Read Tell A Thousand Lies Online
Authors: Rasana Atreya
I shook my head, wishing there were some way I could do this without hurting her. She’d been a good friend. But, having been forced to listen to the worries of my devotees, problems that were best left private, I’d lost my appetite for gossip.
With a dispirited sigh, she trudged back to the apartment she shared with her in-laws. I felt terrible because I knew she had nowhere else to go. But my need to be alone was too great.
But I did look forward to Srikar’s return home. After dinner we went for long walks, making plans for our future, and our baby. I felt immense pleasure that I’d reverted to being a nobody. I could talk at will, or not. I could go for walks with my husband, and no one cared. It was wonderful.
“We should talk about my grandfather, you know,” Srikar said. “And leaving Hyderabad.”
“Please,” I begged. “Can’t we talk about something pleasant?”
“
Pulla
, wishing him away isn’t going to make him disappear. He’ll still search you out the next time elections roll around. Perhaps, sooner.”
“That’s five years away.” I forbade myself to think about Kondal Rao. My baby didn’t need the stress. Most of my day was spent in daydreams about my baby, about our life together as a family. There was a part of me that warned against getting too complaisant, but I determinedly shoved it away. I’d had as much unpleasantness as I could take in a lifetime. Perhaps I was being foolish, but all I wanted to do was savour life with my husband in a familiar environment. I didn’t want to deal with the newness of a different flat, different area, different people.
One evening, I had just finished cleaning the kitchen when there was a knock on the door. I sighed, hoping it wasn’t Geeta again.
Sandhya
, at least, could take no for an answer. How could I explain to Geeta, without causing her hurt, that after my fishbowl existence in the village I savoured every moment I had to myself? Deciding to ignore the door, I wrung out the cleaning cloth, and set it to dry. Hopefully she would get tired and go away.
The doorbell rang, and the knocking resumed.
Defeated, I opened the door. It was Geeta, as expected.
“You think you’ve become too good for us?”
“No! It’s just that –”
“It’s what?” she snapped.
How could I explain? What could I say?
She gave me a vicious look and left. Closing the door, I unrolled a mat and curled up on the floor, terribly saddened by the way our friendship had ended. I wished Srikar would come back soon, but I was learning that in the construction business, working hours could be unpredictable. When they had ‘pouring out the slab’ scheduled, they couldn’t afford to halt work until the next day. Work had to finish before the concrete set. I fell into an uneasy sleep.
I opened my eyes at a gentle knock. It was pitch dark outside. I must have slept for hours. Combing my hair with my fingers, I opened the door for Srikar.
My eyes fell on a thick, stubby neck. Blood drained out of me.
“Pack your bags,” Kondal Rao said.
For a wild moment, I thought I would run away. Or, seek Geeta’s help. But Kondal Rao filled the doorway.
Numbly I threw a few clothes into a bag, and grabbed a piece of paper, staring at it blindly, wishing I could convey my panic at this turn of events, my deep love for Srikar. Finally, I scribbled, ‘Your grandfather is taking me away. Your devoted wife, Pullamma,’ and left it on Srikar’s pillow. Next to it I left the jewellery Srikar’s grandmother had given me.
I unhooked my mirrored globe – the one Srikar had bought for me in
Laad
Bazaar – from the peg on the wall.
Picking up my bag in one hand, the mirrored globe in the other, I followed Kondal Rao out into the dimly lit corridor, out of Srikar’s life.
Kondal Rao stumbled against someone.
“Geeta!” I exclaimed. My heart picked up speed. Maybe she could summon help, maybe –
Kondal Rao grabbed Geeta by the neck and slammed her against the wall. He pushed harder and harder, till her head flopped like a rag doll’s. Then he stopped. “If you know what’s good for you,” he rasped, “you haven’t seen Pullamma or me. Do you understand?” He released her.
Whimpering, Geeta cowered against the wall, her breaths loud in the silence of the night.
Placing his hands on either side of her, Kondal Rao leaned towards her till his forehead was almost touching hers. “Don’t forget, Gee…
taa
,” he said, stringing her name out. “The wise stay away from the two ‘Ps’ – police and politicians. Can you remember that?”
Geeta breathed jerkily, bobbing her head in desperate agreement.
Straightening up, Kondal Rao clamped his fingers on my arm. “Let’s go.”
I followed Kondal Rao, terrified. If only I had listened to Srikar, if only I had agree to move. I looked in the direction of my little house one last time. I had been so happy here. In my heart I knew I would not be back.
Grandfather
Taketh
T
wo jeeps waited next to the gate. The two open-topped vehicles overflowed with thickly moustached henchmen, long slashes of vermilion on their foreheads, thick bamboo sticks in their hands. Kondal Rao sat in the front passenger seat of one jeep, hanging on to the ceiling strap, watching the entrance to our building.
I took one last look hoping someone else would show up, but the place was deserted. One of Kondal Rao’s goons escorted me to his jeep. The moment I got in, the jeeps were off like thieving rats.
I shut down mentally. We travelled for what seemed like hours, finally stopping at a roadside snack stall. Someone asked me if I wanted coffee. Too weary to decline, I nodded. I reached for the coffee, and promptly threw up.
Srikar’s grandfather bit out an oath.
I got down and trudged to the bathroom. A string of curses followed me. When I climbed back into the jeep, it had been restored to its pristine condition. We left without eating. A long time later our convoy drove up to a rusted gate. A signboard flapped in the wind, the angle of it obscuring the writing. The driver of the lead jeep leaned on the horn.
A
paan
chewing security guard ambled over. On seeing its occupant, he spewed out the contents of his mouth, shot to attention and snapped a smart salute. Then he hustled to open the gate.
“This is an institution for wayward girls,” Srikar’s grandfather said over his shoulder.
Three aging buildings that might have once been yellow loomed over a decrepit mermaid-shaped fountain. I moved my eyes over the menacing shards of broken glass embedded in the walls running the perimeter of the campus. If that wasn’t deterrence enough, the top of the walls were embellished with barbed wire. Convicts in high security prisons had it easier, if
Chiranjeevi’s
movies were anything to go by.
“They keep a tight eye on their girls,” he continued, “but it is possible you will manage to escape. If you do, your baby won’t live to see its first birthday.” He turned and said in a conversational tone, “And if you have some foolish notion that I’ll care because the baby was sired by my grandson, you have some growing up to do.”
I remained in the jeep while Kondal Rao went inside.
He came back ten minutes later. Reaching into the jeep, he clamped a sweaty hand on my wrist. “You little fool,” he snarled, nostrils flaring. “How many people get a shot at being a Goddess,
hanh
? How many? When I think of the power you could have had…” He shook his head in disbelief. “And you gave that up for a romp in my grandson’s bed?”
I stared ahead.
“Some blubbering idiot told me that he’d seen my Goddess filling water at some municipal tap in Hyderabad. That, too, pregnant. Do you even understand the fix you put me in?”
I didn’t respond.
“What are you waiting for?” he snapped.
Taking my suitcase, I got down from the jeep. I reached for my mirrored globe, but Kondal Rao was quicker.
He grabbed it and held it out of my reach, gauging my reaction.
I looked at him, face expressionless.
Either I was unsuccessful in my efforts, or Kondal Rao was more perceptive than I gave him credit for, because he casually let go. The globe shattered into a dozen little bits, its tiny mirrors glinting forlornly in the mud.
“
Tch
,
tch
!” he said. He climbed into the jeep, wiggling till he was comfortable. A lop-sided smile hovered on his lips.
I walked around the jagged pieces, head held high. Inside, my heart was as shattered as my globe.
A woman emerged from one of the buildings. She was dressed in a white cotton sari with green border.
Kondal Rao spoke sharply to the driver. Tires screeched. The jeeps roared out of the gate.
The woman rapped my arm and started to walk towards the building in the centre. “Your grandfather told us about your situation. How you girls, with so many privileges in life, can get into such a situation, I don’t understand. Took away his honour, didn’t you, with your shameful behaviour?”
I could have set the woman straight, but what was the point? Wordlessly I followed her into the building. Inside sat an overweight woman with a look on her hairy face that suggested she and acidity were close companions. Her upper arms were trying hard to escape the confines of her blouse. Her belly had it easier – it just flopped out from the open sides of her sari. She checked me out, moving her head up and down, then gave a long suffering sigh. “Sit,” she ordered.
I sat.
“I am the Warden. You will call me
Manga
madam. Our Home is for girls like you who have lost control of their morals. You will receive no phone calls, nor make any. You will not be allowed any outside contact till your baby is born. Only after your baby is given away for adoption into a God-fearing home will you be allowed to leave. Do you understand?”
I looked on expressionlessly.
“That’s the way it’s going to be,
hanh
? Have it your way, then.” She hefted her considerable bulk out of the chair. As she waddled out, the chair settled back with a sigh.
Something was tossed in my lap. I looked at the drab sari, white, home-spun
khadi
with a blue border – the sort one saw in those old documentaries about Mahatma Gandhi exhorting the nation to freedom. Except there, the women were wearing the clothes to make a point.
Maybe I was, too.
The
ayah
led me to the building on the right, past the doorway to the dining hall. We walked up the stairs to a long dormitory with beds lined against both walls, a narrow walkway in between. All were occupied but one. The
ayah
threw my bag on it. “This will be yours,” she said past the betel leaf in her mouth. She stomped out.
I sat on the bed.
Nine pairs of eyes turned in my direction.
A girl, tall and thin, with long braids on either sides of her shoulders, and large gold hoops in her ears, came forward. “One fumble under the sheets wasn’t worth this dump, was it?”
I sank onto the bed, trying not to look at the stained mattress.
“Welcome to Fumble House.” The girl with hoops seemed disappointed that I didn’t respond to her provocation.
“Don’t mind
Nandu
,” another girl said. She had a gentle mound where her belly was. She settled next to me and took my hand. “She likes to act very worldly, but is actually nice once you get to know her. My name is Geeta. What is yours?” Her name caused a sharp jab in my chest.
Don’t think about Geeta. Don’t think about Srikar. Don’t think. Not now. Not until dark.
“Pullamma,” I whispered.
Geeta gave me a gentle hug. “You need anything, you come to me. You hear?”
I nodded gratefully. “I am so tired. I just want to sleep.”
“Have you had anything to eat?”
“Can’t.”
“I have some Monaco biscuits. The salt helps me.”
Too drained to refuse, I forced one into my mouth. Then I slept.