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Fathers of the nation

Kaluvakolanu Sadananda Give me ten rupees, I will bring my sister. Had Vinod not said these words, story would not have been there. Prabhu is the son of the famous businessman Lokanadham who was flush with money. He failed in the graduation exams and hence had all the time to sit at home and keep day dreaming. Prabhu who was buying what all is sold for money, and trying to hold onto the other things in his dreams, could never imagine in his dreams also that Malati would be available for him like a banana sold for ten paise. Malati is Tulasis daughter. She joined inter only this year. It was no wonder if young boys were mad after her, ogling at her near the community water tap as she was just entreing her youth and is very attractive. May be husbands earning is not enough to make both ends meet, Tulasi used to work as a servant maid in couple of households.Her son Vinod is in the tenth class. He is not much interested in the studies but is interested in the odd jobs for people because that would fetch him some compensation.Tulasi has another daughter who is always with unkempt hair and running nose and also always running around the mother. Prabhus heart jumped a beat when he heard those words from Vinod. He was unable to breath for a while and felt a big lump in his throat. After a while he could only mutter What? what? What? What did you say? and there were thousand lights shone in his face. Yes. If you give ten rupees right now, I will bring my sister to you explained Vinod looking down. For Prabhu there was nothing more surprising than this. The beauty every youth of the village is craving for, was being so unabashedly offered to him for a consideration. Did your sister ask you to say so? Why do you bother? said Vinod, almost impatiently. If something very valuable is being offered for a pittance it is business to take it without a second thought. Handing over a ten rupee note, Prabhu asked Vinod When will you get her? Vinod kept the note in the pocket saying Whenevr you want!

May be he thought not to delay in such an auspicious thing, Prabhu said Ask her to come tonight itself. To my room. yes! Vinod went away. Prabhu has a separate room on the first floor.Right from the street one could reach there without hinderance. Prabhus amazement was on the rise as he kept thinking of Malati in such clandestine affairs. His mental state on that day was unimaginable. He expected Malati around ten in the night after the activity on the streets ceases. Till eleven he was waiting with all the sweet thoughts. After that his plight became worse. He could not sleep a wink throughout that night. The reason was, that Malati never came. Vinod who used to meet Prabhu everyday with or without reason, was not to be seen for two whole days.Prabhu spent those two days ogling at Malati when she came on to the street, and waiting for her throughout the night without a wink and with all the hope. On the third day he accosted Vinod on the street corner and took him into his arms grip very friendly and brought him to the room. where the hell is your sister? then he asked. Vinod was unable to answer for a while and mumbled, Prabhu! My sister would not come. If you want, my mother will! Prabhu felt as if something was stuck in his throat. Get lost you cheat! I have never seen such an errant family. You have all cheated me. He squatted down morosely. His sister and the mother want my money. But the daughtrer does not come. Only the mother would, it looks! What kind of people these must be? It was a fact that Prabhu felt miserable when he heard Vinods proposition. But his innerself ordained him to put up with the situation. With that, he decided to treat the ugly and undesirable also as precious. One should only compromise a bit. Otherwise, Tulasi was not bad at all. She is lean and full. She must be less than thirty five of age.But for the couple of gray hair she looks all of twenty five only. Prabhu thought it would be only wise to give his ideas some sort of support when they were going wild as a wild twiners.

So your mother would come. He said, with a resigned kind of tone. Alright! Tonight itself. Ask her to come to my room straight. The moon came in the night. Tulasi never came. In that waiting he felt no othrer beauty could be comparable to Tulasi. He thought she would come when it was possible for her. She never came the next night also. Prabhu was hopeless. Vinod played hide and seek for four days but could not avoid the clutches of Prabhu on the fifth. Right in the middle of the street Prabhu caught hold of him by the shirt collar and asked as loudly as he could What have you done about your mother?. Frightened, Vinod said she would not come. With such coyness displayed, Prabhu lost control of himself. Son of a sinner! Then, why did you take ten rupees from me telling your sisters name and the mothers name? First return my ten rupees.I would not leave you if your mother tells or your sister tells. He clasped the shirt collar. Vinod was in tears. People collected there. With the barrage of words from Prabhu the secret was out. Malati who was at the community tap, came to know of the matter, left the vessel there and ran into the the home. Tulasi went to rescue her son and the boy fled from there. People on the street had a good topic that evening to talk about. If a man decides to die, there must have been a strong reason for that.This incident which put the family reputation on the street was a blow to the ego of Venkatadasu. He is Vinods father. He came home late in the evening. On finding the family prestige being beaten bare, he went furious. Spitting fire he asked the boy Why did you tell him that? The boy was dumb. What did you do with those ten rupees? Tell me you fool! I ate in the hotel. Went to a movie. Gave Malati three rupees to buy a pen, and half a rupee to Chitti. Was that the only way to get all these things? Instead, you could have come under a running train and died, You shameless fool! he vent out all his ire on the unseen forces working on his son, onto his son. It was clear then that the boy was next only to Prahlada when came to the strongness of life.

Dasus anger subsided gradually and the feeling of self hatred as well as pity on the son welled up in him.Dasu felt humiliated not because of the loss of familiys prestige. It was for the mean ideas of his son who put the sister and mother as baits for money. The boy was tired of eating the bland food at home, and enslaved to the societies choice of cheap entertainment. So, he was not at all wrong. How is the boy at fault if he became a broker, because the father failed in fulfilling the necessities? How is a woman at fault, if other menfolk bid to buy the femininity of the family only because the husband is unable to perform his duties well? All the fault lies with father alone. If he has any amount of blood in him and any sense of shame,self respect,ego etc, after this trouncing defeat, he should never go out into the world with his head held high. He would bury that head in fire or mud and be known as a self respecting person. There was not an iota of doubt about Dasus self respect. His life and body were dejected about each other. To separate both of them, he collected a bottle of poison and kept in his pocket. To gain courage to consume that poison he also collected a bottle of governments country liquor, and set out on his journey to the outskirts of the city. Faultering in the darkness, he walked for three miles and stopped in the middle of the road. He hit the empty booze bottle on the road with all the strenght and it broke into thousand pieces. He pulled out the bottle of poison from the shirt pocket and held it high. Just then, like a divine vehicle sent intime for him, a speeding car screached and doddered and stopped next to him. The driver came out angrily and started shouting at Dasu. You dumb fellow! Have you told your people at home or not? What if I have not told? You can go and tell isnt it? You thought this road is your mother-in-laws mango garden or what? Move aside! I came here to only move aside. Run the car over me. If I still remain, Here, I will drink this endrine! No sooner Dasu said these words, the back door of the car opened. A plump and pompous body in khadi shirt and dhoti, smelling of and showing, pulav and kurma stains, and wet stains of spilled whisky, climbed down heavily like a sack of wet meat. He is none else than Honourable Sri Namalayya who since adored in the Jatra of lost elections like a deity, blessed the electorate and lept from the constituency into the ruling position and settled there.

As a precautionary measure for assertaining his position in the impending flood called elections, he was once again going round the villages wooing the local leaders. That day also he toured four villages and put four leaders in his pocket. After that he was returning from a party where food and liquor flooded people, and Dasu came in the way like a he buffalo. Namalayya heard his voice and reached him stuttering like a lame bull frog and looked into his face. Oh! Pity! You are a grown up man! Must be having a vote. Dear Mr Voter! Dont you know the value of the vote? If you die, a valuable vote will be wasted. You should give your preciuos vote to me..he started lecturing. Venkatadasu could recognise Namalayya very easily. Father! He lifted both his hands in salutation adoringly and said Why I am tearing my vote is and started weeping insolently. Namlayya put his hand around his shoulders and said Knowingly, we can not afford to lose one valuable vote. Come! We will go home and talk! He lead him into the car. Car reched his palacial building and he lead Dasu by hand straight into the bed room. Dasu squatted on the carpet. Namlayya hanged his sandals where he was to put his cap and threw the cap under the cot and said Now! Come on! With folded hands Dasu narrated the incident. All through the narration he was addressing Namalayya as father. At last he said I May be a poorman. However, poverty does not mean lack of food and clothes alone. Have you noticed this poverty eating away the brains of the people like a caterpillar that eats leaves, my father? Is there a poverty which is worse than that? What kind of a father am I who could not prevent corruption of my sons mind? Just for this reason my father! I have decided to die. I am dying. Father, I am dying of shame.. He rested his head in between his knees. While listening to those words Namlayya poured out imported whisky into two glasses, kept them on the teapoy, and settled himself on the cot like a bulb containing mercury. Dont you worry. In the coming elections, we would declare a new moment against poverty. Leave that matter to us, empty the glass and go to sleep.he pushed the glass towards Dasu. Dasu could suddenly make out who were the real reason for the corruption of peoples minds. Father! Dont drink! Wait amoment! so saying he pulled out the bottle from his pocket and placed it on the teapoy. Its not me who should drink this poison, my father! Ask me why! I am not a duffer who has left his wife and children to their fate. I am not even upto any unscrupulous act in their

interest. If what I earn is not enough and their minds go corrupt, I am not to be ashamed. Dasu opened the bottle and emptied it into the other glass. Then father! The responsibility is with the father himself! You are the fathers. We are the children. You are my father. You are my wifes father. To my daughters and the son, you are the father. Who else, if not, you the father, our saviour? But then, as father, what is it that you have done? You have enhanced immorality. You have enhanced corruption. Enhanced poverty. Enhanced waywardness. Enhanced prostitution. Enhanced liquor. Enhanced shamelessness. Enhanced the prices of the food grains that we eat.Enhanced the price of the cloth that we wear. Enhanced the price of the books that my son studies.In the name of donations you have enhanced the college expenditure of my daughter. Enhanced unemployment and unrest.Enhanced the blood thirst of the employees at all levels. Enhanced thieves and the chances for rich people to make gold out of our poverty. Enahnced inequalities. Enahnced all that is undesirable. I cant now recollect but you have done a lot. You have seen to it that we dont get the fruit of our own labour. My father! All these things together, worked on my son and corrupted his mind. Father! He is your son.Then are you not ashamed of him? Namlayya kept quiet for a while and said When you tell so many things, we also feel like feeling ashamed. No sooner he finished the statement, Dasu handed him the glass in which endrine was mixed. Namlayya was motionless for a minute. Lifted the glass a bit and stopped in doubt. Dear voter, Sir! We can never deny your word. But not now. Let us win this elections also. Then we will be the first in those who will consume endrine. He left the glass on the teapoy and in a jiffy emptied the other glass. He got up and brought a currency note from the shirt pocket, and said Dear Voter Sir, Please, you dont die! Here, Take this ten rupees and throw it on that boys face Namalayya thought that was a tenner but infact it was a hundred rupee note.However, what does it matter to Dasu if it is a ten rupee or a hundred rupee note? If you yourself are not ashamed, why do I die my father? Keep those ten rupees, but would you be kind enough to grant me a wish? he said. Ask for it! by that time Namalayya was almost loosing control on himself. You hit me twice with the chappal from your feet Dasu brought the chappal hanging from the hook on the wall. Aah! What kind of a wish is that?

When I am asking for it, why do you hesitate? Tell me! But why are you asking me to do that?Namlayya was in real doubt. The first one is for my vote to you in the last elections, My Father! Dasu said. Is It? Then, why is the second? Because in this elections also I am going to give my vote to you, The only father who can rule us! You never mentioned Namlayya lifted the Chappal happily. Symbolising the political confusion, the cap was lying helpless where the chappals were meant to be. *******

A story without a name


Devaraju Maharaju If you want to look at Hotel Akash, you should have to bend your neck back and bring your face parellel to the ground, and have to stretch your looks over little balconies before the hotel rooms, and the glass windows therein, and the expensive curtains behind those glasses, and over the turkish towels and VIP underwear left there carelessly. Mallayya was looking like that. Now his name is Mallesh. It is difficult to tell how old Mallesh is. Where from he has come and to whom he belongs, even he himself does not know.He is wearing torn knickers and a banian with holes, given by somebody sometime. Baninan was dark competing with his body. Skin showing crack scars due to cold, wounds on the knees, and ulcers on the heels. He started developing some wishes these days. That he should get on top of Hotel Akash and reach those balconies and look from there. When you look from there it looks vehicles and the people appear like ants. How would that be.wants to see that. If you cross the gate and get in, a huge yard. Looks

like big cars stop there. There would be a weighing machine with blinking red and green lights. Get on to it and drop a fifty paise coin, ones weight would be known in a stroke! All this is information that Kishtayya gave. Kishtayya is a cleaner boy in Hotel akash. Kishtayya is one among those who gives shine to the soft marble.He wanted to see all that Kishtayya told. When once he tried to go in the Goorkha shouted and drove him out. When told to Kishtayya, he roared in merry and said OK, I will take you tomorrow. That is why for an hour Mallesh was waiting for Kishtayya. His lean legs resembling sticks were starting to tremble. Unable to stand, he sat down. Hunger started. He was worried. He was anxious. That time he had two rupees with him. * * *

As he was waking up heard the sound of an auto. There was noise in the garbage bin next to the compound wall of the Masjid where he daily sleeps. It was an ugly laughter. He opened the eyes at once and saw. A tall man was scooping out garbage , pouring it on his own head and laughing. There were rags hanging from his body. He wound them on the feet also. Tied some to the hair on the head too. There was a pack of old clothes in the left hand. He had no nose. Instead were two horrible holes. Saliva was dripping from his thick lips. He moved slowly. Went to another side casually. There were cycles passing on the road now and then. Day broke completely. He woke up. But eyes were heavy. No sleep lost night. There was heavy crowd. Even after the second show was over, he was serving tea in the thatched hotel. Everyday Laskar Mama used to come for tea. He drives a lorry. Sometime he should ask him for a ride. Sometime long back when told Father, mother, nobody is there he looked pitifully.He stroked the head and took me near. Dont worry my boy. I will look after you. You can be on my lorry. First I should get an aunt. Afterwards I wll take you. He said.Where is the aunt?When asked he roared in laughter. Look. Here. Here. He showed the fore head. Wherever she is he threw his hands in the air, lit the beedi and went away. Thats all, many days and he is not coming. Eyes were burning when opened. Not feeling like getting up. But he has to. Moreover Kishtayya asked him to come. Told he would take into the big hotel. Suddenly he got up and stood. Looked this way and that. Without thinking he reached the garbage bin and started urinating.He stood observing the garbage scooped out a little while ago, the grass, rags and papers. A big empty bottle was there in that. If cleaned and sold it would fetch money. With that he could weigh himself like Kishtayya told. There was flash in the brain. Blood in the body rushed. He tucked the knickers under the waist thread, and picked the bottle up. Jumped up. Made sounds with the tongue. Looked this way and that to see if anybody was watching.Nobody was worried. Bottle under the arm, when passing past the Masjid, dogs were

fighting in a small ditch. Were pulling a bundle of rags. Were driving away each other. Were biting each other. Barking. Flesh appeared to be there in the bundle. He stood and watched keenly. There were small face , eyes, nose in that lump of flesh. Little hands and feet also appeared from the bundle. Doubted it could be a little baby. Nobody was coming that way. Was terrified to look at the mouths of the dogs. Lifted a stone and hit the dogs. Wounded dog turned furious. He started running. Never looked back. Bottle was sold in an hour. He didnt see the episode of Karnas birth on the days TV Mahabharatam. * * *

Like the enthusiasm of one hour back receeded, he felt weak. There was heat in the stomach and the eyes. Head felt heavy. He looked at the hotels height four times. Eyes started reeling. He stopped the effort. Kistayya may not come, if he himself tries and enters in? He was scared. Still he thought of trying. Looked for a chance. Goorkha was talking to somebody, and kept puffing his cigarette. Was not looking at him. One dash..a moments courage and he would be in. Should run. One dash. Thats all. Wonder!!! Wonder like in a new world. It means he is in side the premise. Contmplated for a minute. Looked back. Within the heart it was as if the rain has stopped. Goorkha was still talking slowly. When a big car came stopped talking and saluted. As a result a currency note in the hand. Mallesh went behind the tree. His eyes did not flash looking at the car. They flashed looking at the note in Goorkhas hand. It meant Goorkha is greater than Kishtayya. One salute gets a rupee. How many salutes and rupees for them in a dayHe looked four sides around. Ashoka trees, small shrubs, flowers in colors, and soft turf. As the car stopped two fair people got down from it. A woman and a man, later there was a baby. They closed the car doors and started walking into the hotel. Baby was holding the hands of both the parents and was faultering between them. They were enjoying it. Mallesh looked at them. Must be great peoplehe thought. If such people were available for him also he thought how would it be? * * *

There was a Kaka for him. He never knew who he was. Kaka used to feed him. Gave him a bowl and taught begging. When he was able to recognise people two more people came to be with him. Peddayya and Peddamma

( uncle and aunt ) for you!Kaka told him. He told them that I was found on the foot path and he is rearing me At that time they were in Kajipet. They used to cook under the tree outside the railway station. Used to go for begging when the train arrives. Peddamma had a small baby. But she never allowed Peddayya to touch the baby. The baby used to wail all the while and he used to avoid her. Peddamma used to be angry. Whatever she told, Kaka one day thrashed him blue and black. There was fever. From then it was terrific even to look at Kaka. Somehow he learnt to thrash me for every small reason. Rather than those thrashings felt like running away. Also felt like finding out how it would be to run away in a train. Weaving mats with palm leaves, Peddamma used to sing with prolonged sounds. She was fat and dark. She used to scold Peddayya all the while. Who are you for me. Ruling over me like on a married wife. Go away if you want. What do I care where you die? Kaka used to laugh peculiarly. On some days along with the own kid she used to take him also into the lap. But one day Grown like a donkey. Are you a kid or what? Go away! She shouted. He felt like crying. Remembered the train. When slept after crying, awoke at sometime. The same slab on which daily slept. Became cold absorbing all the coldness. The scabies dog that used to always be there was vomiting. Terror to open the eyes, darkness, cold, lorry on the road appeared like passing from atop the chest. Somebody was going on the road hitting it with a staff. Felt like calling Kaka. Throat was full with cold and did not help. Slowly opened the eyes. Darkness, Yes darkness trees in that darkness were appearing like demons. Were swaying. There were drum beats in the heart. Heavy breathing heard from behind. Groaning. .It was peddamma. Why was she groaning? Who knows? Whisperings without words. Perhaps the goods train, there was sound of its fast approaching. Turned the head and looked. Who is that? Kaka? Was it Kaka? .Looks like him. Somebody like him.It was Kaka. Kaka! Why was he creeping like that? Train sound was upon them. She was groaning in low tone. He was hissing like a snake. Was holding her like the snake holds a frog. Her voice was going lower and lower. Warm breathings were clashing. Kaka was turning Peddamma into a lump. He was breaking her hands. Biting her neck. Was sucking her blood and killing her.. Snake was hissing. Snake was creeping all over the body. Snake was tightening around the neck. He was breathless.

Vammo!! a cry came out of him without his consciousness! The same moment the train passed through the station making a big noise as if passed through the ears. For a few seconds he didnt know anything. He fell down from the slab. Knees and elbows were bruised. Head shocked. He was unable to move. What Malli? Terrified with the trains noise? Get up! And sleep on the slab It was Kaka. They were his words only. Helped me up and made me sleep. Cold was eating at my back- bone. Kaka would kill him perhaps just like that after beating heartful. He was unable to sleep again. Wherever Peddayya has gone he was not coming back. Perhaps Kaka killed him.To think of it alone makes the heart sink. Kaka removed the hand and turned to the other side. Then it appeared that breathing was easy. Never knew how many hours passed like that. There was not a moment when he wished it was morning. * * * The baby who was climbing the stairs in Hotel Akash stumbled and was about to fall. Before Mallesh who was watching could say Ayyo! within himself, her mummy and daddy from both sides lifted her up lightly. In the teethless laughter of the baby were the laughter of the parents mixed. Unnecessarily that day I got into the train and came to the town Mallesh repented. Otherwise at least Kaka was there for him. He daily remembers the way he hid himself under the seats in the train and came to the city, and the ticket collector finding him out and hitting in the face, and asking him to get down at Moulali when the train stopped for signal. It was three years since he ran away and came here. Who knows why was he so much afraid on that night in another red car perhaps foriegners arrived. Cars after car were arriving. After a long time when a boy of his own age appeared he askes about Kishtayya. He was taking used plates in a plastic basket. He said he would send Kishtayya. Mallesh went to the main entrance and peeped in. There were high chairs inside. To lookat itself they are so soft, how soft they would be to sit he thought. Meanwhile Kishtayya came. Happily he patted on Malleshs shoulder. Gifted him with the smiles. Took him to the weighing machine. Should finish quickly and go away. If Seth looks , he will be angry he hurried. Mallesh climbed on to the machine as told. Lights were coming on and off, on and off from left to right. There was a wheel going round in front. The silence was very serious. He got up onto the foot board of the weighing machine. But was unable to stand steadily. He was fumbling. Costly people were moving about busily. Kishtayya laughed loudly. Then-

Why are you worried? Drop the Athaana in it he said. Kishtayya did not like the admonishing. Why all this unnecessarily? He tried to climb down. But regained the position, thinking that all these days he was thinking of this only. Put the fifty paise into it. Weighing machine which could not makeout whether he would remain there or would get down, made noises and doled out a card. As if saying you your selves are unnecssary load for the country and why then weights for you the man with rings on the fingers, shouted them away Aye! Chat, chat like they do with the animals and started seeing his own weight. That dark fat man in white clothes and a gold chain in the neck does not know anything about Mallesh. Otherwise he would have said, you were unnecesary load for your parents, you want to know your weight, is it? and looked at him like at an insect. On one side of the card that came out of the machine, it was written you will make a lot of money, relatives will be all around you, you will live to the envy of others. This meaningless prediction was printed in English and Telugu, so that Mallesh never understands it. I am showing you a great thing that I know of. As if saying so, Kishtayya was watching with wonder and proudly . He snatched the card and looked at its sides again and again, and looked into Malleshs face mischievously. Ehe ! Neeyavva! Without any sense, numbers got on to each other. He said. The man with gold rings on the fingers was shocked and looked at himself. Mallesh thought of it as a curse. As if the reason for the numbers being wrong was his own lack of intelligence, he turned his face. Meanwhile a waiter started shouting, hurling abuses at Kishtayya. Kishtayya looked terrified and pretended moving away. The moment the waiter went away, he turned to Mallesh and laughed heartily. He lead him to the end of the verandah by hand and showed the staircase at the corner. He told that was the way to go up. Mallesh started to climb the stairs one after the other slowly. He reached the first floor. He went into the balcony and watched. Goorkha was sitting in his place. That means he was right on top of the gate. He was happy for the new inforamation. He was able to see the faces and foreheads of the people. He got onto the next floor fast. Happiness grew. Mallesh was experienced in climbing the trees but never such buildlngs. Like reaching the pinnacle of the tree he climbed three or four floors. Without worrying about the others who were going up and down, he was going up and up in happiness. For every floor his confidence was growing. He who was begging and was a ward of some one is now independent. Tomorrow like the Goorkha and Kishtayya he would earn more. Feet were fast moving on the steps. Five, six, legs appeared to be paining. Speed receded. But should not stop. Should face all

the difficulties. Should live well. Should leave the thatched hotel. Should work in a better hotel. Eight, nine, he was sweating. Breathing became heavy and fast. Legs were tired. Temples were paining. Stomach unable to bear hunger was churning. Vision became blurred. Cars on the road were moving like insects. He thought he would look at the Goorkha who was down there from the edge. He wanted to see only once. For that he proceeded one step further. The electric wires which were left equally carelessly surrounded his feet like Yamas noose. Nerves gave way. Eyes pulled into the abyss. Blood curdled and muscles twisted. Thousands of swords cut him into pieces. Millions of vultures sucked his blood. That was loot of life and loot of the body. That changed the body of Mallesh into a corpse. Nobody taught Mallesh about thinking of pros and cons. His body was hurled from atop the hotel to the ground with a thud. The meat lump rolled down from the top. There were stains of death before the gate. Goorkha was not driving away with abuses. He wanted to lift the body as if it was his heart which fell and broke. Poor news papers!! Suicide of a boy they wrote. Some who have the understanding would read it as a murder. Hotel Akash appeared like a beast that was sticking its tongue out after eating a man. Malleshs corpse appeared like a kid born to the irresponsible society and left uncared. Salaam Hyderabad!!

Naked truth
Kaluvakolanu Sadananda The name of the place is Rallapalli, which would literally mean a village of stones. Except for the ubiquitous boulders, not even a blade of grass as a sample of greenery, would be seen in that area. In fact, even the village is full of huge boulders. Among them, like Lilliputian brigade, there are small hutments. There are a lot of dried up trees around the village, like old men plagued by poverty, disease and hunger. Beyond them are the mirages, like tomorrows

aspirations. Yonder in the distance, are the huge tamarind trees, symbolising the message of Must live, even dried up. This is the topography of that village. Except for four or five small time farmers, all the others living in the village have come there, only looking for a namesake roof over their heads. If the nine inch stomach is the curse of god on them, the only properties they have are, their limbs. For those who believe in physical labour, city would provide food, but not shelter, isnt it? That is why, those lesser beings, have taken shelter in the government wastelands of Rallapalli, two kilometers away from the city, and not of much interest for the land grabbers. Splitting the village into two, there is a road there, like a brush stroke on a painting. In the middle of the village, next to the road there is the choupal. The ramada next to it is the village elementary school. And, I am the lone teacher in that school. The school has nearly fifty names on the rolls. Half of them never come to school regularly. They spend their time grazing their cows or goats, or keeping watch on the house because both mother and father go out for work, or looking after the baby brother or sister, or at best, loafing around the place. One could be happy if atleast those who come to the school learn something. I was not lucky of even that satisfaction. Like all the others, even I have a firm feeling that children if well educated, could lead a happy life. I am eager to toil and teach the children well and be known as a good teacher. So, I teach with all the sincerity. They appear to be attemptive while I do so. They repeat everything after me. Write the letters as per the model. But, cant read or write by themselves. Then, how could one teach them math and geography etc.? The subjects would prove boulders held on those poor innocent heads. Could they sustain and stand that load? I teach about fractions for a month and then ask a question. One by two, one by four and three by four! Which is the odd one out in this? Who would answer? Excepting one or two all of them put up frustrating blank faces. They look at the globe on the table with wide eyes and mouth agape while I turn it around teaching geography, but never can make out tropics from temperate zones or any other zones. Open the book and go to the lesson about freedom struggle! The moment I say so, all of them together start yawning. I would consider myself great if I could teach them, simple reading and writing, leaving aside all this advanced

education. Even that looks impossible. What could be done when pupils in class V cant read or write? What is the use of any kind of exercise when their attention is not at all there for the task. Children come to the school only for two hundred days in a year. Even during those days it is only for five hours that they spend in the company of the teacher. Maximum time they spend is not with the teachers but with the parents. If children are to be educated, along with all other efforts in the direction, parents should have interest in the matter. Parents should observe them, and worry about them. How then are the parents of my students in this school? They are unrelenting warriors in the struggle for life, day in and day out. All of them, stone worker Rahim sahib, Rickshaw puller Lokanadham, porter Munuswamy, quilt maker Dastagiri, dosa maker in the hotel Unnikrishnan, firewood cutter Katamaraju, flour mill operator Penchalaiah and the likes would come back from work very tired and long for a restful night. What do they care about their wards education? In such a village and among such people, what is that I can achieve? Philosophers say there are three ways for salvation. The path of knowledge, the path of work and the path of devotion. One would follow whichever way suits him best. I also followed a simplistic way out, jettisoning the heavy load called syllabus and teaching only alphabet, small words, two or three digit numbers, small additions and subtractions, small stories and other trivia. It was inevitable. Though these boys are dull at the school, one has to agree that they are quite sharp at other works. There is a boy nick named Mayudu. If a proposal is there to level the school ground which is full of rubble, it is this boy who takes lead. He gets the implements needed from home. Digs up himself. Allotting work to all the others, gets the job completed successfully. If the mud walls of the school building start chipping, this boy would never keep quiet. He gets couple of baskets and takes a few boys to the fields and comes back with red soil. Making the necessary mud paste he mends the walls with his own hands. There is another boy by name Chakravarthy. He can never keep quiet if a bicycle is seen. He never thinks of finishing the home-work. However, if notices a bicycle parked, without any request, he starts cleaning it, and fixes the nuts and bolts which go loose, adjusts the breaks, checks up the wheels in near professional way and performs hundred other diagnostics on it.

What can be done with you?, You never read your lessons! Never finish your home-work. I would never promote you to sixth class! I shout at him. He then says Who is going to the High school, sir? After finishing fifth, my father would put me in a cycle shop! There is another unlettered genius, Anjaneyulu. He always looks very bright. Once he did not come to the school continuously for a month. Reason was quite strong. That was the season of tamarind. With a bag on his shoulder, he roamed around the tamarind trees near the village throughout the day collecting the booty that was falling down due to the winds. He thus spent a month collecting tamarind, dried it himself, removed the skin, seeds, other unwanted parts and could sell twenty kilos of it in the town market. He could thus, buy new clothes for his sister and himself. Similarly in winter he goes to the forest, collects sitaphal, and sells them. In summer his commodity is the tamarind new leaves. I could sense his preferences and asked him to write the names of some fruits like tamarind, sitaphal, brinjal, mango etc. Though with a few mistakes he could write those names. He knows about the weekly markets of all the villages around. Anji! In what all villages is there a weekly market? I asked. Pakala, Penumuru, Damalcheruvu, Paturu, Airala, Kalluru, Pileru He reeled out a few names. I wrote them down for him. In a few days, he was able to identify those names when found on the buses passing on the road. Digits and their positional values were never for his understanding. But when asked a kilo of sweet potatoes cost a rupee and a quarter. We buy ten kilos and hand him a tenner, how much has he to return us?, without hesitation he would answer, Nothing at all. That squares up the account. But alas, the pen in his hand is a dumb one. There is one last boy we have to speak about. That is Satyamurthy. He is no lesser than Brihaspati, when it comes to knowledge. If any father has to be happy to be a father, it is surely his one alone. Kondamanaidu is a small farmer. Teacher Sir! How is my boy? he asks frequently.

What about him Kondanna! Unadulterated gold! He would be an asset to the area itself. Keep seeing! I would answer. People at home never ask Satyamurthy to do any odd jobs. He is left alone with his books and studies. After the summer holidays, when schools reopened in June, I handed over the progress records to all those boys who finished class five. Kondamanaidu put his son in the town high school. He also gave the boy a bicycle so that he goes to the school without much trouble. Naidu even told me that he proposes to engage a good teacher in the town to coach his son. Mayudu who plastered the walls, cycle Chakravarthy, Tamarind collector Anjaneyulu none of them were sent to the high school. Meanwhile I was transferred. I went to some other village in another corner. Teachers make their own world wherever they are. Twenty years elapsed. I moved about three or four schools. I never even peeped at Rallapalli. Now, after such a long gap, I am again transferred to Rallapalli. I went and joined there. Now it is an Upper Primary school. Whatever happened to all those huge boulders, the village is grown a lot. I do have the curiosity to find out where my students, tamarind Anjaneyulu, Satyamurthy the son of Kondamanaidu and the other boys are, and what they are doing. It was easy meeting some and finding about few others. All those of my students were eking out their livelihood one way or the other. Some were pursuing their family professions. One or two were even engaged in some sort of jobs in the local firms. Those who had a bit of land were in the practice of agriculture. Few others were in petty trades. By the time Kondamanaidu could make his son a post -graduate and also performed daughters marriage, his landed property vanished into thin air like camphor, and only a hut was remaining. Satyamurthy remained unemployed for over five years and was giving tutions to a handful. His father was bedridden. The two buffaloes that his mother was keeping were the sole source of support to the family. The fellow who tended the school walls in the childhood is now a masonry mistry and is earning fifty rupees a day. Chakravarthy who declared he would not go to high school and would run a cycle-shop, is indeed doing so. He is said to be so busy that, is unable to go home for food during the day.

That leaves Anjaneyulu apart. What is lost! He is a king now. Starting with selling goods in weekly markets around, he is now running a big vegetableshop in the city. He converted his fathers hut into a building. There is fridge in that house. A TV too. There are phones at the shop and the home. Anjaneyulu now keeps a pen in his shirt pocket. He also reads the Telugu news paper. I went to see Kondamanaidu. After I introduced myself, he got up and sat in the cot with all the humility, as if he himself was my student. How are you, Sir? he enquired holding my hands in his. Your words came right, Sir! My boy got his M.A. degree. How is it that a fellow with so much of education cant find a job? If not today, tomorrow he would. You should talk to him , and give him courage, Sir! he said. His eyes were bright like those of a saint who achieved his goal. Similar brightness was missing in Satyamurthys eyes. Of what use is this education, Sir? The proverb says all the studies are for only a morsel of food. We are forgetting that and are giving importance to the books. For seventeen or eighteen years, I was immersed in these studies and did not do a thing apart. Is so much time necessary to learn reading and writing? I have learnt to write the word livelihood, but could not find my livelihood. My childhood friends though never learnt the word, however, learnt to live by themselves. Between the well educated and the unlettered, there lies the difference. They know better that it has to be learnt only when young. When professional graduates are going round in search of work, where are any jobs for the common degree holders? It has to be a clerks job. Or that of a teacher. Then, what is the purpose of all these studies? Everybody should study, and all those who study should compete for that clerk or teachers position, and keep running around or fighting each other, waiting for the lady luck to smile on them? Is that the purpose of this education? Killing the creativity and the workmanship in the youth, and turning them into lazy lumps? Is there any use for such an education? Leave the technical and medical colleges alone. For the basic education needed for the daily life, primary schools and adult education centres are enough. For what use are all these mushrooming high schools, junior colleges and the degree colleges? If all of them are converted into vocational guidance centres, could there be dearth of employment and prosperity? I am really repenting why I pursued all these studies which cant even feed me! Sir!

While Satyamurthy was saying so the school bell in the village started ringing. Perhaps the bell is stone deaf! Otherwise it would have waited a while to listen to his words.

**************

Dedication
Madhurantakam Rajaram He set the crop on his head, and set the shirt collar once again. Clutching the leather bag very carefully Satyarao alighted from the rikshaw putting his right foot on the ground first. Compound wall was parallel to the road. Beyond was a green yard filled with trees, shrubs and croutons. Amidst stood the opulent two storied construction. The main gate was shut. But no problem. Since it is not locked, you could always open and walk in. A little away from the gate in the yard there appeared a man, perhaps the gardener. Its better coming after fixing an appointment over phone. If that man ever accosts, you could always tell in style I called half an hour back. I was asked to come. She must be waiting for me, you know! the old fellow will be shocked. But the fellow looks like foregoing the chance of that shock all by himself. He kept quiet as if such people walking in and walking out is nothing new. Satyarao felt bad heart of hearts. For the outward appearance even if all people look alike there would be some special people according to the things they do. This fact is very much known to Mrs Meerabai. When he called and said he writes for magazines she almost jumped and said Oh! Is it? Please do come. I dont have much to do now. I will be waiting for you! Where is the need for the old man in the garden to know all these things? Satyarao entered the porch. Whether to press the calling bell, or to settle down in the cane chair, or to make noises announcing his arrival Satyarao was trying to decide his next move when the door curtain moved. The bespectacled face of Meerabai was seen from within the gap therein. So you have come! What did you say your name was? Sridhar Rao isnt it? Wait just a minute. Saying so she yelled and told the servant boy Ramu! Make the gentleman sit in my room!

Satyarao was climbing the stairs one by one and started feeling lighter with joy. She not only told him that she would be waiting for him, but was literally doing so. He never dreamt that she has such a respect for writers. However there is one hitch. He told his name to her only half an hour back. It was not proper for her to forget it. But one thing. Whether he is a Satyarao or a Sridharrao what mattered is that he is a writer. Satyarao remembers only till he went upstairs and entered the room there. After that for a few minutes he was lost to himself. The reason was that the room appeared to him as a part of a museum. Around a dozen pens in different sizes and shapes, a paper weight looking like a turtle, a clock looking like and in the exact size of an egg, a transistor in the size of a match box, marble statues, kondapally toys, miniatures of musical instrumentsSatyaraos looks were jumping from one thing to the other like a rabbit in the shrubs. After spending five minutes in that state suddenly he came into his own senses. He felt embarrassed for being wonderstruck, like a villager who arrived in the city only yesterday. He parked himself on the sofa and sat back seriously. As he was thus settling, another sight in the room attracted him and caused much more wonder than earlier. Ramu, the boy who ushered him into the room was still there in the room, and not just that, he was standing near the table like a statue. And not even just that, he was staring at Satyarao without batting an eyelid. Some people do look at him like that when he is introduced as a writer. Yonder in the past it looks even pillars in the house of a poet composed verses. Even the servants in this household must be admirers of literature. Apart from that there is no apparent reason for this boy to go into such a physical state. Few more minutes passed. Satyarao stopped looking at the boy and started looking at the photos hanging on the walls. Those showing Mrs Meerabai with the councilors when she was the municipal chairperson, One with the Chief Minister when she was the MLC, those with the other ministers, those showing her giving away prizes in functions in educational institutes, those showing her alighting from the airplanes. And many more. Meerabai in various prestigious posts would perhaps be the right title for the series. As he was thus thinking he heard foot steps. Yes Mr Sridhar rao! Come on! What is the matter? However you have not mentioned from which paper you are coming! So saying Mrs Meerabai came in and took her seat.

Myself! You are asking about the magazines? Satyarao continued fumbling for a moment. Me! Bharati, Yuva, Jyoti, Swati, Other weeklies.. I keep writing for almost all the magazines in the language. No, That is not what I am asking! Which paper do you report for? No Madam! Satyarao became unnecessarily bold. Reporters are different. Writers are different. I am a writer. I write stories and Novels. Oh! Is that so! This time it was for Meerabai to feel lost. When you said you write for magazines, I thought you must be a reporter. Have you seen that? That is the photo published along my interview in Nari Jagat. It was a two page article you know! Writers are de facto judges. True representatives of people. They write only for the welfare of the people. They extol the virtues, honor humanity, and condemn cliched values. These are some of the thoughts collected by Satyarao to be used whenever needed. But at that moment the biggest draw back of his life was before him. It was his not being a reporter for any magazine. So you write stories and all that. What stories did you write? It is easy to tell what kinds of vegetables are there in a basket. What can be said of the stories already written? Can we say love stories? Or those about vagaries of life? Or enumerate them as those stories obliterated by the darkness in the abyss called history? Or out of disgust, call them some god damned stuff? Its OK. You must have written something. However what was the purpose of this visit? Yes,Madam! I am coming to the point. Recently I have written a novel. It is in print. Will be out in another ten days. Very good. What then? I thought you will I will what? I wanted to dedicate that novel to you Dedicate it to me! Very good. I dont have any objection. Please do!

Satyarao felt for a moment as if his nerves were giving away under some unknown pressure. How nice it could have been, had this lady enquired What was the name of the novel? What is it about? Why does he want to dedicate the novel only to her? and so on. While Satyarao was groping for words in order to continue the dialogue, the phone started ringing. She spoke into it for a couple of minutes and went down stairs saying she will be back in a moment. The moment she was out of the room, Ramu the boy reappeared . He resumed his position besides the same table, in the same statue like posture, looking at him without blinking. Satyarao almost went mad. Either the host has to be there, or the boy would be there. Guests are not left alone in the room. Why so? The question was creating a hum in Satyaraos brain. In ten or fifteen minutes Mrs Meerabai came back into the room. Satyarao was not in his earlier spirits. The later part of the meeting was in a way quite insipid. You will dedicate it to me OK! What am I expected to do then? Meerabai resumed the talk. Nothing. It would be nice if a function is organised. Why not? Please do! If you tell me in advance I can give you time and the day! Arrange a good programme. What is wrong in it? Satyarao did not lift his bent head. Taking leave of her, he came out like a sinner. However he could not make out what was the sin he has committed. Satyarao might have walked a couple of hundred yards dragging his feet. Babuji he heard somebody calling him. He lifted his head and saw that it was Ramu. With the material in his hand it appeared the boy was coming back from the post office. Satyarao looked at him questioningly. Babuji! Would you give me a quarter? As Satyarao put his hand in the pocket for the change he remembered something. I would ask you one thing. Would you mind? He asked. Ramu looked expectantly. whenever there Is a stranger in the room, and the lady of the house is not there, you are expected to be there. Isnt it? Why so?

Yes Sir! If I dont do that she would kill me. The room is full of valuable things. If anything is lost I will be held responsible. As he was returning home Satyarao realised what was the sin he has committed. The way out to undo the sin also occurred to him. After a while the way appeared split into two. One of them lead to his Grandmother. The other one lead him to Rajee. Grand mother was like the moon of his childhood days. She would wait for him before the house exactly at the time children return from their schools. She would have kept some eatable ready for him. She used to narrate many stories during the bedtime. If ever he falls sick she would forego her sleep and peace to attend to him. She would always dream that he would be a Judge or a Collector. On his birthday when he prostrates before her she would say add my age to yours and may you live longer Rajees is a different story. Rajee can not speak. All the feelings like love and faith were evident only in the looks. Wherever he goes Rajee would follow invariably step in step. Allows nobody to reach near him. When he was a kid of three and was playing in the yard, a black cobra entered the place through the gutter perhaps. When the snake was nearing him the act Rajee put in was only to be seen to be believed. Entire vicinity was attracted there. But for Rajee, anything could have happened that day. However, how do we know whom would Satyarao dedicate his new novel to? We only have to wait for ten more days. **********

B U T
Vakati Panduranga Rao My name is not B - U - T but. It is B - H - A - T Bhat. He laughed. That was the first time for him to speak to me. What happened wasAlong with the baby my wife went to Hyderabad. Meanwhile a friend arrived in Delhi with his family and hence I had to give my living quarters to them. As a result, for the first time in my life I had to stay in a hotel. That was a peculiar experience.

In the room on the second floor of the hotel, apart from me there was one more person by name Venkatachalam, a madrasi. He used to work in a daily paper. Painting was his hobby. Our wavelengths use to concur to a large extent. If he spoke from Picasso to Swami Nathan I used to add my criticism on Bernard Shaw to Bendapudi Hanumayamma. Together we used to go to art shows, discussions and other meetings. Our food used to be served in a hall on the ground floor of the hotel. We used to accost people from the other rooms there at the meal time. All of a sudden one morning I saw a stranger. That night and the next morning continuously I saw him. There is a negative reason for his drawing my attention so very much. In that dining hall natural light was so very scarce. With the neon lights on, even during the day, the atmosphere used to be very artificial. On one side of the hall there was a cupboard with glass doors. In that, our grub used to be there. Behind that cupboard, the kitchen. A frame on four wooden legs. A stone slab set on the frame- if that was a table there were twenty of such kind. As soon as one finishes his eating, a cleaner would appear and remove the plate wipe with a wet cloth that was a sole representative of the dirt accumulated over eons. Table was clean to look at butbut it used to emanate a kind of foul smell. Server would carry some stainless steel vessels from the cupboard and serve in the plates. Food, stale like a Telugu story would never pass beyond the gullet. But since the body and the soul have to be kept together, it was imperative that we had to accept some food. There was nothing either to enjoy or be happy about that. After hurriedly gulping a few morsels, when we came out, it used be like as if we have come into light after committing some thing wrong. Even if somebody lived in that hotel for very long, to enjoy his food in that atmosphere was impossible and unimaginable. In such atmosphere In that hotel That new person Would sit in a half lotus posture with one leg folded on that chair painted in horrible blue. Rest his left hand fully on that wet, sticky and stinking table . Would ask for that Curry, Koottu, Sambar and Rasam enjoying them blissfully eating and asking for more after that, asking for another serving eating two or three times more than what others could eat would go into a trance as if there was some unfathomable experience in that act of his.

How could you go without noticing that person? Once noticed how could you help but hating him? I almost despised him. Like my nose does with that hotel table, my heart started hating him. In that stinking atmosphere, instead of treating it as a curse to eat that food, who could this glutton be, eating like as if it was a godsend? I thought and said to myself whoever it is what do I care? After a week, when returning from the office Venkatachalm met on the way. He says he also came in the same bus from which I alighted. We were walking together. Punjabi women, jasmines, Delhi sun, wives that have gone to their mothers places, food, we were discussing of many things and walking. All of a sudden Venkatachalam asked. Rao! There came a new person into our hotel. Have you noticed? No sooner he asked I was reminded it was Him. The Glutton! Describing him I asked Is it him? Yes I hate him. I explained who are the mother and father for that hatred. Venkatachalam listened everything and said You have mistaken Rao! He is a very interesting person. He deserves your introduction.- I was astonished. If I did not have faith in the judgment of Venkatachalam I would have rejected him instantaneously. That night He was not to be seen at the meal time. The next night I had food at a friends house and came back. I was changing clothes after reaching the hotel. Venkatachalam was narrating about the letter he received from his wife on the same day. Meanwhile He came into our room. Hello! Mr. Venkatachalam he greeted. Venkatachalam pointed at me and said Mr. Rao works in a weekly magazine. Even as being introduced he came near with a smile. Shaking hands with me said My name is not BUT but it is BHAT Bhat and laughed.

I thought he likes cheap humor. We spent an hour talking about this and that. Three days later as I was strolling on the terrace after meal, Bhat came there. After gossiping for a while he asked Mr. Rao! What are the books I should read if I want to improve my English? I looked into his face. Why do you look like that? forget about graduation I have not even passed matriculation. Left home and ran away to Nilgiris when in eighth class. There, worked with the white men in their tea gardens. Ask me what work! All kinds sweeping, arranging drinks, shoe shining, cleaning the cars, looking after their children, I used to do all kinds of things use to get food and clothes. along came my English language too So that is the secret of his English expertise, though a little faulty! I thought. I had the expertise to tell the vintage value of the wines looking at the inners and the lungs and livers of those cars and helping in dismembering and assembling them, I could understand motor mechanism thoroughly. I could remove all the parts and make a heap and again build up a car out of them. That knowledge today is getting me a thousand rupees mensem as a salesman of automobile spares out of that, I send two hundred to my father. Another one hundred I deposit in the bank in the name of my brother. There is some complication in his heart. It looks they operate on such things at Vellore. But you need four thousands. I could collect a little over two thousands by now. After saving four thousand I should get him operated upon. My sister is studying matriculation. She should be got married.. Bhat told many such things. Silence for awhile stars in the sky were talking to each other twinkling. I asked. All that is right Mr. Bhat! But, if you could excuse me I want to ask you one thing. You eat the food at this hotel and enjoy it so much Do you really like it so much? Oh God! The burden on the heart is gone. Bhat laughed loudly. Paused for a minute and told. Mr. Rao! Liking and not liking is a matter of choice. A luxury! and I do not have that Looks like there are unseen depths in his personality! I thought.

A terrible stomach ache is troubling me for the last seven years. The reason for that is a big ulcer it can not be cured without surgery. It seems my heart can not bear that kind of surgery hence it is imperative that it will grow and grow and gobbles me up couple of specialists told that at best I may live for another seven, eight years till then whichever doctor I consult will ask me to take a few tablets. There would not be any use for them when that stomach pain erupts my plight will be beyond description. Unable to bear the pain I keep rolling on the floor soon after the pain starts I take a couple of tablets and hit the bed. Get after some twenty or thirty hours it will be like as if I am born again. For some four weeks I go around as one among the lot thus my life became like a war. I ma thirty two now. I cant avoid the ordeal for another eight years. Death is inevitable why worry about it? Why fear? What use loosing heart? Enjoy the years that are due, get my brother operated upon, get my sister married and pass away. Mr. Rao! Hence I enjoy everything my life including the hotel food deliberately. In the little time left for me I do not have place for misery and not liking anything. May be my belly knows that and craves for more food. You must have seen- I eat a lot more than all you people. What ever I eat I enjoy it . perhaps sometime in one of my earlier janma I would have been a Bheema or a Bakasura. Isnt it? Bhat laughed. This man is capable of laughing in spite the misery he is in. Or you thought a short and lean man like me could never have been a Bheema? Bhat again laughed. That night time for a long I could not sleep. Bhat! What a wonderful man.. how true was Venkatachalam? I hated his courage and the personality shaped as a reaction to the circumstances!! Ananta Bhat his name his misery .. is that also ananta or unending? That stomach ache and the awareness that he will pass away in a few years that childhood the English the hunger the laughter Ananta Bhat sure is a special kind of man Never new when I fell asleep in the early hours, I was not even aware of the boy who fetched my coffee. I got up at eight thirty when the coffee was cold and attracting flies. Rushed to the office. During the next week bhat was not to be seen at all on a particular day around ten in the night when I was going towards the bathroom I saw him. not to be seen since last night!.. did you go somewhere? I asked. He laughed. He appeared weak. Went on a tour to the other world he said.

My heart sank. Could not I have imagined the matter? I thought. I also laughed sans sense and escaped from there. Later Bhat, Venkatachalam and me together went to a lot of English movies. I made Bhat buy some English books. Bhat would not really love painting exhibitions, but would get into hot discussions with venkatachalam on the subject my wife wrote that she is starting from Hyderabad. I started looking for a house. Venkatachalam was away on some work at Madras One evening I reached the room. After ten minutes Bhat came whistling away. Mr. Rao! I am very happy today What is the matter? I resigned to my job. Said Bhat blissfully. What is this? He left a job worth a thousand rupees per month and some extra income over it and is expressing his happiness! Is he mad or what? I asked the same question but a little politely. What is there in it? I am leaving for Calcutta tomorrow evening. I can get some job or the other there. I can get a job worth a thousand anywhere in this country. .. It must be the twelfth or thirteenth time my getting into such a job and leaving it. You would not believe, in Guwahati I bought two cars and ran them as taxis. For two years. One fine morning all of a sudden left everything and came to Delhi with only the clothes on me you know? My God! What a man is he? From ten Oclock the night till four in the next morning sitting under the unending sky I listened to Bhat narrating about the life at Guwahati. That was memorable experience, and Bhat was a memorable person. Next morning at nine thirty when I was leaving for the office Bhat came to bid farewell. He gave me a Alfred Hitchcock collection and asked for a Maugham and took it from me. He noted my office address . After a couple of weeks I procured a house. I went to Hyderabad and brought my wife and children. I fell in my lifes routine. Venkatachalam also fixed a house and brought the wife.

After three months there was a letter from Bhat. He wrote it from Mangalore. At Calcutta he joined a printing spares company and is going round the country during the traveling since he also went to the south, he went to Mangalore to visit the parents. - On the way in Mysore I got married. Rao Sahib, Girl is no doubt beautiful. But the marriage is not permanent it could not last for more than one night Oh! Mr. Bhat..!! Will soon visit Delhi he wrote. But he never came. Two or three letters came one from Jayapur. Another from Ranchi I replied to his Calcutta address. Gradually the flow dried up. Four years passed. We put our elder boy in the school. The younger one the daughter is also grown to say she would follow suit. Venkatachalam arranged a solo show of his works. One day Like a Vaishnavite with his holy Charka marks A letter reached me with a lot of postal marks. In the address on the letter water fell on the letter New Delhi and wiped them off the last letter I was only visible. Hence the letter went to all the places that end with an I like Ranchi, Varanasi, Jalpaiguri, grew fatter with the cancellations and somehow came to Delhi and reached me. Mr Rao! It is a long time I wrote to you I lost the diary with your address somewhere during my recent visit to Mangalore I found it. So this letter. I hope the address is not changed. Is your daughter well? My father and mother are keeping well. My brothers surgery is over at Vellore. No worry about him now. He joined a job at Alwaye. My sisters alliance is fixed. Groom is a medical representative. The marriage day is yet to be fixed. The best wonder is that I was in Bombay on a tour last year. I had to stay there for a month. One day the stomach ache started. They put me in a hospital. A visiting foreign surgeon operated upon me. I was in bed for four weeks.

My very dear stomach ache has gone away permanently from me. It never visited me even once during the last one year. What a disobedience isnt it? The stomach ache is after all gone. But Mr. Rao! The hunger of those days is also gone I am unable to eat at least four full morsels he wrote a few more things. And there were his signature down below. -B-H-A-T-

The rain
D.VenkataRamayya Like the difficulties in apoor mans life clouds spread through out the sky. Like the powers of the President Sun in the sky there as if not there. in the next twenty four hours, sky will be overcast. Ther is likelihood of widespread thunder showers just then radio declares. But then many thight that it will never rain on the day, and then it rained. And it came with all the gusto. Like the rich man raging with anger on the poor, like the profits for the black marketeer, like the politicians love for the people before the elections, - the rain came with all the power. Like the one having more black money than the white the sky displayed more black clouds than the white. Like the leader after winning the election Sun stopped appearing in the sky. He disappeared somewhere behind the clouds. Like the socialism in the country he became useless in spite of being there. Darkness descended during the day. In five minutes roads were deserted. People taking shelter under the porticos of buildings, shops, hotels started looking at the rain.

Raju also pulled the rickshaw aside, reached the verandah of ahotel, and stood in a corner. The place was already full with those seeking shelter, and those coming out from inside and looking whether the rain stops. At that time among those assembled there, there were elders, gentlemen, officers, unofficials, students, clerks, businessmen, - and many more kinds. Raju does not belong to any of these kinds. He is a coomon rickshaw puller. Or a poor soul inspite of pulling the rickshaw is neither able to live nor die. And hence raju, is standing away from all the others crouching in a corner. He is looking at the rain like all the others. He si waiting for the rain to stop. But he does not want the rain to stop completely. If it does not stop and continues as a drizzle he would get some good business. It should be heavy enough for to make people wet if they walk and light enough to make them safe if they go in a rickshaw. Only then Raju will get some good business. But now thw rain is heavy enough to drench people even if they travel in a rickshaw. In such rain people would prefer a taxi and never opt for rickshaw. They would wait somewhere and come out on to the roads only when the rain stops. Thinking all this raju swore at the rain Damned rain Even after swearing the rain never stopped. It is continuiing incessantly. Just then the college boy, after having poories and also rawa dosa and coffee, came out, put some nut powder in mouth lit a cigarette and looking on to the road cursed the rain english Hell with the rain Even after the college boys swearing in english the rain never stopped. It continued. It even grew heavier.

The boy who cursed the rain in english bit his tongue immediately. A girl drenched in the rain and then taking shelter there apeeared very beatiful to him in that half wet saree. Heq uestioned him self whether he would be lucky enoough to watch such a beatiful girl for so long if it never rained, answered himself that it was impossible, And hence appreciated the rain, an started looking at the girl without blinking. There are some more , like the college boy , who are appreciating the incessant down pour. If it continues to rain like this, thought the hotel ayyar, and felt happy about the chance of people who came for shelter coming in for a cup of coffee, and appreciated the rain without stirring from his seat. The business man selling rain coats and umbrellas thought if it continues to rain for another couple of days, his day will be made and appreciated the rain. A rich man with lots of money but no work, sleeping acroos the cot on his third floor, sipping a hot drik warmly, appreciated the rain very well. A young employee who forgot the world in the embrace of the wife, prefering the embrace over the employment, and thinking that it would be much better in the rain, appreciated the rain sans ends. Rain appreciating itself because there are so many who appreciate it, starting pouring further and heavier. Along the rain the disgust in Rajus heart also grew. He would not gte work unless the rain stops. Belly would not get full without work. So is with those at home. No business right from the morning. Yesterday was also so so. Yeserday it was half filled stomach. Today he did not eat anything till now.

The day was prograssing and it was already late. Rain never stopped and it appears it will never subside. Raju was hungry. Irritated too. He was angry. Rain never stopped. Two miles from there in a hut which was precariously withstanding the onslaught of the rain, rajus old mother whos capability of standing up was doubtful, was squatting at the door steps, and looking into the unending rain with disgust. Two children, rajus brothers, like skeletal remains sat next to her, looking into the rain with same disgust and hope that the brother may come and may get something to eat. Raju was still standing in the hotel verandah. Raju was hungry. Rajus old mother was hungry. Rajus brothers with nothing except bones in the body, they were also hungry. Still the rain never stopped. The whole day it never stopped. Raju did not get any business. To him, his mother and to his brothers there was no food that day.

Those who count


Madhurantakam Rajaram Every man and woman has his or her own special world. Thats why, to know about a new person means, to explore an unknown world. However, whenever we face a new person, it would not be nice to shower questions like what is your name? What is the age? what is the job? Married or not? Etc. To do so there has to be what is called a license. Such a license is given to only a few people, that too only once in ten years. The process is called collecting census data. That is a procedure of gargantuan proportions. I had a chance to participate in such an exercise thrice in my life. Instead of calling it a chance, I feel, it would be better, to say it was a privilege. Because, me in fact even you we are all, the representatives of the good old human civilisation. To know about people is to find out about our civilisation itself. In 1961 I was performing my duties in a place called Paidipalle. By 71 I was transferred to Bommagudi. I had to shift to Vanasthalam by 81. At that time I was the first assistant in the local Upper Primary school.. Vanasthalam is not exactly a forest as the word would mean. That is a small village near the forest. The revenue village was trifurcated and three enumerators were appointed for the census work. Fringe villages on the forest side came to my share. There, the houses were all scattered without a method, as if only to heckle the science of Vaastu. Looking at the material they are built with, it was apparent that they were yet to witness the cement age. People there are the real sons of soil in more than one sense, particularly due to the building material.. People are good by themselves. But when I went there with all the census records and started asking them questions, they decided for themselves that I am the representative of the Government. When are you going to sink a borewell in our village? Why are the bank loans not sanctioned yet? When is the bridge coming up on the rivulet that cuts off the traffic during rains? They took my life out, with similar questions. After I explained that I am not capable of tackling the grievances of people and am a simple schoolteacher performing the official duty, they cooperated with me very sincerely. Whenever felt short of that commodity, they even offered me some material satisfaction in shape of hospitality and bid farewell to me in most respectful manner. I could finish my work a little before the

deadline. Unable to contain myself, I had expressed my happiness about the same, to our Head Master. He was about to retire in a few days hence and also was a native of Vanasthalam. A man with a lot of information about the place. He paused for a couple of moments and said, OK! My friend! I am also happy that you have finished the job quickly. But I am sure, you must have omitted at least one family in your jurisdiction. I cant find fault with you for that. Perhaps that family was never placed on records either in census counts, or in the voters lists. Enumerators could go round the villages. But, who has the patience to go into the forest? I was shocked. What sir, Why do you say so? Government has ordered us that each and every person, wherever they may be, should be enlisted with us. It does not matter if they are in the forest, or even on an island amidst the ocean. We must go there. You tell me where that family is! Then ask me, if I leave them alone. I said. I was verifying the information received from the Head Master. The family he mentioned is there in the forest. They are always in the forest. That too, not permanently in one place. Once they are at Nakkalabanda. Next, they are at the Maddimaku deep forest. Next, you will find them at the Pigeons hill. Why were the Aryans of the Vedic period nomads? Because their professions were like that. This family also follows suit. That is a cattle grazers family. Head of the family is Mallesu. He grazes the cows. So, he is known better, as Cowherd Mallesu. But, not a single cow of the herd is his own. All of them belong to the farmers in the villages. A herd of not less than two hundred cows is always there in that forest area. Grazing them during the daytime and keeping a watch on the herd during night that is what Mallesu does. All his family members share the work. My search for Mallesu started early next morning. I set out with an escort who knew the forest well. We crossed the fringe hamlets, and walked for two kilometers in the gorge formed as a result of the rivulets course. Then, we entered the thick forest. It was growing thicker as we proceeded further. At last, we felt as if we were lost in the labyrinths of the jungle. Except for the sky above, we were unable to see anything even ten yards further. The villager who came as my escort climbed onto the top of a tall tree, looked around and came down like a winner. Looks like we have to walk another mile, sir! That way, I could see the cattle moving he declared. Our exploration continued for another one hour from under the thorny trees, and through the bent down bamboo groves, and through the brooks flowing silently. Then we accosted a big slanting boulder occupying a large area. On that, there were three huts made with branches and trees from around the place. Scantily clad children, all below the age of eight were playing on the

rocks. Beyond, we could see a clearing surrounded by a high makeshift fencing. That must be the place meant for the night halt of the cows. There was a fire place before the huts, but not aglow at that time. There was only smoke emanating from the place. I could imagine that fire will be made in the nights to scare away the beasts of the jungle. I caught hold of one of those elder looking boys and enquired about Mallesu. Came for Grand father! Yes. He is there. In the forest. Shall I call him? the boy said. I asked him to do that. I was wondering there could be a special technique to call people who are beyond vision. But nothing of that sort. Tata! Tata! Somebody came for you! the boy shouted loudly. His words reverberated in the hilly terrain. Minutes passed. Come out Mallesu! Even if you are hiding in the caves of the jungle, this census enumerator is not going to leave you alone. Whether in the rivulet or in the gorge, be in the bushes or in the thickets, you have to come and you must come! As I was chanting the mantra of my determination, there were foot steps heard from behind. I turned back. Who are you, Sami? Did you come for me? He was saying. Must be seventy plus. Dark, lean, hardened body, and closely cut hair looking like a cap on his head, gray eye lashes, small eyes, a thick silver ornament in the neck, like a wrestler he wound his loin cloth tightly around the waist. There was a blanket on the shoulder and no shirt on the torso. He had a staff in the hand. That was Mallesu. The cowherd Mallesu who lives in the forest. Yes Mr. Mallesu. I came just for you. The government takes count of all the people in the country every ten years. Each and every body, whoever they may be, should be taken into account. Otherwise even if they are there, it is as good not being there. I want the details of you and all other members of your family. The child if still in mothers womb is exempted. But if he is born even minutes ago, should be accounted. Now you got me! You must answer all the questions I am going to ask . Mallesu sat down, resting his chin on the knees and holding both hands around the legs. His face was full of awe, as if he was listening to some really curious news. He was staring at me in confusion.

Mallesus wife passed away ten years back. Three sons, daughters-in-law, their children, in all, there were fifteen members in the family. I had a prolonged interview with him to take the details of all those people. If we leave all those details for the census records, we can condense the life story of Mallesu thus: Mallesus fathers name was Venkatesu. He also was of the same profession, namely cattle grazing. Along with Mallesus birth, his past, present and the future were all tied with this forest alone. Daughters-in-law go into the villages and come back by noon after collecting food from the farmers. That is the source of food for the family all through the day. Sons take the cows into the village only for impregnation. When due for delivery, the cows are taken to their owners in the villages. Once they stop giving milk, they are brought back to the forest. Family members left in the jungle keep a watch on the cows from atop high boulders. By evening they bring back all the cows to safety within the fence. During night, Mallesu sleeps on the cot near the fire place. If he listens the noise of any predator, he strokes the fire high, raises a flame, and starts beating a tin container, raising alarm. All the people including womenfolk and children collect there and start shouting Hoop, Hoop. After they get satisfied that the beasts are gone, they would go back to sleep. Wonder of wonders is that, even Mallesu it looks, could have had competitors in his business. But for the hereditary expertise his family has in treating the sick cattle, people could have employed others for this job. The medication is purely rustic. They pick up some leaves and roots, pound them in the stone pestles on the boulders, collect the potion in bamboo tubes and administer to the sick cows. Best thing is that it works even in worst kind of illnesses. For the service they render to the farmers, apart from the food, this family gets a little money also. When Mallesu was young the rate was half a rupee for a cow, and is now raised to ten rupees per head. The couple of thousands collected that way, Mallesu says, would barely suffice for the clothing for the family. Its OK! Mallesu! But, there is a proverb which says the man who collects honey, would also get to lick his hand. You are looking after such a big number of cows. Are you then, able to get any milk, curds or butter milk for your share? I asked. How is it possible, Sami? All the milch cows go back to the village and come here only when they go dry, Isnt it? Said Mallesu. There was not even a hint of complaint or dissatisfaction in his words. Mallesu! I thought I should ask you one more thing. Was there ever a necessity for you to leave this forest and go into the villages? I asked.

How can I avoid it? I have two daughters. Have I not to go and see them or what? The elder one is in Nadigadda. The younger one is given to Masandram. But both the places are within walking distance from here. If I start before dawn, by noon I am in Nadigadda. From there Masndram is not at all far off. You are great Mallesu. You choose to walk to the places where your daughters are. Then, when is it that you get into a bus? I asked. Who will get into a bus for nothing, Sami? Without a need for that? Then, how about the train? Of course, I want to see a train! What to do? There is no track nearby! True . Vanasthalam is in such a location. Nearest rail station is reached only after two hours of travel by bus. Mallesu saw a bus but never got into it. He never had even a glimpse of a train. He is not educated. Not even worldly wise. Looking at his appearance, his words, abode, and the food habits, it appears, he has not moved much further from the stone-age man. But you cant find fault with him for that. Civlisation has blessed him only that much. Truly speaking, we are aware of millions who are not in the reach of any niceties of life, and are devoid of even basic facilities, who could be worse or a pinch better than this Mallesu. Government so generously is trying to get all such people including beggars, poppers, and all sorts of people into the census records. However careful these efforts are, there would still be some, who would give a miss like the fish which slips out of the net through a gap. Albeit, there is one point. There is place for sure, in the census records, for all those who while away their time eating from their ancestral property, and those who amass wealth by wrongful ways and grow in stature, and those lazy employees who never work but take their salaries. Would it not be injustice, if people like Mallesu, who work with utmost sincerity, do not find place in it? By the sociological standards, Mallesu could well be an uncivilised man. If we divide the population into two types, where one lives for the society and the second fleeces the society white, Mallesu easily falls under the first kind. Because we are born on this earth as humans, there are certain good deeds that we are expected to do. The one good deed that I did in my life time, is to enroll Mallesu into the census records. ***********

The struggle.
Devaraju Maharaju Eyelids closed. Nerves move, the lids move, and the eyes are opening slowly. A scene showing the wind pushing open the door. Light penetrating past the threshold. A clear eye. Dark pupil in the center. Pupil turns into globe and revolves around itself. Oceans, continents, countries as cut pieces of continents, states as cut pieces of countries. The globe revolves. Tides in the ocean.trees, animals, fields, villages, uncivilised people, deserts, cities, civilised people, hills, valleys.. Tides in the ocean.globe revolves slowly. Europe, Africa, North America, South America, Australia, Asia, and in its southern most tip India. India in green showing its an agricultural country. Green turns into dark dots. Dots start moving. The spots turn into human heads. Faces appear. People stooping under the weight of responsibilities. In millions. Chaotic and filled without space.Emaciated face, a small neck below that, chest showing the bony cage, shoulders, stomach touching the back, a torn loin cloth, lean and thin legs, mighty shackles on those legs, hands cuffed in the back, the common man in agony looking like pasted figure on the map of India. All around him everywhere similar people, similarly in shackles!!

Something fell on the hand. It appeared as if it fell on the ideas. He came out of the stupor and saw. A ball, round like the globe. A ball, round like the earth. Dad, My ball.. Yadava Reddy turned aside and saw. It was Rohin. He was going around the cot for the ball. Here! Play somewhere else! No sooner the ball was in his hands, the boy jumped and ran to another corner of the room. Round ball filling his little hands. Vertical lines on the ball. Red, blue and black. ..Ball, the earth ball. It was not head ache alone. Whole body was paining. Could not sleep well for the last two days because of the duties. He has not recovered from the tiredness. Eyes were still heavy with sleep. The room was hot. Sunrays

infiltrated into the room and filled it. Traffic sounds from outside were audible. Yonder from the window the Thelawallahs voice was also audible. He was perhaps selling hot onions and other vegetables. Little one! Where is the mother? mmmmm? Mother! Where has she gone? mmmmm! Yes.. Mother! ..Mother is it?..Mother and brother gone to market. With a lot of difficulty Rohin could tell that and was happy for that. Queues for kerosene and sugar appeared before his eyes. Himself was a commoner. Running around for news was his jobHe recalled something. He stood up suddenly. Looked at the watch. It was three in the afternoon. He prepared himself to go out. That took fifteen minutes. Within around an hour he must reach the office. Close the doors! Rohin came running, fear filled in his eyes perhaps that he does not want to be alone. Dont you worry. Mother must be on the way back. I will bring chocolates for you when returning in the night. Dont cry Steps were proceeding further as words of solace dropped back. The lane from that house joins the main road. He caught the bus that appeared. It was moving slowly. There were three bus loads of people in a single bus. It was him who wrote that there were buses after every five minutes. He, once known as yadav Reddy and now turned into simple Yadav was hanging on to the bus like he was hanging on to the life. He thought falling from the bus is equal to falling from the life. Struggling for two or three minutes he could make it into the bus. Catching hold of the iron rod fixed to the roof he peeped out of the window. Cool air from the window was a solace. The man sitting next to the window had a clean shaven head. Dark, lean and with a small beard he was looking uncivilised. A simple muffler made of jute was there around his neck. He was trying to close the window pane. Bus was on the move. Window in the bus, the scenes in the window were also on the move. Shops on the roadside, hotel, garbage bin, iron cages symbolic of the trees planted on the Vanamahotsava day, bare body of the heroine on the banner covering the theatre, compound wall wet with the pissings, Cart selling mirchi bhajji, the one selling ground nuts, males and females chasing themselves on the road, banana seller, singoda seller, taxi cycle shop, mutton shop, furniture shop, petrol bunk, vehicles clamoring for

the petrol, their owners like statues in the hot sun, here and there wine shops like sex queens in inviting postures. And the obedient bank. The trial of closing the window was futile. Gee aaina utraainchu sir, gali ghusaainchi sataaistandi ( Please bring down this glass pane. Wind that is blowing is causing trouble. in typical Hyderabadi slang ) Yadav could not understand. He looked in confusion. The man repeated the same sentence. People listening laughed in themselves. That language - was then clear. He was asking for the window to be closed. He did it. The man laughed in gratitude. Cough obstructed the laughter. He put the muffler to his mouth. City bus stopped at the Post office. Like the fan was put off,wind stopped and it grew hot. Conductor was toiling about the tickets. Standing itself was difficult. It was like he was standing atop two people and four more were on him. Tank bund One Yadav said. His hand was not reaching the conductor. There were at least ten people in between. He could succeed in buying the ticket with the help of somebody else. He felt relieved. Among so many in the bus it was near death feeling. Stamping each others feet, it was like stamping the mud. Looking at each others back, enjoying each others sweat, picking each others pockets, planning each others falls, stabbing each other,.. Thut!The journey in the bus was like the life in the society. If you extend the looks beyond the window, dogs are fighting for a rag near the garbage bin..he could imagine mean politicians fighting for power. What sir, Laughing so much! Have you read this news or what? Said the man in the front seat who was reading the paper. Yadav was not aware he was laughing till that man said so. It was a clean man in whites. No, No. I recalled something. Is it? I thought you read this paper. It looks the offices will work in the nights and be closed during the day. They are facilitating people to spend time with family members and shopping during the day. He was laughing unmindful of people in the bus. Yadav also vomited ugly laughter on to his lips. He was reminded of the history lesson about Tuglaq. There was a photo of a burning bus in that paper he was reading. A little above were captions like Revolt in the armed forces and Workers on strike demanding DA etc. The man turned the page. Here was a photo showing people attacking a Police Station, irritated due to the death of a man in Lathi charge. News regarding the demand of students for text books and teachers. Protection needed for womenfolk - Price rise to be controlled - thousands of women submit memorandum to the governor. Lorry collides with a tree. New cooking utensil from Japan. Murder in a remote village. Nalgonda declared a drought hit area. A boxed item congratulating the Minister. Man with the

paper closed it hurling abuses. He is looking out as if searching for his destination. Driver applied sudden breaks on reaching the stop. Bus shook badly. People were already one upon the other, so, that jerk did not make anybody fall on anybody. The man with the news paper got down hurriedly. Before Yadav could park himself in that seat another man rushing and settling in the seat as if thrown into it occured. The man was in a suit and looked very modern. Had a hand bag with him. Bus moved on, again. It was moving heavily and making a loud noise. Emandi! You only! Are You in or not? a female voice from the front was asking. Ya. Ya, I am in alright. Be careful with the kids. A hoarse old voice from the rear of the bus answered. Some people in the bus laughed. Among such crowd Yadav could not locate where and how those couple were. He stood looking out. An office lazily ruminating the corruption appeared. Cloth shops spreading attraction with the mannequins smiling grocers shops general stores silver and gold shops that grew to unattainable levels a permanently closed government school stadium showing the cricket and hockey matches to divert the youth a private college running under police protection foot path laid for orphans caf distributing life to the rickshaw pullers paan shops here and there hospitals sharing and eating the patients court that is sending students, intellectuals, and workers to the gallows stray cattle on the road reminding of the attitude and the activity of the multimillionaire brats play ground now useful as urinals and lavatories university paying huge pay packets so that the intellectuals do not raise questions footwear shop - sports goods shop and the radio shop photo center bar and caf chit ( cheat ) fund office private hospital barber shop bakery lodging not yielding to raids book shop sweet house over bridge on the sewage canal railway level crossing fruit shop set up well like the Nirmal dolls office of the news paper that closed six months after the launch watch company optical center Xerox corner snacks and snacks printing press on its last breath automobile shop marriage corner open place hotel Air India office computer coaching cross roads auditorium built for exhibiting rotten arts with added fragrance boot licking academy opportunistic akashvani state assembly that captured the power and dosing, lecturing, and making noises bus is stopping If we are able to exist today like this, it is only due to the planning. I humbly submit to you. On the day when each of the village comes forward and takes part in our future progress programmes, whenever each taluq and each district, every state comes forward and take part in our progressive activities, then, that each India also progresses, I humbly submit to you. More over because you have given me the chance to serve you like this my. A familiar face appeared and greeted. Hello said Yadav. Foolish speech of a Ministers which he reported for the paper two days back stopped reverberating in his brain. He thought the man who greeted will also talk. But he did not. He was in conversation with some one else. Stains of bird droppings were seen on the domes of the assembly building.

He himself reported the statement of the candidate who expressed his happiness for the peoples verdict and declared his aim was to serve people. He himself reported the statement of the defeated candidate from the opposition who said it was against the democratic practices to win wooing people with flowing liquor taps and the bait of money. He reported about the peoples agitation protesting the rape by the policemen on duty, of a woman who was waiting for a bus. He himself reported the statement of the police officer who declared that she was not raped and was put by the police in a hospital after being found unconscious. The news that the old teacher who was on hunger strike protesting the non payment of salaries was made a victim of lathi was also given by him. Governments announcement that he was sick due to old age and cold was also his contribution to the paper. Bus stopped once again with a jerk. On looking out, he could make out that after the assembly the bus has skipped and reached the next stage. Secretariat is a little further. There was confusion all around the place. Every one in the bus was getting down. What? What happened? Nobody answers. Rush and pell-mell. Get down and run away, Brother conductor shouted. Yadav got down turning into a particle in the flow. Found his stance and looked around. There was confusion everywhere. Tear gas was used at the next crossing and firing orders were in force. That was the information. It is not good to stay there. Bus was turning around. People were disappearing into lanes and by lanes wherever they are. A police van was coming fast from the opposite side. He recalled the beatings he experienced during the turmoil in the old city in spite of telling that he belonged to the press and also the experience in the hospital thereafter . Should he take risk once again? There is no time to think. His feet moved away from there without his involvement. How to reach the news paper office? Yadav entered a lane. It was miserable. Stench, broken pieces caked mud, shops burnt during the caste feuds a few days ago, black soot, ashes, houses in ruins, glass pieces, broken branches of trees, mud and stones..After running for two furlongs he saw a narrow road. There also the situation appeared not good. Every body was retreating into the houses. The caf and the paan shop were closed there. People ahead of him rushed into a house on the street corner. He followed them. He could make out after the entry. It was not a house. But a small library. Many were there in the hall. Some one after him closed the door. Fans were whirring. Papers on the tables were trembling. People there, left the tables and reached the windows. Looking at the police force occupying the road. It was inevitable for him to spend some time there. He thought of calling the office on the phone. But there was no phone around there. He looked all around. Almirahs in a row. Papers and books peeping through their glass shutters. Yadav's heart was roaming in the magazines.

Mine collapsed and five hundred people perished. Two died in lorry collision. Famine, flood, excess rain, scanty rain, Ministers reviewing from helicopters, sympathy, a dhoti each, and half a kg rice distributed Hindu Muslim feuds blood shed hunger strikes assuring hands looting the grain and even the bull after stopping the cart in the jungle hijacking, the ever lasting politico who survived a plane crash. In north Indias Hoshiarpur police experiments with the body of Preetam kaur in a Gurudwara. Neealm, the new bride burnt in the fire called dowry in Gangapur. Peace talks in the capital with the representatives of other countries.. Bills introduced in the Lok Sabha. Cats jumping in to the winning party. Inquiry into the rapes. People revolt demanding punishment to the erring officials. Nepal Kings tour in India. 144 section in force. Curfew. News of extremists dislocating railway tracks and burning files. Award in Moscow for an Indian Danseuse. A mother who fried and ate her own child unable to bear hunger. A man who killed his elder brother for property. Journalists wife raped for his exposing the truth. Acid in the prisoners eyes. Yadav was disturbed. He turned aside. Bound books majestically placed in the glass cases. Harrowing truths filling those books. Books that read the people. Melody master Paul Robson punished for singing freedomsongs. Angela Davis tortured for fighting for the rights of Negroes. Charlie Chaplin who could not reach America since his pass port was impounded. Bertholt Brecht exiled from the country. Rosenberg couple hanged for opposing nuclear arms. Liberty? Individual liberty? Freedom of speech? Freedom of press? . Writers in jail. Artists in jail. Intelligentsia in jail!! Books were all closed. They appear to be sleeping. Revolts in books, movements in books, wars in books, blood shed in books, books are the human brains. Books are all closed. But history? History is open. History is awake. History is bubbling and boiling. Yadav moved impatiently. People at the windows were also impatient. He felt as if confined in a jail and the blood flow into the heart was cut off. News paper office the job It is the minimum duty of him and the other colleagues to work against the papers selling polished lies and for the understanding of the people. There were many with similar ideology to support. Brandings left by the time on the stomach are clearly seen. People like him have to work like the mirror that shows the truth. Should show the truth to the people. Then they should not stop at the glasses and the windows that stop them from getting into the truth. Only when they are across it is participation in the struggle. Inevitable. In this struggle of life he cant help

being a major part. He looked out of the window. There was not much of apparent change there. The whirring of the police jeeps wheel was still there. With all the self confidence Yadav walked out of the library hall in pursuit of his duties. Like an agrarian country India in green color. Green color turns into black dots. Dots started moving. The black dots are turning into human heads. Faces, faces are seen. Faces were red with thoughts. Were trying to break open the shackles on the hands tied at the back. Feet were proceeding further pulling along the heavy chains. Their imprints are being left behind. Little kids are searching and following those foot prints. ######

Jai
Vakati Panduranga Rao That was a festival day since twenty five years back on that day our country became a republic. The festival was being celebrated on a grand, opulent, way by all those who could afford to do so. In the grand city of Delhi, the wide road leading to India gate from Rashtrapati bhavan is known as Rajpath. For that road that was a very big festival day. That place called Vijay Chowk, and the regally laid road The Rajpath, go hand in hand with the festival, as if Lutyens conceived them only for this day. In that biting cold on that morning Children, their parents, couple without children, men and women who are not couples yet, clerks, businessmen, officers, were there. Guests, representatives, members, ambassadors, and the other elders, luminaries, yesetrdays suns, tomorrows moons, were also there at a distance People with enthusiasm. People with curiosity. People surging ahead. People marching forqard. People and people. All around people. Exactly at nine oclock parade started. Elegant uniforms. Excellent band along. Rhythms, trumpets, marching asd per rhythm. Dresses moving along the rhythm.. medals moving accordingly. Suns rays adding new sheen to the drersses and the medals.

Medals bathing in the colours raining from thr splitting rays. The parade started.

In the same city A street between sanatnagar and the fourth block of the Karolbagh area. Its name is Valmiki street. No one reads Ramayanam in that street. But they make idols of Rama. They make Krishna idols too. Gnesha, Durga, Siva, the paunchy sanyasi, and the rich girl kamakshi holding a boquet and wearing a frock they make many idols like that. But where is the demand for the idols? The idols can never atiate the hunger of their makers. Lives of those people hanging from the last rung of the ladder called the middle class are not the plates with food served on them. Of them meny lives are leaf plates torn by the dog called the life. That is a place where there ten people per square yard. It is a part of a socialist regime wher with those ten people there are the swines, goats, cocks, and the dogs too. That colony os a place where there is no discrimination between filth and not so filthy. That is an abode of people who only worry about aa piece of roti all along from dawn to dusk. In one of those many houses there, in the families that are planned and not planned Belongs a girl to one of them and is aged six, and named Munnu. Wide eyes, unkempt hair, her mother applies oil to her head only once ina week. Her father mends cycles at the entrance of that street. Munnu has a sister and brother too. Their hobby is somehow getting something usefull for the household.

The republic day parade started. De Mellos voice is reverberating melodiously through the loud speaker. Lok at those red turbans and the shining swords, the contingent of Hissar regiment approaches like as if the sun descends onto the eareth.last year when the enemies attacked our country, this regiment with all the Gallantry That artillery regiment marching to the tune of their own band troupe was approaching.

Clapping, merriment, magnificient sight. [ munnus daily parade startyed. Chinnu along with Munnu. Durga Radha and Meera trailing, There were no march pasts there It is always march present Its a march of running and walking mixed up Anticipation in the faces. Question marks in all the eyes. Talking and giggling. Shouts, hoots, debates. Waiting for something Frabrance s under the burden of life] There comes proudly sparkling vyjayanta tank.. victory dance in the heart of the enemies heart look at it. There it is do you know whwt is it that is fgollowing next? You sure know it right. The gnat that cused the enemies rout in the fight last year. Pride. Merriment. Celebration of victory. Clapping incessant like rain. there follows the pair of paratroopers and following them is the regally swaying camel troupes from the jaisalmer risala.. Lights of the republic day celeberations reflecting in lakhs of eyes. [Munnu, Chinnu, Meera , Radha, children of the age where only lights and not the darkness is familiar. There heads are swaying hither and thither like of those witnessing a tennis match between R.Krishnan and Manuel santana. Those eyes are looking somewhere for something. Durga! Do you know I bought an ice cream for 10 paise and ate it yesterday? It was so good the other children calling that taste on to their lips in a way possible to only saints.. next moment once again the eager looks] the same voice from the loud speaker. The majestic and sweet voice.

What a great country is ours? How great are our arts! What a variety , a brilliance and beauty in our dance forms!! Symbolising all that look at the beauty of the Garbha dance from Gujarat colorful costumes? Sweetest songs, dancing steps never out of rhythm. witness the dance of the valiant naga heroes and revel!.. Dabara dabara dub! Dub dub dub! Costumes with blacka nd red stripes, head gear made out of colorful quills, cowry necklaces, drums and drums of all kinds Sivas never out of rhythm dance as the plaits jump up winding around each other. [ Balloons - whistles - and dolls going around shouting like a cloud in the month of Shravana. They looking at him like the mythical Chataka birds. Dolls in adistance of a plan period from them. Lights that never light in those eyes looking. Wishes hesitating to flower, in those little hearts. Meanwhile look there Dwaraka look there Shri Krishna - Siva - Yama - Laksmi - a lakh of rupees in the lottery, all of them together Look there Wonder - happiness - eagerness while Munnu, Meera, Chinnu, Durga, Radha, Tinku dash towards the spot.] There ! Youth of the country surging forward for the sake of national security! The determination in their eyes. The spring in their steps - look at them [ It is not walking. It is running. Munnu reached the target before the other ten. What an enthusisam. Behold and behold!] There comes our Border security force. And in the tableaux that follow the first is flower wagon of progress. What an expertise and what a beauty Flowers raining in the hearts of millions witnessing. [ That is the real thing. That is the one which moves and makes the others move. That is it. The one that stops and makes the others stop. It runs and makes the others run. Like the novel behind the Telugu cinema, munnu behind that. Whether she walks, stops, or runs Munnu does not loosen the grip on the basket and does not let it loose position.]

Have you witnessed the Saber Jets in the sky? The gnats the Hunters, the Migs in formations flying past. Flying with all the pride in our free skys . they are the symbols of our determination and aspirations. Elders and children crane their necks and looka t the sky. Millions of eyes witnessing without batting their lids. [ Yes There it isdone. How long another one moment. Munnu knows that moment. She is waiting only for that great moment. She will wait further. The basket will be full. Mother will be happy. She will say Meri pyari Munnu! and cuddle her.] Now1 Now! Now! look at that! From atop the towers of the Rshtrapati Bhavan spewing smoke in three colosand flying surging like the winds at the end of the creation those planes - looka at thos e heroes marauding like the vultures in the sky! With the heights of our targets, with the speed of our development, creating rangois in our free skies, those heroes and their vehicles, there they are soring up up nad higher coming down like comets.. in a swirling movement past the saluting base in a salute formation again soring high.. to the distances so fast farther and farther like clouds among the cloudsstars among stars.look at them my country men look at them with souring spirits! [ Oh! Mother the basket is full. Like the god granting a boon to the devotee, ambling with gay abandon, going forward and forward, farthre and farther went the buffallo that was before Munnu. With basket full of dung Munnu ran towards the house jumping with joy! Jai[?]!!

Another evening
D. Venkata Ramayya Was not there. I went thinking he was there. Was not there. Went out somewhere it looks telling he would be back in an hour.

They were playing cards. Only two of them sitting and playing seriously. Mr. Rangarao and him. Who is that? Never saw him. Krishnaraos friend, relative, whoever? Could be anybody.It was a big choultry.Bachelors den.Whoever wants, keep coming and going. It was half past five. Dont feel like joining the card game.Dont even want to see their game. Daily papers on the table..English and Telugu.weeklies..monthlies..film magazinespapers all over the tablefilescalendarspaper weights..pin cushion Telephone was red. Some how a red phone is not good. Only black one is good. Otherwise some other color what if I call somebody on it somewhereif talked to some oneTelephone is lockedwhere could the key beMust have put in the pocket and goneWhat is this locking the phone like locking a door, or a box, or an almirahSillyWhat can he do looks the rates for the phone calls have gone up a lot. It is getting dark. It is hot inside the room.sultry too. Whether the power is there or notlights came on..so the power is not gone yet.Daily its off by this time New edition of the old daily.from the cityfirst issue.. messages from Prime Minister..President..Central Ministers..State Ministers..and many more people...photos..HappyGood wishesHappyHearty congratulationsYour paper is great Very old Happy Greetings Poets Congratulatory poemsPages full of advertisements Not feeling like playing cards. Got up and moved out and in, into that room and this, getting bored. Getting bored absolutely. In the houses around..in the rooms, up, downin the corner rooms..lights came up. They are burning.. When went on to the roof top and looked lights in the houses and the roomsits good.. is it good..I think it is good.. Its cold outside. It was dark. Once again in..Film magazine.English magazine that writes about Hindi filmsinterview with a big starrubbishI dont have anything to do with her. We are friendsThats allpopular heroinein swimsuitin bikiniin sariShe is awful in sariI dont act in obscene filmsstatementI dont like nudity and kissing.In picturesour culture.to a party hosted by a big producer director The new starlet came in see through dressnewsMany newsphotoscolor; color photosnew filmsit was unbearable to sit in the room.

what is the stake sir? Five tens. Will you play? AmmoI cantyou play "Went saying he will be back in an hourIt is two hours. Yet to come Again they immersed themselves in the play. Yes.Krishna rao us yet to come. Where has he gone Why do I careYet to returnSo whatWhat do I have to do with him nothingJust like that, I came here because nothing to do. Telugu weeklytelugu film magazinesphotos news comments reviews atrociousAt least the printing could be beautiful. What kind of filmswhat kind of stories atrocious what kind of magazinesgarbage trashagain outside. Wind got further cold.it was good for the soul. Was it good who knowswhat is lesswhat is the void insidewhat is empty inside.what vacuumwas it worrynowas it pain. NoI think no.What is this mood.who knows who knows.transistor is smallpocket size very smallevening transmission startedfirst song was half through already Song over. Use fertlisers tooth pastesoapsbiscuits again song; announcementflashy lady announcers voice allergic to this announcers voiceartificiality in the voice. lottery ticketsdont forgetlast datenew filmyour favorite actoragain songsong is alrightits romanticsweet words would it be a good song if it is sweet and romantic; noperhaps notsoapring worm, itching, family planningsavingsave moneyput it in bankinterest In the opposite building on the other side of the roadin the yard two girls playing shuttle cockare they sisterswho knowsdont look soanother lady sitting in a chair besidea magazine in hand . White sari a dog on one side gate is closed. Congestion within that congestion games and relaxation are they all from one portion who knows how many portions could be there cock is falling out again and again. Little girl the dark girl again and again opens the gate and comes out, takes the cock, goes in, closes the gate again playing the dog is not moving its biglooks like an Alsatian It looks to rear a pet dog is a costly affair. Why do they keep dogs. When people are dying without food

People on the road here and there alonein pairs in groups on bicycles in rickshaws in auto rickshaws in taxis and in own cars Once again to the interiorthey are playing still. Heat in the room is unbearable. Power is still not gone you can come out happily, put couple of chairs and play, isnt it? I suggestedgave a good suggestionon the verandah in the glass box, in the glass casefishes fishes, some of color are moving about up and down.. this way and that wayswimming restlesslyare they happy who knows do they really have happiness and sadness and things like that noI think nonext to the case in a glass plate perhaps wormsare they worms small thin like strings in a pile like a lump food for the fish some are moving other like a lump look dead stench earth worms are farmers friends science book in the childhood earth worm in the college dissection the food tube in the earth worm does the earth worm feel hunger once aging to the outside songs on the radio are over news boring boring in the house on the back side little girl sleeping on the cot.. on her belly is making noiseout in the yard. Little children playing what is there in the hearts of the little children like fish do they also not have happiness and sadnesswhy then they cry they laugh fish and children are not the same never on the back side still further in the high rise building light in the upper room a little girl or a little boy in hands one lady in white sari another woman a boy another man a girl servant maid. Coffee window big window bed are sitting getting up moving about room is good how many rooms what is the rent could I build a good house in this life can at least build a own house who knows rented house miserable old house old walls is that a house is there a beauty or style inevitableinevitable time pass miserliness salary not adequate. Can not afford a good house it looks he built a house eighty thousand they sat oh motherwhere can I bring such money from where from he brought it who knows I can not do that opposite side on the other edge of the road a little away girls college hostel college girls hostel. Not to be seen only the trees before the building are seen how good if we can see that they in their own rooms behind the windows looking at the road looking at the people on the roadstudyingmaking themselves up

gossiping gigglinghow many of them , how many kinds discussions about favorite stars jokes on the lecturers secrets about boys sex magazines colorful dreams fearsif got pregnant MO from home not yet reached where is maternal cousinthis subject is taking my life out why is she so jealous of meit would be better if sleeping pills are available father would never arrange my marriage in this life what is this hair on the legs ugly how to get rid of them Some four or five girls are walking fast on the road. May be from the hostel may not be where are they going to the picturesat this time they are good lookinggood are theywho knowsnot clearly visible in the darkness it is not all that dark lights are there. At a distance in front behind the big flower tree what is that moonwho is that moonoh today is the full moon day perhapsyes yes full moon daywhat a beautiful sight sky and the tree moon behind the tree how long since I have seen the full moonin fact after coming to this city are is it known when it is full moon and when it is no moonno we dont know do we see moon light no how long since a sunrise is seenwho knows Missed a lot after coming to this citymany beautiesmany experiences I am missingin such a time in a village how nice it would be to sit on the farm bund, on a way side culverton a brook side...? just like now moon coming out from behind the trees cool breeze air hundred times purer than here the sound of the jingling cattle bells the semi darkness the person walking with a bundle of grass on the head cranes sitting on the toddy tree and settling down thereunclear sounds from the villagethe lightsthe mooing of the cattle small little sounds that do not mar the tranquilityhow nice and how nice it would be They also came out. Brought their chairs. Brought the tea poy. Spread the cards on that and started playing. What Sir! Do you also play? NoNo! You play.. two dogs on the roadstray dogsstray thoughts full in the brain they catch the stray dogskill them how to catch stray thoughtshow to kill them at least how to control them To control mosquitoes use this use that buy this drink thateat this songs again on the radiothis time Hindi songsroti kapda aur makan.

Would this country ever be better? Would all the people get food clothing and shelter? would all the universe bear the fullest happiness In fact Sri Sri is really a good poet. Would socialism ever come is socialism possible without communismthe government would not do this system would not do this society would not do to change all this all those coming in the way of change must be slain is that all is that the only way out. Who knows. Revolution naxalites is Jayaprakash narayans way right what is all this what happens at the end politics. Apolitics Came. Krishna Rao came. Another man came. One more person came. You told you would come in an hour and what is it coming after three hours.. Hello Sir! When did you come? They also started playing cards. Cut for seats. You there you here jack pot ten twenties it is you to shuffle.. What Sir! Why dont you play? I can not play with such a stake. You play They Rae playing. Feeling very blank. Feeling somehow. It is gloomy. It is all mad. Discontent pain desire despair. Sadness all of them are there. Nothing is there. Dont know what it is also somehow in the vast jungle called mind masquerading of the wild animals called thoughts. Turmoil Hunger feeling a little hungry did not eat Tiffin in the afternoon moon has crept above the flower tree. Moon light is good. Breeze is cold. Even then not feeling happy Would perhaps be better if gone home. Would be better if ate rice home wife what is Janaki doing must be giving food to the children poor thing not a moments restno comfort.. She is not comfortable because of me am I making her comfortableno no What Sir! Feeling bored perhaps No. No! Ill go. Go home. Shall we get a Beer

No.. No.. Ill go. leaving all of us if you say you will get beer for him alone what would he say except no laughter teasing jokes card game Ill go I am going sir. So long. Good night I came off. Walked down the stairs nod hit the road. Caught the way home. It is a holiday today. No shops are open. Pan shops are open. Wine shops are there. Hotels are there. Bars are there. Cinema halls are there. People on the roads are not thick like everyday. A grown up boy and a young boy on the foot path the older one is drunk is swaying. Bragging. A little furtherone girl one boy the bottles in the wine shop are very beautiful they are better that the bottles in the medical shop. I know that girl. Works in the super bazaar used to be lean earlierhas put on weight now looking beautiful now looking sexy also. Used to be horrible then. Is flab beauty are muscles beauty are they the attraction what after all is beauty why all the trouble for those lumps of flesh. What an importance for them. Reached home. Knocked on the door. .. it opened again homechildren wife food beds bickering pains fights irritations again home Am hungry. Give me rice. Children are eating let them eat Ill give Rice meal curry not good prices are burning where from good vegetables come everyday butter milk water. Watery butter milk when number of people increases butter milk gets thinner. Water at least is cool. Let it be. It is reason enough to be happy their being cool. Eating is over hunger satiated fan went out of order. Cant you get it fixed?

well do that At least tomorrow we should pay him back came in the evening and made a big fuss and left Ill try for a loan tomorrow once again The power billwater bill also have to be paid tomorrow Umm The elder one says he will go to cinema. Will you give money Not now. Ask him to wait for four days. My daily use saris are all torn. Have to buy complaints complaints these are not there those are not there nothing is there scarcity scarcity famine weeping mockery miseries problems a lakh and a quarter problems tears money - no money no have all the children slept? who knows the younger one is still shuffling why dont you come this way for a while? I am not well. Dont bother me lust. Dissatisfaction routine bore. All the same it is all the same no thrill in life no event no happiness flat routine just like that just like that no novelty no comfort. Just like that just like that nothing I need nothing cant some moon light shine on me? Cant a cool breeze pass across me? To sleep flat upwards and watch, cant there be four yards of sky visible to me? I have to go to sleep. But the sleep evades me I have to sleep once I get up, once again office a lakh and a quarter jobs to do a hundred crore problems I have to sleep why the sleep evades me I have to sleep..

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