Tell A Thousand Lies (19 page)

Ammamma took a long draw from the glass of water Srikar handed her. Wiping her lips with the edge of her sari, she said, “Kondal Rao has sent me to escort you back. He says if you come back voluntarily, there will be no declaration of
Graam
Devata
. He is still claiming that you can disappear after endorsing him in the elections.”

“Till the next time,” Srikar said.

“
Yedukondalavada
!” Ammamma raised joined palms of her hands above the head in supplication to the Lord of the Seven Hills.

“But,” I said, “if we don’t do what he says, and he declares me the Resident Goddess, all our lives will always be in danger.” I closed my eyes. The drumbeats from the shoulder drums of the barefoot searchers reached a crescendo inside my head.

“What about Lata?” Srikar asked.

“They’re holding her hostage to make sure I return with Pullamma.”

Such things didn’t happen to dark, insignificant girls like me, I thought a little desperately. I watched Srikar’s mirrored globe. Back and forth, back and forth it swayed gently in the breeze, scattering its tiny mirrored reflections across the room.

“Your only option is to run away.”

“Run away, where?” Srikar asked.

“Burma, Russia, London – somewhere they would never think of looking.”

My chest hurt at the thought of living in some strange land, of never seeing Ammamma again.

“How can we leave you behind to deal with my grandfather?”

“Pullamma,” Ammamma begged. “Make your husband listen.”

“I agree with your son-in-law,” I said.

She looked at me, love in her eyes. “Listen to me, Child. I am an old woman. My life is almost over. Yours is just beginning. I do not know what good deeds I did in my last birth, but it must have been something, to be blessed with such a wonderful son-in-law.”

Srikar flushed.

“Your place is with your husband.” Her voice quavered. “Make a good home for yourselves, away from this madness. I will think of you every day for the rest of my life.”

“Which won’t be too long,” Srikar said grimly, “when my esteemed grandfather’s goons get their hands on you.”

“Why hasn’t he done anything to me then,
hanh
?” Ammamma asked. “If he had anything in mind, don’t you think he would have done it already? Don’t forget, your grandmother is a dear friend.”

“Ammamma,” Srikar said. His voice was soft. ”He’d sell his own wife if there was anything to be gained from it. You’ll never be safe as long as you have something he wants.”

“Which is his Goddess,” I said dully.

“Lata and I will have to suffer whatever fate has written for us. You two go somewhere far, far away,” Ammamma implored. “Never come back.”

I shivered to think of Ammamma’s fate if Srikar and I disappeared.

“There has to be another way,” Srikar said, rubbing a hand across his eyes.

 
Ammamma put her head in her hands. “To think that a granddaughter of mine… Something like this, before marriage...” She choked up. “I thought it was youthful ranting. I thought once she got married and had a couple of children, it would all go away. After all, which village girl do we know who has studied so much,
hanh
?” She looked sorrowful. “Or, I could come with you. And bring Lata along, though I am deeply disappointed in that girl.”

This was empty talk, and we knew it. There was no way for Ammamma and Lata to get away.

I knew all along what needed to be done. I’d just been putting off the inevitable.

Chapter 25

Return of the Goddess

“I
am going to phone your grandfather to confirm our agreement,” I said.

“Why bother?” Srikar asked.

He looked beaten, I thought with a pang.

“I think she should,” Ammamma said. “If he has any spark of humanity at all...”

Poor, dear, loving, honourable Srikar. In an effort to protect me, he’d as good as severed his ties with his grandmother, the loving lady who’d raised him. Now he might have to sever ties with me, too.

Heart pounding, I huddled in the corner of the
paan
shop-cum-phone booth, and made the call to Kondal Rao. “This is Pullamma. I will be coming back to the village with my grandmother.”

“Of course.”

“I will be free to leave after you win the elections?”

“
Bah!
Didn’t I already say that?”

“What about Lata’s wedding?” Ammamma clutched my arm. “Ask him that.”

Kondal Rao said in the phone, “Tell your grandmother, I will arrange the wedding at my own expense.”

“Thank you, thank you,” I said, feeling gratitude towards him.

“But you will have to bless the wedding as Goddess.” The phone was disconnected.

I hung up the phone in shock. I had hoped to be back with Srikar right after the elections.

“He changed the plan, didn’t he?” Srikar said.

“He wants me to bless Lata’s wedding. He won’t let me get away after the elections.”

Ammamma looked at me in disbelief. “He’s going back on his word?”

Srikar’s smile was cynical.

After the call was made, Srikar didn’t say much. What was there to say?

Kondal Rao had made arrangements for money to be made available so I could shop for the ‘right’ look. He wanted me decked up in expensive silk saris, but Ammamma put her foot down, insisting on starched cottons; silks were too hard to manage in the village heat. She bought me
Mangalagiri
saris with big borders to emphasize my natural height, a few
Gadwals
thrown in for variety. I stuck to leaving my hair braided loosely, but now I had a big, red
kumkum
bottu
on my forehead. Seemed the Goddess-y thing to do.

Dangling gold earrings, lot of green and red glass bangles interspersed with gold ones. I was being given fancy, expensive adornments; in reality, the only thing I desired was my husband.

On my last day as an ordinary married woman in our flat in Hyderabad I practiced my stoic expression. “You can’t show your true feelings,” Ammamma cautioned. So I brought out a mirror and practiced till she decreed I had my impassive expression right.

Then it was time to leave. Srikar had stacked the luggage by the front gate. Ammamma cleared her throat. “I, uh, will be downstairs with the luggage.”

Srikar touched her feet. She kissed him on the forehead and took leave.

I looked at my husband across the room, my throat tight with unshed tears. He leaned against the wall, arms folded. “Aren’t you going to say goodbye to me?” I whispered.

He came to me then. He caught me in an enveloping hug. I could feel his shoulders shake. I held him tight, committing to memory his unique scent –
Liril
soap, Ponds Talcum powder, the strength of his arms.

He moved me to an arm’s distance, his eyes red. “Take care of yourself.” His voice was scratchy.

“I have Ammamma.” I looked at his face, memorizing his features. “I will be fine. It is you I am worried about.”

He blinked back tears.

I cupped his dear face. “I will come back to you, if it is the last thing I do.”

 
I did not cry.

><

I entered the packed courtyard of my grandmother’s house in the village, heart beating so hard I feared it would tumble out of my chest. Since I was supposed to have returned from my meditation retreat in the Himalayas, I couldn’t possibly show up, husband in tow. My husband and I were in the ignominious position of being married, but unable to publicly acknowledge our relationship.

As I surveyed the surging crowds, face impassive despite a pounding heart, I thought with some bitterness that my best performance wasn’t being recognized. In school play re-enactments of the
Ramayana
and the
Mahabharata
, I’d been relegated to playing a tree, or a foot soldier at best, because I was deemed lacking in acting skills.

Now, I’d be acting to save my life.

Ammamma had packed Lata off to Malli’s house, wanting to keep things as uncomplicated as possible. She told me later that Lata was very angry to be missing out on the goings-on.

Kondal Rao hurried forward, head bowed in reverence. “
Ammavaru
.”

I flinched, then realized my mistake. I’d have to get used to being called Goddess.

I watched as my husband’s grandfather struggled to bend his corpulent body in the general direction of my feet; I prayed to God, begging him not to strike me down for this huge transgression. Not only was I being prayed to, but it was by an elder, and not just any elder – the grandfather of my husband. The spherical little politician, panting and struggling to catch his breath, was assisted up by a henchman on either side. He hurried me to a corner where a silk cloth was draped over something. He pulled the cloth with a flourish, and looked at me expectantly.

For a moment, I froze. What would a Goddess’s response be to such a lavish gift? A silver throne, no less. I frantically went over my options – a pleased expression, delighted, bored, blank, what? Finally, I settled on a serene countenance and gave a gentle nod.

That seemed to be the appropriate response because the congregation beamed.

Kondal Rao bent over at the waist – such as his girth would allow – and bade me to accept his gift. My little payment for a job well done. I’d appeared to oracle Ranga
Nayakamma
in a vision three days ago, warning of a five year drought if Kondal Rao’s opponent were elected.

Two days later, Kondal Rao swept the elections.

I settled myself on the ornate silver throne in which were inlaid precious stones. The sides and the seat of the throne were cushioned a deep red of the softest velvet. If I hadn’t been so miserable being away from Srikar, I might have felt a thrill of ownership. The only chairs I had ever sat on were rickety metal chairs with curling edges in which clothes sometimes caught and tore. And in our flat in Hyderabad, not even those.

Ammamma was also settled in an armchair, though not as fancy as mine, but more comfortable from what I could tell. The privilege of that less fancy chair was that she was free to come and go.

Ten days till Lata’s wedding. Ten days before I could be back with Srikar.

I felt the beginnings of a headache. Nausea followed. I prayed I wouldn’t embarrass myself by throwing up in front of a couple hundred people. People were praying to me, while my prayers went to a higher God – the irony of it didn’t escape me.

 
“
Ammavaru
, I got your blessings,” Kondal Rao said with a sniff, “and the very next day I won the election as an MLA. I waited patiently in the sidelines for seventeen years.” He looked at me indignantly. “Seventeen years to become an MLA again!
Ammavaru
, you tested me for such a long time,” he said, voice choking. He flicked an angry tear. “Now, with your blessings, I shall be confirmed as a Minister.”

I marvelled at the acting abilities of this man; if there was something I could learn from him, it would be this.

“Anyhow,” he said briskly, “past is past. You have showered your divine blessings on me. I am your number one devotee for life. The throne is only the first of my offerings.”

Oh no!

Even as I was struggling to hide my dismay, a
pancha
clad priest – the thread of his sacred
jandhyam
angled across his bare chest, three streaks of grey ash applied across his forehead – hurried forward. The tall, skinny priest with a short face, long nose, and a semi-circle of white tufts on his bald head, bent at the waist, and sought my blessings.

I steeled myself not to react – that first flinch, when Kondal Rao touched my feet, had been a grave error. It was so hard to allow older people to do so – it just wasn’t right. The priest had to be fifty, at the very least.