TRANSLATED FROM TELUGU BY SHAIK RAHIMANUDDIN
“O Yadi.. O Amma!” Narayya called out, ringing his cycle bell.
“Sounds like someone’s calling,” thought Baju Bai, quickly stepping out of her hut to see.
“Narayya, is that you! How come you’ve come today?” she asked. He placed a letter in her hand as she spoke.
“Where did this letter come from, ayya?” Baju Bai asked eagerly.
“Chennapatnam(1),” he replied and left.
Narayya seemed to be in a hurry, so she let him go, took the letter, and wondered, What could be in this letter?… My husband isn’t here either! Who will come, whom can I approach to have it read ! Her eyes waited hopefully.
The thought that the letter might be from her son struck her mind, and Baju Bai drifted into the past, wondering where her son was, what he might have eaten.
Exactly eighteen years ago, Parthu had left home, upset for being scolded by his father. Before leaving, he took some photos and placed them in the wall niche.
“Dear boy, study! If you study, you’ll become a Collector,” Baju Bai had told him countless times, but he wouldn’t listen. He’d skip school and roam around with his friends, going to movies and wandering aimlessly. Seeing him, everyone in the village would say, “Your son looks like a hero,” and Baju Bai would swell with pride inwardly. But she never imagined, even in her dreams, that Parthu would leave a note saying he’d return as a hero like Chiranjeevi, and then just run away from home.
Poor, naive mother, she would always hold his photo and pitifully ask anyone she met, “Ayya, have you seen my Parthu anywhere?”
Just then, while tethering the cattle to their respective posts in the shed, Baju heard the sound of a bus arriving. She ran to look and saw the bus stopped at the tanda(2) bus stop. People had crowded around.
“Oh my god! With this much crowd, did my man get on the bus or not?” she wondered, dropping the stick and rope in her hand and moving forward.
Pushing through everyone, hurriedly adjusting her saree that had slipped, Baju took the bundle from her husband, Mantriya’s hand as he arrived.
“Why are there so many people in the bus today, dear?” Baju’s words were barely out of his mouth when Mantriya replied, “Today is Saturday. It’s the Miryalaguda market day, isn’t it! That’s why people are fully packed into the buses. Even with so many buses available, it’s just not enough,” he grumbled, collapsing onto the cot which was in front of the house.
“Look here, dear! This letter came from Chennapatnam, they said. Look! Where is it from?” she hastily placed the letter in her husband’s hand.
“Wait a bit, let me drink some water”, he said, taking the letter.
As Mantriya read the letter, tears streamed down his face. Seeing this, Baju Bai cried out, “Yadiye(3), what happened, tell me,” wailing loudly.
“We found a clue about our Parthu. This time, I’ll take our elder son along. Otherwise, we don’t know their language, and they don’t know ours.” He told Baju Bai this and lay down on the cot.
As Mantriya lay there, he remembered receiving a similar letter before. He had gone to that address full of hope, only to find Parthu wasn’t there. The postman had delivered the letter a month late, causing Mantriya to reach the address a bit too late. All this flashed before his eyes like a film reel. Sleep wouldn’t come. So, they both decided that he would leave for their elder son’s place in the city early the next morning and they both would go to fetch Parthu.
That night, clouds gathered, and it began to rain. It rained heavily all night, a continuous downpour. When will it dawn! When will the rooster crow! Mantriya kept looking towards the chicken coop… and drifted off to sleep.
Beside him, Baju Bai couldn’t sleep at all. She got up, tied the calves that were getting wet in the rain inside the shed, and gave them fodder. She ushered the hen with the chicks under the basket into the house. As the clouds thundered, she chanted, “Arjuna, Harahara, Mahadeva,” brought out some jowar(4) grains, and scattered them outside. She took the crowbar from the corner of the houseand placed it in front of the door. She went back and tossed and turned on the cot for a while. Still, sleep eluded Baju. When the rain subsided a bit, she lit the stove. She made about twenty jowar rotis. She ground onion chili paste and packed the food.
“Dear, get up! Get up! Still feeling sleepy?” Baju’s words entered Mantriya’s ears, and he jumped up. He took hot water from the pot, bathed, and holding the packed jowar rotis Baju had prepared, they both went to the road to wait for the bus.
The morning star was fading as dawn slowly broke. A fine drizzle continued. Due to the night’s rain, streams around the village were overflowing. Small fishes leaped about in them. The children of the tanda gathered in groups, catching fish with towels and lungis.
“The light bus(5) that usually comes at five is still not here even though it’s dawn,” Mantriya fretted, pacing back and forth.
“Maybe the bus already left,” Baju voiced her doubt. Just then, spotting the bus coming around the Maremmagudi corner through the trees, Mantriya grabbed the bag.
“Dear wifey! I’m going! Take care of the calf. Tie the muzzle basket on its mouth. It might eat mud or something. Put fresh grass before Bhangari, the cow, and milk her. Otherwise, there won’t even be any buttermilk left for tomorrow. Be careful!” he said hastily, boarded the bus, and sat in an available seat. The bus started moving. His mind raced faster than the bus.
When will I see my son to my heart’s content! When will I see him and hug him tightly… How is he now, I wonder! Will he even recognize me? So many questions churned in his mind.
He took a deep breath. Dear God! He must be there. If he’s found, his naive mother vowed to dig a well near the Mantrusad temple. Fulfill her dream, Swami,” Mantriya muttered to himself.
At the Narkatpalli bus stand, the driver stopped the bus. “Anyone wanting breakfast can go eat. The bus will wait for ten minutes,” he announced and went into the bus-stand hotel.
Mantriya came to his senses, got off the bus, sat under a tree, and opened the packed rotis his wife had made. But with thoughts only of his son, he didn’t feel like eating anything. Not knowing what else to do, he took a chutta(6) from his kerchief and lit it. He went into the hotel, drank water, and boarded the bus.
The bus sped along the highway, passing trees, fields, and villages. But for Mantriya, each minute felt like an hour. His son’s face danced before his eyes.
For a small mistake I made, I’ve suffered punishment for so many years.
No, no! I didn’t make a mistake. As a father, I scolded him for skipping school due to his movie craze, that’s all. It wasn’t my fault.
Mantriya’s mind swung between self-blame and justification, undergoing intense conflict.
Just then, the bus stopped.
“Oh dear god, looks like we have arrived in Hyderabad,” he thought, checking his pocket for the letter. He slowly got off the bus and reached his elder son Dhanji Nayak’s house.
Seeing his father, Dhanji asked anxiously, “Bapu, why did you come without informing?” Mantriya handed the letter to his son. Reading it, Dhanji was suddenly flooded with memories of his younger brother. He remembered the mischief they got into as children, the games they played; tears welled up in his eyes. For a while, father and son forgot the world, talking about how much their mother loved Parthu and how their bond used to be. Without delaying further, they left immediately.
Father and son reached the railway station and boarded the train. The train reached Chennai. They alighted, came out of the station, took an auto, and got down in front of the hotel mentioned in the address.
Seeing the hotel, Mantriya felt a surge of joy, but within him , fear, anxiety, and pain mingled, an unspeakable sorrow welled up, making him tremble.
“What Bapu! Why are you getting so worried? Calm yourself,” said Dhanji.
“I can’t find the courage, bidda(7). Is he in this hotel or not? Will he run away as soon as he sees us! If I don’t see him, I can’t live anymore. I can’t go back empty-handed and face your Yadi(8),” the father sobbed loudly.
“Calm down, Bapu. How long will God test us like this? Everything will be alright… Come!” Dhanji Nayak encouraged him, leading him inside.
Inside the hotel, a stout, dark man sat opposite them. Rings on his fingers, a gold chain around his neck and, pictures of gods behind him. Recognizing him as the manager Dhanji Nayak approached and showed him the letter.
Seeing the letter, the manager told a hotel server to call Parthu. As soon as his son’s name was spoken, the manager noticed the light in Mantriya’s eyes. Those eyes that had teared up and dried now shine like a million fireflies, as though reflecting the glow within flowers.
Unaware that his father and brother had come, Parthu, hearing the manager call, turned off the gas stove in the kitchen and walked towards them.
The manager was telling them something about Parthu. But Mantriya heard nothing. Not just that, he didn’t see the servants walking around. He couldn’t hear the clatter of plates and glasses that had been audible on the tables until moments ago.
Suddenly, silence enveloped everything around him. Now, Mantriya could hear only one thing: the heartbeat of his son, Parthu. He could see only one thing: the tiny feet that had softly moved on his chest walking towards him.
“The same curly hair. The same way of swinging his arms. The same sharp eyes. The walk, just like my father, chest out, walking straight. No doubt. That’s my son. Yes, that’s my Parthu.”
Within, Mantriya surged like a volcano spewing lava.
From a distance, Parthu vaguely saw a middle-aged man talking to the manager, with an old man beside him. “Must be customers,” he thought. As he got closer, he faintly heard them speaking Telugu. He didn’t pay much attention and approached them.
And then… suddenly, Parthu’s heart broke. The sound of clouds crashing in the sky echoed in his heart. Sweat drenched his body. Tears filled his eyes. And then… overwhelmed by pain, fear, sorrow, and remorse, Parthu collapsed.
“Don’t cry, son, I’ll die and be reborn as your son.! Don’t do such things again.”
“Bapu, forgive me. I am not a good son… You gained no happiness by giving birth to me.”
“Just seeing you is enough, bidda.”
“Leaving you all, I found no happiness! After leaving, unable to make it in movies, working in hotels, I couldn’t face you again, living with the pain of being half-dead.”
“No, bidda, don’t say that. You are reborn today. For us today… For your mother waiting back home with lamps in her eyes, you are reborn. By the grace of that Mantrusad, you are reborn, bidda…”
Witnessing this, the entire Periyar Hotel was filled with heartfelt tears. The ocean of sorrow raining from Parthu and Mantriya turned into an ocean of love. Though those watching didn’t understand the language, the boundless love between father and son touched their hearts and moved them.
Hugging his sobbing father and brother, Dhanji wiped his eyes and said to the manager, “If mother carried my brother in her womb for nine months, Periyar Hotel raised Parthu for eighteen years,” thanking him respectfully. The three then moved towards the Chennai station to board the train to Hyderabad
Mantrusad wasn’t somewhere far away. He was right here, in the form of the ‘letter’ that brought his son back to him, thought Mantriya, pressing the letter from his pocket to his eyes, walking alongside his two sons.
Glossary:
1. Chennapatnam- Modern Chennai
2. Tanda – Hamlet
3. Yadiye – Oh my mother / Oh my God! (expressing surprise)
4. Jowar -Sorghum
5. Light bus – Mini bus used for shorter routes
6. Chutta – A cigar like smoking country cigarette made by rolling tobacco leaves
7. Bidda – son
8. Yadi – Mother in Banjara language
Also, read the short story A Sunny Memory by B Ajay Prasad published in The Antonym.
Also, read the poem The House Where I Was Born by Ammu Deepa published in The Antonym.
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