Sundara Kaanda: The Unsung Leaps of a Common Man

By Ikshvaku

In Sundara Kaanda of the Ramayana, Hanuman takes the most perilous leap across cryptic waters... And Baabi is no less; always leaping over unmapped troubles.

In a little village called Vakkalanka in Andhra Pradesh, where he spends his childhood, Baabi comes upon various adventures. But who would have thought losing merely 15 rupees would turn his life around? His financial conflicts toss him into a life of savage waters at the mere age of thirteen. Abandoning his pleasant life back home and his first true love, he travels to Hyderabad to make a living at a time when most kids don't have to brood about anything in their carefree lives.

As he advances into becoming a youth of unyielding character, fate is never easy on him. His character, tarnished by scheming minds and friends, is driven to go far away. His stint as a drama artist earns him a great name in Bombay, yet, he remains a star-crossed man always overcome with problems. His daredevil exploits of the most direful kind test the very core of his resilience, like the ocean tests Hanuman.

And so he leaps... through the most devilish of paths with withered slippers, leaving a trail of his manful blood along his journey of grave peril.

• Language: English
• Publisher: One Point Six Technologies Pvt Ltd
• Release date: Feb 20, 2023
• ISBN: 9789356670396

Ikshvaku

Known by the moniker "Wordsmith" by many of his associates, Ikshvaku (Adithya Dokka) is a 20-year-old undergraduate student from Loyola Academy, Hyderabad. Also known to be a poet, the well-founded tincture of which is reflected throughout the book, he had written his inceptive work as an able author inspired by the life of his grandfather, which is de facto, "Sundara Kaanda." Notwithstanding the patent fact that the story revolves around the anecdotes of a singular man, one cannot sweep it under the dogma of biographies insofar as it merely caters to a specific audience. The book is a product deemed fit for all. Swayed by the essence of the Indian epics, the Ramayana and the Mahabharata, his analogical intimations build a whole new stronghold for the core of the narrative to nestle on. Countervailing the novel effect of his self-structured jargon is the emotional crux, native to all. An ambitious kid, irrefutably, who has a long way to go!

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Part 1

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Chapter 1

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Long Ways

Vakklanka was a beautiful place to live in. It always provided me with a cacoethes for adventure. It had all the frolicsome things that one would search for in a village. I was a six-year-old kid who went gallivanting around the place, in pursuit of youthly flippancy with a close friend named Apparao. Apparao and I went to the elementary school together, which never really had a name as people did not bother to give it one. It was just The elementary school. Perisetti master who was one of the staff members brought a dozen table books for us, the rapscallions. He walked into the class in the manner of a typical strict mathematics teacher and made an announcement.

Those who wish to have in their possession their table book have to buy it with a half ana.

Ana was one-sixteenth of a single rupee. Some students who were lucky enough to have half an ana in their golden pockets bought the books but some others remained silent, seated immobile in their seats as they were confident that their pockets were desolate and that they will never have any money in them. I checked my pockets, and all I could find was a kani, one-fourth of an ana. I looked around the class as my instincts told me that I would have company. They were right. Apparao also had a Kani in his pocket. His pally smile toward me built a bridge of understanding, and we moved closer to discuss the brass tacks of our forthcoming manoeuvre.

Are you thinking what I am thinking? asked I pleasurably exulted.

Yes, I believe. But I don’t think you are in a state of imagining yourself to be the simpleton by lending me your Kani, said Apparao as though he was sure that I would be favourable to me.

Look, I said reassuringly.

Both of us possess half of what it takes to purchase that book. I could lend you my Kani. But, do you think that the status quo of your house is going to remain the same after your parents acquire the knowledge about you spending your money? If yes, then I shall be the happiest to give away what I have. Apparao sighed.

Well, if I buy it my father’s going to be angry with me for spending it so quickly. I can’t buy it. I was lambent like a star.

So…….? I asked gawping at Apparao’s curious face.

I’ll lend you my Kani, said Apparao, handing over the money to me. I went to Perisetti master and bought a table book.

Morning school session had come to an end. We had a system in which the school had to be attended twice a day. First, in the morning, which was known as the Morning School and after lunch, which was the Afternoon school. Everyone had gone home for their lunch, and I plighted to bring Apparao’s Kani back in the afternoon. But I had to rush back to school, as a stargazer and a swashbuckler like me, would always live in a realm of dreams and far away from the platitudinous themes of civilization. I was late and forgot about Apparao’s money. Apparao was terrified of his father. His face had already turned sweaty with fear and disgruntled with my irresponsibility. It was only a matter of one time, but in the usual course of life, I was a kid who always bore the responsibility for my actions.

Come to my house with me, I suggested looking at Apparao’s frightened face.

My Amma will give you your Kani as soon as we go home. Don’t worry Apparao. I placed my hand on his shoulder to fill his hollow heart with a delectable recipe of confidence. Apparao was happy with the decision and agreed to come with me to my house. We walked back happily after school, to my sweet home. But things can take a completely unforeseen swerve sometimes where you are stuck in a predicament that cannot be ironed out with the power you have. To our surprise, my mother was not at home. I told Apparao to wait for a while, and he did. I made the semblance of the matter seem very casual, but in truth, I did not know when she would return. There was no sign of my mother for quite a long time. Water in the eyes of Apparao started weakening his sight, and his eyes only had turned clear when the first drop leapt off the cliff of his left eye. Apparao started weeping like a little kid who was famished. He needed a Kani to stall the flow of his antsy tears. It seemed very puerile to me. But, after all, he was a little kid anyway. I tried to calm him, but all my attempts were in vain. After a fair fifteen minutes of thorough sobbing, his eyes spotted my mother, who was returning through the gate. He was overwhelmed with joy, but his face was yet watery.

Why are you crying, Apparao? What’s the matter child? asked my mother placing her hand on the crying kid’s cheek. Apparao explained the situation with some hampering because of his overexcited anthropomorphic vocal cord. She smiled and gave Apparao the Kani while I turned to a state of relief and smiled at him. Apparao left, and I was relieved. I sat on the front door’s stairs gossiping with my sisters becoming entirely impervious to any forethought of what might befall and suddenly, I was cast out of my wits with a whacking blow which was taken by my back with a stiff stick of solid wood. I was hit by my mother with anger sheathing her face at full gallop. She did not stop and made me dance in all the ways she could until finally, she gave me a chance to ask her my impolitic doubts.

Why Amma? asked I rubbing my inapproachable back with my determined hands.

You are in no state of echelon in this house to take any loans from people Mr Sastry! yelled my mother.

At least, not at this age! she said and went inside leaving me in pain which couldn’t be reached by my short hands. My sisters were giggling rhapsodically to themselves, looking at my distressful condition. I was not a callow and new kid to such incidents of misfortune to my dear back. I was on beaucoup adventures such as these, and some brought along great good for me. I had found a small book named Krishna Leelalu in my fourth grade whilst I was on some mission to make my mother more eligible to hit me. The book was about Lord Krishna’s story. It was in a dialogue format. After flipping through the pages of that book, I somehow could suddenly envisage the idea of acting. But no audience would watch me, and there were no co-artists to work with me. I took the book and started sprinting through the avenues of Vakkalanka to make my friends susceptible to my ideas. I explained the play and gave my friends their characters. There was Apparao, Sathyanarayana, Bulli, and Subbi. There was a temple behind my house, which was usually left for its seclusion as it did not attract many visitants. The five of us headed to the temple and commenced practising our roles. The characters were Krishna, Balaram, and Kansa. Two of my companions had no roles, so I made them the evil king’s loyal soldiers. For our audience, we reached out to the little kids who knew nothing about drama. But we needed someone to make the essence of a stage show conducive. We made them assemble in the temple the following day and charged a Kani for the entry ticket. The kids who came did not even have the slightest clue about what was happening. Neither did we. It was 1o’clock in the afternoon, and the temple that customarily had less number of visitors did not have any visitors at all. The kids were waiting for the show to start. I made the necessary arrangements. The props were fabricated, with all the artistic material I encompassed. I used red beads, cardboard, peacock feathers, and colour papers to make the things required. The show was about to begin. Everyone suited themselves, getting befitting to the climate of a drama. The play started. We flaneurs did not have enough time in our hands to learn the dialogues, so we just read them out loud, lumbering along the stage to make the setting salutary. At the end of the play, Krishna (me) sits on Kansa’s (Apparao’s) chest and sings a poem bestowing the evil king his comeuppance. As I began singing with all my gumption, the kids slowly started wanting to go home as they were scared that their parents would scold them for being late.

One solitary kid’s decision of leaving can become an epidemic, with the entire swarm feeling the same. I made them wait, and they obediently did as it was the end of the play and thanked them for their endurance. Coming to the business aspect of what we had done, we had amassed eighteen Kanis in total from the audience, which was quite an accomplishment for six-year-olds. We had transmogrified into selfless beings and were swimming in the holy pool of bliss. We made the kids wait a little longer and ran to purchase some candies for their jejune yet pure love and incoherent admiration for just believing that they had witnessed something great. They were happy with the candies, and we were merry for their patience and enthusiasm. All’s well that ends well.

Time elapsed, and I graduated to middle school with the company of my evergreen pantheon. It was not easy to go to middle school, as we did not have one in our village. We had to walk three miles to another beautiful hamlet named Pulletikuru. The kids of Vakkalanka passed the first form admission test, which was not much of a Gordian knot. It was a test that could make someone skip a class and promote them to the next one. We got promoted to sixth grade, which was known as the first form, while fifth grade was never addressed known by our league. There were about thirty to forty kids who walked by my side to reach school. The congregation of our educational worshipers was environed with a sheen of third and fourth form students too. We had no uniforms in those days.

All we knew about our clothing was a shirt that could fit three people in it and a short which would give way to the gusts and zephyrs of all the mesmerizing winds to flow through and give contentment to the hidden sinews of our body. We even had no footwear, and the reminiscence of the long walk to and fro, which was about three miles, is unforgettable. School started at ten in the morning. So, to not fortuitously give way to a red pen on the register, we had to commence our odyssey by eight in the morning. I convened Apparao, Bulli, Subbi, and Sathya on my way and many other kids joined our incumbent saunter of happiness with no shoes but with a lot of zest. The road was completely uneven and bumpy all along. It was filled with mud throughout. I cannot even call it a road. It was just a path to keep us out of the tumult of pasture and the multitude of insects. It was dry in summer, but the rain was its partner to liquefy and rarefy up to our knees with the marvellous mixture of mud and water.

After the first mile of our journey, we use to stall at Mukkaamala to wash our hands and legs. It was a village on the way. We then moved to our indispensable destination of learning. We had to carry our big bag of books and our lunch boxes with us. We regularly had our luscious yet boring lunch at Subramanya temple just beside our school. After being done, we went to a canal that was behind the temple, rinsed our dishes thoroughly with water, and strolled back to school usually. School finished at four, and we were always exuberated to walk back home.

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Chapter 2

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The Beauties of Vakkalanka

As we had to commence early in the morning, we had no meticulous breakfast to eat. We used to have what was left from the previous night and still get set to walk a long way. Our school was a memorable one for our group. The first period started at ten in the morning, and we were drowsy by the second, as our dinner-breakfast was highly suffused with carbohydrates. We had four periods before lunch, and kids always looked at the clock as they did not want to stay a single superfluous minute in their classrooms. As the clock struck one, all of us used to scuttle out, twirling our lunch boxes until we reached the temple, where we could procure one hour of pure overwhelming fun. We ate, we fought, we played, but at the end of the day, lunchtime was the best time! We returned with the happiness of having enjoyed one hour, but also with the woe of sitting in front of lecturers for three more miserable periods.

Mr Gangaramudu taught us English. He was a strict brawny man. People feared him, but also loved him for his skills in making his apprentices enthralled with whatever he was to teach them. Mr Rajaji was the maths teacher. Mr Sathyanandam was for science. There was a group of backbenchers who had gotten free education as they belonged to the SC-ST group. They always sat at the back, maybe because of a referendum or haply because of their abomination towards other castes that did not treat them equally. Unequivocally, they were impish kids who bequeathed the teachers with the legacy of annoyance. That gang even consisted of students who did not pass the first form final examinations, and because of that some of the backbenchers were older than the ones seated in the front. I was always good at my mother tongue and scored high marks in the subject. I might have been a petite rapscallion with mischief in some areas among my friends, but I encompassed a fecund mind for language and literature. I was a kid with high intellectual skills for innovation and craft. Not that I am bragging, but that is what people used to say. School was a lot of fun, and the walking part turned out to be the same because of the number of people. Howbeit, summers were especially tough as the sun’s intensity made the ground burn, and we had to walk barefoot through our journey. In the annual day ceremony, even though I did not take part in any of the events, I was inspired by a fellow, who was marvellous in acting.

Many teachers played characters in the drama as well, but the kid stood out. It was a drama about a boy named Prahalada. The inspiring kid who played that role remained in my head, for he performed exceptionally and secured a profuse number of plaudits. His name was Chitti Maridi. I was totes impelled by Chitti and wanted to do some great things in the upcoming year. Our gang from Vakkalanka had passed our first form and stepped into our next grade. One day, Sathyanandam Master was taking his science lecture in the same usual fashion, his legs moving without a break, his eyes fixated on the book, and his ears hooked to the voice of the classroom. His new humorous appellative was flying in the air, but he did not bother. I was sitting in the class, engrossed in the lesson. As the class was in progress, Mr Rajaji angrily ambled into my classroom with an intimidating look on his face. The science teacher did not notice him and kept on jangling with his lecture. The kids remained abashed by Mr Sathyanandam’s negligence of a hot-tempered math teacher. When Sathyanandam sir looked up, he was in a moment of epiphany, but his bewilderment did not matter as Mr Rajaji’s ire surpassed it. I was frightened. Mr Rajaji pointed his forefinger at me and jinxed it in his direction as a sign to call me. I was baffled and overcome with thoughts about what brought me into such a sitch. There was a robust wooden stick in Mr Rajaji’s left hand, which seemed like it was ravenous and had to feed on someone’s unexplained pain. I had a hangdog look on my face, and I moved in a winding motion toward my teacher. Mr Sathya and the class did not want to impede the gravity of the fettle by asking questions, so merely observed what was about to happen between the lion and the mouse. As I approached the svelte man, the wooden stick leapt into action. Mr Rajaji started hitting me for a rationale he did not assert. I kept on frisking, and the stick’s vigour kept increasing. For at least a grand five minutes, the students had espied the indomitable livid scene, and then there was a moment of lassitude for both of us as the science teacher had to invade the action. I was too frightened to question the smites but was eagerly awaiting an answer from the exasperated lecturer. Shortly, the keen class, the dumbfounded Mr Sathya, and the student in pain were enlightened, with an answer to the callous riddle.

You! Sastry, were the first two words for the solution.

Do you know what your marks are in the quarterly examination of English? I did not answer as I was aware that that was a rhetorical question. But I couldn’t understand why my Math teacher was concerned with my ignoble English marks. But in fact, every teacher had hopes about my performance in every subject, and that haply invigorated the wrath.

It’s 75! exclaimed the man, which seemed like quite a substantial result to me.

In the first form, you had acquired 97! Look at the drastic difference and the severe downfall. You should be ASHAMED of yourself, you pathetic fool! were the words that started making the class’s giggles louder, for until then, they were below the radar of harkening.

The consequences will be far worse if such a dreadful performance repeats! he said and left the classroom angrily, igniting an impassive look on my countenance. Anyway, I had scored good marks in the half-yearly- examinations and swerved out of harm’s way. In March, before the final exams, there was a huge year-ending ceremony orchestrated by the management of the school. Kids were always excited about it. There were a lot of events. There was essay writing- all languages; there was recitation, debate, drama, and a lot more frabjous stuff for children. It was a grand celebration, and I was the kid who stole the show. I had given my name for all the activities and backed prices in nearly all of the competitions. My best work was my recitation. There were some poems the teachers suggested, and I went to my father with those for some tutoring, for he was an ardent bard. As my father was a whopping bloke in literature and singing, he was happy that I had inherited the legacy. He wanted me to learn the poems to commence with before teaching me how to sing them. I was finally prepared and went to school gambolling like a remarkable ballad-monger. There were about seven to eight competitors, and I got brittle and nervous just a few minutes before my turn. But however edgy I was, I made the show prismatic with my voice of great audacity.

The judge, Mr Kompella Yagneswara Sastry, was highly overwhelmed with the performance and conferred upon me many defining sobriquets. I was awarded first in Telugu- Recitation, second for English essay writing, and first again in Hindi. I backed second for debate as well. I was a kid of honour that day, standing on the stage and being bestowed by cheer and commendations. I was contented, and everybody appreciated me. I brought the house down! Anyway, then flew in the final examinations of the second form. My friends and I passed and were promoted to the third form. Usual studies slouched in a quotidian fashion, and I kept scoring good marks in all of the examinations I had been writing. We were all habituated to the three-mile walk every day by then, and it never again seemed like a saddle to unwillingly bear. Whilst returning from school, there were guava trees on the way, and it was a call of adventure.

I led my impish friends to pluck the fruit. All of us filled our lunch boxes with as many guavas as we could and happily walked past the bare branches. They were scrumptious guavas, and people from any realm would love them. Our bags would get heavier, but it was intentional- amenable carrying. Climbing trees is a common hobby for children who live in rural areas, and acquiring fruit through the manoeuvres of pilfering is part of it.

The quarterly examinations were making their way toward us, and we started preparing to fight them for good. We made a fair win, and then we could loll ourselves, turning reclusive towards those endless intruders of life before they returned once again in November. The auspicious festival of Ganesh Chaturthi made life enjoyable for all the people of India, especially in the south.

It is a ten-day celebration of Lord Ganesha’s birthday, which people find to be highly appealing to their hearts. Kids have the most fun, and devotees are the happiest. In Vakkalanka, every day, people would convene at the mandir (a place where the statue of Ganesha is situated) and sing songs, carry out competitions for little children, and the elder kids would enjoy prancing and playing in those promenades of glee, making the place chirpier than ever. The festival vouchsafes the people with a blissful celebratory vibe for ten days and ten nights. Love is unfurled, and friendships rise from the roots of laxity. Ganesha’s figurine in Vakkalanka was always made by a goldsmith named Bulli Sooranna, who was the man who took up the job to make it with clay. He was also a homoeopathy therapist in the village, and many depended on him to handle their regimens. He was a benevolent cove with a lovely heart filled with compassion. The guru (the man who takes care of the rituals) used to go to Sooranna every year to collect the statue. He put it on his head then and walked so circumspectly, to not maim the figure in any possible fashion. He walked from Sooranna’s house, every year, and placed the sculpture in the mandir to commence the rites, to offer the lord people’s best wishes and the luscious food exclusively concocted for him. Ganesha, an absolute epicure! He can be best manipulated by sweets! The rituals needed different varieties of leaves. My friends and I were always assigned the mission of amassing all the leaves, for the forthcoming ceremony. I used to lead my troop into the woods of our little village, where there were gigantic trees, to start with our collection. We used to start climbing and were very selective about plucking the right, full-grown and undamaged leaves to make their reputation efficient. After our toil in the woods for a while, we made our return and gave them away to the Guru.

Lord Ganesha’s birthday was always a delightful event in our village. For nine days, there was dinner to whoever wished for it, at the mandir. On the tenth day, an afternoon gourmet was served, which usually is the end of the peppy ten-day event. After lunch, at eventide, the little statue of the Lord was carried to the lake and was given a hearty ‘Toodle-pip’ by all the villagers. In November came the festival of Diwali. It is celebrated on the occasion of Lord Krishna defeating the evil reprobate Narakasura, and quite a number of other reasons. We did not usually buy crackers from outside at that time. We made the firecrackers ourselves, which are not as artistic as the ones today, but they were enough to slake the gawps of everyone. We made little bombs, flowerpots, and some other lighting stuff that was considered legitimate to touch off. Villagers followed a custom that day. People would take a petite piece of stiff fabric, lay it on the ground, fill the marrow with coconut fibre, salt and the mashed powder of a special stick that falls off the doub palm trees, roll the cloth, and hang it with three twigs buttressing the flannel. The ends of the rolls were stiffly knotted with two firm ropes. It basked in the sun the entire day as it had to dry up. There were many of these made for everyone in the village to experience the magic it holds. The elders and we unhinged them in at dusk, whilst many people waited to witness the enchantment of the rolling lights. The things are set on fire with a match stick at the tips, and then it began. Every street had the Rolling Lights, and people start spinning them after they lit the corners. A lot of twinkling rufous-amber illuminative stars sparked all around the radius of every stick. It seemed like a whole colony of fireflies that came to enliven Vakkalanka as the salt grains shaked out. There was another custom in which, dry coconut and a daily pulse were stuffed in round balls of cloth. They were tied to a sugarcane stick in two sets, each set comprising three cotton balls and lit. The kids had to hold the stick at the tip until they entirely flare and fall off the sugarcane. They were called Divities. It is said, that the Divity ritual is performed to invite the souls of the family’s ancestors to admire and celebrate the ecstatic festival with the ones on the ground. We never knew the reason then, so, only waited for it to get over soon, for it was a bland task for us. After that, everybody would go inside and have something that would make their sugar levels high and run out to set fire to the awaiting crackers. My friends and I would enjoy our own space for about two hours until we had finished our stuff and scoot back home to have a salubrious dinner and a savoury sleep.

My mother, Subhadra, was a sweetheart. She was always vehement about the Puranas and especially the tales of Lord Krishna. She was equally interested in the Mahabharata. She loved how Lord Krishna’s story goes. She admired all the mischief and shenanigans he carried out as a child. In those halcyon days, men usually finished their supper first, and then the women leisurely had their dinner time. During that period, I always sat beside Amma, beseeching her to narrate the stories. A tale named Kaliyamardhana was my favourite. My implorations to repeat that story were copious, and sometimes Amma would get irritated by my determined pestering to retail the same chronicle again. At moments like that, one of my elder sisters, Paapay would narrate to me. After listening to the story, I would go and start studying; with some rum zest. The Hurricane Lanterns were the only lamps that provided light for students studying at night. I would wait for dinner to finish to take the lantern from them and use it to finish my studies. There was no electricity in villages those days. Usual people had the lanterns, and affluent ones encompassed ‘Petremox’ lights, fuelled with gas and kerosene. A continuous sound would persistently ruffle the ears as long as it was on.

I learned a lot of poems from my mother’s knowledge. Both of my parents had mellifluous voices, and they had their rings around singing. I learnt how to read poems properly from my father, and they fervently found their place in the sills of my brain. I am so fascinated by stories, that I used to read my Telugu and English ‘non-detail’ texts in a very short span before anything takes an exordium at school. I would know the story before anyone in my class opened the seal of their softbacks.

It was January. One of the months we, the kids, always resented, as it harboured exams, yet there was compensation, for the biggest festival of India would take place, which was unequivocally designed to make the minds of the people remain blissful all along the season, albeit exams mulishly interluded the fun. My friends and I were busy trying to finish our math paper. The invigilator was a strict man who looked like a harbinger of hell. Apparao looked around to clarify whether he was the only one who had no clue regarding the paper. He found that all were looking at each other, happy that mostly everyone was oblivious. Everyone tried gestures with their fingers to show the other person which question he/she was unable to answer, but the man in charge did not make anything easy. He had colossal eyes encircling the whole place as though he was willing to remain an insomniac for the sake of not making ploys happen, with his hypaethral lids! Anyway, the exams were over, leaving no impression in the minds of the students, as we only cared about Sankranthi- the prime festival of the year. School usually gave us five holidays. Newly married couples would come to Vakkalanka on the first day of the festival as a sign of a joyful beginning. Sankranthi has three days of celebration. The first day is Bhogi – The Born Fire day. The second day is the main event, and the third day is Kanuma.

Before the first day, we used to go on errands all around the village to amass all the auxiliary wood and other solid material that can be used for making the fire a grandiose delight. Some people always refused to give the paltry stuff lying in their house, but their resistance had no keel as they never really used it anyway. So, there was some swindling! Subbi, Apparao, and I jumped the walls of such obstinate houses and pilfered the things that we thought were useless for the people who squirrel away odds and sods of no requirement. As we ran away, we had hopeful faces that the fire would be a massive one, one which would be enjoyed by all the citizens of the village. The next day, everyone would wake up at four in the morning, and elder men would set up the fire at the cynosure where everybody had to assemble if they wanted to witness the beauty of the bright colours that emulsified with the welkin through the blaze of remnants. There were wood logs situated around the fire where the villagers would sit and chit-chat. We, the youngsters, would enjoy ourselves by dancing, singing, jumping and all kinds of things, that blend with the word ‘ebullience’. The fire raised everybody’s spirits and made them believe that the flame would take away all their worries, Catch-22s and forebodings.

On the second day, Brahmanas were proferred with a feast. There is faith that that brings joy to the ancestral souls. Villagers even bestowed them with some money and raiments. The third day is notable, for it is honoured on the keel of a Lord Shiva tale. To narrate it shortly, Daksha Prajapathi was a king whose daughter ‘Sati’ was married to Lord Shiva. In a consortium arranged for all the ‘Devathas’ and prominent beneficiaries, Lord Shiva did not stand upon his father-in-law’s arrival. Whilst the rest stood as the man entered, Shiva was seated with his suave. The King felt chastened, for his son-in-law wouldn’t pay him reverence, and considered Shiva’s arrogant demeanour a chime of war. Days passed, and King Daksha was to perform a Yagna (a massive ritual). His daughter had witnessed chariots and vehicles pass through the sky and wondered what the occasion was. When she learned that it was a Yagna by her father, she was aghast, for she did not fathom that her father, would ignore her and her husband. But Shiva knew the red herrings and the sham that was in progress. Sati was disappointed as they weren’t invited, and the Yagna had already commenced with a lot of kings, angels, deities and the citizens of the sky in place to witness it. She tried convincing Shiva that her father might have forgotten the incident due to a lot on his mind and would still be welcoming his daughter if she showed up. Shiva knew that his wife was blinded with innocence and a naïve spirit and was perspicuously unable to take a butcher’s at candour. He refused to go with her and warned her that she would be mortified, amid a congregation of everyone. Her optimism toward her father was very high, and she did not bother listening to her husband. She went anyway. Her mother and sisters greeted her once, in a perfunctory fashion, and left her on her own as though some glances of behest were stabbing their backs. King Daksha knew that his daughter was there, but did not even care to judder an eyebrow at her, even after looking at her. No one talked to the kind fledgeling, and she felt humiliated in front of everyone she ever knew. She just stood there, like an uninvited guest. She did not know who to talk to as she could easily make out that they were all endeavouring to make a breach with her. Grief from nowhere filled her little heart, and tears soon blurred her sight. As she couldn’t bear the avoirdupois of such ignominy, she set herself on fire amid the humongous crowd.

The news had gone to Lord Shiva and the rage that touched off in his heart, they say, could have melted mountains with a sole glimpse. He pulled some of his hair strands and smashed them on the ground. Through those strands of temper was born a man called Veerabhadra. He was a demon, as strong as his creator and as obedient as a tamed lion. Lord Shiva gave him orders to bring to nought the ritual and ransack the place. Veerabhadra set out on a huge palanquin carried by his henchmen. It had no roof and was in the shape of a parabola. It was big enough to harbour a creature as mighty as Veerabhadra. We call it a Prabha. Veerabhadra banjaxed the Yagna with all his might and ignited an unescapable pandemonium. The guests ran away in fright. He assassinated King Daksha and devoured everything that was in his sight. We can put a kibosh on the tale here, for that is what we need. That was the story of how the custom of Prabha came into life. Even today, people make twenty feet tall Prabhas and carry them all around their villages as a tradition from the ancient Hindu ‘Puranas.’ That is the third day, Kanuma. With Sankranthi, that year began very magnificently.

My friends and I had to get back to our cliché routine of trudging regularly to our school with heavy bags and healthy lunchboxes. The event that everybody awaited ensued shortly before the final exams. Auditions were happening for a massive two-hour drama. Mr Yagneswara directed the play and selected the characters. I was taken aboard by him. He persistently encouraged me to take part in the drama. I asked my father about performing on the school -annual day. My father, without swithering, agreed and encouraged me to justify the role I was given. The next day I told the director that I would perform, and he seemed merry as his crew had acquired a talented sailor. I was still a kid and noticeably a short person. I was quite thin with a glorifying charm. So, I was offered the part of ‘Rukmini’, a woman. I was a little embarrassed and dilly-dallied in the beginning, but I accepted it. I was frightened as it was my first official drama. I did not have many lines but had umpteen expressions as I was the wife of Lord Krishna. My father gave me tips about how to act as he was a former stage thespian. Rehearsals commenced at two in the noon and lasted till the end of school. With fifteen days of vigorous practice, we finally mastered the play and still kept practising. My unexplainable anxiety made me practice at home as well with Amma’s saree. The big day arrived pronto. Everybody was nervous, but I was hysterical about what tumult I would create on the stage. I rehearsed my lines twice at home and began to move toward my first performance with a saree in my bag.

By noon everybody reached school, and people were still festooning the entire arena. It looked like some celebration with the garlands and tricking out. The cheer was unbounded in the air of Mukkamala. I approached the green room, where I found my friends getting ready for the event. Mr Yagna helped me drape my saree. The makeup man was completely busy making students try to stay stable without redundantly swerving their heads in search of dressing lasses. The foundation, eye lining, bronzer and red lips had to be safeguarded by the hosts as the event still had time to start. Mr Yagna visited the green room and warned us to do exactly, as he said. We nodded in agreement and waited to go to the stage. I had a wig on my head and the crown of a princess. I even had necklaces and trinkets all around my lean neck, and carrying them was an arduous task. Before we portrayed ourselves to the audience, there was prize distribution to the people who backed prices in the other activities. Mr Yagna informed the host to overlook me or any other child’s name on the list who were part of the drama, from coming to the rostrum. The host said that he would announce our prizes later, after the event. The curtains closed. The people were waiting in anticipation. The curtain slowly slid away, and the opening scene began. It was a two-hour drama, and the characters were to be energetic till the end, to not let the audience lose the essence of the emotions.

My father told me that he would come and watch the play but did not. I had done a tremendous job, and people appreciated me for sportily accepting the role of a woman! The host of the show started announcing the prizes for the people who were in the drama. Well, I backed prizes in everything that I participated in, which is everything. I was bestowed with the second prize in English essay writing, second in English debate, first in Telugu essay writing, first in Hindi essay writing, first in the Telugu debate, and first in poem recitation. I was unable to get off the stage easily. The host had a smirk on his face as he continually kept calling the same name with his immediate realizing ripostes, and though I headed out, I had to come back up. I even received a prize for my exceptional performance as Rukmini. They asked me to sing some of the poems I knew, which I did, and that was followed with stupendous applause. Everybody headed back home to Vakkalanka, and I needed help carrying all of my gifts home as there were too many, and I was too small to lug everything. On the way, people commended me so highly, making me peter out of words to express my gratitude. My parents were blissful as they saw me with those copious trophies.

School was fun the next day as we did not have many classes, for most of the teachers just kept chewing the rag about the event. In April were the final exams of the third form, and we were on tenterhooks about them. Some of us worried about the illiberal invigilation, some of us fretted about the intricacy of the paper, and some brooded about communication with others during the exam. However, every one of us passed our third form and had to wave a goodbye to our long-distance school as it did not encompass any higher grades within it for us to perpetuate.

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Chapter 3

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Adventure

My mother and father were in a quandary about the forthcoming year as they didn’t know where to join me after I had finished my third-form education. They thought about sending me to my Uncles in Kothapet and Rajole. But both of them had frequent transfers in their profession, and they did not want to risk my education’s progress due to their setbacks. My father was tensed about my studies and mulled vigorously to conclude. They decided to join me in Amalapuram High School. But Amalapuram was ten miles away from Vakkalanka. As we did not have any salient means of transport those days and as it was pointless to think about towing and froing every day, my parents had to cast about for an alternative. So, my father came up with the idea of leaving me in his cousin’s house, which was closer to the school than our village. His cousin lived in a hamlet called Bandaarlanka with her family, and her name was Ambakkayya. The school was only three miles from Bandaarlanka, and I was anyway habituated to rambling three to four miles a day as most of my walks for education were of the same kind, and it had turned quotidian by then. My father set off to Bandaarlanka to inquire whether his cousin would consider letting me stay at her place. She welcomed her brother with open arms and agreed without a second thought. But she had had a condition that added to the predicament. If I were to stay at her place, she wanted me to have all my meals in her neighbour’s house. It sure sounds like a strange condition, but the reason was genuine.

All the people at her house, including her husband, would leave early, and there would be no one to take care of me. That was the reason told, which still cannot befit the argument. The real reason was that they couldn’t financially afford to feed another person in their home as they were not wealthy enough to feed a novice in their house instinctively. My father made no other argument regarding the matter but had to ask his sister’s neighbours about the slightly peculiar and parlous issue. The neighbour was a rich man named Sharma; whose wife was also closely related to my father. My father and Ambakkaya’s husband went to Mr Sharma’s house. My father narrated the entire incident after he was back. It seemed that her husband accompanied him for support. They entered the house and found the old gentleman perusing through a book, lolled in an easy chair.

Hello, Mr Sharma. said her husband. He introduced my father to the old man, and it went well for an unusual supplication.

Well, Merry Men! It’s not my call to make, said Mr Sharma as he was edified with all the facts.

You have and ask my wife, who works for our vittles. She is the one who cooks. So, asking her would be a prudent decision. She is right in the kitchen. said the old man pointing his finger towards the kitchen to his right. As his wife was a close relative to my father anyway, she immediately agreed with immense levity to serve me. In my salad days, I had to move, far away from my parents, just to finish my education. My father left the place as he brimmed with joy, that everything had worked out and returned with me the next week for admission in Amalapuram High School. He introduced me to everyone, including Mr Sharma and his wife, who were very kind to me. I went back to Vakkalanka for a week and returned with my father on June fifteenth when the school reopened. He bought me the required books, and I began school again. The first day I should mention was quite weird and eldritch for me as I wasn’t acquainted with anyone. My father and I walked back to Bandaarlanka to my aunt’s house, and my father left me there, bidding a casual adieu. I was extremely shy and had a routine that sucked. I had to wake up early in the morning and finish my bath to get ready for school. As soon as I finished my shower, I would go to Mr Sharma’s house to have my breakfast. After breakfast, I used to collect my bag from Ambakkayya’s house, and start ambling to school. I had nothing to eat in the afternoon as I didn’t have my mother there to pack me a hearty lunch. While other children ate, I only had the option of drinking some water and sitting until the bell rang. I got ravenous when I descried the others masticating and gulping, but all I did was bear the hunger to avoid trouble for anyone and remained slumped under a shady tree. School finished by four-thirty, and I always went back home with an empty stomach. I would go back, study for some time, and finish my homework, all with an esurient stomach.

At seven every evening, I was delighted to go to Mr Sharma’s house to have my dinner as I had to stay hungry most of the day; for almost 12 hours straight. I would eat, get back my zing and go back to my aunt’s house. I used to study again and start preparing for the next day’s classes. Quite a non-protagonist type, heh? By nine, I was ready to sleep on the foldable cot on the veranda. I had a monotonous routine, and my favourite time was when I visited my parents. Most Friday evenings, my friend Venkateshwarulu, who was also from Vakkalanka, and I used to embark on a venture to take a shortcut to our village. As he was with me whilst we trudged down the lanes, the walking seemed less strenuous. We used to stay in Vakkalanka for three nights and start moving back at the crack of dawn, early Monday morning. We boarded a morning bus whose ride demanded a ticket worth four annas, one-fourth of a rupee, and to get to school on time was the sole option. Whenever we got holidays, we fetched our clothes and started advancing with a great exuberance toward Vakkalanka. But things always don’t unfold to be ideal, do they? There was a bizarre and queer occurrence that belaboured our journey one day.

One Friday, Thammu (Venkateswarulu) and I very casually started to move through the twitchels of our shortcut. We were close, but something atypical slowed us down. The clouds suddenly started becoming Delphic. The strange breeze that lingered for a long time abruptly developed into a gigantic, strapping storm. The wind blew trees away. It was getting dark, and the squall’s rage only seemed to augment. We had to move swifter as we were close to our destination and had no option of turning back then. We had hope that once we reached, we would remain safe. So, without caring about the mutant storm, we were primed to get soaked and ran into the tempest of a thousand thundering clouds. The roads were filled with mud, and our bravado only slowed us down. An unaccompanied snake swirled its way onto the lane from the fields, for now, we were on a broad road opening to fields. We stopped and looked at it. We were happy that it did not have a crest, which meant that it was not poisonous. At least there. But the snake did not let us go easily! It led the way, for we believed that it wouldn’t like us overtaking its pride. So we silently followed it as it crawled exactly through our path. Thammu already had tears encircling his eyes, and I had to be the plinth to bolster his courage. Suddenly, as though it had reminisced something, it moved its slimy body into the paddy fields again. I opened my umbrella as the rain got heavier. Well, the umbrella couldn’t withstand the might of the scuds, incessantly finding their ways into its brave arc, and one such gust blew it away along with me, but I was reluctant to let it go. It fell at the edge of a canal. I tried reaching it, but a few seconds later, I found myself in the water, permeated to the brim.

Thammu ran and lent me a hand to get me out of the water, which had a very swift current. It was tough for him to grab one more human of the same size, but my efforts to get out stubbornly made it easier. There was no sight of any person, and we were frightened that the storm might end up badly for us. But we still kept moving and reached Agraharam, which was right in the middle of Vakkalanka and Amalapuram. In a moment of epiphany, we decided to stall for a while and think of our next move, instead of asininely prowling for shelter and safety. Thammu had an idea. He suggested that we move through the field of Bobbana so that we could reach his father’s field directly.

What’s the point of going there now? asked I, with an inquisitive expression.

Sankarayya will be there, exclaimed Thammu.

The Maali. There was a brief hiatus.

Maybe, he can help us, Baabi. Both of us believed that it was a good idea to get help and moved through the field of Mr Bobbana. We reached Thammu’s glebe shortly, as he presumed, and Thammu shouted for Sankarayya, who took care of the place.

Sankarraya! Ohh Sankarrya! There was no response, but his wife appeared a few moments later.

He isn’t here Thammu! she exclaimed.

Where’d he go? I don’t know. But I don’t think we should be expecting him any time soon. she said hinting at the sinister sky. Thammu was affrighted now and asked the woman the favour he formerly thought of asking her husband. She laughed and rejected as she had little kids to heed. Thammu was really upset, but I thumped his back, assuring him that we would be okay by ourselves. Thammu and I did not lose optimism and still kept moving through the sustained green swards as going back to the track of roads was pointless moil. We walked through Mr Krishnamurthy’s grassland, which had a high probability of harbouring many snakes. But we made it through. We reached a farm that had a lot of canals flowing here and there. To walk on the pipe above the canals was a difficult task as the rain and sludge made them immensely slippery. There were copious irrigation canals that had torrents of gushes flowing in them, for the storm’s auxiliary aid of water added to the rapid flow. We crossed the first one, but the second did not go very well for Thammu as he fell into the three feet deep water under the pipe, which we expected to happen at least with one of us. I helped him out, but Thammu started sobbing like a snappy child, too impatient to wait for his milk. I certainly understood how difficult it was to raise a whining child who would so frequently jump into the depths of lamentation.

My father’s going to kill me! he exclaimed with maybe a hundred breaks in a single sentence as he was engulfed in a weeping tone.

Don’t cry Thammu, said I, patting his shoulder.

Nothing’s going to happen to us. We are survivors and very near to Vakkalanka. Let’s go! We reached the muddy slope between the paddy fields and the coconut farms. We climbed up with the help of the fencing and somehow made it to the top. We crossed all the barricades of danger apparently and reached the temple of our village, panting like dogs. There was a well nearby, and we laved our hands and legs with clean water so that the outrage at home might not enhance when they witness their kids besmeared with umber- thick sheets of sloppy grime. The rain would have cleaned us anyway, but the precaution was much more imperative than any confident experiments at the moment. So, we moved into one of the backyards of the houses lying alongside the temple and started making our way through the backyards.

My home was near, and we reached it swiftly due to the adrenaline that amplified at the end of our adventure. Thammu’s house was just opposite mine, and he sprinted like a hare. Everyone started scolding me, and sprees of unceasing lambaste alighted on me because they were utterly scared about what might have happened to kids like us if it wasn’t for our sheer luck. The same scene of admonishing should have betided in his house as well. I silently listened to the objurgating as I had already anticipated cries and chastening bawls. I folded my hands and waited for it to get over so that I could change and go to sleep. It did not conclude quickly, but it was quick enough to not let me catch a cold. I changed my doused clothes and went to bed like a kid who hasn’t experienced exhaustion in a million years.

I woke up casually the next morning. The weather was still ominous outside. I walked out of the room while everybody was under some unexplained apprehension. I did not realize what caused the nervousness until I put my head out of the house to witness what had happened in the subfusc arena. People around the village were running towards the river barrier with a lot of angst. Everybody was scared that the barrier would break due to the deluge’s force, and controlling the might of river Godavari without any barricades was transcending impossible and tantamount to death. They tried their best with logs of wood and sand-filled bags, but it was all in vain. Fifty yards of the barrier was pushed open with the vigour of Godavari, and within minutes Vakkalanka was flooded. Floods spread across the village, leaving every person in their homes with twitchiness about their lives. No one stepped out, and people were panicking. Everybody had no choice but to stay inside until the water level subsided. Kids from their terraces waved greetings to each other as they couldn’t meet through their front gates. A day passed, and the flood’s persistence was still very much prevalent and increased the discomposure. Sunday saw little rain, but water from every side of the village was still importunate, and people had no choice except to wait. News about Vaanapalli, a neighbouring place, flew in. The barrier of Vaanapalli was also on the brink of wreckage.

If it broke, then Vakkalanka and Vaanapalli would have remained as some defunct hamlets, long lost to the flash floods. Many people from Vakkalanka went to Vaanapalli to lend the villagers a hand in precluding the barrier from shattering into cement wodges. They could finally stop it with whatever they found, and people were grateful for the perduring resistance and hope of the ones who made it possible. But Vakklanka still needed water to sink in and diminish into the waterbed, for it was still a precarious condition. While such entropy surrounded everything, I was hurled into another predicament, where I had no choice. My grandfather passed away some years ago. His death day was approaching, and it is a Hindu tradition to address the loved ones above us every year by the rite of ‘Pindam.’ The ingredients to perform it fittingly includes a colossal amount of ghee. And that ghee was waiting for someone like me to come and pick it up. As the family members had to manage things at Vakkalanka, I was the only person unbound enough to be sent to fetch the ghee in the floods that submerged three-fourths of my entire body. The force of the rain had reduced, and an umbrella could be held still, sans any swaying. I was given one, and I commenced plodding through the cryptic water and the sibylline sky. Even the topmost step that led down the front door was underwater. As the little village included innumerous farms, there was a very probable chance of my leg accidentally thumping some blood-sucking snake.

I had to go to a place in the village called Thota. Thota was a small community of five families in the midst of Vakkalanka’s woods. It was a tough place to visit, even in usual weather conditions. So, I smiled to myself sarcastically when I looked at the inundated village. I held onto a stick to predict what was underneath and just followed my instincts. Numerous paddy fields needed crossing, and the narrow pathways in between them were decisively slender, only enough for a well-built man to move with discomfort, else one should surely drown away in the open fields. There were a lot of turns that needed divagating vigilantly. Some roads had farms to the left and right. They meant ‘Death’ if stepped inside, even unintentionally. So, I had to watch my step every second. I used the stick in my hand wisely to determine where the road ended and where the door to death opened…….. like a blind gipsy. The final road that led to the place was wreathed in different kinds of trees. It had Banyan trees, coconut trees and mango trees. The branches of the mango trees were caressing the ground, laden, with the water. I reached the place safely. Thota had only five houses. My elder sister lived adjacent to the house I went