ocean. Even Atchireddy was finding it difficult. The condition of
the lower reddys was deteriorating. The poor peasants were enveloped
in the fear that they might not: be able to tide over those days. There
was therefore no need to speak! about the condition of the malas and
madigas. As for Sivaiah, toil remained merely that. There was no
result other than the mother-in-law and daughter-in-law breaking
their backs. Chukkireddy said the mother goddess’s jatara had to be
performed. He made children tie the frog-mother threw
neem branches at it, and had! people shout, ‘Frog-mother, become
pregnant.’ Neither did the frog-mother become pregnant nor were
the pots filled with water.
As the travellers sat at the foot of the gaviti tree in Yennela Dinni,
they began to relate the hunger deaths here and there in their regions.
Not only did those words frighten Yennela Dinni, but hunger deaths
surrounded Yennela Dinni.
The severe drought known as took the lives of lakhs
of people in southern India. tlJo rains. No crops. No work, nothing
at all on the parched earth. People ate leaves. They ate weeds . . .
The fruit did not help! them survive. began to
create burning in the stomach. They drank muddy water thinking
it would infuse life. Even so, hunger deaths did not-stop. They died
violently shaking their legs. They died straining their stomachs. They
died contracting diarrhoea. They went on starving and died. Along
with it cholera.
In the region where Yellanna lived, the people who had been left
behind after the deaths were migrating. Knowing that the Buckingham
canaP’ was being dug, hoping that they would employment
there, that they would be able to survive, holding on co their lives,
fhc;- wrroc finding their wayi v/hen the}- came to die outskirts of
the village, they went ahead beyond it. hoped me cholera
there would not touch them. Even so, someone or the other was
 dropping dead on the way. Groups of people were undertaking very
long journeys. Did not know what their destination was. It definitely
ought to be some place. It had to be on this earth. Mala bairagi
Yellanna joined these groups.
He remembered the tomb of sampenga flowers on the way. He
remembered potter Pedakoteswarudu arid yanadi Ramanaiah. The
hungry intestines were not willing to put up with so much toil. Even
so, he moved out of the group. Astonishing. Some walked, following
him. W hen he said, ‘Where to?’, they asked him ‘Where to?’ There
is no need for any other example to show how chaotic life was. A
run for livelihood. Could drop dead on the way. Could reach the
destination. That was not in their hands.
He reached the tomb of sampenga flowers. There were no sampenga
flowers on the tomb. Did not know when the sampenga tree that shed
flowers had become half dry and begun to struggle for life. Could
not find yanadi Ramanaiah. Did not see his beautiful waist and the
serene smile in his eyes. There were no emaciated dogs barking in the
huts of the yanadi mound either. Did not know where malapalli had
migrated. Did not know which corners madigapalli was searching.
He sat next to the tomb. He kept remembering Ramanaiah. He
remembered the dappu stick. Ramanaiah was a great sage. He did
not feel like staying there any more. His hunger disappeared. He did
not die. W hy was he still alive? Lightning flashing far away. That was
not lightning. An illusion that was like lightning.
Yennela Dinni!
Yennela Dinni!!
The place of his birth. The place he grew up.
He came away intending to go back. He had to go back. Had to
go till there. Had to go to Yennela Dinni. He again merged with the
crowds. He was weaving something within himself. In that weave,
he was singing for someone. His pallavi was Subhadra. That was all.
Only that word remained. That one word alone was being woven,
over and over again. He set out towards Yennela Dinni.
In Yennela Dinni, each day a man was turning into a corpse.
Atchireddy in fact died of cholera. Chukkireddy died of hunger.
Even as he died, some goddess kept tormenting him and killed him.
 The same with the washerwoman Venkayi and the new daughter-in-
law of the potters. Atchireddy’s wife was battling for life.
There was no need to talk of the houses of the malas and madigas.
Sivaiah began to dig pits for his people. In the morning, he buried
Pittodu. In the evening, Chinnammi. The next day Boodevi. In the
early hours of the night, Yenkatanarsu. Sivaiah kept digging pits. He
was digging for his people. He was digging for the neighbours. At
every pit, Subhadra was sitting like a haunted spirit. Even when so
many were dying, she felt death would not touch her. She decided
she would live till he returned.
‘Eat my girl.’
‘You eat, attha.’
‘The stomach will become sore, my girl.’
Sivaiah could not listen to those words of the mother-in-law and
daughter-in-law. He picked up the spade. By then he had already
dug up the grain-pit of tender palmyra sprouts four times. Even so,
a hope. At least one would be found. He began to loosen the soil.
It was then that he found a sprouted palm seed. He planted it back
in the mud again. Though the pit was growing larger, there was no
sight of the tender palmyra sprout. Even so, an anxiety. Man toils
to live. Toils even as he dies. People of Sivaiah’s age group died even
before death struck them. Mother remained. Wife remained. Did
not know whether the father was dead or alive. If he was alive, it
meant three were alive. His mother’s name was Subhadra. Wife’s
name was Sasirekha. Puranic names. Royal names. Names that had
been fostered with a lot of fondness. How clearly those who had kept
those names had pronounced them! But. his father was not Arjuna.
He was not Abhimanyu. No Lord Krishna was on their side. There
was no five
refused. All that they had was caste. The caste outside
A castaway caste. All the struggle was only to live. Whether they flee
or run the only thing that does not touch them is the poisonous
snake-like culture.
But had to live conquering hunger, conquering untouchability.
And that too in such drought.
The malas and madigas of Yennela Dinni, saving the meat of dead
cattle the vultures, separating the bones and the flesh those
 cattle, roasting and eating them. Fight over that, fight with the eagles.
Fight with the vultures. Fight with fellowmen. For just a small piece
of meat. For roasting and eating it. The four-caste system ate living
people. The caste outside it only ate dead creatures. These were non-
voilent people. That’s why this hunger. That’s why this untouchability.
Yellanna could be a great singer. But Sivaiah could not imagine that
now. That great artist, chasing the eagles to roast just a small piece of
meat . . . the looks of a wolf. . . . On the trees the looks of vultures.
No. No need for such thoughts.
He was digging. Hoping that he would find at least one tender
palmyra sprout. Finally, when he paused to see he had dug a pretty
deep pit. He felt it even without thinking about it. A pit big enough
for two. He felt fear at such a thought. He threw the spade right there
and came out of the palle.
There was a lot of commotion, under a gaviti tree as if the number
of migrants had increased. They were all coming down from atop.
They were walking holding their hunger in their stomachs. For work
during the drought. For digging the Buckingham canal. For work.
The groups that reached there. He wanted to go near them. Did not
feel like going. Went half way and returned. But he felt someone was
staggering and coming that way. He was coming from the groups
under the gaviti tree. The man came close. He was about to die so
or at this very moment. The one who came repeated one word many
times over as if he could not utter anything else.
‘Subhadra . . . Subhadra . . . Subhadra.’
Sivaiah was startled by those words. He looked deep. His father?
He was calling out his mother’s name. It was his father. Yes, it was
his father. The man was unable to understand any of this. Only one
word. As if he knew no other word.
Subhadra . . . Subhadra. . . . He was indeed his father. His father.
Sivaiah hugged his father. He was crying really loud. But only one
word.
Subhadra . . . Subhadra.
Sivaiah told him his name. He said he was his one and only son.
He said, ‘A yya, look at me.’
B u t. . .
Subhadra . . . Subhadra.
 Only that word. Father and son. Mother and daughter. W hat was
this bond? Whatever there wa$, Was only one bond. It could be for
the haves. Could also be for tile have-nots. Could be for the upper
castes. Could be for the untouchables. Only one eternal bond. The
husband- and-wife bond. T and my Subhadra. She and I.’ He was
unable to say all these words aJoudrWas able to say just one word.
Subhadra . . . Subhadra..
Was about to collapse.
Sivaiah caught hold of his father: Carried him on his shoulder.
Hurried steps. Father had to live till then. Had to live till he reached
his mother.
The dusky light was wearing its final smiles. It was of that light that
Yellanna wove the song, ‘Rabbit of dusky light Subhadra, Subhadra
who passes through the field mounds.’ He called it an old dusk.
Awakening ray. The clenching dusky lips. The last stage of sprout-
waves. The streams heart wrehch. that caresses the speechless earth.
Those were all the tunes of Yellanna’s songs. Sivaiah did not want
any of those. Father had to live. Father had to live till he reached
mother. That’s all . . . The steps were heavy.
The steps stopped at the threshold.
Sivaiah raised his head. I
Subhadra in front.
He took his father in both his hands.
‘A yya . . . my ayya’.
Only one sound. Subhadra. Subhadra.
Subhadra stopped just there and looked. Her man indeed. How
did he go? How did he come now? In this twilight what dark light
had pushed him? Having rbaixied all kinds of places, why was the
song so tired, when it came near?
Subhadra kept looking lijkeitnat. She collapsed looking like that.
She stretched her hands towards Sivaiah. She kept her looks towards
Yellanna. - 1.1
‘Lay him here, bidda.’
Sivaiah rested Yellanna’s head in her hands.
Subhadra . . . Subhadra.
Subhadn could not utter;a word. She covered Yellanna’s head
: !i,- fr-mee her She hugged him closc. She was caressing
 Yellanna’s head with her hands. Overpowering sleep. A sleep from
which she did not wake up.
Silence. That was it. He was not there for him to call out. She was
not there to hear him.
Only Sivaiah’s sobs remained.
Sasirekha’s wails kept them company.
The last shadow of the vestiges of the vanishing dusky light that
had run in Yennela Dinni’s fields, like a raw blood spot that had
combined hunger and untouchability.
Sivaiah did not like to separate the w o . He placed them as they
were in the pit with great difficulty. He threw in a palmful of mud.
He asked Sasirekha to push it. They went on pushing the mud.
They themselves did not know why they were doing this. When
they thought the pit was filled, they lay down just like that on the
pit, tired.
Beneath the mud, the song and the pallavi. On top of it their
echoes.
Did not know what Yennela Dinni would feel. As for the yennela
pitta, it perched there but did not run away crying hoarse.
A new day dawned. Sivaiah tied the few clothes he had into a
bundle. He kept the rice pot and the vegetable vessel in the basket.
He tied the basket on one side and the bundle on the other of the
yoke. W ith Sasirekha he mingled among the migrants.
As he kept going, he turned back. He remembered his mother and
father beneath the mud. Yenkatanarsu, Poladu, Pittodu, Boodevi,
Chinnammi, Poladu’s wife . . . he remembered one by one. Both
the palles were like two burial grounds. Some skeleton seemed to
have risen in the ooru just then. As he crossed the malas mound he
felt terrible. All a struggle for survival. Did not know whether they
would return to this village or not. He definitely wanted to come
back. This was the earth into which all his blood had sunk. This was
the earth that had drunk their sweat. Had to come back. Had to
come back definitely.
‘I remember attha.’
‘Move on . . . the migrants in front have gone a long way.’ Though
hunger restricted her from taking a step forward, Sasirekha was
 running along with Sivaiah. Did not know why, but the man who
was walking stopped suddenly. He looked towards Sasirekha.
'You know all of ayya’s songs, don’t you?’
‘I know many.’
‘Preserve them. We’ll have them written down.’ Walk once again.
They reached Kavali. They stopped near Kalugolamma’s temple.
They thought of staying back at that temple itself for the night. The
people were not stopping there. They prayed to mother goddess.
Kalugolamma knew no caste. She was Parvatamma’s sister. They
started to walk again. A small forest came their way. When they asked
the man next to them, he said they neared Rudrakota. Did not know
when it had been dug. There was a really large ground well. There
were trees all around. They fell on the trees like monkeys.
They tied as many raw neredu fruits as they could lay their hands on
into bundles.
‘Eat.’
‘Stomach pain.’
‘Have to live.’
She ate even as she complained of pain. They drank a palmful of
water from the step-well. Sivaiah brought water in the rice pot. They
slept that night there. They slept next to each other in a row. Hunger-
sleep, tired-sleep.
Walk once again. In the very early hours. Some said it would take
another day. Another man said not one but two more days. For five
days, ‘Walk? Walk on. Forever complaining.’
‘Who’s lagging behind?’
‘Wait.’
‘He fell down.’
The entire crowd reached there. The one who had fallen down, lay
right there. Did not move. They pulled him to a side. Did not know
to which village he belonged. They placed the leaves of the branches
of the forest on him. They did not have the energy to dig a pit.
‘I’m scared.’
‘Walk along.’
Crowds and crowds of people. People all along the way. People
walking without any energy as if they had no option. No matter
whose eyes you looked into, there was no spark. sorrow of having
 lost a lot. A young boy in that group spoke to Sivaiah. There was also
a young girl next to him.
‘Six sisters. They became one with the dust in front of my eyes.
I’m a madiga from Bayyaram. I’m the only one left. The one the
middle. Father died earlier. Mother went along with him. Whats
your name?’
‘Sivaiah. I’m a mala from Yennela Dinni. She’s my wife.’
‘You’re the only two left?’
‘Yes!’
‘You’re better off. I’m the only one left.’
‘This young girl . . . ’
‘I met her on the way. She seems to be a girl from further west. She
must also be the only one left behind like me. We thought we would
live together if we survived till we reached the canal. We thought we’d
dig a pit for whoever dies on the way. We’re alive till here. My name’s
Jinkodu. I don’t know the girl’s name. Don’t know her caste. The girl
can’t speak. Just sign language.’
He laughed uttering those words. Sivaiah did not laugh. He felt as
if someone had gnawed at his heart. He kept staring at the boy.
They were walking all through the day. they kept walking, the
girl would stop. She stopped like that many times.
‘Loose motions . . . yesterday too it was like this.’ Surprise— he
would himself take the girl behind a mound or tree. The girl would
go only if he went. Sivaiah would be surprised. He did not understand
how the girl had so much confidence in him.
They kept walking even as it became dark. It seemed like some
village. They could hear dogs barking. Sivaiah felt scared to go into
the village. But he said it did not matter and asked them to come
along. There could be cholera in the village. They stopped at a mango
grove a little distance from the village. There was a water hole in the
grove. They did not know if the water was good or not. Even so, there
was no option— they had to drink.
Hazy moonlight.
They swept the dry leaves and rested their backs on the sand.
Sasirekha was tired. No sooner did she lie down than she slept. She
fell into a light slumber. As for the girl, she lay down holding the
boy s hand tight.
 137

‘Shall we go into the village?’

‘W hy?’
‘If we search the houses, were sure to find food. I searched the
houses like that twice on the way. I found food. This girl and I ate.’
'I don’t think so.’
‘Let’s see. The women are sleeping. The village is quite close by.
Everyone would be asleep. Somewhere or the other, we’re sure to find
a morsel or so of food. From childhood, I’ve been adept at stealing
food. If we find it, your poor wife will be able to eat something.’
Sivaiah softened at those words. He woke Sasirekha up from her
sleep and said he would go to the village. She said okay.
There was no other sound; in the village except the barking
of dogs.
Did not know which village it was.
At some places, they could see the light of lanterns. They felt this
village was better than many others. Sivaiah was doing what Jinkodu
asked him to.
Houses where no people were there at ail.
Perhaps they were there som£ days ago. They might have migrated.
They might have died. j
Even if there were people there, they were sleeping as if drugged.
But there was no food in any pbt. Even so Jinkodu was not tired. He
kept searching still. He felt thejlast three houses still remained.
In one of the houses, next tp the central pole, there was a lamp. A
little distance from the lamp was a sunken cot. Next to the cot was a
food plate. He took it greedily, and looked at it. Someone had eaten
half the food. They had kept it
‘Food!’
Jinkodu in fact said it loudly.
‘They have left it half eaten. ’
Sivaiah listened to Jinkodu’si words in surprise.
‘M y husband . . . died without eating all of it.’
Sivaiah an with direction
from which those words came. the pole, there was an
oid woman. here was no cloth on her except over her private
parts. The darkness was horrific} in the shade of the pole.
 Jinkodu lifted the lamp next to the pole and looked. On the
sunken cot, the dead body of the old maft that had become stiff,
‘Great man. He left this for us anc died/ he said laughing. Sivaiah
was surprised at Jinkodu’s words. He looked frightened,
'A ghosts food? Is there a ghost or ler than hunger! Come . . . ’
Saying that, he turned back. Sivjaij had not still turned this way.
The old woman in the shade of the pole fell on Jinkodu in one leap.
Jinkodu was startled at the unexpected turn of events.
‘Keep the food there, you fellow.’
Saying those words, the old woman caughr Jinkodu tight. Even
the tiny tattered cloth covering hex; private parts fell off. She was like
a strange animal-. .Sivaiah felt like running away from there. As for
Jinkodu, he pushed the old woman with force. That old woman fell
far away. Jinkodu held Sivaiah’s hand and came out pulling him. The
old woman got up, gathered strength and followed them. Jinkodu
began to run. Sivaiah was running involuntarily. The old woman
was running abusing them. When they turned around and looked,
she appeared terrifying. The dogs; chased the old woman. Even as
she chased the dogs she abused Jinkodu. She stopped unable to run.
Now only the barking of the dogs Was heard. After they neared the
grove and when they turned back and looked, the old woman was
seen in the middle of the dogs. The barfdng of the dogs was heard.
The old womans voice was not heard.
‘Poor old woman, the dogs must .nave killed her.’
‘Wake her up, she’ll eat the food.’
‘That’s the food of two ghosts.’
‘It’ll be enough for the four gho sts here, if we adjust . . . wake
her up.’
‘She won’t eat even if I wake her up/
‘You?’
‘No.’
‘Good . . . then only two ghosts ^vill eat/
He woke up the girl. She opened her eyes as if she was exhausted.
He mixed a morsel and put it in her mouth. The moment the morsel
of food entered her mouth, the girl’s eyes opened completely and she
got up.
She signalled as if to ask if it was food.
 ‘Eat.’
Another sign as if to ask from where.
‘Some fellow died without eating half of it . . . eat this morsel.’
She nodded as if to indicate it was good. He gave her another
morsel. She shook her head as if to indicate it was enough. He
pleaded. She kept saying no. He forced her and made her eat another
morsel. Sivaiah was moved. He looked in the boys direction. He
made the food into three mouthfuls and ate it. He dipped his plate
in the water hole, filled it fully and drank it. He brought water and
washed the girl’s mouth. He made her drink water. He placed the
plate under his head and lay down. The girl placed her head on his
shoulder. She placed her hands on him.
Water swirled in Sivaiah’s eyes. He did not know why water was
swirling in his eyes. But it was happening like that.
That whole night, the girl had loose motions. Sivaiah did not
know when he fell asleep. At about dawn when Sivaiah got up, he
heard Jinkodu crying. Sivaiah looked at the girl.
‘When did it happen?’
‘It was not dawn then.’
Silence. No one knew what to say. Sasirekha got up, saw the scene
and could bear it.
‘You go. I’ll fulfil the word I gave and will come if I’m alive.’ There
was nothing other than this he could do.
He looked at the girl. She was getting over her tiredness for ever.
They left Jinkodu there and set out. The journey that started at
dawn ended when the sun was right on top as they neared the place
where the digging of Buckingham canal was going on.
The entire region was filled with Groups all kinds of
places seemed to have gathered here. Those who were supposed to dig
were digging. Those who were supposed to fill the baskets were filling
them up. Those who were supposed to carry, were carrying them.
Sivaiah found everything confusing. Struggle for life. Everything was
just that. A struggle just for living.
He did not know whom to approach to ask for work. Sasirekha
who was tired was standing with the support of his shoulders. On
reaching there, Sivaiah was no longer afraid that they may not live. It
would be enough if he started working. He could save Sasirekha.
 At a distance he saw a rotund man. He was wearing a palm leaf
hat. The man looked strange. The way he wore his pancha was
strange. Sivaiah found wearing a pancha on a shirt something new.
He had a leather belt over it. On his forehead were three well-drawn
vertical lines. It was not clear whether he was talking or shouting. He
came to know that he was the one who employed people. He went
eagerly. He stood at a little distance. Sasirekha did not let go of the
support of Sivaiah’s shoulders. It appeared as if she would fall down
if she let go.
He bowed to him four times. He did not know if he noticed him
or not. The fifth time the rotund man looked at him enquiringly.
That look was like that of a vulture looking at chicken. Sasirekha
looked on, frightened.
Sivaiah said he wanted work. He said he came from a great distance.
He told him of Sasirekha’s condition. Did not know what mood he
was in, he nodded his head to indicate yes. He stood under the shade
of an umbrella on a thick bamboo pole pierced in the ground. He
sat on a bench there. He took out a book. He took the pen tucked
over his ear. He dipped it into the inkpot on the bench and asked
his name.
‘Sivaiah.’
He raised his head and looked. He again dipped the pen in the ink
pot and was writing.
‘I’m a mala from Yennela Dinni.’
The rotund man who was writing stopped, raised his head and
looked. His face indicated he had heard something evil.
‘She’s my wife.’
The eyes of the rotund man were reddening. He was looking
at them, one after the other, as if he was looking at demons. He
started screaming like an insane man. The only words that were
comprehensible were mala and madiga. At his shouts, the people
who were working stopped right then and there. It was not clear
what was happening.
‘This son of a mala wants a job here, I believe.’ The rotund man
was screaming as if the houses were on fire. The coolies who had
stopped working started to hurl mud pellets at them. One or two of
the coolies were swaying and rushing towards them with crowbars.
 Sivaiah could not understand why that rotund man was screaming,
why two of the coolies were attacking them with crowbars and why
mud pellets were falling on them from the four directions. He could
understand only one thing. That} there was danger to their lives if
they remained there. When this! thought came to mind, he took
Sasirekhas hand and sped from where. He felt a few coolies were
chasing them. They picked up title strength they did not have and
ran faster. After chasing them for jquite a distance, the coolies turned
back. Not having the energy to run any more, they slumped on the
dry casuarina grove path. The sun was severe. It was all the more hot
in the casuarina grove. Even so, they slumped on the burning sands.
Sasirekha was looking terrified. |
Everything happened in an inconceivable manner. It was like a
lightning strike. W hy did it happen like that? W hat had he done?
What had he said? Sasirekha was crying. Sivaiah was frightened
hearing her cry. He looked into her face and hands helplessly. Mud
all over the face. Slush on her eyelids. He was wiping the mud off
her face involuntarily. Her crying had intensified. He did not even
have the energy to console her. They had walked miles and miles for
work. When they neared the caiial, there had arisen a desire to live.
Even that single desire was lost. [Now there was no way they could
live. He dug pits in a row wheii hunger took his people away one
after che other. She was the only [one left for him. B u t . . . b u t . . . he
was unable to imagine. He took her face in his hands. The crying was
increasing not stopping.
‘Look here/
She stopped crying and looked. A pitiful look. The helpless look
of hunger. Tears swam in his eyei. He wiped her face and the tears on
her face. He wiped them again and again. He covered those pitiful
looks with his lips. He was saying something to himself. He thought
he was saying it so she could hear. But the words were not crossing
his lips. I
How many days since this crazy thing ate! All the way long she
kept asking how much further. She walked till here only to be alive.
He recalled the shouts of n^ala and madiga by the coolies. He
understood some truths now bo|th clearly and not so clearly. Did not
why he he felt it would have been better had
said he was a reddy from Yennela Dinni. He would have found coolie
work. He not only had the company of hunger but also untouchability
with him. Even those coolies who threw stones at them had walked
miles for livelihood. They too were people like him who had dug pits
for their relatives in their villages. Just ordinary coolies. But hunger
too had untouchability. Labour too had untouchability.
His body was untouchable.
His Sasirekha’s body was untouchable.
But Sasirekha’s body was not untouchable for his body. For
some reason, he caressed her affectionately. He rubbed his face with
her hands. How did the world appear? Let it die, he thought. The
struggle for life was in the final stages. It would have been good if
the Buckingham canal was even further away. They would have lived
with hope. They would have walked with hope. Now there was no
distance. The walk came to a halt. There was no hope. It was burnt
out. Life was ready to stop. There was a rumbling of hunger from
her stomach that had become one with the ribs. It appeared as if the
weak sound of her heartbeat too was heard. She was not crying now.
She lay like one who had lost consciousness. He thought he ought
not to dig her pit like those of others. When that thought struck
him he was shaken. She opened her eyes on noticing his shock. She
looked at him. She smiled weakly. She placed her head on his hungry
stomach and snuggled. He held her tight. She snuggled up to him
even further. They slept like that. In fact, it was not sleep. It was a
feeling of utter helplessness.
Warm breeze was wafting across the casuarina grove that had dried
up due to lack of rain. The west wind was blowing the sand now and
again. In fact sand particles were hitting their bodies rather hard.
Even so the sensation was dead. Let anything happen. Let there be a
sand storm. Let it cover both of them. Let them be entombed alive.
Everything was the same. That was a state without agitation, anxiety
or fear. Philosophers call it , a non-responsive other­
worldly state. Perhaps this was it.
He was a %nnela Dinni mala.
She was his companion.
 They were the inheritors of generations of untouchable lives,
Their ancestors were flung to the outskirts of the village. They lived
as untouchables.
Yes.
They lived like that.
They did not know why they had to live like that.
Those were the initial stages of history.
They were said to have ruled kingdoms then.
Like the kings ruled. Like the brahmins ruled. Like the reddys
ruled. Like many such castes ruldid.
Not as if proofs cannot be found if one searches for them. But
there is no sign of having searched. Even if they searched, what is
evident are the distortions by the exploiting classes. The stench of the
upper caste researchers’ personal mental make-up. That’s it.
To say how all the sorrow was—
This history has less of the smell of this mud, of man.
Like Chandrappa said. Like: Naganna said. Everything is mud
heaps. Pits. Ditches. Valleys.
No one knows what reality has been thrown into which pit.
No one knows the count of people who had attained permanent
samadhis under various mounds;.
No one understands which civilisation has been buried in which
valley.
A control over land.
The Kautilya quality that ruthlessly separated men and suppressed
them.
Class.
Caste.
Castaway lives.
Entombed lives.
Beheaded civilisations.
Malas, madigas. |
They did not walk on royal paths.
Really, they did not.
They did not drink water from the wells of the ooru.
A around the neck. Pain} leaf over the buttocks.
 They were human too. Two legs. Two hands. A brain. Like
everyone else.
Just like the brahmins, the reddys, the kammas and the other
upper castes.
Humans too. Brains too.
In Tamil country,
In Kannada country,
In Maharashtra, and
Among Telugus, malas and madigas.
Like that in many places. In every! corner of this country.
In this sacred India, the people who had been looked at as impure
and disgusting.
Untouchables.
Malas.
Madigas.
Yellannas, Subhadras.
Sivaiahs.
Sasirekhas.
The culture of this country is Shameless. All that is there is
treachery. The culture of this country- has no honesty. All that it has
is deceit. Here Vedas, religion, Manu, patience and integration are
synonyms for treachery and decentiOn.
Thats it.
Synonyms for treachery and deception.
Truly, that’s it.
They plotted against Sivaiah. They deceived him.
The same with Sasirekha. Treachery. Deception.
That very treachery, that very deception.
Those very things pushed Sivaiah and Sasirekha to a state where
anything could happen, where dve sandstorm could cover them up
and where they could attain a living samadhi in the burning heat of
that casuarina grove.
Sivaiah and Sasirekha did not knbw how long they lay like that.
The sun was dipping into the hills.
Sivaiah felt someone was tapping him awake.
He opened his eyes. He looked impatiently.
 A stranger was smiling in front of him. There was some insignia
hanging from his neck. -
Sivaiah did not know that that insignia was the ‘Cross’.

Oh my lone star! Shine. Shine with a brightness that no star has

shone, amidst a hundred crore stars. Shine.
On Immanuels forehead.
Oh my lone star! Shine. Shine. Shine, Qh lone star that enveloped
the earth and the cosmos, born in Bethleham. Shine.
Nehemiah! May what you wrote down come true! The ecstatic
sounds born in Jerusalem would be heard far away, very far away.
Like a river flooding, engulfing and drenching the wide fields.
Witness to the first rays of a thousand years!
Oh lone star!
Shine. Shine.
That is the song of the lone star that is hidden in Ruth’s memories
and that Ruth recollects from Reuben’s old books. Whenever she
reads it, she sits amidst the old books Reuben read and wrote, and
reads some pages in his diary along with that song over and over
again. She can see it clearly even at her age now. She reads every letter
of the alphabet freely. In fact, she heard that song for the first time
from Reuben’s mouth.
Reuben mentioned that song while talking about Sivaiah. That
song comes to the fore in the same manner that the American Baptist
Mission by the name, Lone Star,30 does in the surrounding regions
of Nellore. The memory seems fresh. In that memory, the section of
the untouchables who converted to Christianity. The words appear
new. Christ, change of heart, protection— some words like those
made their way, either because it was necessary or because it was
unavoidable, into
Like many malas and madigas Sivaiah converted to Christianity.
Saying those words, Reuben placed the Biblical verses in front:
‘Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests. But the son of
man hath not where to lay his head.’31
 W hy did Reuben say those words that day? Reuben would not
say anything just like that. He would not open his heart out and
speak unless something touched him. Every memory of Ruth has
been narrated only in that manner. Those are the ones poured out to
Ruth by him unable to suppress them.
In fact many scenes have not found their way into her memories
of the untouchable spring. Reuben must have left out many. He must
have narrated only those that touched him. That’s why she has not
been able to keep many to herself. Now she feels so. If only she knew
that those incidents Reuben left out are such, how good it would
have been! What happened to who left Yennela Dinni? How
did he survive? He only talked of his crossing the stream and going
away that night. Don’t know why. Thinking of it makes her feel a
void. W hat can be more horrific in a person’s memories than not
knowing the last moments of a courageous man? It may in fact not
be an incident Reuben left out. Could be an incident he had not
known.
How many unknown situations in the lives of untouchables! How
many situations that are known but those that the world refuses to
see! As if all have become drenched in darkness and have remained
in darkness!
Who are the sons of man who do not find place to rest? Poor
people. Specifically untouchables among poor people. Sivaiahs and
Sasirekhas.
W hat would have happened if the man with the insignia of the
Cross had not seen Sivaiah and Sasirekha that day?
How did that day proceed?
He sprinkled some water on their faces. Both opened their eyes
and saw. The smiling face of the man with the insignia of the Cross
appeared to them. They kept looking like that. He kept smiling. He
told them his name.
Martin.
The name was new. This was not a name of this region. They knew
Mataiahs, Muttaiahas. Mallannas and Yellannas— they knew many
such names. Martin did not appear to be a name they knew. Even so
he gave them water to drink. He gave them to eat. After
 eating that roti and drinking that water, the world around began to
appear new. They sat calmly.
‘Christ is merciful.’
Sivaiah did not know the Christ in his words. He repeated that
word again. He sat calmly in front of them. Sasirekha was looking
at the Cross around his neck, wondering whether there were such
necklaces too.
‘You didn’t tell me your names,’ Martin said. Sivaiah told him.
Told him the name of their village. Told him about their struggle
for life. Told him how they came to Buckingham canal. Told him
whar happened. When he was speaking, Martin did not question
him. Was listening. But he kept repeating in between that Christ was
merciful. After hearing everything he said—
In the coolie work of Buckingham canal, though what they would
do too would be coolie work, the upper-caste coolies did not agree
to the malas and madigas working along with them. Just like they
chased away Sivaiah and Sasirekha, they chased away every mala and
madiga who came for work. Beat them up. There were those who
ran and lost their lives because of hunger, exhaustion and fear. So the
Baptist Mission specifically took up digging a four-mile long canal
for the malas and madigas at Rajupalem near Ongole. The malas
and madigas started to work there. The malas and madigas
Kanigiri, Donakonda, Markapuram, Ongole and Nellore regions
reached there. After giving that information, Martin asked Sivaiah
and Sasirekha to set out for that place. Martin was walking in front.
Behind him those two.
The journey was new. Did not know which turn life would take.
No desire even to find out. Hunger in the stomach. Untouchability
in the wrenching of the heart.
W hy was all this happening?
Untouchable people. Untouchable labour. A specific place for that
work. An expanse of four miles. No energy to laugh. Not enough
strength to cry.
There was a tiny truth. That very tiny truth, man had forgotten.
That was in the depths of this land. In the very depths. It would come
out piercing the mud and the filth.
^148

For the research that excavated the Mohenjodaro this very tiny
truth that protruded was not apparent. ;
It did not strike the great intellect that searched for civilisation
in the heart of Harappa to get rid of che.1mud around and wash the
filth around this tiny truth to pronounce that such a thing happened
in this country, and especially on this Telugu land. Did not find the
necessity. | ;
The expanse of the untouchable ccoliejspace was four miles. What
was the length of Buckingham cana? Its width? Its expanse? Those
who knew their facts would not say. Those who wanted to say it did
not know the numbers.
How many Sivaiahs in that foar-mile long life! How many
Sasirekhas!
Sivaiah kept walking as he lookedj arotiind. Sandy path. Very close
by, the ocean’s roar. Sandy uncultivated land as far as the eye could
see. Sandy banks swept by the wind. Here and there amidst marks
of bushes, fields under cultivation. There was no trace of
those who were cultivating them. The broken bushes lay scattered.
Only bushes had survived and there. Perhaps
too had survived. They would certainly have been alive. They had
no death. No hunger. Mogili trees Knevf hunger. If the minnagulu
had thought that they could have survived without mogili, bushes,
mogili bushes would not have survived. In fact, one could see this
expansive country in these mogili bushes and in minnagulu. The
malas and madigas might have survived outside the ooru like mogili
bushes. They might have lived only foir the needs of minnagulu.
If one had thought that corn for the fields or slippers for the feet
were not necessary, even while those who were killed were killed, the
remaining too might not have survived. ;
Sivaiah felt he had indeed walked lonjg distance. Till then, Sivaiah
had looked only at the path. He looked only at the sandy fields next
to the path. He looked at the mogili bushes. He had not looked at
the sky. Now he looked at the sky. Crescent moon. It looked like
the birth of the new He shut his tight. He turned the
face of Sasirekha who was walking alongside towards him with his
hand. Then he opened his eyes. Looking kt Sasirekha’s face, he smiled
and said, ‘Birth, of the moon.’ Sasinikha looked up. She looked like
 crescent moon. She turned her face even as she looked.
She looked at Sivaiah’s smiling face. Thought that was enough. She
felt that smile should remain like that. But did know why. Tears
came gushing out of the heart. It was not as if Sivaiah had not noticed
this. He turned back. Except for mogili bushes and for nagajemudu,
everywhere sandy land, barren sandy land. A mute land that could
neither speak nor even utter a word. Silent, adamant, mute, lonely.
moonlight made them laugh, life immediately made them cry.
W hy was that little laughter born just like that to disappear just like
that? Like clouds rushing by, becoming tired after rushing and heart
breaking and pouring down as from a pot.
They came to the place where coolies were staying. Thatched palm
huts. Huts hugging the ground. House fronts that could be entered
with bent backs. In front of the huts, on mats children sleeping in
all kinds of positions. Stove next to that. It appeared as if food was
being cooked just then. The men on the mounds came forward on
seeing Martin.
‘These are all our people.’
Sivaiah looked at them. Sasirekha stood with bent head. Martin
told them everything in a couple of sentences. It was another matter
if they were people who had come for ordinary coolie work. If the
people who came were chased by upper caste people, the news would
reach each and every hut. That was exactly how it happened. All
the men and women in the huts gathered there. That was a kind of
commotion. Tales that were told over and over again. Once again
there was talk about who chased whom and how they beat them.
They stayed that night at Martin’s house. Martins wife, Saramma,
looked after them affectionately. All of them sat together for their
meals. It was strange to Sivaiah. Sasirekha was timid. Martin was
observing the two of them. He was about to say something. Saramma
said, ‘Let’s pray.’ Sivaiah looked intrigued. Sasirekha looked at
Sivaiah. Martin to close rheir eyes. Sivaiah felt that was
the right thing to do. As soon as Sivaiah closed his eyes, Sasirekha
shut hers. Saramma was speaking with her eyes Those words
appeared strange. ‘Jehovah’— the two of them were hearing this
word first time. Sivaiah’s
Sasirekha’s name was heard. Then an unknown eagerness within
them. She was saying that good should be done to them. She was
asking someone to do them good. She was saying, ‘Jehovah.’ She was
telling only this to Jehovah. Finally, saying, ‘We pray to you, Our
Father in the name of Your Son and our Lord, Christ,’ she ended
with, ‘A men.’ Martin too repeated, ‘A men.’ The two of them did
not know what they had to say. for their eyes, they were keeping
them shut. Martin asked them to open their eyes. They opened their
eyes. Martin said, ‘Now, go ahead.’
They were dying of hunger. Sivaiah found the new place and the
new practice rather irksome. for Sasirekha, she found it even more
irksome. Martin once again noticed their discomfort.
‘Please eat. Do you find dry meat easily in your region?’ Martin
made conversation with them.

‘You can’t find it the way we do here. I know. It is also rare for you
to add it to and cook it. The way Saramma cooks gongura
with pieces of meat no one can. Eat and see.’
Sivaiah put a morsel into his mouth.
‘How’s that?’
‘Good.’
‘Not one has make prawn powder
chillies, only Saramma should. If she puts a handful of the
mortar where she had made hot prawn powder, draws it out and puts
it to in your hand, believe me: it’ll just melt in your mouth.’
‘If you add a drop of ghee, it’ll be even better.’
The three of them looked surprised at Sasirekha who uttered those
words.
‘The parrot has spoken, Saramma.’ Martin was looking eagerly at
Sasirekha. Saramma looked at that girl in the same manner. Sivaiah
felt it would have been better if Sasirekha had not spoken like that.
Even so, he remembered mother. She would leave a bit of the hot
prawn powder in the mortar and call out, ‘Sasirekha.’ On the sling,
she would keep the ghee pot. She would pull out the hot coal and
would place the ghee pot over the fire. After the drop of ghee melted,
she would put the drop of ghee in the mortar. Even as Sasirekha
said, ‘Enough, enough/ she would put the morsei of in
the mortar and stir it. She would give that morsel to the daughter-
 in-law just like that. Sasirekha would eat it Boodevi
were to come there then, she would say, for you,
girl. W hy don’t you give her soine?’ Who was the small child, and
who, the mother? How were Boodevi and Subhadra bom in Yennela
Dinni! W hy did they die like that? As if they were born only to die,
making the dust of love! Did Sasiirekha talk about the ‘drop of ghee’
just like that? Did not say just lik|e that. On this earth, there was no
greater person than her mother-in-law. That was why she said it.
‘Would it be so good if you mix a drop of ghee?’ asked Saramma
looking at Sasirekha. Sasirekha did not speak.
‘Do you make it like that?’
I.’
;
‘Mother-in-law would do it. IWould fry prawns, put them in the
mortar, pound chillies, mix a mojrsel of sangati, put a drop of ghee on
the fire . . . ’ she stopped.
She was weeping copiously. ILook how much this girl was crying.
W hy so? In truth, what did she lose? Mother-in-law? The morsel of
sangati with a ghee drop from hjer mother-in-law . . . or the love that
bound the two together? How easily this girl’s mother-in-law had
erased the distance between being Born of one and not being born of
one. Saramma was thinking. The girl would not stop. ‘I’m reminded
of my mother-in-law . . . I’m Reminded of my mother-in-law.’ She
kept saying and crying. ;
‘Come here.’
She stopped and looked.
‘You eat.’ .
She took Sasirekha and came ! out. The two of them did not know
what she was saying. for (Martin he gave the two their plates
and came back. Inside, the rrien were eating. Outside, the women
were eating. Yellannas heard in the conversation.
Subhadra’s love was visible in jthe women’s conversation. After their
food, they placed their beds ojut in the open. Countless stars in the
sky. Tbcv spread their mats under those stars and lay down. Each r.o
their thoughts. •
ia-;«uiu-na was looking for the star among then1,that .first introduced
infant Jesus to the world. W ith how many stars had father-in-law
 drawn her mother-in-law’s muggukarra? Sasirekha kept linking one
star to another and was looking on.
Yennela Dinni in front of Sivaiah’s eyes. These stars would be there
too. They would cover Yennela Dinni. Under that cover, tombs. Sand
tombs. In front of Sivaiah’s eyes the sand tombs of Yennela Dinni.
Dark tombs. The light of stars wouldnot enter the sand. In the tombs,
complete darkness. Sandy darkness. In that sandy darkness father,
mother, grandfathers, maternal grandmothers, paternal grandmothers
. . . one way they were all lucky. In that darkness there was no hunger.
There was no untouchability. They would merge with the enveloping
sand. The karanam would not come in the way of merging like that.
Atchireddy would not come in the way. Not just they. Their caste,
gods and demons would not come in the way. Once Pittodu thatha
mentioned madiga Mataiah. He had chopped off the elder karanam’s
head horizontally. They did not bury the elder karanam in the earth.
They cremated him. His body was burnt and was reduced to ashes.
Then they mixed it in the Penna. Was the Penna small— it would
be more than ten times as big as Buckingham canal. Was a fistful of
ashes any value to the Penna? Tomorrow, the same would happen
to the younger karanam. He would burn to ashes and would be of
no use to the Penna. But at the time of burning it would become
one with air like clever ghosts. Those flames would appear like that.
In truth, clever ghosts. How they cliased him! How they chased his
father! His caste on the whole . . .
Sasirekha and Sivaiah stood in front of Martin’s eyes.
Sasirekha started crying remembering her mother-in-law. Sivaiah
mentioned her name. He said it was Subhadra. Coming to know he
was Yellanna’s son, Martin kept looking at Sivaiah. He had heard of
Yellana. He had heard of him when he was in Nellore. He had heard
his songs. Did not know the man. Did not have the opportunity
to meet him.
Once he came to know Sivaiah was Yellanna’s son, Martin decided
have him with him. He thought of making him go around places
along with him.
As he looked at the fast-moving stars, he felt the entire life was
the swift movement of stars. Every life known to him was like that.
Thorns at every step. Drops of blood as you take each step.
 153

When he was of Sivaiah’s age— he remembered his appearance

then. Thought better not. He thought it was better not to remember
all that. He had forgotten. He had forgotten everything.
But it would not stop. The thorns and drops of blood— he kept
remembering them over and over again. When he was of Sivaiah’s
age. No use. It would not stop even though he did not want it. Even
when he shut his eyes, those very days came back.
were to put words, those were the early days
when the untouchable populace was converting into a Christian
populace. Martins original name was Chinnodu. A madigapalli in a
really backward place of Kanigiri province. He was born in one of the
palles there. Grew up there. His father would stitch slippers. Mother
would go around fields for the invisible grains. For some reason, he
did not want to stitch slippers. Brother’s name was Peddodu. Sister-
in-law’s name was Chinajali. They would toil hard at the kapu’s house
and come home dragging their feet. When he looked at them he felt
life ought not to be so wretched. The life he saw in his house did not
look like life to him. He would not be around the house except to
eat. He would spend the entire time at the lake bund. Father would
be angry with him. Mother would piry him. They thought he would
be set right if he was married. They got him married. Polamma came
to live with him. Even so, Chinnodu did not change. He would not
be at home except during meal times. He did not stop sitting idle
at the lake bund. Polamma would go with her mother-in-law for
leftover grains in the fields. He would not like her to go for them.
If she went for work to the kapu’s house with her sister-in-law he
would get inexplicably irritated. He would be angry with himself.
He would not understand the reason for that irritation. There would
be no concrete shape to his anger. He could not find an answer as to
why he was so bitter with himself.
How those days went by! W hy did they go by without anything
happening to him? Martin was able to see clearly in front of his
eyes his ‘Chinnodu self.’ Holding his head between his legs and
looking as far as the eyes could see. How much irritation in those
looks, how much anger, how much vengeance and how much of
tears in the eyes when nothing was fulfilled? How he grieved hiding
his eyes and the tears in them from others by shoving them into his
,154

heart! W hat did father say when he sat like that whiling away his
days? W hat did he tell mother?
Father told mother in a forthright manner he could not take care
of him and his wife. Mother too said in the same forthright manner,
‘If you can’t take care of him, 111 do so with my toil.’ W hen he was
lying down on the cot by the shade of the stone mound after food, he
could hear mother’s and father’s words. Brother intervened. He asked
her to have a separate establishment. He said father would stay with
him. If he wished, he said he could take the job of stitching slippers
in ten kapu houses for the grains he received in return. Father would
slippers for fifteen
villages. For having stitched, during harvest days, they would get a
certain amount of leftover grains per house. Sister-in-law did not
agree to this. As father-in-law would be in their house, she said the
grains of all the fifteen houses should come to them. An argument
began between mother and sister-in-law. For each threshing floor
three baskets of paddy. If they got everything, forty-five baskets of
paddy.
The baskets that were used to measure for the indentured malas
and madigas were kept separately in the thatched roof of the
cattleshed. They used to be half the size of the normal ones. That
very practice turned into small measures for the days of distribution
of grain for labour. How long could the seeds that were obtained that
way in a year last? The malas and madigas never kept Had
the bullock that had kept its neck under the yoke ever counted the
acres that it had tilled? Did it ever count the number of hours the
yoke rested on its neck? Had the cow with its udder overflowing with
milk been guilty of counting the number of pots of milk it gave on
a particular day? When it seemed its calf came running and touched
its udder, thinking it is its child it filled the udder with milk, and
when instead of the milk teeth at the udder, hands skilfully squeezed
out the milk, did it ever get angry and kick? The cow and the bullock
thought that a little grass and a tubful of was enough.
Isn’t kuditi but the water that was left behind after the kapus
ate and washed their hands? Isn’t the grass the dried one which was
left after the seeds had dropped? That very kuditi and grass became
the i property to be divided in their house. Became cause for
 155

displeasure. Became the cause for abuses. Whether Chinnodu who

was sleeping by the stone mound got up or Polamma who was lying
on the bed opened her mouth, a big quarrel would ensue. The entire
madigapalli would gather there. The caste elders judgement would
not be pronounced in one day.
Mothers voice was silenced by*fathers sister-in-law,
brothers beating prompdy fell on her back. She started crying. As she
cried, she found fault with Chinnodu and Polamma. Polamma could
not control herself. She got up. Chinnodu noticed that.
‘Don’t go. Lie down.’
Polamma stopped at Chinnodu’s words. The anger against her
sister-in-law, her husband and his father burst out into tears.
‘Don’t cry. Sleep.’
Though he said that, Polamma did not stop crying. She kept crying
without letting anyone hear her. Chinnodu could not sleep. He kept
looking at a baby snake sliding into whichever hole it wished in the
stone mound. Did not feel like killing it. They kept moving about in
stone mounds like that. They would not know because they would be
sleeping. So he kept looking to see how it played in the holes. He felt
it looked quite cute then. He kept his hand his waist as he kepr
looking at it like that. The horizontal fold in the pancha was empty.
‘Do you have a bit of tobacco?’
Polamma took it out from the waist even as she was crying. She
searched for the bit of tobacco even as she was crying. She gave a
small bit to Chinnodu even as she was crying. Chinnodu broke a
tiny piece out of it. Kept it in his mouth. He turned it twice over. He
stuffed it under his cheek. He gave the rest to Polamma. He asked
her to use it. Polama stuffed the remaining piece of tobacco in her
mouth. The quarrel in front of the house seemed to have ceased.
There was no commotion. Could hear father’s snore. As for the baby
snake, it was involved in its game in the hole in the stone mound.
Now he did not feel like seeing it play. He asked Polamma to take
hold of the stick under the cot. Polamma stopped crying and took
hold of the stick. After she gave the stick to Chinnodu, she shut her
eyes tight as Chinnodu pressed the edge of the stick carefully
snakes head. She then fell into a sleep. Chinnodu felt sleepy.
 156

In the morning mother and sister-in-law kept separate pots and

cooked. Polamma went with mother!for threshing work. Chinnodu
could not prevent it. Father told his tjrother in mothers hearing that
he was going the elder kapu’s house. So Chinnodu came to know
that father’s toil was for his brother jand mother’s toil for him. He
felt bad that such a thing had happened. Everything appeared like
that. He felt that all things distasteful] to him were happening on this
earth. So he almost stopped speaking.j Now, he sat not just at the lake
bund but at all places. He only repjied when someone called out,
heard what was told to him and spoke if he felt it necessary. What he
spoke was distasteful to him. He felt ks if he was speaking with great
difficulty. Mother’s heart would be hurt on seeing her child. Father
stopped looking at him. The uncle wljo gave his daughter in marriage
to him felt something had possessed him. He told Chinnodu’s mother
over and over again that the ghost would squeeze the life out of him.
He did not stop at that. He brought! some charm and gave it to his
daughter. He asked her to tie it to his jwrist when he was sleeping. He
asked her not to sleep with him on the same cot after she tied it. He
asked her to sleep next to her mother-in-law for a week. Polamma
poured water over her hair and used incense for her hair and the
charm. She tied it to the right hand jof the sleeping Chinnodu. She
slept next to her mother-in-law like a igood girl. When Chinnodu got
up at midnight, Polamma was not there. She was lying on mother’s
cot at a distance. Thinking she might! be displeased with him, he was
about to get up. He noticed something tied on his hand. A charm.
He understood. Didn’t like it. Irritation. Anger. He broke it with a
vengeance. He flung it at Polamma. jShe sprang up as if a scorpion
had fallen on her. When she looked, it was charm. Eyes brimmed
with tears. She sat crying. Chinnodu did not like her crying like that.
‘ what a wretched life,’ he thought.
He set out on the road in the morning. He sat on the cot that was
placed in front of Kotesu’s house whiich was on the road. That was
it. He thought of not returning honie. Those listening to Yerrodu’s
words were those who were not pressed for work, sitting in front on
separate cots. Chinnodu did not feel like listening to his words. Did
not like them. He only spoke about the kapus. Throwing a piece of
tobacco, he would repeat his kapus words as if they were something
 great, ‘For the bastard, no amount of tobacco is enough.’ Not just
the younger kapu’s abuses but also his wife’s would appear wonderful
to him. Even if they caught hold of Yerrodus wife and said, ‘You
alone are not enough for her’ or caught hold of his mother and said,
‘In whose bed did you conceive him?' those words would not affect
Yerrodu. Moreover, he would boast in front of everyone that the
younger kapu said such things.
Wretched life. Did not like it. Chinnodu did not like it at all. That
was why as he heard Yerrodu’s words, he spat on the ground. He spat
not just once but repeatedly. He thought it was better to look at the
spit than at Yerrodu’s face.
Did not know what happened in the meanwhile. Yerrodus
boasting stopped. Laughter stopped. All got up together. He raised
his head to see what happened.
The younger kapu came to the palle. People got up from wherever
they were and stood up. W hy should they stand up like that? Did not
like it. Chinnodu did not like standing up like that. Those who got
up, stood with folded hands. Stood with heads bent. The old woman
with a stick got up with great difficulty, turned the cot upside down
and slumped to the ground. The old man who was almost dying was
shouting out to his grandson, ‘Lift me up, the kapu’s come.’ Could
not stand up. Had to make him stand and hold him.
Wretched life. W hy had it come to this? W hy should they stand
like that? He would not get up and stand like that. Come what may.
Standing up would never happen. That was it. He did not make an
effort to stand up.
The younger kapu stood in him. He had uncouth legs.
Uncouth nose. Eagle-like nose. Eyes just like those of a wolf. Not
a man’s eyes. W hat was the man like! He was like a bull. Not a
bull. A bear. A huge pot belly for that bear. Hoarse voice. His wife
would not look at him properly. She would always look at the floor.
Otherwise, she could not have Jed a married life with him for so
long. She would not have had two young bears through him let
them loose on the world. They too were like that. Like bears, they
nobody would speak.
Life. Wretched life.
‘Get up, fellow!’
 &

‘Get up, you!’

He would not get up. There was no question of getting up. The
kick that fell hard on his head. Chinnodu fell to the ground. Kick
after kick. Bear. The younger kapu kept kicking. Pain. Even so, he
did not scream. Even though his bones were breaking, he did not get
up. He hugged the ground and moaned silently. This earth did not
break to bits. At such a time, it cid not split into two. Even earth will
only split into two for Seetammas. It would sit cosy like a throne only
for the husbands of Seetammas. Not for him.
The younger kapu became tired. He tied up Chinnodu’s arms. He
upturned the cot and placed it on him. He had a heavy log placed on
the cot. Then he left. Everyone was watching. No one came forward.
Did not untie him. Did not remove the weight. Did not turn the cot.
Kept watching. That news reached the threshing floor. Chinnodu’s
mother and wife came running, beating their chests. The people
kept looking like that even at the two women who came running.
The women braved it. Pushed sway the weight. Turned the cot up.
Untied him. W ith great difficulty they took Chinnodu home.
The day went by. The entire day was spent on Chinnodu. For
Chinnodu’s mother, it might be a blow on her womb. For Polamma,
it might be a heart-wrenching blow. But for Chinnodu, it was a
confrontation. A silent revolt against something he hated.
Polamma kept looking at Chinnodu. Every day, like that. Torture.
Annoyance. An unpleasant thing. Unpleasant work.
Just then, his life took an unexpected turn. There was a new tent
outside the village. Everyone was talking about it as a strange thing.
He went there. A white man mounted on a white horse came there.
Chinnodu looked amazed at the white man and the white horse. It
appeared as if the white man noticed his surprise. He signalled to
him to come near. He went near him in trepidation. The white man
held Chinnodu’s hand. He placed his other hand on his shoulder.
Chinnodu’s heart beat rapidly. Inexplicable anguish. What was
happening in front of his eyes? He could not believe that such a thing
happened. W hat was it that really happened?
The white man signalled him to come.
 The white man held his hand. He touched his hand. He placed his
hand on his shoulder. He touched his shoulder.
Until now, from the time he knew things, a madiga had touched
him. A mala had touched him.
A brahmin had not touched him. For him his body was
untouchable. A reddy had not touched him. For him too the same.
The same for the rest of the castes. Untouchable. If touched, it was so
low that it could pollute.
But the white man touched him. He did not belong to this village.
He was not from this region. He did not belong to this soil or to this
land. He touched him. Touched a madiga born in this village. He
touched his body, touched him who believed in this earth, who was
bom on this land and would die on this land, and who would not
be touched his entire life by many who were born and grew up here.
The white man touched him. He said his body was not untouchable.
He did not say it in words. He said it with his touch. That was why
he kept looking at the white man like that for a long time. He kept
looking till the anxiety, uneasiness and anguish in his heart came
under his control. He shed tears even as he looked. The white man
said those tears were those of Christ. That was it. Chinnodu became
one with the white man’s group. Polamma too went along with
him. Chinnodu’s mother too thought that was good. She told her
daughter-in-law, ‘He’s no good fcr work. Something has possessed
him. He may be set right if he, roams about like that. That alone
would be good for him. You stay with him..’
A month afer this happened, the white man baptised Chinnodu
and Polamma with water. As he was being baptised, Chinnodu asked,
his body wet:
‘Now, is this body like a brahmin’s? Like a reddys body? Can touch
everything? Can touch everyone?’ Question? Surprise!
He kept asking. He spoke words with inexplicable surprise.
The white man understood Telugu. He heard Chinnodu’s words.
He heard the deep anguish of his voice. But he did not give him a

‘For Christ, nobody is untouchable.’ He only said those words.

Chinnodu heard them. The answer was not straightforward. Was not
clear. He wanted to hear those words again.
 ‘Your name is Martin from today onwards.’ The words he wanted
to hear again were no longer available.
‘Her name is Saramma.’ The words he wanted to hear again went
into the background.
Martin and Saramma reached Nellore. The compound of Nellore
mission gave their lives a new meaning. They learnt many things
in that compound. Became educated. Martin became a preacher.
Saramma became a Bible woman. That was how their new life began.
On the one hand, they had the protection of the missionaries. On
the other hand, they had the respect of the Christian families. They
roamed about many villages. They stayed at places missionaries asked
them to. They stayed where they wanted to.
The life was new. Experiences too were new. The heart that had
shrivelled up till the other day, was now going about filled with
confidence. But it was not easy to go about with a raised head. He
had become a Christian to get away from untouchability. But Christ
became untouchable here. Thinking of it, he felt like laughing. But
he knew how much sorrow was there in that laughter. His new life
tasted a different experience in each village.
In the village if cattle die, they call the madigas. If there are no
madigas, they call malas. The madigas take the cattle outside the
village. They do not bury them there. They cut them up. They surround
them with vessels that they take from malapalli and madigapalli when
they cut them up. They take out the good portions of the cattle and
give a small portion to each. Then ensue hesitations, shouts, quarrels.
They vie with each other keeping one vessel over another. By then
vultures reach the surroundings and perch on trees. All around, dogs
watch and wait. Abuses, shoves, vultures on the trees, people under
the trees, dogs— all for the meat of the dead cattle. That’s a strange
scene. Finally, bundling two or three good pieces in the hide of the
dead cattle, tying the dead cattle to the stick they have brought along,
the madigas who had cut up the dead catde go away. The minute the
men go, the vultures from above and the dogs before all attack the
remains in one go.
Martin felt this scene ought to change. He mentioned just that in
his prayer. He said that they ought not to eat the meat of dead cattle.
Everyone looked at him in surprise. They listened to what they felt
 were things they ought not to hear. They were worried as to how that
Was this something of When it start?
How long ago? How was it possible now? They found it strange.
Martin told them. Told them many things. Finally, the caste elder
said that it was the right of their caste to take the dead cattle. Martin
felt like laughing. The fields by the Krishna river were the right of the
The fields by the Penna river were the right of the reddys.
But there and here too, as for the dead cattle, they were the right of
the madigas. Could not stop laughing. He laughed. He said even as
he laughed. Finally, that palle said okay.-They firmly decided they
would not eat the dead cattle.
These words reached the ooru. It came up for discussion at the
munsif s porch. China Choudhary listened to the munsif. He looked
at Bucchi Choudhary. Bucchi Choudhary nodded assent and kept
quiet. China Choudhary did not keep quiet like that.
‘I believe the madigas won't eat dead cattle.’
"They won’t eat it. But they’ll remove it, right?’
‘They will remove it.’
‘So long as they remove it, what’s it to us if they eat it or don’t?’
‘Today he’ll say he won’t eat it. Tomorrow he’ll say he won’t
remove it.’
‘Oh, so you’re looking at it from that angle. Then, as you wish.’
There’s another strange thing about dead cattle. A madiga who
has taken the cattle and its meat has to stitch slippers from the hide
for the choudhary or reddy who has given him the cattle. If madigas
did not eat the meat of the dead cattle, there would be no question
of slippers. Bucchi Choudhary recollected all this later. ‘We’ve got to
settle this, come, China Choudhary,’ he said again.
The day for solving this did arrive. The bullock of Venkayamma-
garus China Jalaiah died. Before giving the news to madigapalli,
Jalaiah mentioned it to China Choudhary. China Choudhary sent
word to Bucchi Choudhary. Then the news reached madigapalli.
Sinenkadu and his son came. As they were taking the carcass
away, Bucchi Choudhary said, ‘After the work is done, come here.’
Sinenkadu laid the bullock under a tree outside the ooru. Now there
were only vultures above the tree and dogs away from the tree. As
for people with vessels, they were not there. Sinenkadu skinned the
 hide off the bullock and took it. He dug a pit and buried its bones
and flesh.
The Choudharies came to know that Sinenkadu had buried the
bones and flesh. They also came to know he had only skinned the
hide and taken it, and that the malas and madigas did not swarm
around the bullock holding their vessels like in the past.
‘How do you feel, you, Peda Jalammas son-in-law?’ said China
Jalamma’s son-in-law.
‘The ooru is turning into a graveyard, Sinaiah,’ said Peda Jalamma’s
son-in-law. More people than usual gathered at China Choudhary’s
porch.
Sinenkadu tied the hide of the bullock to a pole right in the
middle of the house and went to Bucchi Choudhary’s house. Bucchi
Choudhary was not in the house. Coming to know he was in China
Choudhary’s house, he went there. There were many choudharies
there. He stood at a distance. Bucchi Choudhary said, ‘Come
home at night. There’s some work.’ Sinenkadu was about to leave.
Venkayamma’s China Jalaiah looked at Sinenkadu as if he had just
seen him. He said, ‘Wait a bit, you fellow.’ Sinenkadu waited. He
asked him, as if very casually, ‘When will you give the slippers?’ Ail
of them too were behaving as if nothing happened, as if everything
was proceeding in a very normal manner.
‘I’ve buried the bones and flesh.’
All of them were surprised at Sinenkadu’s words.
‘Didn’t take the meat to eat.’
They looked at him again. It was not a small issue. An untouchable
speaking like that was not as simple as sitting leisurely on the
ground.
‘Therefore, there’s no need to stitch slippers, China Jala!’ Bucchi
Choudhary said in a normal tone. In fact, he never spoke in an angry
manner. Having tied the upper cloth to his waist and up to the folded
leg, he would speak rocking to and fro very casually, as if nothing
ensued from him and he, could set fire to the roof sitting calmly under
it. That was what he did. He lit the fire and was smoking his
‘He’s changed his religion, right? Christians don’t eat dead cattle’s
meat. Isn’t Martin your elder? He asked you not to eat?’ he said,
 163

letting off the chutta smoke, saying, ‘This wretched tobacco,’ and
pushing it under the edge of his teeth.
The fire burnt peacefully Burnt normally
‘The hide for removing the carcass. If you eat meat, you’ve got
to make slippers. He didn’t eat the meat. That’s it, isn’t it, Sinenka?’
Bucchi Chaudhary was raking’ the fire. At one go, the flames
spread skyward.
‘Eat the one you buried, you wretched bastard.’
Everyone looked in the direction from where the words came.
China Chaudhary was swaying^ Sinenkadu looked at Chaudhary.
His looking like that made the Chaudhary extremely angry. He got
up. He took a long stick. He began to thrash Sinenkadu as he would
cattle. The thrashings did nbt stop with China Chaudhary. Did not
know how many blows were being received.
‘Let’s kick him all the way there.’
Hearing China Chaudhary’s words, they chased Sinenkadu till
outside the ooru where he had cut up the cattle. They asked him to
dig the mud that covered the pit. Sinenkadu dug it. They asked him
to take the meat covered with mud, cook and eat it. If he did not
do so, they said they would;! bury him in that pit. They left as if they
had preserved a great tradition, Martin could not forget even now
the image of Sinenkadu holding the mud-smeared meat and coming
into the palle. The helplessness and hopelessness on his face that day
haunted him to this very day.
Not a small one. To go about with dignity was not such a small
matter. Eating or not eating too was not a small matter. Actually,
having one’s own likes too was not an ordinary issue. Martin
remembered everything. His life as Chinnodu. His mind as Martin.
A new life.
A new experience. Life was jum ping about in the space between
the rocks. All rocks were bloodstained. Experience too was like that.
A weave of blood veins. A weave for every village.
In the early days of his new hfe it was Sinenkadu. In his last days,
Sivaiah. Hunt. Hunting of beasts. Men were not hunting beasts.
Beasts were hunting men. They were not ordinary beasts. Cruel
beasts with two iron legs. One leg was religion. The other leg was
caste. Like that many experiences came to mind. One after the other.
 l
One different from the other. There was something common in all.
Walking with raised head. Not a small thing.
The morning cock crowed. Martii> looked startled. He came into
the present. He looked at Saramma. It looked as if Saramma too had
not slept. ‘Didn’t you sleep?’ she asked. Martin said he had not.
‘Sivaiah is Yellanna’s son.’
‘Sasirekha told me. They seemed; to have buried Subhadra and
Yellanna and have come here.
‘He told me. Yellanna was a great songster. I’ve heard his name. I
couldn’t see him . . . When I was in Nellore, I heard that name many
a time.’

‘They’ll live with us.’ j

‘I want to keep the girl with me.’
‘Christ is merciful.’
That night passed by in that mahner. It was morning. Martin
asked Sivaiah to come along with himj. Sivaiah did not ask him where
or why. He went. Sasirekha stayed back with Saramma.
Sivaiah was going around villages! with Martin. Sasirekha would
spend time with the children of the jcoolies at the canal along with
Saramma. She too was learning the alphabet with them.
Though the canal work was over,j many of the migrant workers
wanted to stay back there itself. Some set out for their birth place.
Now Yennela Dinni did not find a jplace in Sivaiah’s heart. When
he left he had wanted to get back there sometime. Now he was of
the view that he could go back there Sometime before his death. He
said they ought to stay back here wjith Martin and Saramma. He
dedicated himself to that region. Sand banks as far as his eyes could
see. Water holes. Beyond the holes, (sapling fields. The continuous
oceanic roar. Did not know why, but Ijie quite liked this region. As for
Saramma, the bond that grew with Sasirekha and the affection that
grew towards the children of coolies bound her to that place. Till now
they had roamed about in many places. She felt it would be good if
her last days were spent here. She felit that Sasirekha had come here
searching for her. It was Christ who; was responsible for this bond.
She had not conceived a child. She thought this girl was her child.
She would be content if this girl conceived. She thought she could
 165

place either her grandson or granddaughter on her chest and sleep

peacefully, ‘The mud for our tombs is in this sandy earth alone,’ she
told Martin. Valasapadu was established with thirty families. There
were only two castes there— malas and madigas. There was no ooru
till the malas and madigas walked half a mile. There were all castes
in that ooru.
Sivaiah kept observing how Martin spoke in the palles, how he
mingled in Christian houses and what terms he explained in detail
during his prayers. More than anything else, Sivaiah appreciated
the excitement, the roused emotion and- straightforward talk that
emanated from Martin. He wanted to speak like Martin. He wanted
to pray like him. He felt he too should have the kind of excitement
and emotion Martin had. He was able to slowly enunciate the sayings
in the Bible verses. It was difficult to read. Even so, Martin would
ask him to read like that. He would make him read repeatedly. What
was funny was that Sivaiah had not learnt the alphabet. But he
would associate the alphabet with his recognition of their sound and
enunciate them slowly. Martin would say, ‘Christ was an amazing
person.’ One day he told Sivaiah, ‘Christ wants to use you for his
purpose. you like that?’ kept quiet.
Sivaiah became Simon.
‘Pilate gave his verdict. He handed over Christ to the chief priests,
the scribes and the rulers. There was only one thing left, to nail him
to a cross. They were taking him for crucifixion. It was then diat
Simon was seen. A villager from Cyrene. They forced Simon to carry
the Cross along with Christ. He would carry the Cross. You too have
that Simon’s name. Sivaiah, your name too is the name of that
who carried the Cross.’
Martin told him what the name Simon meant in the Bible.
In truth, even if the Sivaiahs did not convert into Simons, when
did they not bear the Cross? They were born only to carry it. Carrying
it always, tired, they were born only to be pierced by spears. If not
like that, how else did things happen?
Bearing the Cross was not something new.
Climbing on to the Cross was not something new.
Giving up their lives there was not something new.
Every moment. . . in every corner . . . all over the country.
 166

You could say so. W ith Martin who bore the Cross, Simon,
who bore the Cross, went along talking about Christ who bore the
Cross.
It is good for history to talk of each thing in its context. In this
country, not just malas and madigas but brahmins too became
Christians. Reddys too. Choudharies too.
Martins and Sivaiahs believed in Christ to get rid of untouchability.
They believed in him to appease their hunger. More than anything
else they believed in Christ to save themselves from being hunted by
men. Whether Chinnodu became Martin or Sivaiah became Simon,
th^y did so only for this reason.
Strange. John Paul Rede ys, Immanuel Sastrys, Joshuah
Choudharys sprung up. When Yennela Dinni’s younger karanam’s
son-in-law appeared in religious congregations in Nellore, Simon was
surprised. Simon did not know what to say when he came to know
that Immanuel Sastry was no other than the younger karanam’s son-
in-law. The younger karanam’s daughter came to those congregations.
Copies of the Bible were seen in the hands of her sons. In their necks,
gold chains with the Cross. They were doing higher studies.
‘He’s Yennela Dinni’s younger karanam’s son-in-law. He became a
Christian when he grew older.’ Martin whispered in his ear.
‘Look at him. Paul Reddy.’ Simon looked in the direction
Martin was pointing to. A clean-shaven face. Extremely fat body.
John Paul Reddy was like a little elephant.
‘Next to him is Joshuah Choudhary. Krishna region. Cotton, the
white man, transformed that the Choudharys
field has been yielding gold.’
Simon kept looking at the turbaned Choudhary. Thick moustache.
Golden-edge stick. Coloured coat. Though he sat in the convention,
Simons head was filled with doubts.
/They came back home after the conventions. An inexplicable fear
was haunting Simon. In his province there were no such reddys,
brahmins and choudharys who became Christians. But today
tomorrow reddys could become Christians. Kammas and sastrys
too. If only such a thing happened. He could not sleep. He kept
looking at his body over and over again. He did not know why he
rubbed his stomach. He did so many times.
 167

‘Clough, the white man, did hot accept this. His wife didn’t
accept. They mingled only with rnalas and madigas. They converted
them to Christianity. The white man Clough’s wife said it was Christ’s
decision to protect only the untouchables. Clough too believed that.
He said he couldn’t shut the gates to untouchables because of the
upper-caste people. But everyone among whites is not like Clough.
Not like Cotton.’
Simon was listening to Martin’s words.
‘I’ve walked along these fields many times. Hundred times,
thousand times— I’ve walked. I don’t know how much longer I’ll
walk. But as long as I walk, it’l be towards malapallis! Towards
madigapailis!’
Simon did not say anything. Hie was listening.
‘Yennela Dinni’s younger kiranam s son-in-law has a good
reputation in the court. He is the one who looks after all the land
disputes in Nellore region. Fori this, he needs the white man’s
patronage. That’s why he became a Christian. He spends three fourths
of the day in the houses of the whites.’
Simon was unable to imagine [both the crucifier and the crucified
under the same roof. But Christ is merciful. It is not as if he did not
know how to separate things. Only after this thought occurred did
Simon sleep somewhat peacefully after a long time. Man’s mind is
always like that. As if it was searching for something somewhere, it
would feel content that it had finally discovered a meaning. Till then
only anxiety.
Time was on the march casting doubts and raising hopes in equal
measure in Simon. Sasirekha conceived. Happiness was not so much
Simon’s. It was Saramma’s. Sasirekhas internal worry too disappeared.
Though she never spoke out, !she was worried that she had not
conceived after so many years o f marriage. That worry ceased. When
Sasirekha kept saying she would clean rice and ragi a
Saramma became suspicious jtd noticed one day. Sasirekha while
cleaning the rice was eating mjud pellets. The same when she was
cleaning ragi. Her suspicion wjks confirmed. It was clear Sasirekha
was pregnant. She shared this! initially o n ly with M a rtin .
jum ped with joy. He started to fehout out thac Saram m a had become
a grandmother. It was true —-Saramma was indeed a grandmother.
 168

She considered Sasirekha her only child. She ensured that Sasireklia
stopped thinking of Subhadra. The cjiild— male or female, it did not
matter. It was enough if a child wa| born. Like that,Saramma sat
counting days, weeks and months.
child was born. A boy. She kept her lap.Sasirekhas
job ended with feeding him. All tl^e rest, Saramma. Martin kept
seeing a light in her that he had never seen before.
‘This child’s not your child. It’s Saramma’s child. He was born
for Saramma.’ Sasirekha did not say ho to Martin’s words. The child
would sleep only with Saramma. H<i would bathe only if Saramma
bathed him. When she bathed him, Saramma would look at his toes
and fingers over and over again.
‘His grandfather’s toes. His fingers are long and thin. His toes
too,’ Sivaiah would say. ‘His face is!like mother-in-law’s,’ Sasirekha
would add immediately. She would not agree if she was told that
there was nothing in his face similar to her mother-in-law’s. That was
why Saramma liked Sasirekha so much. She saw many kids close to
their mothers. Sasirekha was to mother-in-law. There were
only a few like that. Subhadras too were like that. Only a few have
their nests built in their daughters-in-law’s hearts.
‘Let it be, my child . . . These fing;ers are Yellanna’s. These toes too
are Yellanna’s. This.nose, this face .
‘A ll like my mother-in-law’s.’
At that point, Saramma kept the; child on her lap and Sasirekha
in her eyes. She thought repeatedlyj she should keep them like that
till she lived. !
^T im e was speeding by. Along! with time, change too. The
conversion of malas and madigas toj Christianity was happening like
a movement. Incidents of thousands of people being baptised on a
single day too were making news. Oh the other hand, there also began
attacks on Christians. It is better to say attacks on mala and madiga
Christians rather than on Christians. There was no news of attacks
on choudhary Christians of the Krijshna district. No news of attacks
on reddy Christians of Nellore district. There were no instances of
attacks on brahmin Christians wl)o had squatted in government
offices. All that happened affected bnly the malas and madigas, the
untouchable Christians.
 Fresh news each day. In every village a story. They kept sixteen
mala and madiga Christians in jail in Markapuram. Tortured them.
They asked them to forget Christ and pray to Krishna. They sang only
Christian songs. In Kanigiri, in mid-bazaar, they paraded a madiga
Christian half-naked. They burnt the Bible in his hand. There was a
midnight attack on Bandlamoodi Christians. The details of the attack
spread to each village, each in a different manner. In Kuchapudi, the
munsif of the village sent for ten Christians who had been baptised.
He asked them to dip themselves in the lake of the village and get
rid of their Christian touch. They refused to take a dip in the lake.
The munsif had men push them into the lake. There, they sacrificed
a buffalo to Poleramma. They cut up a goat. They forced them to
prostrate before the idol. They smeared the blood of the buffalo on
their faces. They made them dance. They themselves danced. In
the vicinity of Cheemakurthi, they hounded and caught hold of a
madiga youth. He had committed two crimes. He had a Bible in
his hand. He had slippers on his feet. Besides, he was walking in the
ooru. An untouchable ought not to walk in the village. If an occasion
arose to walk, he ought not to wear slippers. He ought not to have a
head cloth. He ought not to hold an umbrella in his hand. He ought
not to raise his lowered head. He ought not to look sideways, even
accidentally. If, at such an instance, an upper caste woman came out
and looked at him, that was the end of him. That was why in some
oorus they had to walk making a strange sound. If they made such
a sound, upper caste women would not come out. When they make
a sound, it should be such that it would heard in all the streets. If
an upper caste woman working somewhere in the backyard did not
hear the sound and came out, the fault was not hers. Even though
he had made the sound, the fault would still be his. Such things had
to happen. But that youth happened to hold a Bible in his hand.
Had converted. He had slippers on. He had slighted that tradition.
That was all that happened. They hounded him. They chased him
till the outskirts of the ooru. They stabbed him with spears. They
hung his corpse from a tree in the little forest next to the hill. It
was through that little forest that malas and madigas would go to
the neighbouring villages. That news spread to every village. Fear at
every place. A state of anxiety not knowing what would happen in
 any ooru. Some malas and madigas wore clean clothes. There was an
attack on those clothes. They said they would not to work on
Sundays. There was an attack on that holiday. They asked them to eat
the meat of dead cattle. They were attacked for expressing their views
on ‘eating’ such things. They started to study a little bit in Missionary
schools. There was an attack on that education. Here and there, the
untouchables raised their heads and looked. There was an attack on
their heads.
If they said, the hands were theirs, attack on the hands.
If they said, the feet were theirs, attack on the feet.
If they said, the eyes were theirs, attack on the eyes.
If they said, the fingers were theirs, attack on the fingers.
Attack. On the mala people. On the madiga people. Attack. On
the mala Christ. Attack. On the madiga Christ. It would be enough
if Christ were an untouchable. There would certainly be an attack.
Martin did not sit silent. He began to speak condemning the attack.
‘We didn’t join the religion to keep silent. We didn’t get baptised
to squirm in our bodies.’ At such times Martin’s voice would become
hoarse. His voice would become hoarse repeating over and over again
all that he said during prayers. He kept going to each and every place
that was being attacked. He was informing the authorities about the
matter. Martin appeared great to Simon. He was running along
with Martin. In the direction of any hear-rending cry. Along with
that tireless old man.
‘Here . . . I’m proclaiming clearly. I am proclaiming loud enough
for the veins in my throat to burst. I’m reminding you of my Jehovah’s
words once again. I’m placing before you Isaiah’s words, the same
words Christ spoke on the Sabbath to his people in the Community’s
shrine in Nazareth.’
That was how Martin would begin to preach.
‘I’ve the Lord’s grace on me. He has anointed me to spread
good word to the people. He me to get the people out of
imprisonment. He sent me to release the crushed people. If that were
not so, why should I speak? If that were not so, why should I become
close to Christ?’
Simon did not find them, as mere words. They appeared to him
the real embodiments of truth.
 ‘They are those who attack. Their hands will become impure with
blood. Their fingers will become impure with flaws. Their lips are
untruths. Their tongues speak of eyil. Their evidence is not according
to morality. Their judgement will not be according to truth. They
conceive evil in their womb. They give birth to sin.’
Sharp words like deadly arrows. On karanams, kapus, sastrys as
if Christ had spoken, as if he had spoken on the mount, as if he
had spoken amidst groups of people. Martin spoke as if he had full
authority to speak in that manner.
‘Look, I dipped into the waiter proclaiming my body is not
untouchable. When that proclamation has become useless, I think
this body itself is useless to me. I say this as Christ is my witness. If
raising the head is a crime, I’ll commit that crime. If the cost of it
is to lose the head, I’ll lose my head. That’s why Christ had turned
his body into bread and gave it. ”that s why he distributed his blood
as drink. We ate that bread for the sake of labouring for truth. We \
drank that drink.’
Martin’s words were like that. They were like resolutions. They
were like field knives ready to harvest. Living in the deep earnestness
of those words, Simon would sitj in front of Martin. Disturbance in
the heart. Each atom of the veins was enlarging.
‘Here . . . I’m keeping my Father in front of you. Crown of thorns.
Violet coloured dress. M y Father stood in front of Pilate. The screams
of the chief priests. They are asking for my Father to be crucified.’
Movement among people. A jscene in front of their eyes. Christ
carrying the Christ on;the Cross. Flowing blood. All in
Martin’s words. All in Martin’s anguish. He was saying all this to
make ‘suffering’ significant. He said finally, ‘We won’t run away
like cowards. Christ is merciful. Let’s march forward courageously.
Victory to the blood of Lord Jesus. End to the deeds of the
wrong-doer.’
When Martin would utter the last words, Simon would join
him.
Victory to the Wood of
to the wrong-doer.
These words reverberated ovei; and over again in prayer
 It was right against this background that the issue of Valasapadu
came to the fore where Martin lived. As that palle had only
Christians, the ooru people half a mile away said they would not call
them for work. They made fun of the Sundays. In that village, there
were only five mala and madiga houses. They said, ‘They’ll get spoilt
looking at you.’ They had to go a long distance to find work. There
too the same problem. Added to this, attack on Christians. Once,
they had migrated here in search of livelihood. Now it appeared as
if they would have to go to another place. Only, they might have to
take the road back to the places they came from. It was then that
they noticed the barren land west of the canal. There were more
than twenty-five acres. They thought of occupying the land. Martin
met the authorities. He explained the matter. They said they would
definitely do it. They asked them toimeet them ten days later. When
they went after ten days, they resolved it was not a barren land.
WTien they met the karanam, he said it belonged to two farmers.
Thinking it was of no use, he met ithe white man. The white man
sent word to the karanam. The munsif went along with the karanam.
The two of them said they had no objections if they could convince
the two farmers. Martin argued that it did not in fact belong to the
two farmers. The white ruler believed it. There were rumours that
Christians were swallowing the properties of farmers. They incited
the upper-caste people in the ooru; They filed a case in the court.
The person arguing for the upper-caste people was the son-in-law of
the younger karanam from Yennela Dinni, Immanuel Sastry. Martin
met him.
‘I am placing two things before you. First, it doesn’t belong to any
farmer. Second, you’re a Christian. You must stand for the Christians,’
Martin said. Sastry gave Martin a long look and said:
‘Those two farmers too are Christians.’
Martin was surprised to hear his words. When did they become
Christians? baptised them? Everything was confusing.
‘WTien did they become Christians? Where did it happen?’
‘They became Christians before the case came up before me. They
were baptised in Nellore.’
Martin looked at him in a suspicious manner.
 173

‘I’m a Christian. I couldn’t say no after the Christians came

to me.’
‘But there are poor Christians. Malas and madigas.’
‘But after he says he’s a Christian, he’s a Christian. Here they may
be reddy, kamma, brahmin, mala, madiga or anyone else. All are
Christians. You too that.’
Martin understood. He turned back.
‘Once one says he’s a Christian: he’s a Christian.’ He kept
remembering these words that the karanam’s son-in-law told him.
He had spoken very cleverly. There was deception in that cleverness.
It was only to deceive that they would make cleverness their own.
They would increase it like wealth. HLs mind was not in his control
till he met Simon. He told Simon all that had happened.
‘Nothing happened without his knowledge,’ Simon said. They
met the white man. They told him everything. Martin said he would
not live any more on this earth if the poor did not get the land. He
met the white man time and again. He met him alone. He met him
along with Simon. He took along with small children
and sat in the white man’s bungalow. That news spread from village
to village. There was a big discussion on the platforms of the upper
castes.
Finally, Martin achieved what he wanted. It was proved that the
land was a barren land. The right to cultivate that land was given to
the poor Christians of that village. The incident was not a small one.
The upper castes could not swallow it. They considered it nothing but
a defeat. They were not willing to accept this defeat. The choudharys
and reddys got together.
Christmas days.
Martin and Simon wanted to go round all villages till the 24th
December evening and at home on the 25th. The people of
the village were also happy about getting the land. They wanted to
celebrate the festival in a grand manner. They wanted to put up tents
in the new land and wanted to have prayers and meals there. They
kept aside some food grains from each house. Martin appointed two
youngsters to look after that work. All the women gathered near
Saramma. They put the grains in the mortar and pounded them.
They pounded chillies. There was a kind of gaiety everywhere. As
174

Saramma looked after everything, while keeping the child on her

lap, an ineffable happiness filled her heart. Sasirekha sang songs to
enthuse those who were pounding the grains. All were Yellanna’s
songs. Listening to those songs, she hugged the child to her heart
and said over and over again, ‘Those are your grandfathers songs.’
He laughed a toothless laugh. In between, he got up from the lap
and, taking tiny steps, walked all around. ‘How many mortars must
sound for your grandson’s wedding, Saramma?’ When Subbaratnam
said this, Saramma became somewhat preoccupied. She wanted to be
alive till then. She wanted to be alive till his wedding.
On December 24th, Martin and Simon went around important
villages. By the,time the last village was covered, it was Jate at night.
There would be approximately three hours of journey. There were
villages on the way. Even so, there was no need to stop there. Both
set out.
‘Did you notice, Simon? After prayer, during our conversation,
our people asking us to look out for a little bit of land!’
‘Yes, there is a need.’
‘It’s necessary to have land to raise your head and walk about.’
‘Yes.’
‘If you think of one, there’ll be another one ahead. I thought it’d
be enough if the body was not untouchable. It brings along the need
to have a litde bit of food for that body. There’s need for both. Reddy
has both. Choudhary has both.’
‘A big incident occurred in Yennela Dinni.’
‘I heard. I also heard the names of Naraiah, Mataiah and
Naganna.’
‘Father wove songs about them.’
‘I heard the song too . . . the son-in-law of the younger karanam
of Yennela Dinni . . . Immanuel Sastry . . . though he became a
Christian, he hasn’t lost his cail. The ‘Sastry’ remains. John Paul
Reddy. Joshua Choudhary . . . Though the religion has changed, the
caste hasn’t worn o ff. . . ’
The sound of dogs barking was heard at a distance. Simon looked
around and picked up a stick.
‘Come quickly. We’ve to reach borne before Christ is born.’
The sound of dogs barking drew nearer.
 ‘We’ve to name the child tomorrow. W hat shall we name him?’
‘You name him .’
‘Let’s ask Saramma . . . How’s this name?’
‘WTiich name?’
About to say the name,- he stopped. Men in front of him. They
were surrounding them. The barking of dogs was awesome. Those
men fell on them at one go.
The knives pierced through Martin’s stomach, back and the ribs.
Martin slumped to the ground. Before he could know what was
happening, they began to attack Simon. They did not stab him with
knives. They beat him up till blood flowed. They beat him so severely
that he felt it was better to be dead. They lifted who was stuck
to the ground. Simon was finable to stand up. They beat him asking
him to stand up. He stood up with great difficulty. They asked him
to lift Martin who was in a pool of blood. They kept beating him till
he lifted Martin up. W ith great difficulty, he lifted Martin on to his
shoulders. They asked him to carry him along. He was unable to take
a step forward. They beat him till he was able to take a step. Simon
was walking with great difficulty. Martin on his shoulders. In all this
pain, he recalled Martin’s words.
‘Yours is the name of Simon who bore the Cross.’
That Simon bore Christ’s Cross. This Simon was carrying the
corpse of a Christian preacher.
Simon managed to get hold of the strength he did not possess. He
wanted to reach there before it dawned. He placed step after step. He
started to walk with some strength and with more speed.
Martin’s flowing over
Blood that ought not to have flowed.
Blood that ought to have drenched this earth as sweat for some
more time.
Blood of those who hunger and thirst for righteousness.
Blood of those who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness.
Blood that contained mercy, love and kindness in this world.
Blood that splattered on the Cross. Blood that flowed like
rivulets.
Blood. Untouchable blood.
 176

Blood-memory that remains in Ruth’s memory.

The deadly massacre that appears in front of Ruth’s eyes.
The Simon who reached Valasapadu.
Holding the bloody body Qn his shoulders, the ghastly dance
Simon saw. The scene of the graveyard of Valasapadu.
The upper castes chasing the malas and madigas with spears and
crowbars. The helpless running away in frenzy and in fear. Their cries
of agony. The constellation of ghosts that surrounded the palle.
Did not know how many they killed. Did not know how many
fled and in what direction. The thatched huts burning. The smoke
from flames that touched the sky . . .
Saramma turned into a corpse. Sasirekha turned into a corpse.
Simon gazing wide-eyed at those corpses and the flames surrounding
them. Memory is crying.
Memory is wrenching the hearr.
Memory is bringing that child’s frenzied cry of agony to the fore.
The cry of agony, the shriek, tlie screams of the child amidst the
flames and the amputated bodies. Simon who saw that child. Simon
who took the child and ran thinking at least his child should live,
that his lineage should survive at least with this child.
That child is Reuben.

A scene.
A scene that can never be erased.
A scene drawn with blood.
When she thinks of the scene, she cannot bear it even now. When
Reuben captured the scene in front of her eyes, she cried copiously
that day. Then Reuben pacified; her. Now there is no Reuben to
pacify her. That is why whenever; she thinks of that scene, she keeps
the diary, that Reuben kept for m^ny years after the incident, in front
of her. She looks in it for the pages she needs. She reads those pages
over and over again.
Reuben became a preacher in a hospital at a very young age. It
was part of the hospital preachers’ routine to keep a diary. Like that,
Reuben preserved not just the diaries but many other things. In the
things preserved, she reads avidly, the Lone Star song and the few
pages he wrote in the first days of his preaching. She does not reply
 177

when she is asked why she looks at them over and over again. It may
be because she does not like to reply. Otherwise, it may be because
she thinks the reply applies only to her.
Some pages of Reubens diary of those days that Ruth reads with
affection, without any changes—
17 November 1920: It’s more than a month since becoming
the hospital preacher. I heard a patient tell the patient next to
him, ‘Such a young preacher?’ I looked at the man who said
it. Was very old. I have been hearing patients say this on and
off. They praise me. Those praises haunt me. But I have no
one close to me to share those praises. I remained an orphan
in the orphanage in the Mission compound. I also hear some
people say, ‘Who’s this handsome boy?’ The beautiful mother
and father who bore this beautiful youth must be alive on this
earth. At least, on the day she delivered me, she must have kept
me on her lap. He must have looked at my tiny body again
and again. How would they have looked? W hat would have
happened to them? Questions that have no answers even now.
When alone, occasions when I cried my heart out.
18 November 1920: There are a few miracles that happen on
earth. Such a miracle occurred today. Francis who worked
in the early days of the orphanage came here today. He was
quite old. He came to see in his iast days the orphanage he had
worked in. He also came with the eagerness to see the Mission
hospital that was beginning to grow then. He had worked till
now at the Mission hospital in Hanumakonda and retired.
Even at that age he went around all the rooms of the hospital.
I kept him company. When we were going about like that, he
came near the same old man who said yesterday, ‘Such a young
preacher,’ who now repeated the words, ‘You’re Francis, aren’t
you?’ two or three times. Saying, ‘Yes,’ Francis was trying to
remember him. He seems to have remembered. Even before
the word, ‘Jacob’ came out of Francis’s mouth, the old man got
off the bed repeating, ‘Yes, Yes’ many times. The two of them
came out of the room. Francis didn’t look back for me. Both of
them sat in the veranda of the Didn’t know what they
178

were speaking. I was immersed in my work. When I was going

back to my room after finishing my work, I had a message that
Francis wanted to see me. I went to him. The old man too was
there. .In front of them was a bundle of old registers. One of the
registers was open. The old man kept looking at me.
‘Your name’s Reuben, isn’t it?’ Francis said. I said, ‘Yes.’ He
looked at the register again. ‘December 24, at 11.45 at night
when Christmas celebrations were going on.’ He read as if he
was reading to himself.
‘Yes . . . ’ Saying that word again and again, the old man hugged
me. Doing that, he uttered the word, ‘Simon’ again and again.
One mystery became clear. This old man was Jacob. He was
the one who admitted me here. My father’s name was Simon.
Mother Sasirekha.
19 November 1920: I gathered more details from Jacob. On
Christmas day, my father brought me from Valasapadu to
Jacob’s village. The man was drenched in blood. He kept me
in Jacob’s arms. Muttering Martin’s name, he went again to
Valasapadu. Jacob told me about the teacher-preacher Martin.
Father told Jacob how the upper caste elite killed Martin. A
horrible scene appeared in front of them. After that Jacob went
to Valasapadu. Valasapadu had been burnt to ashes. Jacob did
not know much about the details of the migrant coolies who
settled down in Valasapadu. He said he did not know for sure
from which village father had migrated. He only knew of father
and Martin. He said migrants came from the surrounding areas
of Kanigiri, Darsi, Markapuram, Donakonda and Ongole. He
said that Nellore too was a migrant place. An inexpressible
uneasiness in the heart. Wanted to know something. I had to
know myself.
25 November 1920: I didn’t get the explanation I needed in
Markapuram. Some of the migrant coolies at that time had
stayed back in Valasapadu. Those who remained like that did
not come back here. Those who returned without staying back
in Valasapadu went to Nizam's state in search of their livelihood.
 179

The same in Kanigiri too. Except that the people in Kanigiri

went to Patnam (Madras). There they got the job of cleaning
toilets.
27 November 1920: I went to Donakonda with hesitation.
Though I went with hesitation, I found an invaluable truth.
My mother and father came as migrant coolies from Yennela
Dinni. Mother and father stayed in Martin and Saramma’s
house. Saramma looked after!my mother as her daughter. She
brought me up on her lap. 'Father’s real name was Sivaiah.
Yenkatesu, who held on to his life on that Christmas day and
escaped from that village described that scene of massacre
before eyes. Mother, Saramma and Martin kept coming
back to mind time and again. Didn’t know what happened to
father. All that Yenkatesu saw; was his carrying me and running
like a crazy man. I met another elderly man there. Said his
name was Jinkodu. Said many things.
1 December 1920: Yennela |Dinni. Didn’t know how it was
then. Don’t know who’s there who’s related to father. It’d be
good if there were people who a show affection to me once they
know who I am. All doubts. I stepped into Yennela Dinni with
I came know rhar Yennela Dinni was one of
those badly hit by drought, my doubts increased all the more.
doubts, they £rst looked with
wonder and then treated mej affectionately. More than father’s
name and mother’s name, much more, I heard grandfather s and
grandmother’s names. I felt ijt strange that everyone considered
me Yellanna and Subhadras grandson. They showed me a
house saying, ‘This was the house your father and grandfather
lived in.’ There were only bijoken walls there. They said father
buried next to
walls. There was only a palm tree growing there. Father’s close
relative didn’t let me go. I stayed the night in that house. As if
all the palle had got together and sat at one place, a number of
that house till dawn. They began
me and talk about our people. Then I came to know. That my
to weave songs, sing them. He knew
 the Urumula dance. Knew Veedhi Bagptam. My grandmother,
Subhadra, was hidden in his son;gs. Then a feeling overcame
me. That I was far away from sui<:h a great lineage. Couldn’t
stop the tears.
2 December 1920:1 heard grandfat ler ssongs. They narrated his
life in stories after stories. When th<;-:y talked about grandmother
I was amazed. Not just that, I felt ti:iat Yennela Dinni where my
people were born had a great and long history
3 December 1920: I saw the malii’s mound. I came to know
about Mataiah, Narigadu and Na£;;anna. I came to know that
grandfather had written a song aboil t the entire history of malas
mound. That’s a heroic tale. They ing all night. Couldn’t find
anyone who could sing it fully. B ut must definitely hear the
heroic tale of malas mound. The journey that began in search
of myself pierced into the depths of Yennela Dinni’s heart. In
fact, my search has just begun . . .
His search that began in the end of 1920 stretched till
December 1924.
He wrote down in his diaries his endless search during those four
years. He travelled a great distance. Met a number of people. It is
surprising to even think of it. In the last days of 1924, he came to
know that there was a man in Hanu makonda who could sing the
heroic tale of mala’s mound fully. He vent to Hanumakonda for his
grandfather’s song.
There, life did take an unexpected turn. Not just listening to the
heroic tale grandfather wrote but he v/as able to find his partner
Ruth too there. Ruth was Francis’s c aughter. He went to Francis’s
house for the song. He heard the er tire :song in that house when
Sambaiah sang it. Sambaiah’s father h ad gone around with Yellanna.
Sambaiah’s father Dibbaiah had the ref utation of singing and dancing
like Yellanna. Sambaiah learnt that sor g orily from his father. Reuben
asked Sambaiah, ‘Did you see my grandfather?’ He felt it would be
good not to say he had not seen him. If hie had seen him, he felt he
may tell him more about him. But Sa ■nbalah had not seen Yellanna.
Reuben was not disappointed. His sd irch had ended. His life came
 up before his eyes. Now he knew who he was. Now he had an
identity. He was the son of Sivaiah, the son of Yellanna, a resident of
Yennela Dinni.
His mother, Sasirekha; grandmother Subhadra. There was a great
life behind them. There were tears that had surged like the Ganga.
There was happiness that showered Like moonshine. Not just that.
There was hunger. It did not stop there. There was untouchability.
If Reuben thought of it, there was such a past. That past made
him laugh. That past made him cry. That past raised a number of
questions in front of him. It had a number of answers written down
for him. Now there would be that laughter in every step he took.
That cry too would be there. Those questions and the answers, one
after the other. A life that would be like that, always. Yesterday,
today and tomorrow— like that, with laughter, with tears, with
questions, with answers.
Francis said, ‘Your grandfather wrote songs well.’ Reuben said, cHe
didn’t write, he wove them.’ Ruth imagined the difference between
writing and weaving. She thought weaving was greater than writing.
She wrote stories. Her grandmother wove stories. Was she great or
was her grandmother great? She thought of asking someone to clear
those doubts. If she asked her grandmother, she would say those who
wrote were great. She did not know how to write. She thought all
those who wrote were great people. After listening to Yellanna’s song,
she remembered grandmother’s story once again. Weaving alone was
great. Just like that, effortlessly, as if nothing had happened. It was
not a small thing to say something that touched the heart. Ruth sat
thinking like that.
As for Francis’s wife, Mary, she did not like all this. After seeing
Reuben, she placed Ruth next to him and started thinking. She said
those words to her mother first. Mother could not say no. The boy
was good. No close relatives. Right match for Ruth. ‘W hy don’t you
sound him, my girl!’ she said. Mary found courage she never thought
she had. She told Francis. Francis looked at Mary. He called his
mother-in-law. He asked her, ‘Did you hear your daughters words?’
She said she heard them. She said her daugher’s wish was hers.
That evening Francis told Reuben, ‘W hy don’t you stay on till
Christmas?’ Reuben did not have the opportunity. He had to go
182

back. He said the same thing. Francis thought of asking him the real
question. But for some reason he stopped. He thought it would be
good to tell it to Ruth first. Educated girl. Wouldn’t she have her likes
and dislikes! Moreover, she wrote stories. That was why he could not
ask him at that moment.
After the meal at night, M ary asked, ‘Did you ask?’ Francis said he
had not. Ruth, lying down in her grandmother’s cot out in the open
asked her grandmother, ‘W hy don’t you weave a story,
The grandmother said, ‘I’ll weave one, but will you give me a straight
answer without saying this or that?’ Ruth said, ‘A sk.’ She said, ‘Your
mother told me it’d be nice if Reuben became the son-in-law.’ She
jumped out of bed and sat down. Sitting down, she pulled her
grandmother’s cheeks. She said, if she spoke such things, she would
dig a pit and place her there. She said she would plant a tree over her.
She said, if the tree grew and bore a fruit, she would cut the fruit into
four and throw one portion to the east, one portion to the north, one
portion to the west and one portion to the south. Those were words
in the story grandmother wove. That tree and that fruit were in fact
grandmother’s. The weave she had listened to with interest. All that
she spoke as if it was an abuse, it was anger. Grandmother had not
read books. She read life. In the morning she told Francis that the
girl was agreeable.
In reality, Ruth had no likes or dislikes. If father said something,
she never said no. She wrote stones. They were in fact grandmother’s
stories. She liked them. But recently she wrote about people who
had been bad and who had reformed. One of them was a drunkard
and finally turned to Christ. In another story, a man was a gambler.
He lost everything in gambling. In the end, a pastor drew him close.
He was reformed. All the stories proceeded like that. Only that she
knew English well. She had read quite a few of those novels well. For
a while, she studied in Madras. No matter how much she read and
where she went, she liked to lie down next to her grandmother and
listen to the stories of eagles and such birds narrated. But when she
heard the heroic tale of the mala’s mound the previous night, she
knew there was a lot of the world she had not seen. Even now she had
not read such language. The language Yellanna used was not there in
books. She was born into an educated family. She wanted to listen to
 183

that song over and over again. Shfe thought in that manner but she
had not observed Reuben in a special way since his arrival. Except
that when grandmother asked her that question, she wanted to see
him. She saw. She thought he was good. Father seemed to have liked
him. Mother seemed to have raised the matter. Grandmother too
liked it. Those were the three dea'r to her. Even if one among them
liked something, she liked it too. When all three liked him, how
would she not like him? j
Francis told Reuben what he Vanted to. His looks implied, ‘I’ve
asked you. W hat’s your reply?’ He was always like that. He would
ask what he had to and would keep quiet. As it was the other person
who had to reply, he was ready to Listen without any worry as to what
he had to say. This habit was not i recent one. He had it even before
his marriage. The same habit made him brush Jacob aside easily
saying, ‘What is important is that the child is admitted. It
matter who admitted him,’ when Jacob brought the three-year old
Reuben to the orphanage and said, ‘If you need the name of the
person who admitted him, write iny name down. M y name is Jacob.’
He did the same now. He remained as if to say, ‘Say whatever you
want to.’ Reuben did not know what to say. He did not know how
to say it. ■ j. '
He only said, ‘Do you like it?’ Francis was nonplussed by those
words. He looked as if to say, [‘Rather than answering me, why
that question?’ Mary too looked* She thought Francis might say all
kinds of scare the chjld. She entered the She told
him. She said everyone including Ruth liked the proposal. She said,
‘We’ll have the wedding perfonp^d too ‘I
have only one daughter. If you feel like staying, you can stay on in
Hanumakonda. Otherwise you cm stay in Ongole. Do as you wish.
If you stay here, all three of us will stay with you. you stay there,
mother’ll stay with you.’ As Mary spoke, Francis sat calmly. That man
was quite content when else spoke what he had to. Mary
realised that special nature in him soon_____ _____
after their ___ ___
marriage. That was
why she was telling him all that sjhe wanted to. ‘There’s no dearth of
money. God has blessed us quite well. After you become our son-
in-law you can’t think you have jio one to call your own. I can say
that wholeheartedly. I earn what I do as a teacher. He has retired. I
184

too will retire in another five years. The girl was born late to
she’s the only child, she must have tjhought— “What does it matter
when I’m born!” Took her own time.’ W hen M ary said that, Reuben
could not stop laughing. He laughed out. He choked. ‘Water,’ cried
Mary. Ruth came there with a glass of water. She kept the glass there
and went away. Reuben drank the water and looked at both of them.
That night, Reuben remembered his father. He did not know what
happened to him. Did not know whjether he was dead or alive. That
would remain a question eluding an (answer all his life.
Francis celebrated the wedding reasonably grandly in the Church.
Reuben went to Yennela Dinni before the wedding. He asked his
people to come. He went to his mother’s place. He asked them also
to come. All came. The wedding appeared strange to them. Sitting
in the Church itself was strange to them. The wedding the pastor
performed remained something they did not understand. But they
felt happy looking at Reuben. Reuben wanted to eat along with them.
When he went towards them to sit Idown and went near them, he
was surprised. Ruth was sitting amidst them. She had mingled with
them as if she was one of them and was laughing. They were taking
liberty with her that they did not take with him. He went near them.
They stopped laughing and looked at him. It felt strange. It appeared
as if Ruth was closer to them than ijie was. ‘Go on.’ Saying this, he
came away. Heart filled with happiness. This Ruth was enough for
this life, he thought.

True.
Just as Ruth said, Reuben came quietly into her life. He went away
just as quietly. As she said, he did not just go away. Saying, ‘Here, this
memory, you hide this in your heart,’ he went away.
W hat kind of memory is th a t. . .i ?
A scene.
Memory, like the heart of an artist that sees the moon and the
moonlight. How is the heart that sees only the moon and the
moonlight like that? Ruth says, ask he colour pictures that are stuck
in the snowy mountains.
 185

Colours. In the entire scene. Summer colours. Winter colours.

The union of colours that can display rhe moonlight merging with
the moon and the melted flowing snow and the sun. How they have
woven densely in every turn! A smile that will not be erased even if
erased. A cry that not dry.
A life’s scene.
An untouchable spring.
True. Reuben talked only of the spring. He talked only of the
shower of moonshine. He talked only of the movement of the stream.
The witness to all this is the yennela pitta. .
Did she see the yennela pitta? Did not see it. After their marriage,
on the moonlit path, she heard its cry. She experienced its swiftness.
By the time he said, ‘Look there’s the yennela pitta,’ it went a great
distance away.
How many people would know Yennela Dinni the way Yellanna
knew it? How many had the capacity to become like Yellanna to see
this? How many times did Ruth draw the picture of the chukkala
muggukarra in her heart? But was she able to capture the image of
Subhadra in front of her eyes? No. Yellanna hid it like that and went
away. Folk culture has such maleness. Has such femaleness. There was
such beauty that it would make one touch and get excited all over
the body like that. That’s why it became the folk. Beauty, expression,
and weaving are the adornments that have stuck on to the folk so
very naturally.
Ruth is slipping into her memories searching in that manner. Into
the tent of her memories. Everything’s a new beauty. Everything’s
a vicious circle. The entire memory drenched in tears, vengeance,
anger. A suddenly erupting volcano. Flowing lava. Needs solace.
Some water is needed to the burning old throat. Who’ll give it?
Reuben isn’t there.
Immanuel isn’t there.
Jessie won’t
The only one there is Mary Suvarta. Her daughter-in-law. Her
only support. She keeps looking like that into her deep eyes, into her
broken heart, into her wrinkled body. Attempt to pacify. Who’s to
pacify whom? Her daughter-in-law her, or she her daughter-in-law?
Who’s to do it to whom? If you swim across and sit on the shore, each
 186

time there is a flood, it keeps cutting up the shore. No one knows

when the flow will engulf it.
Look above, the lone star.
Look below, the ruins of the mission compound. The half-broken
wall with the oil painting of Christ bearing the Cross perpetually
trying hard not to collapse amidst the ruins. She thought that it
would collapse in the recent stormy wind. But it did not fall. It is
competing with her. Would this millennium go away before her or
would she go before it? She does not know. As for this wall with
the painting, it looks as if it v/ill collapse only after she does. It has
remained like that only for her.
Yellanna lay on his aunts lap and listened to stories. She lay on
her grandmothers lap and listened to stories. Her liking for stories
was born that way. Her desire to write stories began that way. She
wrote. She wrote several moral stories. She thought that they alone
were stories. But when she heard Yellanna’s heroic tale of the mala’s
mound, there was a big difference in her way of thinking. There was
the life that was lost in the stories, which was out there, naturally,
in real life. It was very direct. Its mode was different. The words it
spoke were different. Those words were full of honesty. They were
very ordinary. She felt that honesty being so ordinary was indeed
surprising. Reuben told her. He told her of that honesty, of that
ordinariness, of that directness. Talking of his ancestors, he revealed
his life. She really felt that there was more of a mutineer than a
preacher in Reuben. Perhaps the depths of the lives of his ancestors
might have converted him like that. He toiled hard to find himself.
He read life. Read society. Read literature and art. He hid all that in
Ruth’s memories.
Ruth underwent nurse’s training only after marriage. She joined
the mission hospital itself as nurse. Reuben as a preacher in the
mission hospital and she as a nurse cultivated a great bonding with
that region. Now Ruth is searching for that bond in those ruins.
Reuben left as if he was tired after the search. She seems to have
remained as if only to search.
They were provided quarters in the hospital. Tiled house. A hall,
two rooms. Grandmother stayed with them. Reuben planted a
sampenga flower creeper in frcnt of the house. The creeper began
 187

to breathe life quite quickly. It did not waste its time just like that,
to survive, grow and flower. When they had just started living in the
house, a pigeon peeped into the house. Ruth dropped broken rice in
a line from the front yard to the middle of the hall. It came into the
hall eating the broken rice. Another day, when the door was closed,
it peeped in through the windo^y. When the broken rice was poured
next to the window, it ate the broken rice and roamed about the hall.
The third day, it came right into the middle of the hall. It began to
search for the broken rice. It searched the entire house. It searched
for it, found it and started eating it. From that day on, the
became a member of the household. When it was not seen, Reuben
would ask, ‘Where’s your sister-in-law, Ruth?’ Yes, it would behave
like half a husband. W hat a tough sister-in-law it was!
Once Ruth told Reuben, ‘Let’s raise the walls of Yennela Dinni
that have collapsed. Let’s build ji house.’ She did not know why she
spoke like that. But she felt Yennela Dinni was her own. She thought
it would be good to spend at lealst the summer there. At first Reuben
was surprised. Later he said, ‘Okay, let’s do as you like.’ In summer,
they built a house in Yennela Dinni.
There itself.
At the very place where Subhadra’s life had been entwined.
At the very place where Yellapna as a child wove songs about his
aunt.
At the very place where Sivaiah dug a pit big enough for two
people for just one tender palmyra sprout.
They built a house. Ruth ■virould look forward to the coming
of summer. They would spend the entire season there. In summer
birds would come into the house. They would make space
for themselves on the roof Didn’t know what it thought or what
happened one summer. A ponriangi bird fell in between the two of
them. Ruth caught hold o f it. It gat snugly in Ruths hand s. Its beauty
was out of the ordinary. i
The ponnangi bird in the village. In truth, how beautiful it was!
As beautiful as life. I
 188

She did not think that that beauty, diat wonder would come
searching for her. She did not know tiredness in the midst of the
patients in the hospital. Did not know fatigue. She felt like touching
them always. She felt like rubbing courage on their hearts. When
they came to Yennela Dinni, a search. For the songs, for the scenes.
When the moon shone, walking on the edge of the fields with Reuben,
listening to the chorus of the ducks singing—now and again searching
for Subhadra in the songs of Yellanna that Reuben sang . . .
She had really felt that life seemed to be galloping. That it was an
endless flow.
That flow united the time beyond time into it. It touched a
generation beyond generation. Any moment passed would not
be like the previous day. Every generation would not be like the
previous one.
But there was a uniqueness here. :
That uniqueness was all the more; unique in the lives of the malas
and madigas of this country.
-''Untouchability. That was always the same. Was there at all times.
Was there in all generations. They Had no life without its touching
them, without its meeting them. No: family.
After Sinasubbadu, Yellanna. After Yellanna, Yerrenkadu. After
Yerrenkadu, Yellanna. After Yellanna; Sivaiah. After Sivaiah, Reuben.
After Reuben, Immanuel. After Immanuel, Jessie.
Just like that.
After Sinasubbi, Latchimi. After Latchimi, Lingalu. After Lingalu,
Subhadra. After Subhadra, Sasirekha. After Sasirekha, Ruth. After
Ruth, Mary. After Mary, Ruby.
It could be any generation. Life could be anyone’s. It did not go
without touching. It did not go without untouchability stinging it.
Family. Did not know when it began before Sinasubbadu. Did
not know how Sinasubbi’s mother-in-law was. But, as for their life, it
swam in the everflowing current far away from the ooru. This is the
truth. Even if history goes back further, we can recognise this truth.
Beginning from Sinasubbadu to Reuben and Sinasubbi to Ruth that
we know . . . they may be ordinary people. M ay be poets. M ay be
artists. Can convert to another religion. Can be the owner of a little
bit of land. But . . .
 189

Untouchability, it will not but stick on.

Ruth thinks like that. Thinking like that is not her mistake. She
thinks she should not think in that manner. But she cannot avoid it.
When all memories revolve around that reality, she can only think like
that. The family she was born into, the family she was married into,
on the whole the caste she was born into and brought up in— reveal
that reality.
That’s why she used to repeatedly call her Reuben, ‘My beautiful,
untouchable man.’ Saying that she would drown his body with kisses.
Saying, ‘A girl called Ruth is crazy, a perfectly crazy girl,’ Reuben
would laugh. Ruth would love to hear that laughter. Beautiful
laughter is always like that. It will be like Reuben’s laughter. If it is
not like that, it is no laughter. She said the same to Reuben.
‘Your selfishness.’
‘Perhaps. I want my child to have this laughter. If I have the
opportunity, I want my child’s child to have it too. The old people
in Yennela Dinni said. That your laughter was not yours, it is your
grandfather’s Yellanna’s. Christ is merciful. He will not let that
laughter be erased.’
She would feel like that. It felt like that. Crazy. To think like that
is a crazy illusion. How much happiness does that craziness give? It
might be the reflection of the imprint on the mind. Immanuel was
born with that very smile. After that only Jessie. Immanuel’s son.
Ruth and Reuben’s adorable grandson. Just like that he was born
smiling that smile.
Immanuel . . .
Jessie . . .
Memories . . .
Memories related to experience.
Like Yellanna’s memories, like Subhadra’s memories, not heard
ones. Not ones that made her wonder if they were indeed like that.
Her son’s.
His son’s.
The scenes that happened in front of her eyes. Memories that were
born breaking the umbilical cord.
They said, ‘You’re pregnant. Don’t go to Yennela Dinni now.’
But she was adamant. She said she would go, look and come back
 immediately. Reuben said okay. Grandmother said she too would
go. She said no. She pulled a long face. For some reason she thought
that no one other than Reuben and herself ought to be in that house.
She felt like that. That was why she said no. Just when they were
to leave the following day, mother came. ‘Father asked me to bring
you home,’ she said. She made a fuss. She said it was tradition to
deliver the first child in the parents’ place. It was Yennela Dinni that
remained in her eyes. Yellanna was born there. Subhadra had her
delivery there. Reuben alone was born during migration. Her child
ought to be born only there. It must be born only at the place his
forefathers were born. W hy was she feeling so? ‘Your craziness,’ said
mother. Perhaps so. Even so this child had to be born only there.
In Yennela Dinni. That night when everyone was sleeping and
the morning star had just come out from behind the clouds and was
looking wide-eyed at the earth. It appeared as if the child had started
becoming restless to touch the earth, to see how the mother who had
carried it safely all these months in her womb looked like. The pains
began. Reuben was anxious. He was about to step out to aunt
Lakshmi. In all that pain, Ruth was amused at Reuben’s anxiety. She
signalled to indicate,'No’. Reuben stopped and looked.
‘I’ll call aunt Lakshmi.’
‘Wait a bit. The child’s restlessness has just begun.’
Reuben looked perplexed.
‘Sit here.’
Reuben sat on the cot. She placed her head on his lap and
lay down.
‘Let me lie down like this for a while and then call your aunt.’
She had hardly lain down like that tired for two minutes when she
began to have unbearable pain.
‘Call . . . Call your aunt.’
Ruth said in pain. Reuben went out screaming. Lakshmi came
running. By then the child was making its own effort. His effort was
strong. He came into Lakshmi’s hands in a relaxed manner. W ith the
child crying, Reuben who was outside came in. Ruth who seemed to
be tired. The child who was screaming and making a fuss.
Immanuel.
Sweet memory.
 After Immanuel, Rosy. Time raced past in front of the eyes. The
children grew up.
Rosy got married and went to her in-laws’ place. Vandanam was
an employee in the Revenue department. Reuben asked him to stay
back here. He said they would do so later.
Immanuel wanted to undergo teacher training. They asked him to
go ahead. When he had a job in a village, he wanted to go.
They said okay. One he said he liked Mary Suvarta. Mary
Suvarta was Ruth’s uncle’s son’s daughter. They said there was nothing
they would like better. They had never said no to
They got him married to M ary Suvarta.
Something amazing happened on the wedding day. Ramanujam
came. Came on the wedding day. it. Did not expect
he would come. All those who worked with Immanuel came for the
wedding. Did not think that Ramanujam would be among those
who came. Immanuel said, ‘He works with us in the school.’ Since
when was he working?
Ramanujam!
Ramanujam who got introduced in Yennela Dinni.
Ramanujam who introduced Avalapadu . . . memories . . .
As for Reuben, he looked at Ramanujam in a surprised manner.
Ramanujam too did the same. He was thrilled saying, ‘Is Immanuel
your son?’
‘It’s many years.’
‘Yes. Many years.’
Talked all night. Putting forth a lot of the past.
Yennela Dinni. The HarijanaSeva Sangham workers.
Venkatadri . . . Lingareddy . . . where should that past begin? The
one who got separated then, how did he meet him now? That too
how did he come to meet Immanuel and come searching for Reuben?
The one who got separated as Reuben’s friend, how did he meet him
again as Immanuel’s colleague?
‘When did we get separated?’
Ramanujam searching . . . going way back to search for the day
they got separated . . .
He began to remember. How was it ?
We can’t forget anything. !
 192

Everything haunts us.

Ramanujam! Immanuel!!
Memory . . . Pushing each other, standing in front. . .
For some reason, when she thinks of Immanuel, Ramanujam
comes to the fore. In fact, Ruth wants to look at Immanuel only
from thereon.
Ramanujam did not come to Yennela Dinni only to teach. He
came primarily to live. They asked him to teach children because he
was educated. They erected a shed in between the mala and madiga
palles. It was there that he used to teach children. In the first few
days of his coming to Yennela Dinni he met Reuben. The two of
them used to talk about many things. Sometimes, Ruth would enter
their conversation.
Once Reuben asked him, ‘What do you think of Gandhi’s word,
“Harijan”?’ Ramanujam remained silent for a while. Then he only
said, ‘In what way is that word better than mala and madiga?’ He
did not stop with that. He said he did not like that word at all. This
brahminical society had made the malas and madigas untouchables.
W ith the word Harijan, Gandhiji was making them orphans as well.
Ruth felt that was true.
Such were the conversations with Ramanujam. Ramanujam was
not married. He did not even have the desire to get married. But his
eyes always appeared as if they were dreaming. Though there was no
beloved in his eyes. Neither did he have his own image imagining
great things for himself. It was true up to that point. That was because
he never talked about himself. One day he came saying, ‘Did you
hear this?’ ‘W hat’s it?’ said Reuben. Those were Christmas days. After
Christmas they went to Yennela Dinni.
‘Tomorrow the Harijana Seva Sangham workers are coming
here.’
‘Harijan . . . !’
"That’s Gandhiji’s Harijana Seva Sangham workers.’ That night the
discussion was about the Seva Sangham.
Next day the Harijana Seva Sangham workers did arrive. Among
those who came was Lingareddy from that village. Lingareddy was
the grandson of Munnareddy Sivareddv. In Yennela Dinni after
Atchireddy, Sivareddy became successful pushing aside Atchireddys
 dominance. Atchireddy’s son, Mallareddy, was not all that-Capable.
Mallareddy’s son was studying. They said that the younger karanam
who went to the city was the unseen force behind all this. It was not
clear how far that was true.
Lingareddy became Gandhi’s disciple. When Gandhi came
to Andhra, he roamed about with him. Lingareddy had another
specialty. He kept good relations with the British authorities of the
region who praised Gandhi’s qualities. His relationship with the
British authorities increased his land. Thanks to his relationship
with Gandhiji, he was included in the list of patriots. At present,
it could be assumed that he had taken the responsibility of
the Nellore District Harijana Seva Sangham on his shoulders.
At the same time, he did not lose his association with Justice
Party’s Hanumappa Choudhary either. In Ramanujam’s opinion
Lingareddy was a very clever Congress leader. That was why
when Lingareddy spoke to the former before the Seva Sangham
workers were to come, Ramanujam pretended not to hear him.
But Lingareddy did not let it go. He kept telling Ramanujam
about his programme. As soon as he came to the palle, he asked for
Ramanujam. He came to know that Ramanujam had left saying he
would be back.
The Harijana Seva Sangham workers gathered at one place. They
said to Gandhi. After that they took up the broomsticks. They
tied up the khadi panchas. If they had pyjamas on, they folded them
up. They started sweeping the bazaars of the mala and madiga palles.
The malas and madigas looked at them surprised. When they looked
at their faces it appeared as if they were proud to be doing it. They
also sang while they swept. The people did not understand those
songs. Even so, they sang as they swept. Lingareddy was among those
who swept. This was all the more surprising to the malas and the
madigas.
After that, drinking water in the houses of the untouchables.
That took place in a highly theatrical manner. It appeared like great
amusement. They kept the big cauldron used for mixing '
 194

during Rama Navami in the middle of the village. They asked each
house to pour a pot of water in that cauldron. The householders
thought they would be found fault with and poured a pot per house.
There too they sang songs. They spoke out. They said untouchability
was a crime. They said they were doing all this to eradicate it. There
were lectures for nearly an hour near the cauldron. After that each
one drank a glass of water from that cauldron. As they drank, they
felt proud. As for one worker, he swayed as if he was possessed. He
said, ‘M y life has become all the more sanctified after drinking a
glass of water from your hands.’ Going further, he said, ‘Pour a litde
more. I’ll wash myself. Spit there. I’ll lick it with my tongue. For
having considered all of you untouchables till now, I’ll purify myself.
I’ll become one of you.’ Saying so, he was swaying. He was speaking
with heightened emotion. One of the workers said with the same
intensity, ‘Jai to Gandhiji.’ Everyone caught on to that slogan. W ith
that the programme for that day was over. Then came Ramanujam.
Lingareddy embraced Ramanujam so everyone could see. He said,
‘You should have been here.’ He asked him to come the next day for
the entry into the temple.32 The workers, who announced that the
entry to the Siva temple was fixed for the next day, went away.
That night Ramanujam came home. He told them all that had
happened. He also told them about the announcement of the temple
entry.
‘In Machilipatnam the orthodox people, I believe, wrote to
Gandhiji.’
‘On what?’
‘Harijans entering the temple.’
‘W hat did Gandhiji say?’
‘I heard that as a compromise, the plan of Kasi Rama-
krishnamacharyulu came out in the open between the orthodox ones
and the Association to Eradicate Untouchability. According to this
they’ll give Saiva and Vaishnava faith to the malas and madigas and
make them eligible to enter temples.’
‘M y grandfather was a devotee of Siva. M y father’s name was
Sivaiah. A lot of people in Yennela Dinni are in fact devotees of Siva.
Parvatamma is the caste deity. W hy then did not they allow these
people to enter the temple all this while?’
 Ramanujam was stunned at Reuben’s words.
‘I too have the same question. Actually, I don’t like the term,
Harijan. Gandhiji hasn’t opposed the caste system. Moreover, he has
justified the caste system. He says there’s nothing sinful in it. If you
retain it and want to get rid of untouchability, how’s it possible?
Reuben nodded his head to indicate agreement with Ramanujam’s
words.
‘He accepts the Vedas as sacrosanct. He mentioned this very
clearly in Durga Kalamandiram in Vijayawada. He said that Harijans
would have the right to enter temples only when they also followed
principles ama Sastram.’
"There’s nothing more comical than this.’
Ramanujam looked surprised.
‘Let’s for a moment think that malas and madigas are lowly
people. But those lowly people have an art. Have a literature. Have a
culture. All of this happened outside the temple till now. Happened
naturally. My grandfather brought Ganga down from the sky outside
the temple, amidst people in his song, in his dance. There’s lifeless
struggle in the temple. To ask them to give up that which has life for
that which is lifeless down on the culture of the people that
combined in it their art and their literature.’
Ramanujam caught on immediately.
‘They are talking of a purificatory ritual. Purification for whom?
For us? For them? They say that both the casteless and the upper
castes must realise the importance of the cleanliness of the soul.
That’s what they call a purificatory ritual. It’s strange. They say that
Harijans must be
project the principles of Agama Sastra. For inner cleanliness, “the
chant of Rama” and for external cleanliness, “a bath.” Must not eat
meat of cattle. Must not eat beef. Those who are habituated to it
aren’t temples. Tell me, how does
ail this sound? What do you think?’
‘Strange. When malas and madigas converted to Christianity and
said they wouldn’t eat the meat of dead cattle, it was they who forced
them to eat. There are many such incidents in villages.’
This isn’t in fact the the upliftment of Harijans. This is protecting
Hindu religion. It’s to ensure that powerful castes and classes don't
 196

move away from it. There too there are restrictions on malas and
madigas. In the name of purification, to cage them in a frame.’
‘That’s hundred per cent true.’
‘Who’s Birla?’
‘A fanatical Hindu.’
‘He’s the President of the Committee against Untouchability.
How’s this great wonder!’
‘Dr Ambedkar has talked clearly about their deceit. So long as
malas and madigas remain lambs, they’ll be slaughtered on the altar.
It’s necessary for them to live like tigers.’
‘Beware, Gandhi’s there!’33
The two of them laughed at those words. Ruth too felt like
laughing. Beware, Gandhi’s there! SHe said those words to herself.
‘No. No need for purificatory rituals for us. No need for them to
drink water in our houses and put on a pose that they are working
for our upliftment. Each one knows the greatness of his caste. If
I’m an untouchable to him, he’s an untouchable to me too. They’re
becoming great killing us. They’re becoming great reformers saying
they’ll uplift us. No need. No need for their sympathy. It’s better to
die than live with sympathy. Don’t drink. Don’t drink water like that.
Don’t renovate the ruined temples for our sake. If they’ve a little bit
of sincerity in their reform, ask them to do something small. There’s
a lot of land adjacent to the mala’s mound. The malas and madigas
will occupy it. Ask them to watch and keep quiet. That’s enough.
Gandhiji won’t talk about this. These Harijana Seva Sangham workers
too won’t say a word about this.’
The discussion stopped at the last expression. Ramanujam kept
reminding of this and left.
After he left, Reuben wrote in this manner in his diary. All the
while he wrote, Ruth kept quiet. She asked him to read it out to her
after he wrote.
‘I’m searching for that which my ancestors have lost. Grandmother
told me that grandfather too searched like that. Mother said father
passed away searching. Then grandmother too searched. Mother too
searched.
Now, I’m searching. I’m searching for that which my ancestors
have lost. Along with me, all my people started searching. As we
 197

searched and searched, searched the whole world and came from that
corner to this, the account of the lost land became clear. The account
of life became clear.’
That was not like a pastor’s diary.
It was filled with self-respect related words. Search related
to land.
‘Did you hear the last words of Ramanujam? Those are asking us
to see another person in him. For some reason Ramanujam appears
a man of substance.’
Ruth remembers even today those words Reuben said as he
fell asleep.
Those words are true to the core.
For the purpose of temple entry, they renovated the Siva temple
outside the ooru. The Seva Sangham workers came with a lot of
pomp. They started the temple entry procession. The elders of the
ooru were calling out to everyone, ‘Come on, fellows.’ As for the
workers, they sang songs about the temple entry of Harijans. They
gave speeches. The procession began. Ramanujam too was in the
procession. Lingareddy expressed happiness that Ramanujam came.
The procession went near the ooru. But it was not going into the
ooru. It was going by the ooru. The Siva temple was at a little distance
away from the ooru. It was dilapidated. Now they renovated it. The
entry was in fact into that temple.
‘Stop.’
The procession stopped suddenly. Ramanujam who spoke that
word came to the front of the procession.
‘The procession must go into the ooru.’
Everyone looked stunned. The malas and madigas were looking
at Ramanujam. An inexplicable excitement. Lingareddy did not say
a thing.
‘Siva’s temple isn’t in the ooru!’ One among the village elders
said.
"There’s a Vishnu temple. There’s a Rama temple next to it,’ said
Ramanujam.
‘The entry is into the Siva temple,’ said one of the Seva Sangham
workers. Even now Lingareddy did not speak.
 198

‘W ere thinking of entering the Vishnu temple,’ said Ramanujam

in a loud enough voice.
‘Siva’s temple is in our programme.’ Those were not Lingareddy’s
words.
‘Vishnu’s temple is where we want to enter. Otherwise to
Rama’s temple.’
Argument commenced. The workers tried to convince Ramanujam.
Ramanujam did not listen. Even the people thought Ramanujam’s
idea was good. As for the youngsters among them, they stood next to
Ramanujam. That night Ramanujam spoke to them. There were two
or three intelligent people among the youngsters. They felt uneasy
with all the work of the Seva Sangham workers. At first, they were
the ones who talked to Ramanujam and asked, ‘Is this all true?’ After
that Ramanujam went further. They decided that if the procession
could not go into the ooru, they would turn back. The elders of the
mala and madiga palles did not know any of this. As for Lingareddy,
he did not underestimate Ramanujam. But he did not speak.
‘Say one way or the other, we wish the temple entry to take place
in the temple in the ooru. If that’s not possible we’ll turn back.’
Now Lingareddy spoke. He said the procession ought to go into
the ooru. The workers were surprised. In the programme of the
workers, there was no entry to the temple in the ooru. But now
Lingareddy was saying the procession must go there. Their wish. He
was speaking to the people that if they wished to go into the Vishnu
temple it would be the Vishnu temple entry and if they wished to
go into the Rama temple it would be the Rama temple entry. As for
the villagers, wanting to know why Lingareddy was speaking in that
manner, they tried to pull him aside. But he said, ‘Ramanujam, let
the procession go into the ooru.’
The procession did go into the ooru. As Lingareddy was walking
into it, the malas and madigas entered the compound of the Vishnu
temple... The compound of the temple was very large. Lingareddy
stopped near the first step of the temple. There was the cool shade of
the trees in the compound. The malas and madigas who entered the
compound found the environment strange. Lingareddy kept noticing
that. Not just that, he noticed Ramanujam who was looking at him.
 199

Lingareddy said, ‘A ll of you please sit down.’ He said, ‘Now say jai to
Gandhiji.’ They did so.
He began saying, ‘My dear Harijans!’ He began to say how great
the word Harijan was. Saying so, he looked at Ramanujam. He knew
Ramanujam did not like the word. That was why he was praising it
so much. He was trying to bind Ramanujam’s thought process to that
very word. In one way, Lingareddy was achieving what he wanted.
Lingareddy was a clever intellectual. Making the people get caught
in words by erecting a stage, he could keep the people away from
the real subject. The actual issue was the temple entry. The place
they were sitting in was the compound. The discussion that began
was on the word, Harijan. Lingareddy praising the word Harijan like
that was making Ramanujam angry. He was in a hurry to say how
deceitful that word was.
‘In fact, Ramanujam doesn’t like this word. I know this. I believe in
non-violence. Truth is the prime principle of non-violence. In order
to get at the truth, I want to know in your presence why Ramanujam
doesn’t like that word.’
Ramanujam had not guessed that Lingareddy would say such a
thing. But he was able to understand how he was dragging him into
it and why he was dragging him.
‘Tell me Ramanujam . . . Otherwise accept Gandhiji’s term . . . ’
Lingareddy threw a challenge. No escape. Ramanujam began
speaking.
In the meanwhile, the priest came out with the from
the sanctum sanctorum of the temple. There was commotion.
Ramanujam looked impatiently. Pretending that he could not
control his excitement, saying, ‘The harati has come to us. Touch
the harati to the eyes. Distribute the ,’ Lingareddy began
shouting in excitement. Pushing and shoving among the people for
the harati. The distribution of the prasadam began. Everything was
happening in a frenzy. The workers kept saying, ‘Jai to Gandhiji.’ In a
strange manner, the temple entry happened only with the entry into
the temple compound. Everyone came out. The village elders praised
Lingareddy saying, ‘After all an educated man is indeed an educated
man.’ That night Lingareddy got the temple compound and steps
cleaned with cow dung and cow’s urine as the priests recited mantras.
 It was not as if the Harijana Seva Sangham workers were not there.
As idealistically as they performed the societal service called temple
entry of Harijans, they also did the purificatory task of the temple
in a similarly pious manner. In fact, there was such a flexibility
in Gandhiji s mode. If that were not so Gandhiji would not have
appeared so great to people like Lingareddy.
But Lingareddy did not know something. He did not know a
youngster called Vankatadri from Krishna district was among the
workers. He did not know he was a Harijan. He did not know he was
close to the Harijan doctor of Guntur district. He did not know he
was one of those admirers of the Rajamahendravaram Harijan poet.
The Krishna district workers knew this information. There was Siva
temple in their programme. If there was entry into the Siva temple,
there would not have been any trouble. But everything went haywire.
Venkatadri could not swallow the purificatory work of the temple.
He felt that everything was deceitful. He did not feel like staying
there. He came to the palle. He met Ramanujam there. He met the
youngsters who were with Ramanujam. He told them everything.
He said how much Lingareddy had deceived them. Ramanujam was
not surprised: ‘I know. This programme of upliftment of Harijans is
being done to bind the malas and madigas in the Hindu frame. Do
you remember
Venkatadri searched for an answer to Ramanujam’s question. In
1924, there was the Vaikom satyagraha for the temple entry of the
untouchable castes. Periyar took part in it.34 Gandhiji spoke about it
as the internal matter of the Hindus. Periyar exposed the
the Congress orthodoxy. But Venkatadri did not understand why
Ramanujam was referring to it now.
‘You’re surprised that Lingareddy acted in that manner. I am not
surprised at Gandhiji’s purificatory ritual.’
‘That means . . .?’
‘I don’t have the illusions about Gandhiji that you have.’
Venkatadri stayed back there that night. Reuben met them in the
morning. He asked them to come to his house. Then Venkatadri
said that Gandhiji would travel past Bitragunta in two days. Reuben
wanted to see Gandhiji. Ruth too wanted it.
 They set out from Yennela Dinni early in the morning. Venkatadri
told them he would meet Gandhiji and tell him everything.
Ramanujam said, ‘You have too many illusions.’ They were talking
during the entire journey. Ruth was listening silently.
‘It appears as if the British rule is breathing new life into the
institution of caste.’
Saying that, Ramanujam looked at Reuben.
‘Tell me. Don’t stop saying things you want to because I’m a
Christian. First and foremost, I’m an untouchable.’
‘They have embedded the caste system in the judicial system.’
‘As for me, I’ll also say, they have also given the caste system an
autonomous status and respected it.’
‘You’ve said it very directly. Brahmin pundits are the advisors
of these English judges. W hat would they naturally desire? I don’t
know whether you’ve noticed it or not, along with English, the
study of Sanskrit is increasing. The translation of Sanskrit texts is on
the rise.’
‘Venkatadri isn’t speaking.’
‘His mind hasn’t got away from Gandhiji.’
Venkatadri was indeed walking silently. The night’s incident had
not gone out of his mind. So long he had felt that the Harijana Seva
Sangham would do something good for the Harijans. It was this
thinking that had distanced him from his family. But everything was
unclear. It appeared as if honesty had taken a back seat. He thought
it would be good to go immediately and meet the Guntur district
and the Rajamahendravaram poet. If it was not going to
be possible to meet Gandhiji, this was what he had to do. But the
mind was not going to remain calm till then. As for Ramanujam and
Reuben, they were involved in their talk.
‘You know about the Satya Sodhak Samaj ‘tamasha’ groups?’
‘Phule’s revolt against Sethjis and Bhatjis was very powerful.’35
‘You’ve heard of the Self Respect Movement in Tamil Nadu. It
justifies Socialism. That’s a new development.’
‘Perhaps it’s the result of Periyar’s Russian trip.’
‘It appears as if the influence
well on the intellectuals of this country.’
In their talk, the word Communism was heard.
 They kept walking as they were talking in that manner. There was
a lot of discussion on movements against brahminism.
Reuben appeared strange to Ruth. She was able to comprehend
what he was thinking deeply when he said, ‘I’m first and foremost
an untouchable.’ He went about mostly among the white men.
White men in the Church he was in. White men in the hospital
he went around. But his views on the British rule were entirely
different. He did not have a good opinion of white men other than
the white man, Clough. Reuben was unable to tolerate the brahmin
domination in government offices, courts, and hospitals. It seemed
as if his father, Simon’s, fears were also haunting Reuben. He hated
the uppercaste converts all the more. ‘He didn’t come for Christ. He
/came to dominate,’ he would say. When a reddy was appointed the
headmaster of a mission school, he was enraged and said, ‘Couldn’t
they find a mala Christian? Couldn’t they locate a madiga Christian?
They needed a reddy Christian!’ He mentioned this at many places.
For saying this, the elders in the mission met Reuben and asked him
not to speak in that manner. Reuben did not agree. He said he would
say so.
‘He’s a Christian.’
‘No, a reddy.’
The elders of the mission felt it was unnecessary to speak further.
Sometimes Reuben was even willing to give up being a pastor for the
sake of caste. It was morning by the time they reached Bitragunta
station. People were awaiting Gandhiji’s train. They said he would
come by Calcutta mail. Important people were in front to welcome
him. Venkatadri noticed Lingareddy among them. He swelled with

‘I’ll show his real form to the Nellore reddys.’ Venkatadri was
about to go in front.
‘They too are reddys. Don’t forget that.’ Ramanujam said those
words sharply. Venkatadri stopped. In the meanwhile, with the
Calcutta mail coming into the station, the people pushing each other
saying, to Gandhiji’— all these happened. Ruth saw all this from
a distance. Venkatadri stopped at Ramanujam’s words. They said that
Gandhiji was leaving for Kavali by car.
 That day was December 30th. The new year round the corner.
Reuben said they had to reach Ongole. W ithout going to Yennela
Dinni they set out for Ongole. Venkatadri accompanied them till
Ongole. He did not stay back even though they asked him to. He
went saying he wanted to meet the Guntur district doctor. Saying he
would meet them again, Ramanujam set out towards Yennela Dinni.
When they went to Yennela Dinni again in summer Ramanujam was
not there. They met him now, someone who had got separated like
that then. They met him in this manner.
‘After that I didn’t feel like staying there. I joined the training
school. After the training, I joined as a teacher in an aided school.
Not one school. I changed almost ten schools.’
‘W hy?’
can’t find an answer but I’m not able to be aJone. Like not
being able to stay in Yennela Dinni. Some situation, some
...’
Ramanujam kept speaking.
‘15 — where were you?’
‘In Ongole.’
‘But thought of you. I do not know whether you came to know
or not. But I thought I would tell you if I met you. I thought of
saying it to you and did you hear such a thing?’
Reuben kept looking at him. The same heated emotion. Except
that it was the emotion of a slightly older person.
‘How come you don’t ask what it is?’
‘Tell me.’
‘Periyar gave a call asking people to observe August 15rl' as a day of
mourning. As for me, I felt happy. He wanted freedom from brahmin
rule. I’m the truth. I felt like hoisting a black flag.
cloth next to the pot house I it
a stick and stood in the bazaar. That’s it. There was trouble with the
Congress people of that place. That place didn’t change. Now I’m in
the tenth tied to my life. Life has become hard
with experience.’
Yes. As Ramanujam said, life had become hard. What kind of a
life was that? W hy did it become hard? How did it become hard?
The same question all day long. What did Ramanujam say? W hy
 again and again like that? Just for two palmfuls of water. Just for a
stomachful. W hat a long journey this was!
The period when a structure of a community had been ruined—
In the first dawn of the excessive output becoming
agricultural,—
When the toil had changed into something to be divided,—
When land was turning into private property.
Reuben!
How did your ancestor scream?
Ramanujam, how would you recognise that scream.? Where to
search for that scream? Among priests, among merchants, among
rulers, among slaves, among sudras, among even meaner people,
among even the meanest.
Where to search for that scream!
When kingdoms were born. When kingdoms were destroyed.
When kingdoms had expanded. When kingdoms were shattered.
When civilisation danced in the middle of the house.
When the ruins were ruined and turned into the excavations of
historians.
Iron plough. Ritual sacrifice. Manu. Mayas, Kushans, Sakhyas,
Mauryas, Guptas, the dark ages. Golden ages . . .
How much of history on the land of this country . . .
In which turn to search for that scream. That hardened scream.
The dirty jobs distributed in cruel kindness among the malas and
madigas under the shade of the four-caste hood— in which Veda, in
which sastra, in which darkness that swallowed the light . . .
The Mohammedan invasions, the Mughal empire, the British
merchant intruders. The British empire established. 15 August
1947 . . .
After that the village life that was subject to change . . . the
weakening brahmin authority on the land . . . the ancestral history
of kings that were remaining merely as names . . . the reddys who
have placed a firm foot on the land . . . kammas, patidars, lingayats,
vellatulus . . . change in power . . . brahmins in key government
positions . . . brahmins, kshatriyas, reddys and kammas in higher
judiciary and bureaucracy. Politics arising out of their quarrels. How
 does it sound? The scream that began then. W hy is it still heard
like that?
How many stages has the country witnessed?
How the country has changed . . .
Here, now, how is it heard? W hy is it still heard like that . . . all
only in the form of questions f6r Ruth. Everything is a search for
answers.
Just for a mouthful of water. W hat does the Avalapadu story say
. . . the malapalli story of that village that united Ramanujam and
Immanuel . . . .the story of malas.
Ramanujam narrated the scene in such a manner that it was before
their eyes, when the stars were shining in the front yard. Reuben was
listening. Ruth was listening. Did not know when the newly-wed
couple Immanuel and Mary Suvarta came, they too were listening.
In between, M ary Suvarta brought tea. The bride was not someone
new. The girl knew where things were in this house.
‘Have you put less sugar for Ruth asked. M ary Suvarta
laughed and kept quiet. The meaning of that laughter was that she
ought to keep her mouth shut.
She knew everything. What she was, what Reuben was, what
Immanuel was— she knew everything . . .
She came to this house knowing everything.
Knowing everything.
No need for memory up to that point. M y lover! M y God! Let my
memory stop with Ramanujam.
There, with Ramanujam, let it stop, right there . . .
Ruth thinks in that manner. She cannot stand the memory of her
wants the memory to stop with Ramanujam. She does not
know if it will stop like that or not. But as for Avalapadu, it stands
right in front of her.

There was a hundred-house malapalli in Avalapadu. The ooru had

three hundred houses. Hundred houses of reddys. Hundred houses
of kammas. The rest, the remaining castes.
 Strange. There, the malapalli was not at a distance. There was only
a long path between malapalli and the ooru. On that path, a cart
carrying maize stacks go the the ooru, there
was a lake. Houses surrounding the lake. On the bund of the lake,
Siva’s temple, Vishnu’s temple, Jalamma’s temple, and many Shakti-
type temples.
The lake full of water. The lake was adjoining the palle. But the
malas could not step down and take water from the lake. They would
stand away the lake holding pots. When the upper castes
stepped into the lake, they would have them pour water. No one
pours water on their own accord to malas and madigas. It was like
that even before. 1947. It was like that after 1947 too. Like in all
villages. There too. W hat was worse was that even if a well was dug
there, it would not have any drinking water in it. Therefore, there
was no other source for water. They could get water from the stream
on all three sides for all other purposes. The stream was far away.
A development that the village landlords did not imagine took
place in that village. Even before ’47, Communists set foot in that
village. Do not know how things happened. Leaders at the district
level and state level would visit the malapalli. When the party was
banned that palle gave asylum to the main leaders. The party was
not just in the malapalli but also in the (the area where
washermen lived). It used be there among the poorer reddys too.
Ramireddy was one of the important members of the party.
The term Communist had never been far away from Ruth. It was
a term close to her. She saw Communists. Spoke to them.
Knew about Russia. Heard about China. From Ramanujam’s words
it was clear that not only did she hear that word but the malapalli
of Avalapadu too had heard of it. W ith what hope was the malapalli
of Avalapadu giving asylum to Communists! She did not need to
think specially to understand this. She was born in Hanumakonda.
She knew the situation in Telangana. She knew the story of Chakali
Ailamma’s leased land.36 It was not-as if she did not know of Visunooru
Deshmukh with his goondas shooting at the people’s procession,
Doddi Komaraiah’s37 death and thousands of people performing his
last rites. Though she was not an eyewitness to that incident she had
known of it from close quarters. It was not as if she did not know that
 in many villages people were revolting against the landlords. Though
Ruth was not in that region then, mother would tell her all of this
whenever she came. Because she knew how atrocious the landlords’
rule was, she would feel in her heart of hearts that such a rebellion
was good. That rebellion did not seem surprising to her.
What was surprising was a meeting being organised in Avalapadu
in the coastal region in memory of Komaraiah’s death. That was what
appeared astonishing. When Ramanujam was narrating this incident,
she was filled with intense emotion.
The meeting took place right in the middle of the malapalli.
Ramireddy spoke in the meeting. There were men and women from
malapalli in that meeting. People from chakalipalem too came to
attend. As long as the meeting was on, ten to fifteen youngsters sat
on the bund of the lake. The ooru had more of the Congress people.
There was a ban on the Communists. Even so, there were two main
leaders in malapalli. It could be said that the meeting took place in
the most secretive manner. People from chakalipalem came one by
one even before the lamps were lit. After that it would be a problem.
If malapalli was on that side, chakalipalem was on the other side. In
between, the houses of kammas, the houses of reddys.
‘Did the reddys from Ramireddy’s side come to the meeting?’
‘They came. The important people had dinner right there. They
sat where the meeting took place.’
‘Did all sit together?’
‘They sat together. After dinner, the malas taking the water from
the tank of the ooru came up for discussion.’
The part that Reuben liked much. He said, ‘Ruth, we want
tea again.’ Ruth was about to get up to make tea. Immanuel said he
would make it. M ary Suvarta went along with Immanuel.
A canopy of stars in the sky. Reuben held hands with
Ramanujam.
‘You’re giving new hope, Ramanujam. Now, the midnight water
thieves of Yennela Dinni stand before my eyes.’ Saying those words,
Reuben was becoming very excited. As everyone was looking on, as
reddys were looking on, as kammas were looking on, as brahmins
were on, as Siva was and was
looking on, the malas of Avalapadu were going to step into the lake
 of the ooru. That very scene unfolded in front of Reubens eyes as if
it was happening in his imagination. In fact, they had heard what
happened in Avalapudu even before Ramanujam told them. It was
very interesting as Ramanujam who had been a party to it had said it.
It appeared as if they were seeing it right in front of their eyes.
The canopy of stars was being dispersed. There was the smell of
the wind before the rain. That was why it felt extremely hot during
the day.
The morning cock crowed. Immanuel and M ary brought tea.
After drinking tea, Ramanujam began to narrate again.
They had to wait many months for the day to get water from the
lake. Rather than say months, it is better to say a year. But the year did
not go by just like that. Many isolatdd incidents. Even though there
were isolated incidents, they continued to increase self-confidence in
malapalli. The youngsters in the village began to learn new things.
They learnt to read and write. After coming back from work each
day, they would eat food at night and go to the centre of the palle. As
for moonlit days, there used to be a lot of fun and frolic. They would
play They learnt new songs.
Tamarind tree flared, tamarind tree flared
What happened to the beams, it’s deceit, Raja
I am young for sport
I am young, I’m deceived, Raja
I’m young for sport.
The words of that song changed. Meanings changed.*
W hy worries for us, why worries for us—the hammer and sickle
have come, move along, coolie!
It would go on like this. They would form into pairs and dance.
Every occasion had a new song. The planting songs changed. The
harvesting songs changed. Everything was new. It was all strange
to the landlords of the ooru. There was some change in the palle.
 There were new people coming to the palle. Things that had never
happened began to take place.
Pedanarisimma went towards Naidu’s granary for maize stacks.
Naidu stared at Narisimma from top to toe. ‘Who’re the new people
coming to the village?’ he asked him sternly. An unexpected question.
Narisimma did not speak. ‘C'bmmittoo people?’ Naidu asked.
Narisimma did not speak. ‘W hy don’t you speak, you son of an ass?’
Saying, ‘W ill you speak out or shall I kick you?’ Naidu the
rope. He was about to twirl the rope strongly and whip Narisimma’s
back. Narisimma caught hold of the rope. Due to the power of
the grip, Naidu who was older, fell forward. Rosaiah Naidu of the
neighbouring granary saw this. W ith a terrible scream, he pulled out
the wooden pole to which cattle are tied and ran towards Narisimma.
Unexpected turn. Narisimma started to run. Granaries on all four
sides. The Choudharys of the granaries surrounded him. No one
asked what happened. They only saw Naidu chase Narisimma. The
entire fault was Narisimma’s. Narisimma was caught in the middle.
He just about survived. Even the Choudharys did not realise how
they hit him. How he escaped even Narisimma did not know.
That night the palle did not sleep. The blood of youngsters was
boiling. Worry in the hearts of the older people. An urge to do
something. A situation where they did not know what to do. In the
past, no matter what happened they would tremble in fear. They
would take the blame on themselyes and plead with the choudharys
and reddys. Now they were not thinking in that manner. The elder
mala said he would go into the ooru. The youngsters asked him not
to. If such incidents happened in the past, the elder mala would meet
the elders of the ooru. He would plead saying, ‘You beat them up
because our people made a mistake. Let go and pardon their mistake.’
There were also instances when the elder who had gone to plead was
abused and kicked. The situation was not like that now. They had to
do something. W hat to do? That was what was not clear to them.
party came from outside went to the next
that same day. Ramanujam too went along with them. They finished
their work and started from there at midnight. The journey would
take half an hour. The maize fields were an elbow’s length taller
than a man. A path amidst the fields. Dew had just started forming.
 the maize stalks touched the body, the entire body was getting
wet. Ramanujam and the two party members were walking even as
they were getting wet like that. they were walking, they heard
commotion in the field on the left. They stopped there. They heard
the sound of maize stalks being pulled out. Ramanujam was about
to go ahead. The party man stopped him. They stood examining
everything closely. Sound of the maize stalks being pulled out swiftly.
The field was full of cobs. Did not know why but the party man had
a sudden thought. The second man asked Ramanujam to stay right
there. Pulling the maize stalks aside noiselessly, he went forward. It
was more than ten minutes since he left. He was taking a long time.
An anxiety in Ramanujam. The second man was thinking and looking
in the direction the first man went. The man who went returned in
a relaxed manner. After coming back, he asked them to come with
him. When he was asked what happened, he did not tell them. He
asked them to come along and see. They had hardly taken ten steps
when they saw a circular ground in the midst of the field. Ten or
fifteen people had charged on to it and were pulling out the maize.
The field was looking good from outside. They were pulling it out in
the middle as if a circle was drawn. About half an acre of land. The
entire field had been pulled out. Seeing them, they stopped pulling
them out and came near.
Men from malapalli. Malas. All young men. Among them,
Sinasubarayudu said, "They didn’t beat him just like that. Tough guy.
He survived. Didn’t know what to do. We thought we’d let the older
people sleep and decided on rooting out Naidu’s field.’
He said so calmly. After that, together all of them pulled out
everything leaving ten arm-lengths around. If one looked at it from
outside, it appeared as if nothing had happened. Only if one came in,
would the real thing become clear.
‘Was it wrong?’ Sinasubarayudu said on the way.
‘No,’ said the party man.
‘In the morning, that bastard’s heart will stop beating on seeing it,’
said Sinasubarayudu.
‘Should make sure there’s no sound when we are pulling them out,’
said the party man. Ramanujam seemed surprised at those words.
 ‘Let’s think after going to the palle. Pulling out quickly, not making
a sound. We’ve got to think.’
Sinasubarayudu was listening to those words as he walked. Behind
him, fourteen youngsters.
Sinasubarayudu did not have a father. Had a mother. Whenever
she saw anyone, she would say,*' ‘We should get the boy married,
pantulu.’ Saying, ‘I’ll give this nose ring to the woman who comes,
pantulu,’ she would start the history of the nose ring. It was a brass
nose ring. Soon after her marriage, her mother-in-law had taken out
her own nose ring and put it on her nose. She also said, ‘Before I die,
I’ll make you stone ear studs, dear daughter-in-law.’ Mother-in-law
died. She did not make stone ear studs. ‘But I must say the right
thing, pantulu.’ When she was about to die, mother-in-law took five
bedas from her waist, tied it to the edge of the daughter-in-laws saree
and said, ‘Don’t tell him.’ Saying that, she shed tears. That sobbing
would not stop. Such a great person would not be born. The issue
of marriage would be would stop with the taJk of
the mother-in-law. Only that, whenever she saw anyone. W hat was
surprising was that her mother-in-law had never treated her well. She
would always create some problem or the other. She would openly
say that she could not feel happy unless she died. But the woman
spoke of her mother-in-law as a great person after her death. This
seems a wonder in these lives.
That wonder touched the hearts.
Ruth looked towards M ary Suvarta.
Mary’s eyelids were fluttering^
It appeared as if the cloud had sat tight in one place and had
become cold. It started to drizzle. Immanuel brought the things from
outside and arranged them inside. Then he sat looking at the red
crotons that were getting wet in ’the rain.
"This is not a rain that’ll last, tell us, Ramanujam. Of
Sinasubarayudu. Tell us. Without: omitting anything,’ said Reuben
at the rain. Raimanujam narrating.
Sinasubarayudu had no one. He was working with Naidu for a
salary when was young. After growing up a hit, he iefr the job.
If he could find a mud job, he wotild do that job. He would go for
threshing, ar the threshing tirhe. He had a good reputation of putting
 212

up the hay stacks. If there was a need to turn over the granary pit, they
would only call Sinasubarayudu. He would keep doing something or
the other. He did not smoke a chutta. Did not smoke a If he
did not have work he would play No matter how big the
he would hit it just like thatl He could throw a top in the air,
put it on his palm and spin it effortlessly. It would be amazing to see
how the top spun speedily on the palm. At dusk, he would have his
food and come to the bund. He would sleep on some bullock cart or
the other. If there were no carts, any place was the same. Sleep would
not but come.
If you think Sinasubarayudu was just that, you are mistaken.
Yenkayi was Suttillu Kotesu’s daughter. If you asked her to take a stick
from this side to the other side, you had to push her sixteen times to
do it. She was such a girl. She would not do any work. As for speech,
she had a bad tongue. If she said something, the other person had to
twist and turn. Her mother would say it was her father’s trait. Suttillu
Kotesu had a foul mouth. If he opened his mouth, only obscenities.
That daughter had the same foul mouth. Her mother would moan,
‘The third day after you send her, she’d burn up that house and will
come back home. How do I cope with her, pantulu?’ Such a Yenkayi,
as her mother forced her, went with her mother to the stream to wash
clothes and was walking in the middle of the maize field. Her mother
went a little ahead. There was a short distance between her and her
mother. Who was that man who came pushing aside her mother, she
wondered. Sinasubarayudu. He was the right one. Talkative. Did not
stop. Sinasubarayudu did in fact come near. She stopped and looked.
He lifted his foot from this ridge and placed it on the other. W ith
jump he this ridge and was about to go away
without turning to look behind.
‘Stupid brute. Is it enough to drink a little bit of kuditi for the
stomach?’ The mouth was such. It would not but speak out.
Sinasubarayudu stopped. When Yenkayi’s mother who had
stopped having come to the end of the maize field, turned around,
she did not find her daughter. She shouted out a couple of times. No
response. She came back. She came back to the middle of the field
and screamed. No response. She screamed again. She remembered
Sinasubarayudu who walked past her. She went right up to the bund
 213

of the stream. When she stood there and saw, there was no trace
of anyone. She turned back. She came back home that same path.
Yenkayi came half an hour after she returned.
Nothing is unnaturally hidden in mala and madiga palles. What
you see there is spewing out things as they are. They do not have
the crooked brain of holding on to someone’s pigtail and tying it to
other people’s pigtails, make them kick each other and watch the fun.
They do not hide anything. Their faces too are like that. Their hearts
too are like that. They do not have the great culture of covering their
anger with a smile on their face. They have the ordinary culture of
showing anger as anger. They are not karanams. They are people with
starving stomachs. If the stomach is empty then it will be filled. If it
seems to be stirred, it will throw up. Human relationships too are like
that. To quarrel when angry. To deny oneself and feed others when
in difficulty. That is a culture they have inherited quite naturally.
To get upset inwardly and, unable to express it openly, to cry in a
closed room are not the done thing there. There, love is not artificial.
Hatred is not artificial. There are no two-faced people there. That is
why the upper castes call them the riff-raff. Among the riff-raff lives,
there is no artifice. Its culture is natural.
Yenkayi’s mother did not hide her anger. She pounced on
Sinasubarayudu’s mother. She said, ‘Is your son such a man that he
pulled my daughter into the maize field? Has he become so manly!
Let him come, I’ll bury him .’ At first, Sinasubarayudu’s mother did
not understand. Then she understood. She started to answer word for
word. The fight between the women did not stop till the men came
home. Yenkayi’s brothers came with sticks to attack Sinasubarayudu.
Sinasubarayudu said, ‘If I died I’d be the only one. If I lived, I’d be
the only one. Come on, you fellows,’ and drew a line in the bazaar.
Ramanujam stood looking on. He was about to say something.
In the meanwhile, Yenkayis brother’s stick fell on Sinasubarayudu’s
head. Sinasubarayudu’s mother let out a scream saying, ‘M y child’s
dead!’ The fight stopped.
That night Ramanujam sat right next to Sinasubarayudu. He tied
a bandage on his head. As someone was standing near the bamboo
screen, he went there to find out who it was. At first he thought
it was Yenkayi. Yenkayi’s mother. Yenkayi’s father was at a short
 distance. Yenkayi’s mother held on to Ramanujam’s hands. ‘Hows
he, pantulu?’ She asked. ‘Just a case of shock. He’ll be better in a
couple of days,’ he said. He asked them to come in. ‘She has a foul
mouth. I was pained. I abused her. If she hadn’t abused me, there
wouldn’t have been a fight. He wouldn’t have suffered such an injury.
He’s fatherless.’ Ramanujam was surprised. She was still speaking.
He had not noticed till then. Yenkayi’s six brothers were sitting next
to the screen.
If by chance Sinasubarayudu were to ask the six of them, ‘Come
in, fellows,’ it appeared as if they would come running in. They went
away because they did not have the face to come in. Yenkayi came an
hour later. Ramanujam was not surprised. He only asked her, ‘Your
people let you come?’ She said, ‘They were all sleeping.’ She said,
‘I let them sleep and came.’ That girl did not know that they were
not asleep but pretended to sleep as Yenkayi left. On seeing the girl,
Sinasubarayudu’s mother sac turning her face the other way. ‘Did
you eat?’ Yenkayi asked her. She did not speak. Then she took out the
dinner plate that was in her arm pit behind the saree edge. Saying,
‘Eat,’ she put it in front her. Did not know what she thought, she
started to mix her food. ‘Bloody bitch, what would her mother-in-
law lose if she kept her mouth shut?’ W ith these words of Yenkayi,
Sinasubarayudu’s mother felt anger boil up inside her. ‘You get your
mother to shut up. Ask her to kick the woman who pulled him into
the field. W hat did my child do?’ She was shouting twice as loud.
‘Yes, I did pull him. W hat’s it, if I pulled him? W hy had he come
like a dancing bull? W hy didn’t you hold him so he wouldn’t come?’
Yenkayi asked her straight. Ramanujam felt like laughing. There was
no faltering in their words. They had not a thought of what others
would think if they spoke like that. Sinasubarayudu’s mother too ate
even as the fight continued. Yenkayi washed the plate and put it on
one side. She placed the ramshackle cot outside and said, ‘Now, lie
down, I’ll be here.’ Without saying a word, she went and lay down.
‘If you had four others along wich him, would he have suffered such
blows,’ Yenkayi said. Ramanujam looked, surprised.
The night went by. Another month went by with silent signals.
It was summer. He became the brother-in-lpw to ch.? siv hrorhcrs in
 Sinasubarayudu’s mother gave the nose ring to Yenkayi. She
also said, ‘I’ll make you stone-studded ear studs, daughter-in-law.’
Among those who were walking with Sinasubarayudu, who pulled
out Naidu’s half-acre field, in front were the six brothers of Yenkayi.
Sinasubarayudu’s brothers-in-law. In that palle, Suttillu Kotesu’s gang
was not small. Kotesu’s brother? were themselves ten in number.
Sinasubarayudu became one with such a gang. It was Sinasubarayudu
who in fact called the party men home for the first time. That could
be one of the reasons why the party men could so quickly mingle
with the palle.
After coming into the palle, Sinasubarayudu and two others stayed
on with the party men. The rest headed back home and went to bed.
They sat down in Ramanujams house. Sinasubarayudu narrated
detail all that had happened. In the morning, the situation came up
for discussion.
In the morning, Naidu saw the field. Along with Naidu, the
important people among the other Choudharys too saw it. Venkata
Choudhary conducted a panchayati. Did not know how the
panchayari happened. As for the Choudharys, they pretended as if
nothing had happened. The party man said that it was better for the
youth to learn to fight with sticks in the took out the
sticks from the loft. They called for Narsigadu the expert in the fight
with sticks. He had a reputation that he could twist and twirl the
stick in the rain without a drop touching it. After food they levelled
the Bengal gram field that had been harvested in the palle. Till the
middle of the night, the sound of the sticks was being heard. That too
became the topic of debate among the elders of the ooru.
Exactly three months after the maize field incident, another one
took place. Sinasubarayudu would say it was a lucky occurrence. As
for Ramanujam, he could not think of it as unexpected. Bala Kotadu
was not such a courageous person. As he was coming by the mango
grove, he stood transfixed looking at the fruits of the cashew tree.
He looked this way and that. No one was there. He dared it. No
one would imagine lie would do something so daring. He took out
his loin cioth. He plucked: the fruits and tied them with the cloth.
He got down from the tree and looked around. No one was there,
n e was about cross the fence. Did not know how he was kicked
216
1 . !
on his back. When Choudhary Kotaiah pushed him into the thorny
brambles and beat him twirling his giiard stick, he became a lump of
blood. He came like a lump of blood to the palle. That day went by. A
week too went by like that. On the eighth day Choudhary Kotaiah’s
young buffalo vanished. Pisodu had-the brains to untie the animal
without a whisper. Sinasubarayudu- would say that Sinnodu and
Nallodu showed the same acumen as Pisodu. Venkata Choudhary
had a panchayati to discuss the disappearance of Choudhary Kotaiah’s
buffalo. In the panchayati, he made it clear that he suspected the
palle. Ramireddy wanted him to clarify how he had the suspicion.
Venkata Choudhary did not think Ramireddy would support the
palle like that. He stopped the discussion at that. He was waiting for
an opportunity.
As women in the palle were stealthily cutting grass, they were
caught. The news that they had tied up the women near the
Choudhary’s granary spread like wildfire in the palle. Ramanujam
did not imagine this. The entire palle moved. They went past the
kapu’s fields and came near the Choudharys granary. The reddys and
choudharys at the fields looked in surprise at!the malas walking across
the fields. At some other time, if someone walked across fields like
that, his lifeline would have gone haywire. The first surprising thing
was to see so many people together. The second was their not taking
heed of who was near the field. W hat Was more surprising was that
among those who were walking across the field like that, there were
not just men but women. Even more surprising was that washermen
came from the chakalipalem. Venkata Choudhary did not imagine
that they would come so openly. Rainireddy’s followers coming too
was irksome to Venkata Choudhary. The matter was confined only to
an argument. The people from the palle returned bringing back the
women with them. Venkata Choudhiary took some more people and
went to the town. There, he went to the police station. The life of
Avalapadu was taking another turn. Ramanujam said that their going
to the station was their first defeat. The ooru was heating up.
The palle assembled in the centre to discuss the malas taking
water from the Avalapadu lake. Ramanujam was one among
those assembled. Ramireddy was there. The important people of
chakalipalem and malapalli were there.
 ‘They’ll attack.’
‘We’ll counter attack.’
They discussed at length who should be where, who should do
what, and how to enter the lake. There was a separate gathering with
people of Sinasubarayudu’s age group. It was decided that the women
of Yenkayi’s age would get into'the lake first with pots. That was a
wonder. The shore in front of the cart path. It was pointing to a
historic scene.
The malas who used to stand for hours together at the lake bund
for a potful of water came near the shore with their pots. On one
side, Ramireddy. On the other side, Ramanujam. Yenkayi standing
in front holding a pot. Behind her, the rest of the women, . . . in
hundreds, . . . malas.
They got down into the lake . . .
For the first time. Malas, . . . women carrying pots. Got into the
lake. How was the earth under the feet when they were placing their
feet in the lake for the first time! A strange experience. Excitement.
The water in the lake that was encircling the feet. A fantastic, tickling
sensation. How to think of this scene! In which to hide it!
As the water in the lake was filling up Yenkayi’s pot, the tears
welling up in her eyes were falling into the lake.
Peda Yenkatirangayi. A sixty-year old man. Did not know what
happened. Did not know why he sat on the edge and was crying.
Ramanujam was looking at Peda Yenkatirangayi. In front of
Rangayi, on the other side of lake, there was a temple on a mound. It
appeared to the trustee Chinareddy, who hid behind the temple,
that the temple top had tilted a bit. But for another trustee of the
temple, Choudhary, the temple that had tilted seemed to have broken
down.
The women who got into the lake had crossed the shore and were
proceeding further up. They felt like going like that. Those on the
shore were shouting out not to go forward as there would be pits. But
they were not stopping. They felt like going round the entire lake.
They felt like splashing the water with their feet. How many hundreds
of years of desire was that! How many such lakes were born in this
country? How many had dried up without the feet of untouchables
touching them! How many years! Hundreds of years. How many
 218

centuries . . . W hat would the last century of this millennium see!

How would it like to proceed?
The mala children jumped into the water. They stretched out their
arms and began to swim. Chinareddy could not stop near the temple
top. He signalled. The sticks and axes in the temple ran towards the
palle shore. This was not an unimagined development. The mala,
Munaiah, who was hiding in the tamarind branches right in front of
the temple top, whistled. It was not just Sinasubarayudu, Sinnodu
and Pisodu who were waiting for the right moment, but half the
youngsters of the palle who went towards the elders of the ooru with
sticks and axes. The first blow by Sinasubarayudu as he ran fell on
Choudhary Malyadri’s back. He fell to the ground with a terrible
shriek. That warning blow had a huge effect on the elders of the ooru.
They took to their heels. It was now the turn of the elders of the ooru
to flee. It was now the turn of the dispossessed to chase. That was
how that day dawned in the lives of Avalapadu. This news created
a sensation in the surrounding areas. This news gave a new force to
the mala and madiga palles. A discussion began among the upper
castes as to why such a thing happened. A strange chain of events
began. One or two people from the neighbouring mala and madiga
palles began to visit Avalapadu. Though it is strange to think that the
kapus of that ooru enquired of the mala and madiga who came there
whether they had been to Avalapadu, it is not a surprising thing.
Not just that, the names of Ramanujam and Sinasubarayudu were
being heard in the neighbouring villages. Avalapadu was dreaming.
It was not stopping at being just dreams. It was translating them into
reality.
But these upper castes see a lot of villainy in the dreams of
untouchable people. This government suppresses them very cruelly.
The government after 1947. The government that proclaims ours is
a free country.
Venkata Choudhary set up home in the police station itself.
Chettodu38entered the scene. Chettodu was a police officer. Sympathy,
pity, compassion— these words were not in his constitution.
The news reached Avalapadu that the police were coming.
Youngsters like Sinasubarayudu left the palle. They crossed the
stream. They searched for a safe place in the fields. Only women were
 left in the palle. Children remained. Old people remained. About
five middle-aged persons stayed back to guard the palle. At night,
they would sit behind the thatched gates in darkness. They would
have a mound of stones where they sat. For the present, these were
the weapons in their hands. The tamarind tree from a long time ago.
Did not know when it was born. man on the branches of that tree.
Without blinking his eyes, being alert to any movement. A stream in
the middle of the palle. Dense bamboo bushes on the mound next
to the stream. Amidst the bushes, they tied up a plank and made a
watching post out of it. If you sat there, -the entire palle would be
visible. Three people would always go around the palle. The palle was
not sleeping. Those who were going about would talk to each and
every householder in the palle. In the granaries of the eastern field,
there were rumours that police had descended. Those granaries were
in ruins. They were on the shore of the stream. From there, the stream
would turn into the shape of a sickle. The entire wet land where it
had meandered in that manner was filled with tall Bengal gram stalks.
A path in between the Bengal gram field. If one proceeded on that
path, one would meet the turn of the stream. They would not be able
to cross the Gundala shore. The stream turned into a whirlpool there.
In fact, it was not the police who were there. Sinasubarayudu and the
youngsters with him. There were five among them who
the Gundala shore. Though the people who were walking around the
village knew that, they were merely listening to rumour, but did not
say it was and so.
Just then an incident no one had imagined took place. At midnight
a constable came to Sinasubarayudus house to take him away. The
police did not know that the paJle had taken precautions knowing
the police would attack all of them together. In fact, it was the elders
of the ooru who had started the rumours that they would attack.
They did so to frighten the palle. Ir was not that the attack was fiction
but it was not going to take place today or tomorrow. It was then
that they ought to capture Sinasubarayudu. The constable came with
that very purpose. The other constable who had come to keep him
company stayed back in the ooru.
The constable stepped into the palle. Holding the branches of
the tamarind tree, the man on the tree shook them hard. The storks
 and other birds screeched loudly and flew away in a rush. That was
the signal. One among the three patrolling the palle ran towards the
eastern granary. The other two sped other place. The
constable was coming in without making a sound. The bamboo
screens and doors of the houses were being shut. The constable came
near the bamboo screen at the turn of the lane. If he turned right
there and proceeded, he would come to Sinasubarayudus house.
Behind that screen a mound of stones. The man who hid there was
watching the constable. No sooner had the constable turned the
corner, than he pounced on him. The constable was nonplussed at the
unexpected charge. He fell at that push. Hie gun fell at a distance. He
screamed out aloud. The sound of the shaking of the bamboo doors
of the houses in the palle was heard. The constable thought that a
number of people were attacking him. He picked up strength and
began running. Penchili who had jumped on the constable picked
up some stones. He started pelting the fleeing constable with stones.
The stones hit the constable hard. As he ran he crossed the ooru. The
distance between Avalapadu and the village with the police station
was three miles. It was only after reaching there that he realised he
had forgotten his gun.
Penchili looked at the gun that was lying there left behind by
the policeman. He took it in his hand. A wonderful experience. A
strange fear. He did not know what to do with it. He knew there
would be bullets in it. He knew they could kill people on the other
side. He knew it would be in the hands of the police. He had
heard that ten miles away from the ooru in Chintalapalem, Naidu’s
Butchaiah Choudhary went about holding it in his hand. But he had
not imagined that it would lie at the entrance of the mala palle like
this. How did they fire this? It would be good to know that. He felt
very sad. He lifted his head even as he felt sad. Half the palle was
around him. All of them were looking at him and at the gun in his
hand. Perhaps the first mala to hold a gun was Penchili. That was
why, in the days after that, they called him Tupakodu (the gunman).
There was no trace at all of the name, Penchili. He looked at the
people who observed him. Three or four elders came near him. They
touched him.
 ‘It’s only with this that Naidugaru’s Butchaiah killed his wife;’ the
oldest among the three said.
‘It’s because he’s a wretched bastard that he killed his wife. Give it
to me. Ask him to come here. I’ll shoot him,’ another old man said.
The third old man told him worriedly, ‘It’s dangerous if the
police comes. Hide it, Penchili.’ Penchili felt it was right. He crossed
the palle to hide it. Among the hay stacks, he identified one, hid
it underneath and covered it with hay leaving it just as it was. For
reason, he did not want to move from there. He thought of
staying there all night. When he got up.at dawn and was coming
towards the palle, he saw the police coming into the ooru. He crossed
the field. He crossed the stream. He walked along the dust track
amidst the fields. If he walked a mile he would come to his maternal
uncle’s village.
That night the constable went to the station running. He told
them about forgetting the gun and the way they attacked him.
Immediately, the news reached the town. Chettodu was at Ongole.
The malapalli of Avalapadu did not appear normal. The police started
making up stories. The people of the palle had stepped into the water
of the lake. There was a fight when they dipped into the water. They
chased the farmers and beat them up. They attacked the peasant
women. The police kept weaving the story. The dark night would not
give testimony. That was how the malas committed a crime. They
did not inform the police when they stepped into the water. That
was how they disregarded the law. The police came to know about
the situation only through the farmers. Venkata Choudhary was a
respectable person. The entire ooru respected him. Such a person said
that the malas attacked the houses of the farmers and misbehaved
with the women. The big man would not lie. He had self-respect.
He was a choudhary. Not an ordinary choudhary. A choudhary with
hundred acres. Though his father was with the Justice Party before
Independence, he said no to his father and joined the Congress
Party. When Gandhi came to Andhra, he attended almost all his
meetings. He was such a man. Such people had a lot of self-respect.
his self-respect aside and complained that their women
were insulted by the malas, the authorities could understand how
horribly, how cruelly, how barbarically the had -behaved. The
 complaint of the Congress supporter Venkata Choudhary who had
self-esteem, self-respect, power and money moved the hearts of the
authorities. There was no need to be surprised that it moved them
in that manner. Only if it did not should one be surprised. Not just
this, Venkata Choudhary gave invaluable
complaint. That information was not a small one. It was about the
Communists. Great information. It was information that only a big
man like Venkata Choudhary could give. Venkata Choudhary did
not stop at that. He said, ‘If you come, I’ll go around each house
and get the Communists caught.’ Such a great man was willing to
offer such a great help. The police departmet spent five minutes of
priceless time that night congratulating him.
More than anything else, those malas, those Communists,
snatched the gun of the police. Therefore, there was no alternative.
Even if the palle was totally destroyed, there was no way they could
tolerate this atrocity.
They began to write the names in the first investigation reports.
Sinasubarayudu. Age 30 years. Caste mala. Communist.
Pisodu. Age 30 years. Caste mala. Communist.
They kept on writing like that. Venkata Choudhary gave them
about twenty names. The most important name was Ramanujam’s.
Same caste. Teacher. Communist leader. Along with those names,
there were three names from the upper castes. There were three
names from chakalip^lem. Chettodu picked up the necessary papers.
The police force entered Avalapadu. In the early hours of the day,
they ate thirty hens as tiffin. They emptied thirty bottles.
It was dawn. The attack on the palle began. The people of the
palle were aghast. Women, old people, children— no one knew what
was happening. Next to Chettodu, Venkata Choudhary. As their first
move, they went towards the school. Ramanujam was in a class. Only
a few children had come.
‘That fellow is Ramanujam.’
Pointing out to Ramanujam, Venkata Choudhary said this
quite loudly. They arrested Ramanujam then and there. When
Sinasubarayudu had left the palle, he had asked Ramanujam also to
come along. But he was under the impression that they might not
touch him because he.was a teacher. His belief came to nothing. The
 223

children were shocked to see their teacher being taken away by the
police right in front of their eyes. The school’s headmaster, Yelamanda,
asked them why they were doing such a thing. Chettodu’s lathi fell
on the teacher’s back. The old man’s heart beat quickly. They arrested
him along with Ramanujam. In fact, Yelamanda was a very timid
person. He too was a mala. But he never even peeped to see what
was happening in that palle, even though a lot was happening. Poor
man, how far he was from all that! He did not realise that the first
blow of Chettodu’s lathi would be on him. Two young teachers who
were watching all this from the next classroom, jumped over the wall
and scooted. The police chased them. Those who chased them like
that entered the palle. Chettodu and Venkata Choudhary entered
following them.
They started searching the houses. They were asking people to tell
them who had taken the gun.: They were asking them to say where
they had kept it. They were indiscriminate. Did not care whether
they were women, they were children. Did not care whether they
were old people. They were beating them up. They were enquiring
about the names in their list. Venkata Choudhary was pointing out
and saying he was so-and-so’s father, she was so-and-so’s mother and
she was so-and-so’s wife. Chettodu was torturing those who were
pointed out in this manner even more. The assault that began at
eight in the morning continued non-stop till eleven. Chettodu said
that they would come back in the evening and they would ask them
again. He wanted them to inform in the meanwhile where the gun
was hidden and who hid it. Saying this, he went towards the path
that separated the ooru and the palle. He sat down on the chair
Venkata Choudhary got for him under the shade of the tamarind
tree. Did not know what he thought but he asked them to get ten
children from the palle. They dragged the children even though they
were crying. He counted the children who came. There were twenty
of them. He told the children to get two hens each within an hour.
The children were shaken up. He said if they did not bring them, he
would cut and eat them up.
The children ran to the palle. Did not know how they ran behind
the hens. They brought back two hens each. They tied the feet of
the hens and laid them in ai row. The children were watching. Their
 224

tender hearts were beating rapidly. Their eyes were closing unable to
see that horrible scene. Their entire bodies were shivering. Chettodu
took a long knife. The children screamed out loud. Hie hens had
their heads cut off and their torsos were flying and falling down. The
chopped-off heads were falling at a distance. The children hugged
each other. They saw such a ghastly scene for the first time in their
lives. That scene did not disappear from their minds for many years.
A year after that incident, when the school inspector came and asked
them what police did, they could not remember what they had read
in books. They said they hens and eat them. That inspector was
surprised. After the teacher explained in detail, his heart melted.
He related that to the teachers in the central room and shed tears.
That was such a scene. Chettodu laughed looking at the frightened
children. But it appear laughter to the children. Then he
asked them to skin two hens each. Children with tear-filled eyes.
The lake of Avalapudu was witness to this.
The tamarind tree was witness to this.
The cart pathway that began there, proceeded through the fields
and went up to the lake was witness to this.
The children crying and pulling out the feathers of the hen.
Untouchables.
Chettodu’s men pulled down a hut. They lit a bonfire with the
palm leaves. It was the children themselves who held the hens by their
legs and roasted them over the fire. They felt they themselves were
burning when they were roasting those hens. They kept the roasted
hens in a tray-basket and sent them to Venkata Choudhary’s house.
Venkata Choudhary went along with them. Chettodu looked at the
names again. There was Ramireddy’s name. He wondered what the
relationship between this Ramireddy and the malas was. Communist.
That alone was the relationship. After that, there was Ramaiah’s
name. His caste was mentioned as Washerman. Singaraju’s caste was
mentioned as All these people were Communists. Among them,
Ramireddy and Jala Ramaiah were very dangerous people.
After food, Chettodu asked Venkata Choudhary about Ramireddy
Choudhary was not willing to go with him there. He gave him
directions. Chettodu went to Ramireddy’s house. Ramireddy was not
there. Ramireddy’s wife was there. Though Venkata Choudhary said
 225

he would not come there, he said he should frighten Ramireddy in

such a manner that he would not support the malas again. He hinted
that the house was filled with grains. Chettodu thought that it meant
that he ought to burn down the house. That’s it. The large tiled house
of Ramireddy was set on fire. Under the tiles they had laid very good
bamboos. As the bamboos were burning with a cracking sound,
the tiles were flying far away. All around fumes of the flames. Now
even the reddys were running helter-skelter. The malapalli trembled
looking at the burning house of Ramireddy.
They arrested Jala Ramaiah of chakalipalem. They dragged the
elder sister who tried to prevent them right into the centre of the
bazaar. They hurled choicest abuses on her. They sent Ramanujam,
Yalamanda pantulu and Jala Ramaiah straightaway in the police van
to Ongole.
There was another raid against the palle at six in the evening. The
same words. ‘Where have you hidden the gun? Who snatched it?
Where’s Sinasubarayudu?’ A blow for each word.
Scenes.
In front of Ruth’s eyes.
The scenes Ramanujam placed in front.
Children crying. The burning house of Ramireddy. The palle
people beating their chests. Separate scenes. For just a mouthful of
water. After ’47 . . . In the first stage of still recollecting the ’47
memories.
Scene after scene.
How ghastly, each scene! Subbaiah’s wife, Sendri, was having
pains. How did the scene end? The pains started on the day the gun
incident took place. All that night, she fought a battle with those
pains. They thought she would deliver that day. The mid-wife sat
waiting for the delivery. The pains stopped at dawn. They started
again in the heat of the morning. The police assault was continuing.
In the house, the mid-wife kept waiting like that. Sendri who was
like that received a blow of the lathi. The midwife who
was waiting for the delivery too suffered at their hands. By evening
the pains increased. Seven in the evening. A time when darkness
descended. Severe pain. Chettodu asked them to drive the people of
the palle to the tree. They were bringing them, kicking. The people
 were reaching the tree, crying. There was no other light than that
of the petromax lamp under the tree. They chased Sendri too. They
kicked her as they chased her. The midwife did not let go of Sendri.
They caught hold of their hair and brought them. They kept all the
women in one place. They placed the men in front of them. The
children were looking in some other direction. The scene of the hens
was etched in their minds. Those very questions. A blow for each
question. Did not care if they were women or men. All the whim of
the police.
Sendri’s pains increased. She was screaming. She had slumped to
the ground. The midwife was looking only at Sendri silently. She
did not remember the blows of the police. She did not take note
of what they were asking. From the previous night an untouchable
was struggling to fall on to this earth and to set his first sight at this
violence. She was eagerly waiting for him. Definitely a male child.
All the movements seemed to indicate it. Sendri was screaming
sporadically. The midwife asked everyone to stand around Sendri.
That was it. All the women surrounded Sendri like a screen. Chettodu
came there holding the petromax lamp. He was about to peep inside
saying, ‘Is she delivering?’ The women saying, ‘Chi!’ swarmed around
Sendri like a hut. Chettodu’s lathi blows were falling on them. The
police were hitting them on their hands and legs. But that human
hut formed around her did not crumble. Did not disperse. All their
attention was on Sendri. The lathi blows that were falling on them
did not trouble them. They did not hear the swear words by the
police. In all that ghastliness, an earsplitting cry . . . a baby boy’s
shriek. The first scream of an untouchable.
Silence.
The midwife was doing her work. She picked up the child in her
arms and showed it around. The wailing child. Black colour. Black
hair. What beauty! Black was so beautiful. In all that atrocity, in all
that sorrow, a happiness bloomed and was peeping out.
Life was a big struggle.
The first message the child learnt. Chettodu retreated. Four women
tied a They kept the child and mother in the doli. Carrying
it, they took Sendri to her house. Chettodu kept looking. Venkata
Choudhary kept looking. The police kept looking. The mid-wife
 227

silently walked next to the doli looking at the mother and child.
Chettodu continued to look till they went into the palle. In one
swoop he vent his entire anger on the men. Blow after blow. Wound
next to a wound. Blood all over the body. Even in all that darkness,
the blood was visible.
In this country, the air that (Jne breathes has caste.
The water one drinks has caste.
The field canal that flows and the land that yields harvest have
caste.
The school, the temple and the village-square have caste.
The food one eats, the house one lives in and the clothes one wears
have caste.
The word one speaks has caste.
Literature and culture have caste.
The State has caste, its laws have caste.
Justice and the courts have caste.
The corpse and the cemetery have caste.
God has caste. Devil has caste.
That’s why that blood flowed like that. The blood that flowed
like that too has caste. But there was a uniqueness to the blood that
flowed in Avalapadu. That was the blood of the malas of Avalapadu.
The blood of the Communists of the malapalli of Avalapadu.
Memory of blood.
Scene of blood.
That scene continued in that manner for two days. Coming to
know of the presence of the police, Sinasubarayudu and his friends
split up. They crossed the stream and went to the next village. It
was only on the third day that Sinasubarayudu came to know about
the He got to know rhe details. He thought Penchili
must have taken it. Penchili was not in the palle. So he sent a man to
Penchili’s maternal uncle’s village. He met him and found out where
he had placed the gun. Penchili did not know that so much was
happening because of the gun. That very night the two of them met
friends who were in other villages. They discussed. They thought that
the information about the gun ought to reach Chettodu. They came
to the conclusion that if this was not done, the assault on the palle
would worsen. Sinasubarayudu met washerman, Mangaiah. He asked
 228

them to see to it that that information reached Venkata Choudhary.

Mangaiah saw to it that the information was in the air and it reached
Venkata Choudhary’s ears.
The attack stopped.
That scene ended like that. But fifty people were arrested in the
palle. They arrested Sinasubarayudu and Ramireddy a week after this
happened. The police thought of shooting them. But no idea why
such a thought was stalled. For about a year almost sixty people from
malapalli went round the court.
They would not have enough money to go often to the court. They
had to do it once a month. Sometimes Ramanujam, Sinasubarayudu
and Penchili had to go to the court three times a month. Ramanujam
thought he would lose his job. That was a Christian-aided school.
That was why he retained his job.
Though they went through such difficulties, they did not find it
a problem. There was a single reason. The desire of generations was
fulfilled. They were getting into the lake. They were drawing water.
The landlords did not have the courage to stop them.
Just for a mouthful of water, a battle did take place there. But that
did not mean they loved wars. If they could get water by peaceful
means, there would not be anyone more peace-loving than them.
But their lives taught them that they could get anything only if they
fought for it. That was why they fought for it. Perhaps historians
would not call it a war. They could call it thus. They could say they
quarrelled about it. They could say they fought. They could say
anything. But one thing is true. When their lives told them that they
could gain self-respect only by giving up their lives, they were ready
to give up their lives.
When Ramanujam was talking about Avalapudu, not just the
coastal Avalapadu but the entire Telangana region stood in front of
Ruth’s eyes. Nehru was right in front of her eyes. Along with him, his
army. Sardar Vallabhai Patel and Captain Nanjappa39 stood before her
eyes. She recalled their inhumanity. She remembered their cruelty.
She remembered the devilish methods they discovered to strike terror
into the hearts of the people.
InTelangana, every palle was a military camp. Palle filled with police.
Armed Madras Police.-Armed Malabar Police. Armed Maharashtra
 Police. Each one was an Avalapadu ‘Chettodu. Licensed authority to
kill people. It was then that killing people in ‘encounters’ began.
Nehru.
Patel.
Nanjappa.
It was not sunrise in the east still. The attack began. Police in
lorries. Aiding them, Congress workers. Butt of the rifle, tamarind
barks, booted feet, bayonets— into the chests of men, into the
chastity of women. Food grains that were set on fire. Paddy fields
that were set on fire. Houses that were set on fire. Women who had
been violated, pregnant women and infants. Young men and women
who were becoming corpses. Arrests.
The bloody sight of Telangana. The cruel reality mother had
related.
Mother cried as she narrated it.
Mother made her cry as she narrated it.
W hy so?
For many things, life itself is the answer. Ruth feels that it is
so true.
Ramanujam was a school teacher. W hy did he become a
Communist? W hy did he go to jail? W hy did he go round the
court? Life itself would have to give the answer. All that night he
spoke about Avalapadu. After that Ramanujam said many things.
Ruth does not remember all of them now. Nehru’s army landing in
Telangana. Nizam’s surrender. Suppressing the Communists. The
ending of the Telangana Armed Struggle. The general elections.
He kept talking of such things. At every place, he kept bringing in
Avalapadu.
But there was one thing that surprised Ruth and Reuben. When
Ramanujam was snuggling to remember in between, Immanuel was
helping him out. He was reminding him along with the dates.

Not reminding forgotten, but as

came were
 interesting. Some of them even caused a little anxiety to Ruth. But
Reuben was not surprised. He went way back and spoke. He said it
was swimming against the stream. He said swimming like that was
in his blood. He said it was also in the friendships his ancestors had
embraced. He reminded them of Subhadra who had picked up the
spade and stood over the dike. He placed Narigadu and Mataiah in
front of them. He reminded them of Yellanna’s songs, one by one.
He said it was Yennela Dinni’s inheritance.
He said it was the life Avalapadu gave to a Christian.
He said his body was questioning him every moment. Like it
questioned Martin. Like it frightened Simon.
He said repeatedly that that question and that fear were haunting
him. He would say that that fear and that question were not of today.
That it was coming from before Yerrenkadu.
‘But
Ruth looked as if she was asking him to speak out. He looked at
her very calmly. The eyes were filled with a brightness that was to be
studied.
‘Immanuel was Reuben not haunted by fear.’
How would Reuben who was not haunted by fear be? He would
be like Immanuel. Who was Immanuel? Her son. The one born
before Rosy. Was that all? Was there nothing more to think of when
she thought of her son? There was. There was a lot. Sinasubarayudu
said many things about Immanuel.
What did Sinasubarayudu say about her child? How he said it!
The day they went to Avalapadu. Joining him on the way. What he
said of her child!
‘A very good man. “ .’”
She then looked at him as if she did not understand. After she
understood, she was anxious. She made a great effort to control the
heart that had become disturbed. The same word all along
the way. Very good man. ‘Naxite’. She looked at Reuben. He kept
walking. He took a couple of steps forward. She could not hear what
Sinasubarayudu and Reuben were speaking to each other. It was only
Immanuel who stood before her.
Immanuel who would sit very docilely at the family prayers.
Immanuel who would be deeply involved whether he sang a song,
 231

read a verse or prayed. How did he become that? W hat was he

running in search of?
‘Don’t you know? Ramanujam teacher isn’t in Avalapadu now. He
went to Seekakulam.’
She heard those words Sinasubarayudu spoke. She had been
hearing of youths, intellectuals anH students from the coastal regions
going to Sreekakulam.
Ramanujam was not in Avalapadu.
He had gone to Sreekakulam.
Ramanujam was a Naxalite. In Sinasubarayudu’s words, a ‘Naxite’.
Her child! Immanuel!
Avalapadu was way behind. At that distance Immanuel. He may
not hear even if she asked him to turn back.
She decided to listen to Sinasubarayudu’s words. She was walking
next to the two of them. She asked them to slow down. Reuben
was not saying anything. Was listening. Sinasubarayudu asked at the
pond, ‘Do you want to drink water?’ Rather than drink water, they
felt like sitting on the boulders. Carts with green leaves of tobacco
were coming from the fields.
The carts came on to the road. Behind the carts the tobacco coolies.
They appeared odd in muddy pants and muddy shirts. They sent
the carts and took the short cut. Sinasubarayudu said that by the
time the carts took the route around the eastern field and reached the
tobacco pandal, they would go by the short cut, reach the palle, give
milk to their children, ensure that there were enough sticks under the
stove, cross the stream and reach the tobacco pandal, and that they
would come sometime in the night and cook their food. He said he
would do the ‘rise’ duty in the tobacco barn. He said there were three
stokers under him.
‘I’m some crude kind of a fellow. I speak in a crude manner.
I became a “comnist” in forty eight. Till fifty two, talk only of revolt.
But things have changed. Everything changed after the elections.
Our village got into the malapalli lake even before fifty two. It could
not have happened after that.
Ruth was listening.
‘Mine are all crude words. Crude thoughts.’
232

Perhaps they were. But Sinasubarayudu had studied life. Even if

Sinasubarayudu was called ‘Naxite,’ or ‘Comnist,’ or ‘Ceepem,’ or
‘Ceepai’ or ‘Seekakulam,’ they did not appear to Ruth as printing
errors. They appeared natural. Mistakes in print were for the
educated. There were no printing mistakes in coarse lives. The way
they spoke, that was the right speech. When they say, ‘After they
tied two Ceylon budlu the fever came down, ,’ the term used
is not saline bottle, it is Ceylon budlu. It is not an English term at
all. Even if it were a Sanskrit word, the same with it. ‘Koodu’ did
not become proper Telugu only in Potana’s verses. It is being used
in the houses of malas and madigas every day in a wonderful and
beautiful manner.
‘Want to go to Seekakulam. Ramanujam pantulu went without
telling us. If I ask Immanuel to tell me how to get there, he doesn’t
tell me. But have to go.’
Those were the last words Sinasubarayudu said as he set out
towards his house.
Did not know what Reuben was thinking.
The house drew near. Jessie came running. He jumped and put
his arms round his grandfather’s neck. Mary Suvarta’s eyes were filled
with laughter. Immanuel came back from school and seemed to have
gone somewhere else again. Mary Suvarta said it might be late.
They waited for Immanuel hoping to: eat together. The coolies
who had brought down the leaves in the green tobacco leaf pandal
were returning home. They tied up dirty clothes and were running
towards the lake for water. Everything appeared like a war. Children
with sleepy eyes were crying and following their mother who was
running for water. Some mothers were carrying their baskets and
going to the market. To get rice, to get a little bit of That too
was a run. Behind them little children. For a tiny piece of jaggery
. . . commotion. Commotion for appeasing hunger. Commotion of
weeping for a piece of jaggery.
After bringing it, after cooking it as if someone was chasing them,
as they had to eat to live, after stuffing a hot morsel into their mouths,
sleep.
A short nap taken due to tiredness. Sleep after leaving the breast
to the child.
 233

In the early hours of the morning, the supervisor’s screams.

Again dirty pants. Dirty shirts. Rushing towards the green tobacco
leaf pandal.
Sinasubarayudu came. He said he was going to the ‘rise’ duty.
When he came back, he brought Yenkayi along. As Yenkayi was not
feeling well, she did not go to work. It appeared as if Immanuel had
not come. Telling Yenkayi, ‘Keep them company,’ Sinasubarayudu
left. Yenkayi stayed back there. She started her complaints. Said
she had three daughters. They had given the eldest one in marriage
outside. They gave away two others in the village itself. Ruth asked
her to show the nose ring that her mother-in-law gave her. She smiled
and showed it to her. It appeared as if she had not made stone studs
for her. Saying, ‘I couldn’t have them made for you, daughter-in-law’
she closed her eyes. ‘The bitch who had no sense of cleanliness or
anything. She got along somehow. Even the day before she died, she
had quarrelled with the neighbours. She had a foul mouth. But to
put things right, she would not open her mouth to me. She would
be at home like a crushed louse. If she wanted to get rid of the itch
in her mouth, she would quarrel with the neighbours. Silly woman,
how many times she raised the matter about the stone studs! Though
I told her, forget about it, she continued to talk about it. That was the
last word.’ Yenkayi kept talking in that manner. She placed the betel
nut and leaf on the rock. She took the chutney pestle and squashed
them. She said her teeth had become loose. She said her teeth would
tingle, if she did not chew betel nut and leaf. In fact, she was not all
that old. Hunger changes the entire shape.
Immanuel had not yet come. It looked as if he would not come in
the near future. Mary Suvarta said, ‘You eat.’ Jessie sat between his
grandparents. He said both of them should feed him a morsel each.
As they were competing with each other to mix the food and feed
him, his happiness knew no bounds. Mary placed the cots outside
the verandah. Did not know when Yenkayi slept. She spread the edge
of her saree on the platform and lay down. Mar said, ‘That’s her.
You lie down.’
Jessie squeezed in between his grandparents. Ruth remembered
the ponnangi pitta of Yennela Dinni. That bird had snuggled into
her hand. This bird placed its head on her stomach and placed its
 234

feet on the grandfather’s chest. That was the only difference. Felt like
laughing. She said, ‘ponnangi pitta’ as she sweetly caressed Jessie’s
cheeks. Jessie asked her to say what it was. She talked of Yennela Dinni
houses and the ponnangi pitta’s arrival. He did not stop there. He
asked her why they were in Yennela Dinni. She said, ‘It is my mother-
in-law’s house.’ He said, ‘W hat is your mother-in-law’s name?’ She
said, ‘Sasirekha.’ He said, ‘The name, Sasirekha is so wonderful.’ She
said, ‘Her mother-in-law’s name was Subhadra.’ He said, ‘Do you
only have mothers-in-law. Don’t you have mothers?’ Ruth felt like
laughing. Reuben too felt like laughing. He asked Mary, ‘W hat’s your
mother-in-law’s name?’ M ary said laughing, ‘Shut up.’ Reuben said,
‘Come, Chinna. I’ll tell you.’ Saying, ‘Tell me,’ he turned around
quickly, putting his head on his grandfather’s stomach and his feet
on his grandmother.
‘Yennela pitta,’ Reuben said laughing.
‘Yennela pitta . . . ponnangi pitta . . . yennela pitta . . . ponnangi
pitta.’ Repeating this over and over again Jessie got up and jumped up
and down. W ith that the song of the bird did not stop. ‘What sorts
of birds?’ asked Reuben. ‘Yennela pitta,’ said Jessie. ‘What kind of a
bird?’ Reuben asked again. ‘Ponnangi pitta,’ Ruth followed. Laughter
. . .Laughter that could touch the outskirts of Avalapadu . . .
Laughter that Ruth can hear clearly even now.
Jessie’s laughter.
Ponnangi pitta’s laughter . . .
The tear drops falling from Ruth’s eyes. The turmoil of memories
that cannot be hidden in the heart . . .
Jessie slept that night laughing like that. Ponnangi pitta. Between
the two of them. Hugging them tight imagining that they might run
away without telling him. Reuben slept. To indicate it he began to
snore lightly. Jessie was dreaming about yennela pitta and ponnangi
pitta. Ruth too fell asleep. At some late hour when she got up, she
saw M ary still sitting.
‘Is this the case every day?’
Startled, M ary looked at her mother-in-law who spoke those
words.
‘Did you eat?’
She kept looking at her mother-in-law. Did not speak.
 235

‘Waiting has become the norm for the daughters-in-law of this

house.’
M ary did not understand what her mother-in-law v/as saying.
‘Subhadra too looked out. Sasirekha too looked out. The same
with M ary Suvarta. I’m the only exception. Until now Reuben hasn’t
made me wait for him. I can’t say of tomorrow. Come and eat.’
Saying those words, Ruth walked in. M ary went in along with her
mother-in-law. It was Ruth who put the rice on her plate. She served
the curries and sat in front.
‘Eat.’
M ary Suvarta was looking out into the frontyard.
‘You can look after you eat.’
‘Eating together
‘I know you ate with him after marriage. But the daughter-in-law
of this house, the one before me. M y mother-in-law’s mother-in-law.
She ate stealthily with the man she wanted to marry even before
marriage. She cooked fish secretly for her man.
After marriage, she cooked the same pulusu openly and ate it with
relish sitting along with him. Subhadra ate like that. She wanted to
eat like that all her life. Did it happen? It didn’t. The man who went,
came back during his last moments. He came as the last breath after
the drought ate him up. W hat did she do, the one before us? Not
just bommadayi pulusu but not even a single grain of rice in the
pot to eat together. She kept looking at her husband. Her husband
was not saying anything else except her name as he lay in their son’s
arms. Who did Subhadra see in her man then? The Subhadra who ate
together. The Subhadra who mixed and fed him. Whom did she see?
She saw a child. She asked her son, “Here, give me that child.” She
kept her man’s head behind the fringe of her saree. She hugged him
to her bosom. W hy did she do that?’
Ruth stopped. She was unable to proceed. Some inexplicable
anxiety. M ary Suvarta was listening, looking at her mother-in-law.
‘W hy did she do that? A son as large as a tree. A married son. If
Subhadra were aiive, a son who would have placed the baby Reuben
in her hands. Did she think of all that? Caressing her husband’s head,
she felt it would be good if a drop of milk could fall again and again
in this throat after so many years. It can’t happen. It can’t
 happen like that. But an illusion as if it was happening. She closed
her eyes with that illusion. Didn’t open them again. Subhadra who
ate together. Subhadra who mixed and fed him. She became one like
that.’
Ruth stopped again. This time she took a long time to speak again.
Mary Suvarta could not bear that silence.
‘Eat . . . do you mix like this . . . hold this morsel.’
‘I’ll eat.’
‘I fed you like this when you were a child. You’re not yet old. Days
are ahead when you’ll have to mix and feed me like this. Then, if you
recall this day, you won’t feel irritated.’
‘Enough. I’ll eat.’
‘Eat.’
She gave the plate to Mary and looked towards Immanuel’s table.
Several books. Some pages were turned and kept just like that. She
moved forward and reached out to two books. She flipped through
them. In the middle of the books, there were notes written down.
They seem to have been written down to remember them. Reuben
would write down like this before his speech. She sat looking at
those pages. Everything seemed to be in the present. She stopped
looking and started reading. The points written down to remember
the present history.
A struggle.
A violent struggle.
A wounded struggle.
A heart-wrenching struggle.
Naxalbari struggle.
Til at was a spark of fire.
The gust of a stormy struggle.
Ruth was reading a new world. In big letters, the word Sreekakulam
was written down. It was underlined.
The notes ended there. She knew Immanuel’s handwriting quite
well. It was her child who wrote. She shut her eyes tight.
In front of her eyes . . .
Some world.
It was very strange.
It was worrisome.
 237

There was a wonderful thing happening on the earth.

Amidst that wonder, Immanuel.
W hy did Immanuel become one with the wonderful? Talk to the
earth. It will give you knowledge. It was a sentence she had read
many times. W hy did she remember it now?
Her child. Immanuel. He must have spoken to the earth. In fact,
he did just that. He spoke to the earth. W hat would the earth have
told him? It would have told him innumerable secrets. It would have
told him about its children who had trusted it but could not own it.
It would have told him about the lives of the threshing grains. Was
that all? It would have also told him about the deception of landlords
who kept the earth imprisoned and did not let its children get hold
of it.
W hat else did the earth say?
How would it have said it?
All these years . . .
After looting so much .. . These looters who did not allow anything
to remain on its chest and kept it imprisoned. After sucking in the
entire resources, look what they leave behind for this poor race—the
earth would have asked him to look into this.
It would have shown him such a deep bloodystreak on the ground.
It would have introduced him to the sweat of the poor that had sunk
into the layers of its heart.
No matter how much they twisted and turned, they could not get
hold of even a bit of mud. Though they had lived entwining it day
and night, even a bit of mud did not touch them. It would have said,
‘Did you see all this, bidda?’
The paddy ripened for harvesting. Maize,
— all food grains ripened.
But none turned into even a small granary in their houses.
Hunger, a day-to-day truth. It was born just like that along with
them and grew up like this along with them. Thinking it is well-
liked, it squats right there against the central pole.
Earth must have spoken in that manner.
It would have asked for one more season other than the ones
already there in nature for children.
 have stirred the furnace of history and raised the coals
of fire.
In the light of the coals of fire.
Malas and madigas.
No hut. No land. No work. No food.
Domination. Everything, domination from above. The domination
of the upper castes. The domination of the landlords.
The season changed. Its name changed.
Winter. Spring. Summer. Not like that. Season of exploitation.
Season of thieves. Season of atrocities. Season of hunger. Season of
the smell of blood—
A life.
An exploitation.
A death . . .
That was it. Earth have spoken in that manner.
It would have asked him to read it like a book as it turned its own
pages.
It would have touched the heart like love.
It would have talked like the courageous man who died many
deaths, like one disgusted with death and like one that stood
proclaiming that he would not for the life of him die.
W hat sort of a man was her child? Very soft. Kind hearted. Eyes
that shed tears. Heart that responded. Blood that boiled. On the
whole, a great lover. A beautiful, wonderful lover.
He would have cried.
The child would have cried.
Hugging Mother Earth, just as he hugged her and cried for milk
when he was young. He would have spent tearful nights.
That was how her child’s steps would have been taken towards
Sreekakulam. Perhaps all lovers were like this. Perhaps they walked
only towards a struggle. Perhaps all those capable of love were like
that. Perhaps it was always like that.
Thinking in that manner, she opened her eyes. Mary Suvarta
was looking out into the front yard. She was looking out only for
Immanuel.
 239

Yenkayi was swearing in her sleep. She was abusing to her heart’s
content. M ary said it was always so. She would do so at least twice
before the morning.
‘Who’s she abusing like that?’
‘Chettodu.’
Yenkayi’s swear words did fiot stop. Ruth thought it would be
good if it did not end. That world seemed to be moving very close
to her. If it did not happen like that, she herself wanted it to move
close.
Ruth did not go near the cot the grandfather and grandson were
lying on. She lay down on Mary’s cot itself. She took Mary’s hand
in hers. She wanted to tell her about the wonderful quality of the
chillied prawns that Sasirekha had talked about. She told her. After
telling her that, she said, ‘Sleep, he’ll wake you up when he comes
back.’ M ary slept. Yenkayi’s swearing seemed to have stopped. The
breeze was bringing in the songs the coolies were singing in the
tobacco leaf pandal, weaving all night long.
Could not sleep.
Thought she should not sleep till her son came back.
Without her being conscious, Rosy came to mind. She was born
after Immanuel. Vandanam was Rosy’s husband. He was a devotee
who learnt how to live. Actually Reuben was of the view that for
someone in the revenue department to become a devotee was a
wonder. He used to be very close to the white men. He stuck to the
white men when they were leaving for their country. Rosy too was
with him. One of the whute men gifted his house to Vandanam. He
told Reuben, ‘Your son-in-law is a great devotee.’ He said, ‘For such a
devotee this house is only a small token.’ Reuben looked at Ruth as if
he did not know when Vandanam became such a great devotee. Ruth
too did not understand. When they looked at Rosy, she was laughing
happily at the white man’s words.
After that the most surprising thing happened. Vandanam became
a member of the Mission Field’s governing body. There would be
letters from foreign countries addressed to Rosy. Rosy would send
letters to the white people along with photos saying that prayer
meetings were taking place at various places. Once a year, meetings
would take place in a grand scale-known as religious congregations.
 White people would attend those meetings. Rosy and Vandanam
would appear as amazing people to: Reuben. The governing body
of the Mission began the task of dividing the Mission’s properties.
Reddys and Choudharys who had political clout fell on the Mission’s
properties like vultures. Not just at Nellore, Kurnool, Kanigiri and
Ongole but at all places where the Mission had properties, such a
scenario took place. Reuben said that was atrocious. He bemoaned
that his Christian heart could not bear such atrocities. Ruth could
not tolerate the fact that her daughter and son-in-law were a party
to those atrocities. They bought a car too. They admitted their two
children in a convent in Madras. The older one was Victor. The
younger one was Ruby.
Reuben severed his relationship with his daughter and son-in-law.
There was no difference between them and Judas Iscariot. Even if
Rosy came home, Reuben would not speak to her. Though Ruth
spoke, she would be ashamed to speak to a girl with such a
mentality.
As for Ruby, she would come to her grandfather. Reuben liked
speaking to the girl. Someone in Yennela Dinni said Sasirekha
had been like that. Perhaps it was because of that. He would say,
‘Mother’s come, Ruth’ when Ruby came: If they had any contact
with the daughters house, it was Ruby alone. Not clear why, but
Ruby would her vacations with her grandparents rather
than with her mother.
It appeared as if the song in the tobacco leaf pandal reached a
high pitch. The song gave Ruth comfort in the cool night breeze.
She looked at Jessie. He had snuggled into his grandfather’s stomach.
Ponnangi pitta.
Dawn was breaking right before their eyes. She looked in that
direction as the wooden compound gate made a creaking noise.
Immanuel.
He opened the gate and came in. He came in asking, ‘When did
you come?’ Even before the child came in, his smile touched her
heart. They stayed two days there. Both the days, except when he
spoke to his father, Immanuel was not at home at most times.
During those two days ponnangi pitta kept company with yennela
pitta. He was a chatterbox. Not just words. He used to sing songs
 241

too. His voice used to be wonderful. Ruth thought that that kind of
voice was their family heritage. He would dance to the song. Saying
Yellanna might have done so, Reuben would feel thrilled. The second
night he sang. He sang watching the stars.
Reuben looked surprised. He was surprised even as he sang the
first charanam.
‘Listen Subhadra.
The little mouse drank the water under the roof.
Listen Subhadra.’
Reuben had not got over the surprise. The song was continuing.
Quite normally. Heart filled with pity. Anxiety of aeons. It proceeded
like that and stopped at the first charanam. Reuben’s eyes were filled
with tears.
‘Who taught you?’
‘Mother.’
‘Immanuel sings it every day. That’s how I learnt the complete
song. Immanuel is very fond that son g. He asked me to teach him
a song. I sang it for him. He learnt it.’
Crazy Reuben. What a young child he really was! He had him sing
it over and over again and listened to it. Man from the past. Truly, a
man from the past.
On the third day, as they left, Reuben said, ‘We’ll take him with
us.’ Immanuel could not say no. Ruth said she would also have Mary
with them for a week and send her back. Mary said she would not
come. When she pleaded, she could not say no. Though she came
to Ongole, her mind was only on Avalapadu. When they came,
Sinasubarayudu was not there. She told Yenkayi. Immanuel wrote a
letter, saying Sinasubarayudu enquired about them.
There was another letter Immanuel. That he was going
somewhere on work, asking M ary Suvarta to stay there till he returned
and that he would bring her back after he returned.
Where could he have gone? M ary Suvarta said she did not know.
It was more than a month. There was no news from Immanuel.
Then they came to know. That Immanuel had been arrested.
Immanuel!
‘W hy so? Why, my dear? Just like that, without saving anything
for yourself. . . ’ Ruth kept thinking that.
 242

Everyone started talking about it in puzzlement. The same talk in

the church.
What did she say?
W hat did Rosy say? W hat did Rosy’s husband say?
‘Just the same wherever you heard. W hat’s it about the pastor’s son
getting arrested? It’s so shameful.’
Jews.
Judas Iscariots.
They were the ones who got Christ arrested.
They perhaps could not walk with heads held high. But Reuben
walked with his head held high.
W hat did he say to him? What did he say to the C. I.? That fellow.
That Charles. C. I., Charles. He said, ‘Aren’t you feeling ashamed,
Reuben, as a Christian for having given birth to a son like him?’
W hat did Reuben say, what did he say to that?
‘I’m proud. For having given birth to a son like him, I’m prouder
than Joseph. Ruth is luckier than M ary . . . ,’ he said.
To his face. To that C. I.’s face. There was not a spot of blood
on that Charles’s face. Like Pilate sprinkling his entire face with the
water with which he had washed his hand, his face was filled with
perspiration. Khaki perspiration. Not the smell of man. Not the
smell of earth. Deceit had such a dung-like smell. Finally, unwilling
to accept defeat, he brought forth the issue of religion. He raised the
issue of faith. What did Reuben say to that?
‘Christ is my faith. Struggle is my necessity. M y child is the
representation of centuries of struggle. M y child is a struggle. It’s not
a decoration to a mala or a madiga. It’s not an ideal. A necessity. I was
born an untouchable. I was born without a cent of land. I was cast
away. I was ostracised. M y child searched for answers for everything
and placed them before me . . . Take the Cross off your neck. You’re
not on the side of those bearing the Cross. You’re one among those
protecting those who crucify. I’ve come to meet my child. Not to
listen to your speech.’ He said just those things. Reddened eyes.
Lifted shoulders. W hat rejection in those eyes! W hat dignity in those
eyes that looked at Charles as an insect given to Reuben! Only if
looks are like that, they are good. Only looks capable of love have
such dignity.
 243

They vacated the house in Avalapadu after Immanuel was arrested,

"[he books there. They were not just books. Bloody letters of the
alphabet. She read them. Reuben said laughing, ‘The Communist
devil has possessed you.’
The child was not a devil.
She kept reading, searching for Immanuel.
She kept waiting as she read like that. For her child. Counting
days along with Mary, along with Reuben, along with Jessie. How to
hide that memory? How to write down that heart-rending blow?
She thought the child would return.
But.
She did not think the child’s martyrdom would touch her heart.
The child she thought would return did not return alone. He
brought along hundreds of men. He did not speak. He used hundreds
of voices to make him speak. She could not believe her child
was dead.
‘I know only to send God’s children. I don’t know how to send
people’s children.’
Reuben said so when Vandanam talked about the arrangements.
Looking like that. W hy were there no tears in the eyes? W hy did they
remain vacant, plain as if nothing had happened?
Reuben remained silent. Vandanam went away. He was speaking
to Rosy.
Did not have the strength to pacify M ary Suvarta. In fact, Ruth
could not pacify herself. She looked out for Jessie. He was looking
only at his father. Ruby next to him.
People. So many people that sand would not slip through. Did
not think a death could move people so much. Sorrow in everyone’s
eyes. W hy such sorrow in those faces? What bond was it? What was
Immanuel to them? Son, older brother, younger brother, friend . . .
What was he? Comrade. W hat meaning did that word convey?
How the thousands of people swarming around Immanuel looked
at him! At Sreekakulam Immanuel. At Comrade Immanuel. At her
child.
They loved her child.
They understood her child.
They felt the experience of life with her child.
 244

Her child was an example. Her son was a struggle. How different
are to love, to understand, to experience and to follow!
Her child was indeed an example. Otherwise, among thousands
of people they would not love her child. They would not be able to
understand her child or experience with him.
W hat did Immanuel do? All that he did was just one thing. He
did what every revolutionary did on this earth. He searched only
for that which was necessary. He strung the bow and aimed it at
the shameful torture, horrible exploitation and cut-throat culture. A
tribal did that. He turned what he did into a weapon. He looked with
a compassionate heart into the path of the Nagavali, the swift flow of
the Vamsadhara and the rippling sound of the Swarnamukhi.
True. W ith tenderness alone.
How many can see with a heart? Her son saw like that. Only
because he saw like that did he see a future in Sreekakulam.
That future came forward quite naturally.
The Vempatapu Satyams, Kailasams, Bhaskaras, Ganapatis,
Panigrahi Subbaraos, Chinababus, Krishnamurthys, Nirmalas and
Ankammas® that she came to know, as she studied her son, also
fought quite spontaneously. There was no scheming in any of their
struggles.
The people were praising him while bidding him goodbye.
Sinasubarayudu was saying, Immanuel. Entire Avalapadu was there.
Yenkayi was right next to Mary Suvarta. Mary Suvarta was amidst
the people of Avalapadu. A tractor that was decorated in red. Flags.
Red flags.
Immanuel was going ahead.
Praise be to Comrade Immanuel.
Praise be to him.
Thousands of voices, thousands of hands, fluttering flags—
A flag in Jessie’s hand.
A flag in Ruby’s hand.
Only her hand did not have a flag. Only Reuben’s hand did not
have a flag. Only her daughter’s and her son-in-law’s hands did not
have flags. Only a few did not have flags in their hands. There were
many in the church who had flags in their hands.
Immanuel was moving ahead.
 Reuben was walking silently. She looked at him.
She looked into his eyes. W hy were tears welling up in his eyieS
now? W hy had they stopped till now? Which vent of the heart-had
breached that it was flowing like that?
‘Tell me, Reuben. You’re saying with a heart-rending cry, “Praise be,
Comrade Immanuel.” W ithin yourself. To yourself Very forcefully.
That’s why those tears. Isn’t that so?
‘You won’t lie. Tell me the truth, tell me.’
She was asking Reuben within herself. Struggling in that manner,
she pushed her silence aside and said, ‘Praise be!’ Reuben looked at
her. She said it. She said, ‘Praise be!’ to her child. Reuben’s old heart.
The heart that had sacrificed a tree-sized child to this devilish State.
He pressed her hand hard.
Immanuel was moving forward.
The procession was going ahead.
Both stooped.
Then Reuben screamed. The first cry of the untouchable of
centuries past. As he shouted for the yennela pitta. In such a weak
voice so Ruth alone could hear for his blood that revolted against
this social structure that sketched so cruelly his birth, his life and his
future. He cried shouting like that. Suddenly, he looked towards the
procession as if he remembered something. That was not a walk. A
run. They joined the procession . . .

They say one scene fades away and another comes in front. Ruth
says that is not true. None of the scenes that she had experienced has
faded away. Scene after scene, each one stands very clearly in
her eyes. Time flows by like that. Flows by like a scene. Flows by
like memory.
The fading clouds of dawn. Stars that sprout at midnight. Breeze
from a distance, a great distance, that wafted by after touching forest
flowers. The season seemed to have changed. Spring seemed to have
arrived. Mornings that went away. Evenings that went away. Nights
246

that passed by lethargically. It appeared as if Spring was over. Winter

seemed to have squatted in front of the house.
Reuben could not sleep. He would get up at an unearthly hour. He
would simply roam about outside. He would sit in front of the table.
He would open some book. His mind would not be still. Irritation.
Void. A search for something. Did not have the courage of the past.
‘W ill you drink some water?’
‘Don’t want it.’
‘Shall I make tea?’
‘No.’
‘Then, sleep.’
‘Can’t
Not just for Reuben. For Ruth too. Could not sleep. Did not
feel hungry. Immanuel was the incident that flowed with time. He
proceeded like a revolutionary movement. He went like a procession.
The child did not die. His clear voice was still being heard from this
earth. His face appeared like the full moonlight in front of sleepless
eyes. Did not feel like wiping the tears at that time.
But she would wipe the tears for the sake of her daughter-in-law.
She would make sure the tears in her eyes were not visible for the sake
of her grandson. Her heart had turned into stone. It had hardened.
Eyes stopped getting wet. The body that had aged did not have the
strength to carry the burden. Had to live. For the daughter-in-law.
For the grandson. Had definitely to live.
Jessie grew up playing with that old heart. Like his father, he would
also look at the red crotons getting wet in the rain. When it rained
heavily, the house would leak. Did not have the capacity to do up the
roof. Rosy said she would have the roof done. Reuben said that was
devil’s money. Reuben would keep plates, dishes and pots below the
spots where it leaked. Jessie would hand them over. The dishes would
fill up. Jessie would place paper boats on that water. They would twist
and twirl. He would point to the boats that twisted and twirled to
his grandfather. That was a game for the two of them. There was no
worry that the house was leaking. Rainy season would pass by for the
two of them playing that game.
It is here that Ruth does not know how to keep her memory in
front of her. This may not be a memory. M ay be an experience. She
 247

cannot write down this memory, this experience. She has tried to
write down Immanuel completely several times. But that memory,
that experience itself drains her heart. Shatters her heart. Cannot
write that. Cannot think in that manner. Wants to evade that. Wants
to forget immediately.
She recalls every word Reuben told her. She keeps it in front of her
as if she has read a masterpiece. All that is experience that moves her.
That is perhaps why she is able to detail every little part. Even if she
goes, the memories Reuben provided will remain.
Immanuel is not like that. He comes in the way of memory. He
comes in the way of writing. Mother’s womb twists and turns. Then
mother’s heart becomes very weak.
In fact, she forgot the pain, seeing Immanuel in Jessie. The
same with Reuben. He did every work possible with Jessie and was
forgetting his child.
Time does not stop just like that. It does not go on just like that.
It has its own whims. Its turn is its own. It may be the smile that does
not disappear from the lips. M ay be the pain that tears the heart.
Time is a deep breath. It will surely not stop. On this green earth,
full moonlight will shine. Dense darkness will envelop it. Time will
be like that. Life will be like that. Life is memory. Life is experience.
Life is reality. The problem for Ruth is when all of them have to do
with Immanuel, when it has to do with Jessie, when it has to do
with Ruby.
She cannot see Immanuel as she sees Mataiah, Narigadu, Yellanna
or Simon. Cannot see Jessie. Close ties. A tie that grew up on that lap.
Whenever she remembers the child, she cannot bear it. Whenever
she thinks of the grandson, she wants to meet him immediately. At
that point that memory fails. That experience ends. Here too man’s
life alone is the answer. Time is not something else, it is the non­
stop walk of a man. A final journey . . . In that journey, Mataiahs,
Narigadus, Yellannas, Martins and Sivaiahs, all contributed their
own bit. They did so in their own way. Immanuel turned those steps
into his weapon. Jessie too. He is walking to push that armed struggle
further, a little further.
That walk is proceeding ,in that manner. That walk appears in
front of Ruth.
 248

Rainy season in front of Ruths eyes. Memory of interminable

rain.
Jessie . . . Ruby . . .
Jessie is no longer a boy. He can see the world with his own eyes.
He can read it with his heart. Being responsive is not new. It is a word
known in his house for a long time. The embodiment of sacrifice
on this score was Jessies father. That responsiveness may be familiar.
That sacrifice may be their nature. That is not letting Jessie sit still.
Thoughts. Tiny little decisions. Search. A little bit is clear. A little bit
is not clear. Just one thing is true. In front of him, his forefathers’
determination stands. His father’s sacrifice moves. That has had a
rebirth on this earth. Not just what he reads in the classrooms. It
appears as if there is a lot to read as a man.
Hunger.
Untouchability.
Exploitation.
Atrocity.
From Yellanna to Immanuel. From Subhadra to Mary Suvarta.
Words that need to be seen. Words for which reasons have to be
searched. His father used to teach. He may have thought he would
not be able to explain those words in the lessons he taught. He may
have felt those words fell beyond the scope of the lessons. That is
why perhaps he left the school. He left those four walls. He went
into life. He went among the people who were victims. He mingled
with them. He searched for the meanings of the words, hunger,
untouchability, exploitation, atrocity in the large expansive school of
life. He searched for their solutions. He stood like that. He walked
like that. His walk should not stop . . .
Those very thoughts in Jessie. Those very turmoils. He would not
come home until the early hours. Not known where he would roam
about. Once in a while, he would come up to the gate and stand
outside and go on talking under the shade of a tree along with two
or three friends.
Words. Thoughts. Meetings. Everything a thirst. Everything a
desire. Everything a movement. Everything a turmoil. Everything a
struggle. Ready to revolt. Jessie would appear like that.
 249

Now and then his friends would come home. Their words would
be direct. Would look like arrows taking aim. There would be a lot
of arguments between them. They top at
they came to an understanding. Reuben would listen to them with
interest. He would roam around the entire room when they were
speaking as if he remembered "something, as if he was searching for
something. It appeared as if he remembered Immanuel. But it would
seem as if that was not true. He would speak as if he was sharing a
secret with Ruth about the youngsters’ words. He would listen very
intently.
When Ruth saw them, the world in motion would remain in front
of her eyes. Once in a while, they would sit up at night. Along with
them, Ruby too. Looking at them, it felt as if the night’s darkness
slipped to the corners of the room. They appeared like new shapes.
They appeared as new companions.
‘These governments are completely deteriorating. The leaders’
brains have been bought by imperialist governments. In this country
every step is targeted to be mortgaged. Our state has gone way ahead
on this score. Our government is the pet child of the World Bank. It
does not have faith in people. It has no trust in their future. All that is
left for them is the police. All that is left is the army. To hunt people.
To attack people’s movements. To kill the children of the people in
the name of encounters. They use people’s money only for that. They
use the media only for that.’
That is how their discussions went . . . When Reuben would hear
those words, he would look at Ruth. He would ask her, ‘W ill you
make tea? Want to drink tea.’ Ruth would make tea enough for
everyone. When they drank tea, they would sit amidst the young
people. They would mingle with them. After drinking tea, he would
leave them to their conversation and go back to his room.
‘There’ll be computers here. There’ll be statements of income and
expenditure. There’ll be groups of multinational companies. These
governments say that is in fact progress. They are preparing plans only
for them. That’s not what we have in front of us. The most wretched
of lives of poverty. They do not have even a loin-cloth size of land.
They don’t have jobs worth even an old cloth. There’s no safety of life
in the village. There’s no work for the city poor. They don’t have their
 own field, own house or own job. Everything is a life in a dark cave.
Hundred years of life was born yesterday and dies today.’
Using such small words, they were speaking of the state and the
country! Not yet crossed twenty. If at all, two of them may have.
Who taught them?
After everyone left, Jessie would go near his grandfather and
grandmother. He would lie down between them like a small boy. The
two of them did not know the dreams he would dream. In between
he would speak in his sleep. Whenever he spoke in his sleep, Ruth
would get up. She would pat Jessie awake. She would say, 'W hat are
you talking in your sleep?’ He would laugh and sleep. Ruth would
not be able to sleep. Her eyes would go searching somewhere. An
emotion she could not lay her finger on would come in front of
them. Once she closes her eyes, an ocean in front. Surging waves,
brushing the shore, cleaning the sand on the shore. WTiy did she feel
like that? That scene would remain like that. It would be like that till
dawn.
Ruth did not imagine that those conversations, those meetings,
those dreams, those words in sleep, those moments of getting up in
the middle of the night, that ocean with waves would not remain like
that with her for long.
But.
Learning was prohibited. Speaking was prohibited.
Prohibited.
On knowledge, on speech, on movement, on breath, on the
political struggle . . . the State turned into a dark dungeon.
A rainy night—a night of incessant rain.
Jessie told them his decision.
‘I’m thinking of going only after informing you’.
He sat in front of the three of them and spoke out. No one else
spoke. Ruby came, getting wet in the rain. Did not know why the
girl came then. Felt it was good she came.
‘Father has gone away from you. I know that you’re trying to look
at me and forget him .’
Ruby kept looking at Jessie.
‘I’m speaking to you with the confidence you won’t say no.
It’s necessary to fulfil that which Yellanna yearned for, that which
 251

frightened Sivaiah, that which Reuben searched for and that for
which Immanuel gave up his life. Immanuel hasn’t become one with
the earth. He has sprouted like a plant. That too, he has sprouted in
your backyard.’
He spoke like that. Reuben did not know what to say. Ruth
too. Mary Suvarta sat listenirtg. He spoke a lot. Did not think the
youngster would speak such big things. He spoke. In that pouring
rain he left, slinging a cloth bag over his shoulder.
That was how he went away. Bundling up the dreams. To fight. To
free his people. He went like that. direction
he went. In fact, rain was not wetting Jessie’s body but Ruby’s heart.
Nallamala mountains were very far from here. No energy to go
and meet him. No chance of his coming whatsoever.
Christmas came and was going away. The Christmas tree was
being left alone. Only three shared the candlelight in that house.
Ruth, Reuben and Mary Suvarta. That was it. Ruby would come to
keep company. Reuben’s voice was no longer heard in the church.
Every Christmas day they would think. It would be so nice if Jessie
came. Good if he came. Felt worried thinking like that. The night
would pass by in worry and despair. But why this worry? W hy these
nights of despair? What did he do after all? Did he leave saying no
to grandfather’s love, grandmother’s love, mother’s love or the love
of one who loved him, no to anything? Did he go away renouncing
everything saying such love is an illusion? He did not go like that.
He went with eyes, in fact, full of love. He went with the idea of
retaining love permanently on this earth. He went for several crores
of Reubens, Ruths and mothers. He went with the intention that
their bodies ought not to remain permanently untouchable. He went
so as to create a bit of right over the land they lived in. That was how
Jessie went. A hero’s son. He went like a hero. He had not distanced
himself by leaving. He became closer. W hy worry about someone
who had not become distanced? W hy this looking forward to in
anticipation of his return? It felt like that. The three of them felt like
that. Then the pride that was hidden somewhere, hidden in a corner
behind some affection, hidden behind affection for the child would
surface. Funny. It appeared in that pride too, to share that pride with
252

him. It felt at that time, that it would be igood if he came. Felt like
saying a lot to him. Felt like listening co a lot of things.
One day . . .
She told her daughter-in-law, ‘It’d be good if he came tonight.’
Just then Ruby came. ‘Who’s to come?’ she asked.
‘M y ponnangi pitta.’
‘Did he send word like that?’
‘It’d be good if he came.’
Ruby stayed back that night with her. It would be good if he came.
If not for her. For Ruby. At least for Ruby . . .
Knew he would not come. Even so, like th a t. . .
Ruby was studying in a college. Her father was getting marriage
proposals for her only from America. Said she would not get married.
Said if she married, she would only marry Jessie. Vandanam said,
‘Which hill in the Nallamala range did he say he’d give you?’ He said
it sarcastically. America taught him quite a bit of such sarcasm. Then
he abused her. He abused Rosy saying, ‘Does your family know how
to live?’ Surprisingly, Rosy did not get angry. She heard those words
with a smile. Reuben did not know how to live. Ruth did not know
how to live. Immanuel and Mary Suvarta too. Jessie did not know.
But Rosy knew how to live. If she did not know, she would' not have
lived with Vandanam.
Unable to sit idle that night, Ruby wrote a poem. She titled it,
‘I’m awaiting my lover.’ After writing the poem, she said, ‘I’ll read it.
Listen.’ She asked Reuben too to listen.
He’ll come
at the time the stars blossom.
He’ll come
knocking at the heart-doors.
He’ll come
when the dew slides down.
He’ll come
wiping the wetness of eyes.
He’ll come
on the pitch dark heart-ways.
He’ll come
like a composite sorrow
searching heart depths.
He’ll come
the people’s war soldier, my beloved will come.
He’ll come
in the early hours of a long night
enclosing laughter and sorrow in his lips.
He’ll come, coming he’ll proceed straight into my heart.
He’ll come
like the seed embedded deep within the earth
the one who doesn’t care for death for the sake of life, my
beloved, he’ll come.
He’ll come
though he didn’t say he’ll come.
He’ll come, he, my man, he’ll come, my friend, my lover
will come, he’ll come
the sound of his footsteps motivating my heart.
Though I don’t have such information, he’ll come still.
He’ll come getting wet
he’ll come without the rain drops wetting the red crotons.
He’ll come, he’ll really come
the one who is larger than life, deeper than love.
A dream as the eye closes
all of the dream, olive green
he’ll come with a rifle over his shoulder.
He’ll come though he didn’t say he’ll come.
He’ll come, he who is as expansive as the sky
as pure as a waterfall, as free as the birds.
He’ll come though he didn’t say he’ll come.
254

He’s always like that, he’ll come like that, without telling,
knocking at the door.
Ruth could not speak after listening to the poem. Silence seemed
cruel. Did not know what to say. Reuben’s eyes, full of tears.
She looked at Mary. Immanuel stood before Mary’s eyes. Jessie
too. One she was married to. One who was born tearing her womb.
One went away to infinite distances. One went searching the path
he took. One became red. One was going about carrying that
redness. W hy did they become like that? She knew. Her daughter-
in-law knew. The granddaughter too knew. Even though they knew,
once in a while the scene would be like this. These words. These
heartwrenchings. Disappointment about someone. Eagerly looking
forward, full of hope.
Felt like making both of them lie down on her lap. Felt like kissing
those breasts. ‘If you feel like sleeping, sleep. If you dream, dream on.
The ones you desired are such people.’ They dreamt. They say it isn’t
life if there are no dreams.
Immanuel dreamt like that.
Jessie too was dreaming like that.
Perhaps Jessie and Ruby might be the last generation of the family
she set foot into. Her looking out might end with them. She also
desired its stopping like that.
Jessie would sleep with his head snuggled into her stomach. Ruby
would watch with jealousy. When she pulled her close, she would
move far away. For some reason the girl too wanted to lie snugly
there. They grew up. They grew up right in front of her eyes. They
abused each other any number of times. They hit each other the same
number of times. Reuben was Ruby’s support. Jessie would seek her
support. That was also how they tried to forget Immanuel. They
forgot, playing with the two of them.
Sometimes the two of them would sit together properly at one
place. They liked the moonlight. They liked to sit there in that
manner. There was a lot of attachment between the stars and this
family. As for Jessie, an explicable love. He would keep looking. Into
the sky. Into the shining and fleeting stars. Then he would recite
poetry. Would tell stories. Once in a while song would drip from his
throat like dew. How crazy was the girl! She would sit listening to his
 255

words. She would sit listening to his songs. Listening like that she
would look into his eyes. Swaying her head like that she would rest
on his shoulders.
Those were the days when Jessie would visit home. One day she
said, ‘Ruth, your grandsons so wicked!’ If she was angry she would
not say ammamma. She would only say Ruth. She would not say
atthaiah. She would only say Mary Suvarta. Otherwise, she would
say, ‘You know what your daughter-in-law said?’ If she said so, it
meant she was angry. If she oozed with love, then too it was like
that. She would say, ‘Hey, you Reuben.’- She was a peculiar girl. Ruth
asked Ruby to tell her what happened. She was telling her in a casual
manner. Ruth felt like laughing. That girl told her in a manner that
made her laugh. It was a week since he left. He left singing songs. He
had not yet returned. That was the complaint. But there was affection
in that complaint. That girl loved him. The day Ruby said so, it was
a moonlit night. The full moon was going away without narrating a
story, without reciting a poem, without singing a song. Ruby did not
like it going away like that. That’s why she said those words.
Jessie went away. Carrying the song with him. A week went by. He
had not returned. He would keep singing on the full moon night that
Ruby was looking forward to.
Now there is no full moonlight in front of Ruth’s eyes. There are
no wonderful experiences of Jessie and Ruby in that night’s frontyard.
There are no searchings.
Seventeenth July stands before her. 17 July 1985 appears before her.
An incident that made Jessie walk in another direction stands before
her. Karamchedu madigapalli, the attack with deadly weapons of the
landlords float before her eyes. That’s what Jessie will be
Aryala too. Belchy too. Padirikuppam too. Keelavenmani too. He
will be singing the of the Karamchedu struggle. Kanchikacherla
will appear in his song. It will begin in that manner and stop at
Karamchedu. The attack of brutes on the humans on 17 July will
begin in that song. The cruel hacking with axes of Muttaiah, Moshe,
Joshua, Jacob, Ramesh and Vandanam of madigapalli will be heard
sorrowfully from his throat. The cry of anguish will appear right in
front. He will be singing about the houses destroyed, the women
raped and the children becomirig targets of the flying swords.
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Jessie went away singing that. Yellanna an

answer, he left Yennela Dinni and went away. Jessie did not do that.
He went away with an answer. He is in the tent of the victims of
Karamchedu. One day Rosy said he had joined the radicals. After
coming from the tent of Karamchedu there was a lot of change in
Jessie. He was behaving as if he had identified his life’s goal at such
a young age. Singing songs he is going about places. Not alone, like
Yellanna. Going about with some who sing like him. Those who
came to the church from villages said so. That there were programmes
in their village by Jana Natya Mandali, that Jessie was the most
important member in them. He had made his life. Like Immanuel
did. Immanuel became one with the earth and sprouted.
Reuben was becoming lonely. He was not coming out of his room.
He would appear smiling on the day returned after going
about the places he had wanted to. He was anxious to spend every
moment with his grandson. He was unable to distance himself from
Immanuel.
Jessie kept returning home. Whenever he came, Ruby was always
with him. She would write down the songs he had penned in good
note books. She would make him sing the songs she had written down
and listen to them. This did not last long. Jessie spoke his intention
on that rainy night and left. He completely stopped coming back
home. Ruby too appeared different. Did not live by herself. Two or
three girls would come and go. Time was going by in its own way.
‘You’ve seen to it that my child isn’t close to me.’ Vandanam
berated Reuben one day. It was not initially clear why Vandanam was
speaking like that.
‘He too became like his father. You’ve let her into that bog so that
you could get her married to him .’
It was becoming clear. It was becoming clear why he was speaking
like that. Reuben sat listening.
‘W hat are all these Women’s Organisations? Have to bow my head
in shame. Did you ever scold her not to go about like that?’
Though Vandanam was saying such things, Rosy did not ask him
not to speak like that. She was behaving as if she too liked what
he was saying. Ruby was arranging some papers all along. She was
behaving as if all that was unrelated to her.
 257

‘I’m telling you. Whatever you do. her marriage to Jessie won’t
take place. Remember that.’ Saying those words, he was about to go
away. Rosy too, who was sitting, got up, about to leave.
‘Just one word.’
It was Ruby who spoke. Vandanam stopped. Rosy looked in
surprise at her child.
‘The marriage between Ruth and Reuben’s son’s child, Jessie, and
Ruby, their daughter’s child, has already taken place.’
Vandanam appeared shocked. Rosy looked confused. An unclear
emotion in Reuben. W hat did all of them hear? W hat did she hear
that day?
‘Don’t be surprised. Don’t be confused. If you want to hear, listen
calmly. Reuben didn’t conspire for our marriage. Ruth didn’t play
any part. Even if you look for it, you won’t find selfishness in Mary
Suvarta. We got married on our own. On our own we promised each
other that we’d be together all our lives. It’s up to you whether you’ll
accept it or reject it. We don’t care what you desire.’
Ruby said all this in a very casual manner. Vandanam forgot
himself. That great devotee abused in the choicest of words. He kept
abusing and then left. Rosy did not go. She sat as if she had slumped
right there. Did not know why she was crying. She was crying.
‘W hy do you cry like that? I don’t like people crying like that in
my house. If you want to cry, do so in your house.’
What was Ruby saying . ... in my house . . . in my house. It
was only then that it struck Ruth. Yes, isn’t this Jessie’s house? These
children were not young. How directly and clearly they enunciated
their rights! Reuben kept looking at Ruby. His mother would appear.
His mother would speak such words. A very young boy. Reuben, a
boy of bygone days. Knew only relationships, bonds. Looking at his
granddaughter like that, he searched for his mother. An old-timer. A
true old-timer.
It appeared as if Mary Suvarta did not like Ruby saying such things
to her mother. Immanuel never like that to Rosy. She
went near Rosy. She said, ‘Don’t pay heed to the girl’s words.’ Rosy
knew what kind of a person Mary Suvarta was. That was why she
remained silent. When did this marriage take place? How did this
happen? That was what Ruth was thinking.
 258

That night Rosy stayed back there. For some reason she did not
want to go leaving her daughter. She felt her daughter had moved too
far away from her. Ruby told them the real thing. Jessie and Ruby
met in Yennela Dinni. They got married in that very house. There
were only five friends at that marriage.
‘Ruth, I stole the keys to your house. Your grandson has also made
me steal.’
‘Yours is the stealthy mind. What can he do?’
Ruby laughed at those words. It appeared as if a wonderful world
stood in front of the girl’s eyes. Though it appeared to be floating
away, she talked of it quite naturally.
‘The two of us met like that. We have a goal in front of us. We
thought of walking together to reach it. That’s all. We spent a week
together after we got married. Telling each other that we’d look
forward to the day we’ll meet again, we separated. At Yennela Dinni’s
outskirts, he went that way. I came this way.’
Ruth thought it was not a small thought. She did not envisage this
change. When girls came for Ruby, she thought they were ordinary
college girls. But she realised now that they were workers of the
Women’s Organisation.
Jessie inside.
Ruby outside.
They turned out to be like that. They changed their lives quite
ruthlessly. Every step they took would make Ruth quake with fear
and anxiety. At another time she would feel proud like a courageous
woman.
Their words and method would seem to suggest, ‘We’re taking the
steps. It’s enough if you know that.’
There was depth in their words.
There was clarity in their method.
They were waging a war.
. At this moment they were alive. Whether they would be alive the
next moment was not in their hands. But a lot of future was in every
step they took. It was in every moment of their lives. Theysaid, ‘It’s
okay for us to die so that the poor of this country canlive freely.’
Their selfishness was like that. They felt that it was more important
for those alive to see a great life than for those who were dead.
 259

‘It seems your grandson’s in the “party”!’

Such comments. She would say yes where she could say yes. Where
she did not want to, she would be silent.
‘It seems your granddaughter is in mass organisations!’
W hy did they have to ask like that throughout the day? She was
going about villages. She would get on to the dais and speak.They
would get letters from Jessie now and then. When she received a
letter Ruth would think, ‘How the tiny heart of my ponnangi pitta
has come with so many folds!’ After reading the letter, Reuben
would say, ‘He knows very well how to open the doors of the heart
and go in.’
Such would be Jessie’s letters, like the light breeze touching the
spread-out fields. As if being thrilled by the touch. Every letter of
the alphabet filled with love. Those were love letters that came flying
from the battlefield. They would begin with, ‘Dear Yennela Pitta.’
They would begin with, ‘Dear Thatha.’ Grandfather was not given a
name of any bird. He would say he would lie down on high hills and
keep looking at the sky. He would look lovingly at the stars just like
Yellanna. Yellanna saw Subhadra in the star?. Jessie saw in those very
stars martyrs and immortaii ty.
‘When you lie on high hills and keep looking at the sky, how
many stars! We give our martyrs’ names to those stars. Even if we
sleep soundly, the brightness of those stars keeps illuminating us.’
Those letters. Ruth would read them over and over again. Reuben
too. He would read them with a lot of
Mary Suvarta told Ruth, ‘Isn’t it a fact that those letters were
keeping you alive?’ The truth could be just that. If it were not for
that, Reuben could have been very different. As if searching for
something. As if he had not found something he had lost. He would
go about as was not near him. Though thought Reuben was
like that, her condition too was the same.
But how far? How much longer like that?
Reuben said he had no energy. Said he had no energy to travel.
Said he had no energy to search. He spoke one day. Said he would
go and see Jessie and come back. She looked at him in surprise. Ruth
said, ‘I too will come.’ She said that controlling her laughter. He
said, ‘You won’t be able to walk.’ Ruth could not stop laughing. She
 260

picked up all her strength and laughed. He asked her, “Why are you
laughing like that?’ He called out to M ary Suvarta. He said, ‘When
I say I’ll go to see him this girl says she’ll come. Tell me, will she be
able to walk?’ Tears in Mary’s eyes. It was not clear if those tears were
from laughter or crying.
There was a change in the wind.
It appeared as if there was no time at all for the rays to hide in the
mountains.
Reuben.
Beautiful Reuben. Wonderful Reuben. How much she kissed that
body! Over and over again till she was tired.
Memories.
Silent memories. The sound of falling leaves. The memories of the
rustle of dry leaves before being swept away somewhere.
That day. When the dusky darkness glimmered.
He asked for Ruby. He asked for Jessie. Asked for them over and
over again. He asked her to get his letters. Asked her to keep them
next to him. He said it would be good if he came.
That night.
He asked her to sit right next to him. She sat next to him.
He said, ‘Sleep, Ruth.’
She said she did not feel sleepy.
‘I feel sleepy. Lie down, my Ruth,’ he said.
Those words made her cry.
‘I’ll lie down, Ruth,’ he said again.
She kept looking at him. She kissed him all over his body. A slight
smile on the lips. A weak streak of tears in the eyes.
A man of the past. Completely, a man of the past. A man of the
past who could not break the ties of love, affection, bond, emotional
bond so quickly. Completely, a man of the past.
He came to Hanumakonda. Then, he did not come for her. He
came for his grandfather’s song. He did not stop with the song.
How quietly he had entered her life!
How quietly he was going away!
No fuss. He left even as she looked. He left saying he was feeling
sleepy.
 Ruth sat looking just like hat. Till daybreak. Just like that. Mary
Suvarta who was at home too not know that Reuben passed away
that night.
A slight drizzle.
After that.
Sunset.
A flame.
W hat a terrible struggle life is!
Life is indeed a battlefield. That was what Reuben said and went
away. Jessie said the same thing and was fighting.
Memories . . . truths . . .
Memories about the wars her people fought. The reality of the
war her children are waging today. Memories born at every corner.
Memories that flowered and drooped. Realities that faded and
sprouted.
Memories that stories shaped.
Memories that poems wove.
Realities that have created turbulence.
Everything is war.
This body, house, hunger, tree, field . . . everything . . . everything

Everything . . . everything is war.

From Yellanna who fled holding his life in his fist and ran to Jessie
who is fighting an armed struggle for the people.
From Subhadra who placed her foot on the dike and lifted her
spade to Ruby who has become one with the people like fish in
water.
Everything is a war. A long struggle.
What is happening here? What will surface here and in what
form?
What meaning have these people and so many years of bonding
placed in front to the word life?
War. Only war. Reuben talked of Chandrappas words that there
was much to dig and bury. If you dig, war. If you bury too, war. From
die moment war.
Ruth thinks in that manner.
After Reuben has gone away. When she sits all by herself.
262

When she looks into the lone star. When she looks into the eyes
of M ary Suvarta. Sitting at the end of the millennium. Keeping this
century in mind.
That is what she is thinking.
Reuben is not there for her to share her thoughts. She thinks of
sharing it with M ary Suvarta. Can share with her. She will hear. She
will listen carefully to whatever she says. But she would not speak.
That is so from the time Immanuel had gone away from her. Can
share with Ruby. But it appears as if Ruby does not have the time to
speak to her. She finally comes to a decision. She wants to tell it to
Jessie. She wants to write what is on her mind only to her grandson.
She thinks that it might be the last letter she will write.
She takes paper and pen and sits down. She sits down at the table
Reuben used to write on. When she looks out of the window, a star-
filled sky. She writes, ‘To my sweet grandson.’ Does not like it. She
writes— Ruth and Reuben’s beloved grandson. When she writes
these words she recalls the Jessie who placed his head on her stomach
and his feet on Reuben’s chest in Avalapadu. Ponnangi pitta. The
ponnangi pitta that fell between the two of them in Yennela Dinni.
A bird with sweet little beautiful wings. Laughter bursts out. Heart
full of laughter. Eyes full of love. She begins saying, ‘To my dear
Ponnangi Pitta.’
To my dear Ponnangi Pitta,
As I write this letter to you, your mother is right next to me.
She says she enquires after you. But I don’t know where your
beloved pigeon is flying. It is many days since we met.
In the garden of graves, your grandfather sleeps on that side of
your father. I too that. There’s enough space on
side.
In fact, my journey isn’t short. It’s your grandfather who got a
little tired before me. I said, why don’t you wait a little, I too
will come along. I said I’ll write you a letter and then come.
Didn’t listen to me.
When your father left home and went away, our lives were
overwhelmed with sorrow. But when we saw his life leaving his
 body and becoming one with the people, pride peeped out of
us in all that sorrow.
Even before we decided what inheritance to give him, he
himself gave us an inheritance. The struggle he believed in
made children give inheritance to their parents. He gave an
inheritance to those who gave birth to him. He also gave an
inheritance to the ones he gave birth to.
You have made the struggle your life. You have set out to
increase the faith in the future in the hearts of men on this
earth. You have felt it your responsibility to imbibe this faith.
You announced it as your duty.
For that you’ll endure all the hurdles you encounter. You’ll put
up with them. You’ll overcome them. If necessary, you’ll give
up your life. In that manner, you’ll keep winning. The one who
fights will not fight to lose. Its not even possible to finish him
off. It’s not possible for anyone to see he’s no more. Your life is
like a sprouting plant. Like a ripening field. Like the brightness
that the wonderful starry sky spreads. It’s permanent.
You’re dreaming of the new man. You’re dreaming of a new
world. All those who are fighting in all countries at all times will
be dreaming for that historic truth. All those dreams make up
the book of revolution. Love, struggle, sacrifice——all these will
be like songs in that volume. You taste victory. M y confidence
is not a small thing. You’ll conquer the world. M y faith will not
go waste.
At one point, I used to think there would be no one to take
notice if I’m born or not born, if I live or I don’t live, if I die
or if I’m dying in this country. But I’m not disappointed now.
You’re there to take note of me. You’re there to take note of this
body, this hunger. Love, sympathy and compassion are there in
your words. They emanate from your heart. That’s love for the
community of human beings. That love is your struggle. It’s
filled with courage. It is a historic responsibility that will firmly
stand by man’s side.
After my long journey, I’m gaining inspiration from the endless
work you’re doing for the societal values of those who toil hard.
I believe cent per cent that it will produce heroes of war and
new-generation men. I’ve seen many incidents in society in my
life. I’ve seen historic changes. M y life went along inspired by
all of them. That inspiration made me one with you.
Sitting at the end of this millennium, I’m trying to remember
the first days of this century that I heard about. I’m keeping
in front of me the middle of this century that I was a part of.
I still keep seeing the sacrifices of heroes and the atrocities of
the wicked in the last days of this century. In this context, I
visualise the portrayal of the successive stages of the people’s
movement.
I’m dedicating this to sacrifices you made to the that is
ending and to the victories you’ll achieve in the next century.
I remain, my dear ponnangi pitta. I remain.
Your grandfather went away though I asked him to stay.
The one who went away won’t keep quiet. He’ll be looking
forward with hope thinking why hasn’t this girl come. I know
that boy very well. He’ll really be looking forward to it. I’ll
remain for now.

Your loving,

I don’t know whether this letter will reach you or not.

Even if it reaches you, I don’t know when. I don’t know if I’ll
have the opportunity of reading your tiny heart that’ll come
hidden in the folds. That’s why, I have a small wish. Beneath
my grave, the words below, just these few words are enough.
Make sure they’re written.
‘Her memory rested in the on-going war.’
One can write life in any number of pages. ‘Untouchable Spring’ is
not a life that will be completed in these few pages. In fact, it has
not been completed. There is more to say of Immanuel, Jessie and*
Ruby. Ruth was unable to narrate the complete lives of those three.
Immanuel is her son. If she remembers him, it hinders her memory.
Jessie is her grandson. If she remembers him, she wants to rush and
hug her grandson. That’s why she could not talk of them fully. There
is M ary Suvarta who remained almost silent in the novel. Not a small
person. She dedicated her husband and child to the movement. It is
enough to rid her of her silence—Immanuel, Jessie and Ruby will
stand fully in front of us.
What has rested is only Ruth’s memory. It is necessary to shake
Mary Suvarta. If she is moved, another part of ‘Untouchable Spring’
will commence. Then we cannot say life is embedded only in
these pages.
 1. The story of Kamadhenu: This story has been told in many ways. No
matter how many ways the story has been told there is Kamadhenu in
it. There is Jambavanta. There is Chennadu. is of the
malas. is of the madigas. The final twist in this story is
Siva’s curse.
They say the mala and madiga castes are descendants of the nagas. The
nagas are adivasis. The first people on this earth are malas, madigas and
girijans. The civilisation, culture, sculpture and literature of these castes
appear unique. We see folk literature and culture only in these castes.
Even today the madigas proclaim themselves as belonging to the jambu
caste. Guruswami has written in detail about the Matanga kingdom.
He says that there are inscriptions in Kannada country that Matanga
kings ruled Jambu island.

’ This is
vvhat T.R. Singh says in his

There’s a theory that the Kakatiya kings belonged to the mala caste.
Acharya Ranga wrote a big book to say that the Kakatiyas were in fact
kammas. Bonigala Ramarao has explained that Kakatiyas are malas.
was put forward as an argument. The gotram is that of
the malas. There is also an argument that it came from them to reddys
and velamas. Malas in all of Prakasam district and in certain parts of
Nellore district belong to this gotram. Gusta Vopperc talked of all the
mala rulers of this country. All this has become material for research
now. It will be good if the historians who have kept silent all along
about malas and madigas speak out now.
2. Urumula Nrityam: This thunder dance is the grand dance that is
performed during Ganga Jatara. This is the indigenous art form of
the Telugus. It still exists in the Dharmaram region of Antantapuram
district. This is .the dance of the malas. During the period of the
 Vijayanagaram empire, they were given lands. ‘Perini’ dance is artificial.
Urumula dance is natural. Here is an instance of making the natural
artificial and imprisoning itlh the temple. For the ordinary masses there
are no; ‘palm leaf manuscripts’ as proof. That’s the greatest tragedy.
3. Yenki-Nayudu The Yenki songs written by Nanduri Venkata
Subbarao (1895—1957) have been widely publicised. In them he wrote
about ; the beauty of the love affair between Yenki and Nayudu bava.
What is surprising is that they have been praised for their pastoral
language and for ‘Teluguness’. Yenki- Nayudu bava have demonstrated
how to make pure pastoral language and ‘Teluguness’ wonderfully
artificial!
4. Selling cattle: It was not only prevalent in those days to drive cattle
from Rayalaseema region tio coastal region during drought and seli
them, it is so even now.
5. Sweet potato carts: Sweet potato carts would come from Kanigiri
region to the villages of Ohgole and Kavali. Once in a while, entire
families would come along with those carts. Occasionally, those carts
would roam about in that area for almost a month. If they came to a
village, they would be there at least for a week. The Prakasam Bhavan in
Ongole used to be lilte a forest area in those days. There used to
be a huge well and really big trees. First the carts would stop there and
then go to the villages of Ongole and the places around Kavali.
6. Cattle, goat or pig Would not be sliced and weighed those days
like they do now. They would place them in heaps. They would then
sell very heaps. They, would place the blood separately in pots,
put some good pieces of meat in them and cook that blood separately.
That which comes out of such cooking is ‘nalla’. In those days they
would send some portion of the ‘nalla’ to the pedda madiga and pedda
mala. That was a mark of respect. Those who sliced and distributed
would take the rest. They Would give it to those whom they wanted
to. Just as everything is being marketed, this too is being sold at a high
price in the market. ‘
7. Ravi Varma: Has the reputation of being a great artist. Was born
in a royal family. Painted gods and kings. In fact they are beautiful,
wonderful calendar portraits that do not reflect Indianness. But Ravi
Varma has been praised to the skies.
8. Rajamannar: Pakala Venkata Rajamannar. Playwright. Critic. They say
in his ‘Tappevaridi’ (‘Whose Fault is It?’) of 1930, that he continued
the modern dramatic tradition started by Gurazada. He is one of those
praised to the skies.
268
in sdngs. 'They passed•'
and" the arena
mortals.' You can
Greek
 ,

..

nre /.?r removed From

 271

30. ‘Lone Star’ or LONE STAR MISSION: In Nellore region, the American
Baptist Mission began under the name, Lone Scar Mission. We can know
in detail how Clough, the white man. m«:t Talnkondapadu Verraguntla
Perainh and how malas and madigas converted to Christianity. )t is
\irv Christian rccords to out rhe lives of malas
272

and madigas in the 1840s. ‘Buckinghamcanals incident’, not found in

any work of history, was found only there. Though Bishop Neill’s work,
has brought to
the fore a lot of information, the Lives of untouchables in Telugu society
can be found only in the Church records.
31- ‘Foxes have holes . . . . ’: A verse from the Bible. Luke, Book 9 Verse
58. The Telugu translation of the Gospel of St. Luke was published
in 1838.
32. The temple entry of Harijans: The! letter the orthodox people in
Machilipatnam. The plot of Kasi Ramakrishnamachari and others—
can be located in Gandhiji’s travel to Andhra Pradesh.
33. ‘Beware of Gandhi’; — In the work ‘ there is a
detailed discussion by Dr Ambedkar On issues such as
and
In this context Gandhi’s call [for the temple entry iof Harijans
was ‘ and Ambedkar says,

”. ’
The workers of the Harijana Seva Sangham conducted the entry into
the ruined Siva temple according to fa plan.
34. Periyar: He led the self-respect mjovement in Tamil Nadu against
brahminical domination. He desired independence from brahmin
rule.
35. Phule: Jyotirao Pule (1827—1890).; He is the father of the struggle
to abolish casteism in Maharashtra by fighting against brahminical
domination. He led the Satya Sodhak Movement. He was the ideal
for Dr Ambedkar. His most well-known work is (State of
Slavery).
36. Chakali Ailamma: In Palakurci, Chakali Ailamma had a small piece of
land. She was a worker of the Sangham. Visunooru Ramachandrareddy
wanted to occupy her land. With the help of the Sangham,
she was able to counter the attack. Under those circumstances, the
police arrested six of the Sangham w|orkers. Ailamma was able to retain
the harvest of her land. The landlord wis defeated.
Doddi Komaraiah: The people celebrated the defeat of the landlord in
a big way. They had a big procession]. The procession was going in front
of the landlord’s mansion. The bullits from the guns of the landlord’s
goondas got lodged in the stomadh of Doddi Komaraiah who was
walking in front of the procession. Komaraiah became a martyr. People
 2$$i

did not run away, They surrounded the mansion. ‘A life for life -t1-*1-
we’ll take the landlord’s life.’ They shouted such slogans.
38. Chettodu: An extremely cruel police officer who attacked the villages
of the coastal regions in the present Prakasam district during the days
of the Telangana armed struggle.
39. Nanjappa: The first police officer who gave orders to kill Communists
in the name o f‘encounters’.
40. Vempatapu Satyam: Vempatapu Satyanarayana (1935—1970). He was
born in Booravalasa in Bobbili taluk. He worked as a school teacher in
Kondabaridi near Mondekhal. Everyone would call him Kondabaridi
Master. He was the leader of Sreekakulam Girijan Struggle. He became
a martyr in the police shoot-out in Borikonda on 10 July 1970.
Kailasam: Adibhatla Kailasam (1933—1970). He too was a school
teacher. He laid the foundation of the Sreekakulam Peasant Coolie
Movement. He became a martyr along with Vempatapu in the police
shoot-out on 10 July 1970.
Bhaskar: Dr Chaganti Bhaskararao (1940—1969). He belonged to
Paruchur in Prakasam district. In 1968 in Ongole he ran a public
dispensary. He took part in the Sreekakulam struggle and became a
martyr on 22 November 1969 in a police shoot-out.
Ganapati: Tamada Ganapati (1934—1969). He belonged to
Boddapoduku of Sreekakulam district. He laid the foundation to the
peasant struggle. He became a martyr on 22 November 1969 along
with Bhaskar in the police shoot-out.
Panigrahi (1933—1969). People’s poet. Artist. Hero in the struggle.
One of the Communist leaders of Sreekakulam district. Revolutionary
worker. Took part in the Girijan Peasant Movement and became a
martyr in the above police shoot-out.
Chinababu: People’s artist. He would narrate and sing in Panigrahi’s
Sri Sri’s song ‘Oogara’ (‘Swing!’) celebrates Chinababu’s
martyrdom.
Krishnamurthy: Panchadi Krishnamurty (1937—1969). Studied M.A.
One of the leaders of Sreekakulam. He took a lead role
in the Sreekakulam struggle. He became a martyr in the police shoot­
out.
Nirmala: Panchadi Nirmala. She played an important role in the
Sreekakulam struggle. She became a martyr in the police shoot-out.
274

Many poor children were given this name. Today there is a Nirmala in
every village.
Sri Sri sang in the song titled ‘Swing’:
‘You chink of Manchala
You pray to Mailamma
You frame the picture
of Jhajnsilakshmi and praise her
Thinking of Panchadi Nirmala
You tremble in fear.’
 What happens when a narrative circumscribes several other narratives
within it, each of them presented in an oral mode? What happens
when a text, which contests written histories wherein the entire
life and cultural heritage of a people have been neglected, derives
its authenticity from, besides neglected written church records,
intergenerational memory? WTiat happens when, in such a narrative,
the narrators are informed, not so much by what happens to them
in actual fact, but by what they experientially feel about actual facts?
What happens when a Dalit community, pushed into the crevices
of mainstream history, surfaces to tell its stories, by inventing
an in-between genre that simultaneously interrogates ‘objective’
histories and ‘self’-driven autobiographies? Such an attempt would
perhaps result in something like Kalyana Rao’s
(Untouchable Spring) (2000).
The 1970s in Telugu writing are characterised by their revolutionary
fervour. The 1980s saw the emergence of women’s writing. Part of
this women’s writing was also the output of women who had felt
sidelined and neglected in the ‘Left’ movements. The Dalit literary
movement that came up in a big way in the 1990s too is considered
an offshoot of the experience of the Dalits who had felt oppressed by
the domination of the upper-caste leadership within the movement.
The decade saw the appearance of two influential anthologies of
Dalit-Bahujan writing (1995), edited by G.
Lakshmi Narasaiah and Tripuraneni Srinivas, and
(1996), edited by G. Lakshmi Narasaiah—which brought together
poets that included minority voices from backward communities
who empathised with the Dalit cause. The Dalit reaction to the
‘left’ movement is a significant aspect of these two anthologies. The
other anthology, (1995), edited by Keshava Kumar
 276

and K. Satyanarayana, is different in that it combines both Left and

Dalit consciousness. Noteworthy among individual autobiographical
prose writings by male Dalit writers that came during this period are
Spartacus (G. Mohan Rao) s (1996), which is about
the caste problem among the police force, Chilukuri Devaputra’s
(1998), which deals with the caste discrimination
experienced by even one who has moved up the social ladder and
holds an important position of a Deputy Collector, Yendluri
Sudhakar’s (1999), which
was serialised earlier with the title dealing
with the self-stories’ of ‘untouchables’, and Vemula Yellaiah’s
(2000), which deals with the plight of the Madiga labourers in the
Telangana region of Andhra Pradesh. Dalit women felt the need to
establish their voice, yet retaining their solidarity with the larger
Dalit cause, in a sense to establish ‘a tradition within a tradition’ (to
borrow the African American critic, Joanne Braxton’s term).
(2003), a compilation of
self-stories’, short stories, prose pieces, poems etc., edited by Gogu
Syamala, is a significant contribution in this regard. A few years later
she joined Jupaka Subhadra to bring out
(2006), which reveals the lives and the culture of
the women of the Madiga and related castes.
We must view Kalyana Rao, a writer, a Dalit, and a Dalit convert
to Christianity at that, and one who continues to believe in the
revolutionary ideology and an important functionary of Virasam,
Viplava Rachayitala Sangham (Revolutionary Writers’ Movement)
and his work, in terms of the growing body of
Dalit writing.
On more than one occasion, Kalyana Rao has claimed that he
has ‘written out his life.’ in this book and that many of those who
have read it have found their lives in it. In this sense, it is clearly
autobiographical. It is a testimony of a Dalit experience, a Dalit
Christian experience. It has also been written by a writer belonging
to the Revolutionary Writers’ Association, a group that believes in
the armed struggle. The novel needs to be viewed in the context of
the time in which it was written.
 Kalyana Rao himself makes some of these aspects clear in an essay
which talks about ‘The Story behind the Story’ of
from which we quote the following extract:
That’s true— my ancestors lived really outside the village. But
they were inheritors of a magnificent culture. Great artists.
Litterateurs, too. They did not know how to write. They’d weave
songs. Weave poetry. Weave Same with plays— they’d
weave them. Perform them. Mine is that weaving heritage. That’s
magnificent. All that magnificence has become untouchable.
Has been suppressed. W hy so? This brahminical dominance
couldn’t tolerate its naturalness. In this country, more than art
and literature, caste has become important. Art and literature
have been assessed from the perspective of caste. The dominant
upper caste culture does not feel ashamed of this. That’s the
great tragedy here. That’s truly tragic. Why? W hy is that so?
is an exploration of this. (114) (‘Gnapakala
Vasantam’, December 2008: 114—117).
Responding to those who asked him why he had sent Jessie, one of
the characters in the book, into the armed struggle, he says:
I haven’t sent him. Jessie went there himself. His father
Immanuel too went willingly in the direction of Srikakulam.
I liked their going there. That speaks for my belief in the armed
struggle. As Ruth says, everything is a struggle—-from Yellanna
who flees with his life in his fist to Jessie who takes to arms for
the sake of the people. From Subhadra who keeps her foot on
the dike and holds up the spade to Ruby who becomes one
with the people like fish in the waters, everything is a battle.
The entire life of those characters is but a prolonged struggle
(‘Gnapakala Vasantam’, 116).
is significant for its critique of literary
historiography. It contests several prevailing tendencies of literature
such as the privileging of the written modes versus the oral modes, the
prosodic poetry over the song, the textual and bookish language over
the ordinary, everyday language. This is done not only by the actual
use of non-standard forms like the oral re-telling of stories, weaving
278

of songs etc., but by critiquing the accepted’ standards. Kalyana Rao

claims that he wrote the novel in the style of his illiterate grandmother
who used to tell him numerous stories. Boodevi’s narratives in the
text could, be viewed as an extension of this. Most of Kalyana Rao’s
characters, especially the non-urbanised ones, speak directly, in plain
and simple language. He himself admits: ‘Listen when ordinary people
speak. Those are short. There’s rhythm in them. M y people
came out of that ordinariness. . . . When it comes to people’s style,
there’s nothing like one’s teaching and one’s being taught. There’s
nothing like being keenly interested [in learning]. It’s as natural as
the wind, water and light’ (26) (‘Nadi Allika Varasatvam’, interview
in [Literary Special] [2002]: 24—27). The novel however
uses a combination of the ‘standard’ language as well as the ‘ordinary’
language (to use Kalyana Rao’s description). We must hasten to say
that there is a definite ease with language in the way in which Kalyana
Rao uses it that makes the text extremely readable. It is for the readers
to judge how far this has been carried across in the English text.
The novel also questions the so-called authenticity of ‘written’
histories. Mainstream histories, he complains, do not represent the
truths regarding the way certain communities have been treated. He
says that the ‘untouchables’ were being kept out from even coolie
work during the digging of the Buckingham canal— a historical
event that the text tries to re-present, kept out of standard histories.
He claims to have excavated this from Church records, even as they
too have been ‘written’ records. Thus the book seeks to provide an
alternate history. Another way in which the text tries to interrogate
the ‘written forms of history is by relying on the experiential
knowledge of a people who have been denied access to the basic need
of drinking water, access into society, access into temples and access
into the portals of learning. W hen such a people cultivate their own
art forms, of music, theatre and dance, the same have been dubbed
coarse, crude and uncultured. These art forms help them preserve
their own accumulated knowledge. Denial of these forms therefore
amounts to denial of their knowledge Intergenerariona]
memory is an important medium they use for the preservation of
their knowledge. Hence, the novel thrives on narrativising memories
 of generations of Dalits to authenticate the experience1of their
suffering over centuries. nis >
Do the sufferings of the Dalits over centuries, their everyday, fight
for survival, their struggle against caste oppression and the final iwaf
through armed struggle for equality comprise enough matter foran
epic? Kalyana Rao seems to say yes emphatically. The result
If Arthur Miller subverted the mean ing of tragedy in his
and insisted that the failure of an ordinary man is
fit enough material for tragedy, Kalyana Rao does this with reference
to the epic. Using eighteen chapters for his text, which cannot but
remind us of the eighteen of the he is obviously
re-envisaging the heroic. How can we miss the resemblance of the
names of the likes of Subhadra and Sasirekha in
Who is to decide what is graindiose? Who is to decide whether only
the travel of the Pandavas in the is an epic journey?
Who can say that their request for a minimal five villages alone is
honourable? Who can say that the Kurukshetra war alone is a just
war? W hy is war justified in one context and not in another? These
and many such questions can be asked to show how Kalyana Rao
succeeds in writing a ‘Dalit epic’.
In spite of its heavy autobiographical content, Kalyana Rao still
terms it a novel. W hy isn’t it termed an autobiography? The obvious
explanation would be that such texts deal with the lives of more
than a single individual self. The term for autobiography in TeJegu
and some other Indian languages is literally a ‘self-story’.
Whether in Telugu or in the culture of their origin, these have been
self-driven ( ) stories. The ‘self-stories’ of the marginalised
on the other hand are community-based. The more plausible
explanation with reference to would be that it
posits a possible solution to the problem of the Dalit community
through their joining the armed struggle. This solution seems to have
so far eluded them. Calling it an autobiography may have forced the
writer to have represented this fact as well as made him focus on the
problems of caste dominance within revolutionary movements.
It is in this context that we can think of a text like Narendra Jadhav’s

(2003) which brings together the voices of the father and

 the mother by editing the father’s notes and recording the mother’s
stories, the writer’s own voice and then the voice of his daughter.
It is also the voice of the community, and the text cannot be read
without an understanding of the socio-political scenario of India
and the role of Ambedkar in the lives of the Dalits. If Kalyana Rao
places importance on Christianity, the impact of Buddhism cannot
be missed in Jadhav’s works. Jadhav’s too is a story of generations—
of the Jadhav family, of the community, of urbanisation and of
education. We have just touched on one other text to show how a
term like autobiography’ is not sufficient to understand this complex
web of life-stories.
Early Dalit writers, especially Marathi Dalit writers, were
influenced by movements like the Black Panther movement and
writings of African Americans. Maybe it is pertinent here to see how
the word ‘autobiography’ operates in the African American context.
When African Americans started writing slave narratives, the slaves,
writing under the aegis of abolitionists, had to use available forms
like the autobiography but had to subvert them to retain their self-
dignity and power. Take for instance, the acclaimed narrative by
Frederick Douglass written in 1845- It was titled
It
that happening Douglass
asserts his power to transcribe his life, to sift through his memories to
decide what he wants to describe what happens to him, while
yet talking about the abhorrent system of slavery which dehumanises
the man. So how do we judge this text? As autobiography? As
autobiography of the community? As a subversion of the genre of
autobiography? As a history of the American South during slavery?
Or take another example, W. E. B. Dubois’s
(1940). What Dubois
is attempting here seems to be almost impossible— to concretise a
‘concept’. Writing after the War of Emancipation, a period that was
to be the ‘dawn’ for the African Americans, he weaves a part of his
life into the narrative while bringing out ways in which race operates
in the American context. So what is the text, autobiography, of the
‘self’ or of the ‘community’, biography, history, a tract on the study
of race or something more? What happens when a writer decides to
 ‘fictionalise’ a self-narrative as a strategy to conceal Uansit
reveal it in many ways as in Harriet Jacobs’s
publishediin die naametif;
Brent), and to use the existing genre of the sentimentalno.*rel«;(
especially by many women), yet subverting it? :
This brings to mind the widely talked about work by Bama, a
Tamil Dalit woman writer— (1992). While Bama recreates
her own life with sensitivity, she also lays bare the caste hierarchy
prevalent in the village. Though she critiques the Catholic Church
from within, she is conscious of the gains made by Dalits through
education, a boon of modernity and Christianity. Hers is once again
a work that fails to fit into either —novel or autobiography.
Though one may feel that Bama is more concerned with caste
than gender, she subtly draws out the gender concerns within the
community while at the same time applauding the ability of women
like her grandmother to outwit the hegemony of those in power.
That she transcribes her own life is testimony to her determination
and strength.
It is through the voice of Ruth that Kalyana Rao depicts the saga
of generations. In too there may be women like
Boodevi who fill Yellanna with the desire to knit songs by narrating
stories and exposing him to the theatre. Maybe it is she who is vitriolic
in her anger towards those who beat Yellanna and chase him away.
Subhadra may take the courageous step of diverting the water so that
it reaches the fields of the Dalits. It may be Ruby who decides to join
her husband in his armed struggle. There may be many other such
women characters. But does this make a story
about women by a woman (albeit as the main narrator)? Certainly
not. It is here that we can see diverging from
Bama’s The generations that Ruth is so fascinated to talk
about are of a male lineage. The text is Ruth’s memory of Reuben’s
memory. It is his father Sivaiah/Simon’s story. It is his grandfather
Yellanna’s, story. It is his son Immanuel’s story. It is his grandson
Jessie’s story. Yes, women do come into the picture. But they do so
as daughters-in-law. Their husbands’ families become their own. We
feel that this is true though it does not take away from the fact that
282

these women portray strength. That Kalyana Rao has moved many
steps forward in depicting women needs to be appreciated.
Telugu has had a rich tradition of translation, in that many
significant texts have been brought into Telugu from Indian and
foreign languages. Bur relatively fewer texts have gone from Telugu
to other languages. There is obviously an imbalance here. We have
been very conscious of this unequal power relationship and our
endeavour has been to contribute our little bit in setting this right.
Let us take this text, as an example. Alex Haley’s
has been translated into Telugu. So in an attempt to valorise
the Telugu text, critics, both and Dalit, have compared the
search for roots, the family saga, the plight of the Dalits to But
it would be unfair to both Kalyana Rao and to
to consider this text significant because of its obvious parallels to
Its complexity, its context, its uniqueness, its special flavour
and its very own rhythmic quality, to name just a few face:s, will all
be missed out. How are we to understand Kalyana Rao’s re-writing
of myths, especially of the myth surrounding the origin of uhe Malas
and Madigas, his bringing to the fore the rhythmic quality of the
Urumula dance of the Malas, the sonority of Yellanna’s songs, the
impact of urbanisation, of modernity in the form of Christianity
and education, of the specific socio-political context/s in the text,
and of Kalyana Rao’s own political and cultural affiliations, if we
were merely to read the text through a comparison with The
Telugu text had to reach a wider audience. Therefore, our decision to
into English.
was first serialised in 1999 in the Virasam run
journal, and published as a book in Telugu in 2000. The
Tamil translation, published by South Vision
came out in August 2004. Another edition known as People’s edition
was published soon thereafter in October 2004. This was reprinted
in January 2009. A book containing all the reviews on the Tamil
translation appeared in February 2005. The book is being serialised
in in Kannada under the title Asprusya Vasantam’. The
translation into Hindi as ‘A chuta Vasant’ is to be published soon. We
gather that it is being translated into Marathi and Bengali too. We
give this information to indicate the impact of such a work.
 283

We are told it is fashionable to be interested in translation. We

are also told that when we translate Dalit texts, we do so because
it is politically correct to do so. But then we are also attacked for
attempting to translate a Dalit text as we are told that our own
identity and location as can never really allow us to enter
the text and negotiate it ‘authentically’. What then are we to do?
Not attempt any translation, no matter that we find a text powerful
enough that should be read by ail? Kalyana Rao’s
put us in such a dilemma. We decided to be brave and with the
encouragement of the author, the publishers, friends and others like
us who wanted to take such texts to the English-reading public, we
ventured to translate. We were conscious of who we were, where we
were placed; we were also conscious that the text grew out of the
author’s involvement with his community and with the Naxalite
movement; we did not even for a moment forget the kind of language
that the Telugu text contained— with its mixture of the ‘standard’,
the dialect and the rich texture of an oral text; nor did we forget
that we did not have within our reach many dialects in English that
we could manage and even if we could we knew the artificiality of
using them. We did not want to lose out on the natural, inherently
rhythmical nature of the narrative, that is, we wanted to approximate
the orality provided in a ‘memory’ text.
Kalyana Rao himself has felt it necessary to provide footnotes
to contextuaiise, to explain and to critique That
too for a Telugu audience. While retaining these, we also felt non-
Telugu readers may need a little more help. We added some notes,
always conscious of the need for added information, and of the notes
affecting readability and o f pre-empting the readers from forming
their own opinions. It is for the readers to judge our efforts.
So here it goes—our ‘introspection of the text is open to your
‘speculations!
Note: All the translations of the critical texts used are our own.

Alladi Uma and M. Sridhar

Hyderabad, April 2009
Glossary

1. ana An old coin, equal to one-sixteenth of a rupee

2. beda Two anas make a beda
3. D am m iddee One-twelfth of an ana; term also used for
anything/anyone that can be dispensed with
4. ja m u A period of three hours
We cannot but begin by thanking Kalyana Rao for having trust in
our ability to translate a text which is not only complex but also very
specific to a culture of which we are not a part. He has patiently
sat with us and helped us with parts which were culturally loaded.
Thank you, Kalyana Raogaru for allowing us to take such an
important text to an English audience. M any people have helped
us in this project but we must specially thank our friend Suneetha
who read the first draft very keenly and offered very insightful
suggestions. There were biblical passages and allusions in Telugu
and but for the help of Reverends Prabhu Prasad and B. Vijaya
Ratnam, pastors, we could not have found the English equivalents.
Ramabrahmamgaru as usual helped us with some difficult terms
and concepts. We benefited from our conversations on the text with
Swathy Margaret and Muralikrishna. Our friend Nagarajangaru with
his usual enthusiasm was there to help us get the manuscript ready.
Finally, we thank Orient Blackswan for offering to publish our
translation. We thank Sivapriya who was with Orient Blackswan
when she initiated this project, Hemlata Shankar and Suranjan Roy
who understood the problems of translating such a text and offered
valuable suggestions.