Kuvempu

THE HOUSE OF KANOORU

Translated from the Kannada by

Ramachandra Sharma
and
Padma Ramachandra Sharma

With an Introduction by
Girish Karnad
 Contents

About the Author

Introduction

On the Stone Bridge at Ramatheertha

An Adversary on the Road

Chinnayya’s Fish-Hunt

Seethe

Kanooru Chandrayya Gowda’s Third Wife

The Overseer’s Gun

The Kadegolu Kamba Bears Witness

With Ganga, Belara Baira’s Son

Chandrayya Gowda Holds Court

Beauty Adorned

Annayya Gowda’s Travails at Home

The Toddy Shop

A Brewery in Kanubailu

When the Old Meets the New

By the Gecko’s Grace

The Hundred Rupee Note

A Wild Pig Hunt in the Tracks of Kattalegiri

Jackie the Kilistha and the Dog, Tiger

Gange the Sorceress

Seethe and Hoovayya

Is the Newcomer Appayya’s Wife?

Hoovayya’s Trance
The Spark—A Prelude to a Forest Fire

At the Great Gathering of the Shudras

The First Thunderbolt Hits Seethe

Baira Drains Waterholes for Fish

Baira Takes Marka for a Ride

Some Talk of Dividing up the Property

A Pledge for the Spirits of Kanooru

On Account of a Goat

The Secret of Seethe’s Ailment

The Web of Life

The Banishment of Annayya Gowda

And then, that Tiger

An Afternoon in Mutthalli

Does Sorrow Differentiate Between the Rich and the Poor?

Should the One To Marry ask for a Bride?

Soma Steals a Chicken from Halepaikada Thimma to Clear his Debt with the Owner of the Toddy
Shop

Wordsworth and Matthew Arnold

Arbitration on Dividing the Kanooru Lands

The Sharing of the Moveable Property and Vasu’s Strange Fainting Fit

A Mean Mind

The Magical Powers of the Coconut

Hoovayya’s Departure from the House in Kanooru

The Snake’s Egg

Chandrayya Gowda Ensnared by the Fortnight of the Waning Moon

Giant Puttanna’s Porcupine Hunt in the Forest on the Eve of Bhoomi Hunnime

Subbamma ’s Flight from Kanooru in the Dead of Night to Escape Chandrayya Gowda’s Sword

Dark Clouds are Thickening in the Skies of Life

A Love Letter Set on Fire

Soma in the Manure Pit!

That Cur of an Overseer

Alas, Fate!

Suicide

Hoovayya goes to Mutthalli

The Calving of Kowli

Nagamma ’s Frustration—Chandrayya Gowda’s Envy

Ramayya Is Married

The Beauty of Sunrise on the Mountain Top

The Magical Power of the Mind

In a Temple in the Agrahara

In an Arena of Cockfights

The Devil of Temptation Overcomes Soma

The Combat Between Subbamma and Gange

Was Putta Murdered by the Drunken Overseer?

Obayya’s Story

Ramayya Brings Seethe Back to Kanooru

Seethe’s Hell

A Night Ghastly Yet Sweet

A Son’s Promise at His Mother’s Deathbed

A Bed of Thorns in the Natal Home

Baira and Sidda Hunt in Summer for Crabs in a Waterhole Amid the Forest

The Last Dip in the Ganga of Tears

Once Again, Subbamma is the Heggadithi of Kanooru

Subbamma’s Nightmare

Defilement in the House

The Buddha’s Grace

Chinnayya, Puttamma and their Ramesha!

The Overseer Decamps

Before the Image of Death

Ten Years Later

Follow Penguin

Copyright
 PENGUIN BOOKS

THE HOUSE OF KANOORU

K.V. Puttappa (Kuvempu) was born in 1904 in Kuppalli, a village in the

Malenadu region of Karnataka. After having completed his studies in Mysore,
he taught Kannada in the University of Mysore for a number of years and
subsequently became its Vice-Chancellor.
Though there is no genre in literature which he did not enrich with his unique
contribution, it is as a great poet that Karnataka remembers him after his
death in 1994. His Sri Ramayana Darshanam, a modern epic, won him both
the Sahitya Akademi and Jnanpith Awards and the Government of India
conferred on him the Padma Bhushan. He also wrote two epic novels
Kanooru Heggadithi (1934) and Malegalalli Madumagalu (1967), which are
rightly acclaimed by critics as modern classics.
Kanooru Heggadithi has been recently made into a film by Girish Karnad.

Ramachandra Sharma was born in 1925 in Bangalore. A trained teacher, he

left India in 1958 to teach in Ethiopia and England. He obtained his Ph.D in
Psychology from the University of London. Having worked as a psychologist
in England, Zambia and with UNESCO, he returned to India in 1982 and
settled down in Bangalore.
Sharma, one of the pioneers of Modernism in Kannada, has received the
Central and Karnataka Sahitya Akademi Awards and the Rajyotsava Prashasti
for his writing. He has translated one hundred English poems of this century
into Kannada.
He has edited a collection of modern Kannada short stories, From Cauvery to
Godavari, for Penguin Books India. He has also translated both prose and
poetry from Kannada into English. Padma Ramachandra Sharma has a
Master’s degree in English Literature and has taught in India, Ethiopia,
England, Zambia and Malawi at various levels. She has collaborated with her
husband in translating Masti Venkatesa lyengar and Yashwant Chittal into
English for Penguin Books. Her translation of K.P. Purna Chandra Tejasvi’s
novellas, Carvalho/Men of Mystery, published by Penguin Books, was given
an award by the Karnataka Sahitya Akademi.
 Introduction

In 1967, Kuppalli Venkata Puttappa (1904–94) was honoured with the

Bharatiya Jnanpith Award for his Sri Ramayana Darshanam, a verse epic in
the classical tradition, based on the Ramayana. But it is generally
acknowledged that the two novels Puttappa wrote in his life-time would also
qualify to be described as epics. Certainly even today few novels in Kannada
can match the two for the grand sweep of their narratives, the minutely
observed and vividly recreated descriptions of nature and the warm and
pulsating feel of lived experience. Both deal with life in Malenadu, the thickly
wooded regions of the Western Ghats, where the poet spent his childhood and
youth in the early decades of the century.
It was a Malenadu of which it could still be said that in certain of its parts
the sunlight could not penetrate the dense foliage. A village literally meant an
isolated manor occupied by the large family of the landlord (usually a
Vokkaliga by caste) and his innumerable dependants, and surrounded by the
hutments of his serfs. During the monsoons, the village would be marooned
amidst unfordable streams while communication of any kind with the world
outside was reduced to a minimum. Death and disease were constant
companions through the year. Even the educated were only literate enough to
keep accounts. Daily life was shot through with the fear of spirits and
witchcraft, lending itself to easy exploitation by the priests. Women and
children were utterly dependent on patriarchal protection and therefore
vulnerable to abuse and violence.
G.S. Amur, the renowned critic, points out that the novel seeks to function
on three levels. First, it attempts to come to a historical understanding of the
rich ecological and sociological material at the poet’s disposal. Then there is
the exploration of the personality of Hoovayya, the central consciousness of
the novel—his aesthetic aspirations, his spiritual search, his moral dilemmas
and finally his conflicts with his society. Third, there is an analysis of the
relationship between nature and refinement which provides the novel with its
philosophical moorings.
There is critical consensus on Puttappa’s success on the first and third
counts. But Hoovayya has been the focus of much debate, several critics
finding him too emotional and lacking in initiative to bear the weight of the
novel. Amur however argues that to concentrate on the weaknesses or
strengths of Hoovayya and not to appreciate the relevance of his character to
Puttappa’s own need to escape from a claustrophobic society is to miss the
point of the novel. I shall not go into this debate. Instead I should like to
briefly touch upon an aspect which seems to have entirely escaped the critics,
the author’s attitude to women.
The novel examines the lives of three women who marry into the house of
Kanooru. The story of Nagamma, Hoovayya’s mother, is typical enough of a
normal Vokkaliga lady’s life. But by carefully contrasting the characters and
destinies of the other two women, Subbamma who is married to the father,
Chandrayya, and Seethe who is married to the son, Ramayya, the author
underlines the inhumanity that has become a feature of women’s condition in
this society.
Subbamma is a rough, energetic and courageous woman, capable of
handling any emergency. Despite the indignities heaped upon her by her
husband, she dutifully returns to look after him and his property during his
last days. She is ultimately destroyed by a perfectly normal urge, but one
forbidden to a widow—the need for sexual fulfilment.
Seethe on the other hand is brought up in the bosom of an affectionate
family and is almost Ophelia-like in her innocence. She ends up condemned
to a sexless ascetic existence, because her lover has too many scruples about
expressing his love for her.
Both women are attracted to Hoovayya, which is the only element common
to them. Although Seethe once visits Kanooru while Subbamma is also there,
there is no scene in the novel in which the two appear together. Indeed, as
‘mistresses’ of Kanooru, they come into and go out of the house just missing
each other, their entrances and exits alternating with a precision that would
remind one of a vaudeville routine were they not so tragic.
A related aspect of the novel is that its magnificent landscapes are
populated only with men. All that beautiful nature, so sublimely evoked, is
denied to the women, who are confined to the interiors of their houses. In
fact; one of the most poignant moments in the novel occurs on the morning
after Hoovayya and Ramayya return to Kanooru from Mysore. The men
exuberantly leave for a jaunt on the plantations while Puttamma watches from
the kitchen door and wishes she too had been born a man.
When the novel first appeared there were complaints about its
unsympathetic, indeed grim, portrayal of Vokkaliga society. Yet ironically
today these novels are loved as the only records of Vokkaliga lore, history
and culture of the period.
For that feudal society has now entirely disappeared. The women have
discarded their ‘gobbe’ saris. References to traditional deities only provoke
embarrassed shrugs. The community is so highly educated and urbanized that
it is hard to connect it even remotely with the goings-on in the novel.
But gone also are the dense jungles, the animal life, the torrential rains so
lovingly described by Puttappa. Timber loggers, smugglers, poachers,
encroachers, the Forest Department and the government’s fondness for
inundating jungles in the name of facilitating irrigation elsewhere have all
turned this novel into a record as much of a destroyed ecology as of a
vanished culture.

Bangalore
May 1999
Girish Karnad
 1
On the Stone Bridge at Ramatheertha

IT WASN’T NOON yet but the summer sun was burning hot and the two young
men who were crossing the Thunga over Theerthahalli’s stone bridge were
tired and sweating in the heat, hurrying on, seeking to shelter in the shade of
the luxuriant trees growing on the south bank of the river. It was obvious that
they were from a rich family. Their radiant faces seemed weary, having
travelled a long way without food and sleep.
One was tall and slim. It was apparent from his gait that he was strong and
healthy. He was not wearing a cap on his head though the sun was burning
hot; nor was he holding up an umbrella either. His black hair was soft, curly,
and quite long. A couple of forelocks stuck to his wet forehead and looked
fetching. Black locks on a fair forehead bring to mind the loveliness of
women. But there was no sign of weakness in the face. The parting of his
uncombed hair was in disarray. The fine, smooth red dust lay thick on his
black hair like Mangalore Powder, an indication of the length of his journey
and the road he had travelled on. His eyes, though not large were bright,
penetrating and introspective, the eyes of a yogi, arousing respect in those
who knew him and exciting desire in those who didn’t. The nose was long
and curved at the tip like a parrot’s, appearing to peck into the secrets of
creation. A pale green nerve over it gave his beauty power and dignity. The
upper lip was bent like a bow and the lower lip was a taut red bowstring: they
depended on, embraced and supported each other, like Shiva’s bow. The
cheeks were as fetching as the lips but not as tender. They were like lights,
drawing moths. The chin was small and sharp bringing to mind harsh
diligence and a sort of obduracy. Poised between adolescence and youth, his
body possessed the better points of both, and was covered with a long shirt
emphasizing his broad, raised chest. The khadi shirt he wore and the dhoti
round his waist were soiled and covered with dust. His manliness, spirituality,
intelligence and a certain troublesome stubborness made him an impressive
person. He wore none of the accessories which one noticed on his younger
companion. His simple good looks were in themselves a glorious sight.
 There was nothing unique about his companion. Short and somewhat
plump, he appeared to be enamoured of the good things of life: he wore khadi
too and had a white khadi cap on his head, and a blue jacket with a fountain
pen tucked in a small pocket, a watch on his wrist and a khadi dhoti with an
oversized border. His face looked innocent, a blend of simplicity and good
nature. There was no sign of either will-power or competence.
Walking along the stone bridge of Theerthahalli in the hot sun was a tiring
experience. Luckily, both had slippers on their feet. While the younger one
plodded on, the older one took pleasure in the scenery around though he
walked fast. As he neared Ramatheertha in the middle stretch of the river, his
feet slowed down to a stop. He remembered how the Thunga and
Ramatheertha had become places of pilgrimage when he was studying at
Theerthahalli. He saw the boys swimming there and remembered how he too
had done so. Everything seemed as before, but he had changed. Flowing out
of mountain cracks and disappearing as before among its folds, the river ran
its course. On either bank of the Thunga, forests stood in ranges. Quite a few
old trees still remained. The mass of great rocks in the middle of the river was
where it had always been, though one of them had rolled away in the floods.
As playfully as it used to, the water jumped from rock to rock, churned,
whirled and finally became wave upon wave to glitter in the sun.
The younger man called out on seeing that his brother had stopped.
Startled, he turned quickly and went on forward. A smile curved his lips and
disappeared. How absorbed he had been!
‘What were you looking at in this hot sun?’ the younger man asked as his
brother drew near. ‘The boys were swimming. I saw them and remembered
how we used to swim too. They still play that game with stones.’
‘Come on, let’s go. It’s quite late. I’ll be glad to get home . . . What
scorching heat!’
‘The others haven’t yet come. Shall we drive the cart ourselves and go on?’
They looked along the stone bridge to the other side of the river. They had
walked about two furlongs. The bridge carried on for about a furlong more.
‘What could they still be doing there? How long does it take to carry two
trunks?’ There was anger in the young man’s voice.
‘Perhaps they had something to do at the market,’ said the older brother.
They began to walk fast again.
‘What work can there be? Maybe they went into a hotel. It’s the same story
wherever Puttanna goes!’ said the other.
 After walking on for about half a furlong, the older man turned back to
look. ‘There they are,’ he said.
‘Who’s the other one?’ asked the younger, ‘The one with a turban?’
‘I don’t know. Can’t tell from this distance.’
Both left behind the bridge across the river, reached the bank thick with
trees and walked on. The shade under the trees looked cool as a clear pond.
Their arched cart stood by the platform around the pipal tree of Kuruvalli.
Both the yoked bullocks were chewing the cud, eyes half-closed, swishing
away the flies that landed on them now and then with their tails. When they
shook their heads to shake off the flies from their necks or heads, their bells
would sound musically and then fall silent. One was black, the other grey.
When both men went up to the cart, the black one stood up, jingling its bells.
The elder brother moved back a bit. ‘Ramu, don’t. You will be in trouble if it
butts! Let’s get on when they catch up,’ he said smiling at his own fear.
‘Come on, we are no strangers. It surely knows who we are.’ Ramayya
went forward and patted the back of the bullock that was lying down. ‘Nandi,
get up,’ he said.
The gentle creature stood up and looked at the stranger. Even though there
was no sign of recognition or otherwise in its eyes, he felt rather pleased
imagining that it had recognized him. He stroked its dewlap and started
towards the other. It grew skittish. The older man laughed aloud when he saw
his brother jumping clear. ‘Didn’t I tell you?’ he said.
Ramayya felt a little ashamed and looked angrily at the black bullock.
‘Damned Laccha, he will never change. Didn’t he butt the cartman himself
when he was newly bought?’ he said, going to his brother. Nevertheless, they
were both happy at seeing the cart and the bullocks: they would be meeting
their family soon . . . Mysore, Chamundi Hills, the palace, Kukkanhalli tank,
Athara Kacheri, the high school, the college, the crowds and everything else
vanished from their minds, now given over to their home, the forest,
cowsheds, the fields, cattle and farm workers. Their hearts brimmed with love
for the animals that would be carrying them home.
Realizing the danger of having anything to do with Laccha, Ramayya went
back to Nandi and fondled him. Hoovayya, the older one, sat on the ground
soft with fallen leaves, engrossed in the twittering birds hopping from branch
to branch, the houses in the town beyond the river, the blue sky visible
through the canopy of trees and white woolly clouds. Thoughts and pictures
chased each other across his mind: his education, his goals and obstacles, his
widowed mother, the strange jealousy his uncle had for him and his mother,
when suddenly a koel called out from a tree. Hoovayya was startled, tossed
from one world to another. He saw the bird, black among the green leaves,
calling, ‘Be like me, be like me,’ it seemed to say to Hoovayya. Two dogs
were fighting noisily for leftovers in a distant house. One of them bit and
chased the other away, the bitten dog waking the whole town with its cries of
anguish.
Ramayya looked back and said in a loud, authoritative voice, ‘Why were
you so late?’
Hoovayya looked too. Cartman Ninga was walking along carrying a trunk
with great difficulty. Beads of sweat were strung across his face. The red
cloth tied round his head was hanging loosely to one side. His hair was knotty
and dishevelled. His coat, donated by someone, had lost its buttons and gaped
open to exhibit his pot belly, not mere flab but the result of a lump the size of
a jack fruit, caused by a fever. His dhoti tied knee-high was a repository of
filth. Around one ankle he wore a thin silver circlet to propitiate his god. His
chin wore half-an-inch of growth. While his stomach was mountainous, his
chest was a sunken valley. Even the cruellest man would be filled with pity
looking at him. He walked on, panting as if his very joints would come apart
and fall off, unable to answer Ramayya’s question. He sighed after hoisting
the trunk onto the cart with Hoovayya’s help, undid his red cloth, wiped the
sweat off his face and threw it on the beam of the cart. The sadness, disease
and poverty of the whole village seemed to be embodied in him.
‘Where’s the other one? Why are you so late?’ asked Ramayya.
‘What can I say? Feet just don’t move in this heat. Anyway, what is there
in this trunk? It feels like iron.’
‘Just books.’
‘Can paper be so heavy? I don’t know how you can read all this. I can’t
carry all this, not even for a minute.’ Ramayya smiled and turned to
Hoovayya. He was smiling too.
Meanwhile Ninga looked at the narrow track and exclaimed, ‘There they
are!’
Puttanna was walking leisurely along carrying another trunk, a dark
complexioned man with a black Hasana cap on his head. Under it, there was
neither hair cut short nor a tuft. All that one could see there were liberal traces
of greasy oil. The buttons on his coat had been undone to show a dirty shirt
underneath. It had been white at the time it was stitched but was now neither
white nor black. The dhoti he had round his waist reached his ankle, trying
too to look white but failing in the attempt. Neither his clothes nor his face
proclaimed him a servant in the service of a house. His dark face, shaved that
morning, had a strength about it. With his broad chest and strong body, he
was a picture of rebelliousness. His appearance belied the ease with which he
sauntered through life. He looked about thirty or thirty-five.
If anyone had asked either Hoovayya or Ramayya who Puttanna was, they
would have found it difficult to answer. If they answered at all, it would have
been something like, ‘He lives in our house,’ or ‘He belongs to our caste’. He
was neither a relation nor a servant. If a stranger had asked, it would have
been possible to say that he was a great hunter. He was skilled at handling
guns, at the smithy or at carpentry, cane work and the like, though he didn’t
use his skills to earn money. Not that he didn’t need money. He was a man of
leisure, at ease with himself. If one was inclined to be harsh, one would say
he was bone lazy. He wasn’t married, nor had he any property, house or land.
In jest, Hoovayya used to call him a Forest Fakir. Puttanna was the hunting
companion of Ramayya and Hoovayya, more so for the latter, when they
came home for the holidays. There was no forest he wasn’t familiar with, no
animal he hadn’t hunted nor an adventure that he hadn’t been through.
When Puttanna approached, Hoovayya smiled, ‘What were you doing in
the middle of the river all this while? When are we ever going to reach home?
It is already twelve o’ clock. There’s a fire raging in my stomach.’
Showing his teeth in a wide smile, Puttanna replied, ‘So what? You’re not
exactly short of relatives’ houses along the way.’
‘That’s all very well for you, you can eat anywhere and sleep anywhere,
you mendicant of the forest!’ He turned to Ramayya.
‘That’s right, Ramu. We shall reach Mutthalli on the way. Let’s have lunch
there and go.’
‘If we meet anyone who invites us to stop, we will. Otherwise it’s straight
home,’ said Ramayya. He looked at his watch. ‘Twelve o’ clock already. We
should be home by two. Ninga, drive fast.’ Ninga, ready by the yoked
bullocks, said, ‘Yes, ayya. Won’t it be enough if we travel like a train? Don’t
worry, just get in. I shall make them gallop. See for yourself,’ and patted the
bullocks on their backs. ‘Maraya! We want neither your train nor car. Just
make sure that the cart doesn’t run into a gutter. It doesn’t matter if we are
half an hour late,’ said Puttanna putting in the trunk at the back. Ramayya got
in first, followed by Hoovayya and Puttanna. Ninga jumped on the beam
clicking his tongue to the bullocks. The bullocks sped on, their bells tinkling.
The shadow of the cart travelled with that of the bullocks, a lump of charcoal
along the reddish road of the little market in Kuruvalli.
 2
An Adversary on the Road

O N HIS WAY back, Seethemane Singappa Gowda who had gone on an errand
to Theerthahalli the previous day, met Ninga and Puttanna carrying the
trunks. He found out on enquiring that Kanooru Chandrayya Gowda’s son
Ramayya and his cousin Hoovayya had arrived from Mysore on holiday and
that a cart had been sent to fetch them. Singappa Gowda and Chandrayya
Gowda had had an altercation a few months earlier about a worker, ending in
strained relations between Seethemane and Kanooru. Hoovayya’s mother was
Singappa Gowda’s wife’s sister and so the Gowda had asked about his
welfare. Though he would have loved to meet Hoovayya, he had suppressed
his desire and taken the track which met the Kuruvalli road and had covered a
considerable distance; he had to take the road by Kanooru to reach
Seethemane. That was the reason why he had come up with a lame excuse
when Puttanna had asked him to ride with them in the cart. And because of
this conversation, Puttanna had been held up and was late in catching up with
the cart. Hoovayya and Ramayya had seen Singappa Gowda at a distance but
had kept quiet not knowing who it was. Had they known, they might have
welcomed him and made him ride with them. Having been in Mysore, they
were unaware of the recent feud. Singappa Gowda used to read aloud the
Ramayana and Mahabharatha and had a delightful disposition and Ramayya
and Hoovayya had been very fond of him as children. They addressed him
very familiarly though he was much older.
Singappa Gowda had walked two furlongs on the way to Koppa. With even
the umbrella heating up in the sun, he felt very tired. The snacks he had eaten
at a hotel that morning had all been digested and he was very hungry. The
smooth red dust on the road was burning hot and sprang right up to his knees,
forcing him to pull up his dhoti well above them. His shirt buttons were
undone exposing his hairy chest. He wished he had accepted Puttanna’s
invitation to ride in the cart. He discarded the thought immediately, feeling
ashamed. Then he heard ox-bells and a cart at a distance. He looked back and
realizing that it was the cart from Kanooru, began to walk fast feeling it was
beneath his dignity to exhibit his tiredness.
Ramayya who was sitting up in front saw Singappa Gowda. Hoovayya,
talking animatedly with Puttanna about hunting and the dogs at home, did not.
‘Who’s that, over there? Looks like Singappa Kakkayya by the way he
walks.’
Hoovayya straightened up immediately, turned round and said happily,
‘Who else? It’s got to be him.’
‘Of course it is. He crossed the river with us. I asked him to come in the
cart but he wouldn’t.’ Puttanna was about to explain the reason for his refusal
when Ramayya clapped and called out loudly. ‘Singappa Kakkayya, stop.
Stop.’ Singappa Gowda carried on though he had heard the call. Ramayya and
Hoovayya called out together. Singappa Gowda stopped, thinking generously
that the boys had nothing to do with the dispute between Chandrayya Gowda
and himself. The hot sun might have contributed to his generous mood.
The fast cart stopped near him. The red dust whipped up by eight hooves
and two wheels clouded the cart and the road. The bullocks stopped, panting
because Ninga had pulled them up hard. Their nostrils moved back and forth
like bellows with their laboured breathing. When the sound of ox-bells
stopped, Singappa Gowda who had moved aside, came up to the front of the
cart, but went back again to the rear because the bullocks were startled at the
sight of his clothes and umbrella.
‘Maraya! I have been calling out for so long and yet you couldn’t hear?
Walking alone in the sun like a ranapishachi!’
‘Oh, Hoovayya! How are you?’ said Singappa Gowda. His squint made it
appear as if he was looking at Ramayya though his gaze was fixed on
Hoovayya.
‘Greetings later, get in first,’ said Ramayya thinking that Singappa Gowda
was looking at him.
‘The cart seems to be full. Never mind, I can walk along,’ said Singappa
Gowda, laughing.
‘Are you mad? Just get in, it’s getting late. There’s a fire raging in my
stomach,’ said Ramayya.
‘All right then,’ Singappa Gowda said, folding his umbrella. He took off
his slippers, put them in the cart under the hay and got in, while Puttanna took
hold of the umbrella. The cart started off.
 Hoovayya took a look at Singappa Gowda’s dusty feet. ‘Kakkayya, the mat
will get dirty. Fold it up and clean your feet on the hay,’ he said. Singappa
Gowda did so and sat down comfortably.
‘Couldn’t you really hear us calling?’ Ramayya asked.
‘Really! Tie some more bells round your bullocks’ necks. Then one can
perhaps hear them better. In their din, even a drum can’t be heard, leave alone
anyone calling,’ said Singappa Gowda realizing fully well that the boys were
unaware of what had happened between Chandrayya Gowda and himself.
‘You wouldn’t come, I hear, when Puttanna called you while crossing the
river,’ said Hoovayya. ‘Why did you do that? Should we have gone on in the
cart leaving you to walk in the sun?’ Hoovayya wouldn’t have spoken thus
had he known what had happened.
Aware of this, Singappa Gowda said, ‘I thought you’d be late and walked
on.’ He looked at Puttanna who was smiling.
Ninga was absorbed in his duties and said nothing. Hoovayya and
Ramayya carried on talking about Mysore, Bangalore and their holidays,
answering Singappa Gowda’s questions. Puttanna listened to them, asking
questions now and then and chewing betel leaves. He sat at the back where it
was convenient for him to spit out the tobacco he was chewing. As he spat
once every two or three minutes, the blood-red saliva splashed out not in
drops or as a stream but in lumps and made small red mud balls, drying up as
soon as they touched the ground. The equidistant, distinct and unbroken lines
of the wheels seemed to follow like snakes.
In the brilliant shower of light poured down with severe mercilessness by
the hot copper disc of the midday summer sun, the hills and mountains of
Malenadu, thickly forested, seemed to be in dark sleep faint with fatigue. The
dust-red road showed like the long, straight, rising and dipping parting in the
head of the forest goddess of Sahyadri. There were electric poles here and
there along the road. The black lines seemed to be flowing and ran against the
sky from pole to pole. The whimsical forest ranges started on either side of
the road and spread as far as the eye could see. There was no movement, no
animal. Now and then, pikalara could be seen hopping about among the
jambu trees. In the heat of the afternoon even that seemed a calculated move,
not mere play. Even their calls were lost in the forest. The forty or fifty bells
around the necks of the bullocks melodiously churned the silence of the great
forest. That morning, the sun, the green peace of the forest, the swaying of the
cart, the bells’ lullaby—caught among these, the hungry, tired folk in the cart
gave up their conversation and began to nod off. Even Ninga was half asleep.
The whip in his hand hung down, disregarded. Swaying as the cart moved, his
head kept falling onto his chest. In that great still world, the cart was the only
moving object.
There was no need to show the bullocks the way. They would reach home
safely even if there was no driver. But something untoward happened that
day. Ninga, in his hurry to get started, had forgotten to water the bullocks.
The cart had left the fourteenth milestone and went on for a mile or two.
Laccha was thirsty enough to be sorely tempted by just a glimpse of water.
Seeing a pond further away, he quickened his pace immediately. Nandi
wasn’t as thirsty but was compelled to walk faster because his companion was
pulling strongly at the yoke. No one in the cart was conscious of what was
happening. The raised embankment doubled as the road, and the pond lay
down a steep path. The bullocks went on ahead toward the water. The right
wheel went over suddenly and the cart jolted violently. Singappa Gowda was
awake at once and called out, ‘Ninga, Ninga!’ still unaware of what was
happening. The others woke up and shouted as well. Ninga finally got up and
reined in the ropes tightly. But it was already too late and the cart overturned.
The arch crashed against a wild mango tree growing on the slope. Nandi,
strangling in the fouled rope, began to gasp for breath. The people in the cart
had fallen out. Puttanna, Singappa Gowda and Ramayya sprang up as soon as
the cart stopped at the tree. Ninga jumped off the cart-beam and tried to
loosen the rope around Nandi’s neck. Nandi was cross-eyed and gasping: the
noose was getting tighter by the minute. Ninga looked about for a knife in the
cart to cut the rope, but couldn’t find one. Panic-stricken, everyone stood
helplessly until Puttanna eventually brought over a large rock and cut the
rope, fraying it. Nandi lowered his neck. Meanwhile Singappa Gowda rushed
towards the cart where Hoovayya lay moaning, ‘Kakkayya, Kakkayya.
Ayyo!’ The trunk had crashed into his backbone. He was in great pain and
Puttanna and Singappa Gowda laid him down gently on the ground.
Hoovayya found he couldn’t stand up.
Though his head ached from having hit a peg, Ramayya went to Hoovayya
with anxiety. ‘What happened, Annayya?’ he said ‘The corner of the trunk
caught my back,’ Hoovayya said in great pain. Ramayya lifted his brother’s
shirt tearfully and found no open wound. The bruise, ringed in red, had turned
green. He stroked it gently ‘Ayyo!’ cried Hoovayya. Ramayya who was
prepared to do anything to alleviate his brother’s pain could think of nothing
helpful that needed to be done. Puttanna, Ninga and Singappa Gowda were all
trying to set the cart upright and bring it onto the road. The bullocks were
drinking happily, standing knee-deep in the mud at a corner of the tank. The
shadow of Laccha’s noose swung over the green reeds of the water and of the
bank, but its reflection sank straight down in the dull mirror of the water.
Nandi returned, having drunk his fill, and a few frogs sprang away.
The cart now stood upright. But the effort of all three could not push it onto
the road up the steep incline. Their strength would perhaps have sufficed
under different circumstances, but what could anyone do on an empty
stomach? Watching their futile efforts, Ramayya went up to help, but the cart
just wouldn’t budge.
The midday sun shone down. A couple of clouds wandered lazily across
the sky. The entire forest was strangely still. Even the wind did not blow.
Some cattle grazed in the corner of a neighbouring field under the big mango
tree. A few others were lying down unconcerned and lazy, chewing the cud.
Suddenly someone called out from the thick forest across the river bank,
and everyone turned. Two people were walking across through the bushes in
the shade of the trees.
 3
Chinnayya’s Fish-Hunt

M UTTHALLI LAY TO THE right of the government road to Koppa, three or

three-and-a-half miles from Theerthahalli. One could catch glimpses from the
road of the tiled house of Shyamayya Gowda, the sahukar and patel, even
though it was surrounded by trees. A cart-track ran from the road to the house
two or three furlongs away. It was the biggest house in that area. The rest
were either the grass-thatched houses of tenants or huts for the workers.
Shyamayya Gowda’s son Chinnayya was a young man who had gone to
school in Theerthahalli for a while. He loved hunting and his one pleasure
was to roam the forest gun in hand, even on an empty stomach. He was an
expert marksman and everyone in the village knew he never missed his target.
He was a simple soul of pleasant disposition, and very fond of his friend
Hoovayya who was also his relative.
Chinnayya was on his way home from his orchard along the government
road as was his wont every morning. It was not a desire for fresh air that took
him out on his daily rounds but his need for a cigarette without letting his
father catch him. It was one of the few things he had learnt at the school in
Theerthahalli which had stayed permanently with him.
He was walking along the road puffing happily, a pack of four or five dogs
in tow, when suddenly the sound of ox-bells reached him. He turned, thinking
that it was a cart on its way from Theerthahalli to Koppa. He saw no cart.
When he looked once more, he saw a cart with an arched roof coming
towards him round the bend. He immediately recognized it as Chandrayya
Gowda’s cart from Kanooru and threw his cigarette stub into a bush by the
roadside guiltily. Two or three dogs ran to the bush to sniff at the still-
smoking butt. They came back when Chinnayya called them with a shout.
The cart stopped near him. ‘Namaskara,’ a voice said.
‘Is that Puttanna?’ asked Chinnayya. There was awe in Ninga’s voice as he
said, ‘Yes, Ayya.’
Puttanna’s face appeared at the front.
‘Going far?’ Chinnayya asked.
 ‘No, only up to Theerthahalli.’
‘Are Hoovayya and Ramayya coming?’
‘Yes. There was a letter, that’s why they are sending the cart.’
‘I thought my uncle was riding in the cart,’ Chinnayya said when Diamond
attacked Ruby suddenly and raised a furore. Chinnayya chased Diamond
away. ‘Let them come to our house for lunch. Tell them.’
‘The Gowda wants them to drive home without stopping anywhere.’
‘Tell Hoovayya that I want him to stop for lunch. They will lose nothing by
not going home today.’
Puttanna’s teeth showed as he smiled. ‘I was afraid the Gowda would get
angry and so . . . Please don’t take me amiss.’
‘Tell Hoovayya that I asked him to stop on the way. It will be twelve o’
clock by the time you arrive. Let them eat and leave in the evening.’
‘I shall tell them.’
Chinnayya had observed a wound on Laccha’s thigh while he was talking
to Puttanna. He now asked, ‘What’s this, Ninga, a wound on the bullock’s
thigh?’
‘Some bullock or the other must have butted him. Can’t be helped, this
Laccha locks horns with any and every bullock he meets.’
‘All right then. You’d better get going, Puttanna, and tell them I’ll be
waiting for them.’
‘Namaskara,’ Puttanna said as the cart moved away, its oxbells jingling.
When the cart was out of sight, Chinnayya went to the bush and looked for
his cigarette. When he touched the bush a chameleon jumped out and fled.
The dogs gave chase but it saved itself by hiding in another bush. The
cigarette was still smouldering and Chinnayya revived it, putting it to his lips.
He couldn’t help laughing at himself.
A pleasing idea came to him on his way home and he stopped to savour it:
he would keep Hoovayya and Ramayya back for the night and they would
have fish for dinner. He then walked to Nanja’s hut and called. A black figure
wrapped in a blanket emerged from the hut’s cavernous darkness.
‘We must go to Bailukere to fish there. Be at my place at half-past-eight,’
Chinnayya said.
Nanja scratched his thigh noisily and drawled, ‘No fish there, Ayya. They
have all been caught. Better to try the waters from the sluice.’
‘No. Let’s go to Bailukere. It’s by the road and it’s an easy ride. The cart
from Kanooru has gone to Theerthahalli and will be back by twelve o’ clock:
We may as well catch it there and ride back home. Imagine going all that way
to the waters from the sluice in this wretched heat!’
Nanja nodded in agreement and Chinnayya went home happy at the
thought of meeting his friends.
The pack of dogs followed him.
Nanja who had positioned himself in the low doorway, a foot on the
threshold, his body bent like a bow, spat out an arrow-like red stream of
tobacco juice. Clearing his throat, he coughed and went in like the head of a
tortoise withdrawing into its body. The hut was full of debris: hay, dead
leaves, sugarcane husk, broken pots and ragged blanket ends, all lying about
haphazardly. He spat again and his spittle landed in a patch of the yard which
turned red. Red flies flew up buzzing and settled down again.
Nanja was a potter by caste. He was reasonably good at many things, but
not at making pots. Though he was Shyamayya Gowda’s tenant, his interest
did not lie in farming. He was not enamoured of his reputation as a marksman
either, though he had taken part in many a major hunt and had been lauded by
all and sundry for his daring acts. He hunted purely for meat and he could not
understand why people chose to talk of his marksmanship and daring rather
than the meat he brought. He lived for his drink and he would range far and
near, from house to house, looking for it by day or night. He often slept the
nights by the roadside dead drunk, and returned home in the morning. One
rainy evening he walked to a village, got drunk on akkiboja and was
unsteadily returning along the bund of a wet paddy field. He had slung over
his shoulder the gun his master had given him and must have fancied himself.
When an enemy grotesque and dangerous appeared suddenly in front of his
eyes, he unslung the gun and aimed it at the hollow below the bund and
swaying unsteadily on his feet mumbled, ‘Ah, you want to take me on, do
you?’ A black crab which had just then emerged from a hole to forage, saw a
black pole approaching it. Frightened, it raised its horns and began to run
back to the hole. Nanja was convinced that it was his enemy rushing towards
him with his arms raised. ‘Ah, you want to take me on, do you?’ he mumbled
again and aimed. The bullet caught the crab and hit the earth throwing up
lumps of wet clay. The poor crab lay there in a hundred pieces. Not having
steadied the gun against his chest in his inebriated state, the recoil threw him
off balance and Nanja fell into the field. All the seedlings were crushed under
him and he was covered in mud from head to toe. Some of the men who were
working in a field nearby came running and broke into loud laughter when
they learnt what had happened. The story of how Nanja had shot a poor crab
which he could have caught with his bare hands soon spread and he became
the laughing stock of the village. The Gowda ticked him off severely saying
that the barrel of his gun was no longer straight.
Nanja rushed through his meal of ganji and went to the Gowda’s house.
Chinnayya was ready for him. Master and servant left with a gun each for
Bailukere to catch fish. They reached the waters in half an hour, and took
their places on two trees on the bank opposite the government road.
Though it was past nine and the sun hot, it was cool in the green of the
forest. The sun’s rays filtered through the trees and played on the placid
waters which mirrored the blue sky and the white clouds. Though the lake
was covered with moss, it looked clean where the water was deep and the
moss submerged. There was a forest of thick weeds, plants and water lilies at
the edges. Frightened water-fowl moved among the plants and frogs jumped
about croaking. Shoals of squirming black tadpoles could be seen. When on
occasion the fish bit, the waters shuddered, ripples formed on the surface and
the sun danced. When the fish leapt to catch something floating on the
surface, the ‘tum, tumuk,’ tickled the forest silence, broken until then only by
bird-song.
The branch on which Chinnayya sat grew so low over the water that he
could clearly see himself with his gun and the black blanket he used for a
cushion reflected in it. A multicoloured giant spider had woven its web
between two branches and sat motionless at its centre, the blue sky for a
backdrop. Chinnayya waited, gun in hand, watching the water.
An hour passed. The shadow of the tree which lay across the water in the
morning sun had started to shrink. There seemed to be no fish near the water’s
edge where Chinnayya sat, though he could see them in the middle of the
lake. There was no point shooting them where the water was deep—he
couldn’t hope to retrieve them. He called out to Nanja who was perched on a
tree at a fair distance from him.
‘Do you see any fish, Nanja?’
‘There they are and not one of them has come to the edge. May their
bowels rot! Didn’t I tell you that we should have gone to the waters from the
sluice? We would have had a couple by now.’
The two fell silent. Chinnayya tired of the water and looked up. The spider
was still in the centre of the web, utterly motionless against the sky. He
plucked a tender leaf, rolled it into a ball and threw it at the spider. It missed
but hit the web and swung to and fro with it. The tiger-hued spider flew like
an arrow to fasten on it. Disappointed, it crawled back to sit as before.
Chinnayya shuddered involuntarily in sheer disgust as he watched its long
legs, grotesque body and fierce colours. He placed his gun on his lap, took out
a cigarette and a box of matches from the inside pocket of his coat and placed
the cigarette between his lips. He struck a match and smoke rose in clouds out
of the burning end. He threw the still-burning match at the web. The match
went out, hit the web but fell into the water below. A number of tiny fish
jumped on the half-charred match and finding it inedible played around it as it
floated on the water. Chinnayya turned away and sat there enjoying his
smoke. A yellow bird flew up to perch close to Chinnayya, chirped a couple
of times and flew away flapping noisily when it saw him.
Chinnayya turned to the water and quickly picked up his gun. The cigarette
was still burning between his lips. There was disturbance in the water near
him and he knew that it was a shoal of baby avalu fish that was stirring.
Hundreds of the tiny fish plunged and surfaced, sending the water into quick
movement. He could not see any big fish but knew from the way the shoal
moved that they were approaching too. He watched the water intently,
uncertain. His nerves grew taut like those of a hunter as he invested all his
energy in the act of looking. The patch of water where the baby fish moved
became his entire world and he was lost to everything else. As he focused on
the spot, something long and black seemed to be moving a foot underwater.
He readied the gun and held it firmly and saw the mother fish vivid in the
sunlight. Not wanting to waste a shot as the fish was still half a foot
underwater he waited, his finger on the trigger.
It was an avalu fish more than two feet long swimming in the sunlit water,
coal-black in colour with eyes that looked red like gulaganji. There was
dignity in the way the fish moved leisurely, with a touch of watchfulness and
anxiety. As Chinnayya watched it was joined by another. He was excited,
wanting to kill both with a single shot. The fish sported with their hundred-
strong offspring utterly unaware of the menacing presence of Chinnayya who
sat all eyes, eager to take their lives. As one of the fish began to swim up to
the surface, every second seemed to lengthen into a year and Chinnayya
thought that the fish was moving extremely slowly. The red circles round its
eyes stood out; the fins moved leisurely. The fish looked much smaller than
before when its head broke the surface. Chinnayya could see the white line of
its mouth as it opened and shut. He knotted his nerves, held his breath, didn’t
blink and pulled the trigger as the fish emerged. The water of the lake flew up
in every direction as the shot hit and the sound echoed from the hills around,
shattering the silence. The wounded fish ploughed up and down and fell back
into the water with a loud splash.
‘Nanja! Nanja! Come here. Quick,’ Chinnayya shouted.
Nanja left his gun on the tree and came down as fast as he could, taking
care not to fall. His feet landed on the dry leaves that thickly covered the
clayey earth and he slipped and fell. Unmindful of his bruises and his mud-
covered body, he rushed up. The fish had disappeared under water. He waded
in up to his knees and asked, ‘Where exactly did you hit it?’
‘Just ahead,’ Chinnayya answered from the tree.
Nanja moved forward and the water came up to his waist.
‘Look on your right.’
Nanja bent down to the water and groped around. The water grew muddy
and Nanja’s dhoti was soaked. His arm right up to the shoulder joint was
under water and the water came up to his chest. Bubbles rose in a necklace
from the mire below.
Nanja looked for the fish for a while and stood up sighing. ‘May its bowels
rot! Where has it gone?’
‘Eh, don’t give up. Keep looking, I hit it all right. Must be lying dead
somewhere. Take a step further and look.’
‘You want me to go further? There may be a deep hole! It was struggling
for life. Where could it go?’
‘It couldn’t have gone anywhere. Must be lying somewhere there. Keep
looking.’ There was an edge to Chinnayya’s voice.
Nanja came out of the water, took off everything he wore but his loin cloth
and waded in again to his waist.
‘One more step, Nanja,’ Chinnayya ordered from his perch.
Nanja went forward and the water was up to his chest.
‘That will do. Now look.’
Nanja felt around with his foot. The cold water gave him goose-pimples.
Five minutes passed. Chinnayya was near losing hope as he asked, ‘Nothing
there, Nanja?’
‘Where has it gone?’ Nanja cursed repeatedly shuffling around.
‘Shall I join you?’
‘Wait. There is something here. Ah, the bitch is here!’ Nanja disappeared
underwater and Chinnayya, now happy, waited eyes peeled for him to
surface. Nanja stood up dripping, sending the water into ripples. In his hand
was the fish, its white belly gleaming. ‘Its head is gone, blown away to
pieces!’ Nanja said and threw it to the bank.
‘Shall we stay here for a while longer? Just this one won’t do. Anyway, the
Kanooru cart hasn’t come yet,’ Chinnayya said.
Nanja grunted his approval, picked up his dhoti with one hand and the fish
with the other and moved to his appointed place. The sun was already high in
the sky. A single fish a mere sop to their greed, they sat down again with
hope.
They heard ox-bells in the distance. Chinnayya who was watching the road
guessed that it was the Kanooru cart. He saw the cart take a bend in the road
at great speed. He decided he would shout to the driver to stop when it
reached the middle of the bund, thinking how pleased his friends would be to
see him. Even as he watched, the bullocks sped ineluctably towards the gutter.
There was a shout and the cart overturned.
The two jumped down, raced through the bushes on the bank and reached
the cart in minutes.
All six of them had to struggle to get the cart back on the road. They lifted
Hoovayya up and laid him down in the cart. Ramayya found his bottle of hair
oil in the trunk and massaged Hoovayya’s back with it. Hoovayya’s injury
was more serious than they had thought and he was in great pain.
Ninga revenged himself on the bullocks with his whip as he hitched them
up. Chinnayya handed his gun to Puttanna and took his place. Nanja and
Puttanna walked behind the cart.
In the confusion, the fish Chinnayya had killed, plucking it from the bosom
of its family for his friends’ repast, remained on the bank to be consumed by
insects. Nanja remembered it only when they had gone some distance.
Listening to Hoovayya’s moans and watching the sad, silent faces around
him, he felt that it was mean of him to consider retrieving it and so held his
peace.
 4
Seethe

C HINNAYYA STEPPED THROUGH the main door of his house in the morning,
having ordered the potter Nanja to come for the fishing, when he turned on
hearing his name called. His mother Gowramma emerged from the cowshed,
a brass pot of milk in her hand. Wet green-black cow dung clung to her feet
and showed between her toes, striking against the ivory of her calves exposed
by her saree. The resounding jingling of her heavy bracelet and bangles
seemed to him drum beats proclaiming a mother’s love. Gowramma was
good-looking. But Chinnayya only saw the sanctity of motherhood, not her
beauty. The coquetry of a young girl had matured in her into the dignity of a
housewife. Her fickleness had ripened into constancy, the affections and
quickness of youth had gracefully given way to friendship, selflessness and
restraint. She was no more a swaying creeper in the cool breeze of a spring
morning, but a sturdy banana stem bent under the weight of the fruit,
surrounded by saplings, big and small, at its root. He felt strangely blessed
when she, the Mother Goddess, came up to him. He wanted to become a child
again, play on her divine bosom, run his fingers through her hair and over her
face and feel gratified by her kisses. The golden brass pot in Gowramma’s
hands sparkled in the early morning sun, dazzling him. The light green of the
tattooed creeper on her forearm ornamented her fair complexion. Chinnayya
was a modern man and considered tattooing uncivilized and had prevented his
sisters from having it done, but the creeper on his mother’s arm, which had
dandled him, made him happy. The tattoo had become so much a part of his
mother that her arm would have looked alien without it. The milk foamed at
the neck of the pot, soft and beautiful, like a mass of woolly cloud, as
invigorating as a mother’s love. The bubbles at the top shone iridescent in the
warm golden glow of the sun, small rainbow eggs. The shadows of mother
and son fell on the ground and along the whitewashed wall nearby. Some of
the dogs had come home with Chinnayya and crossed into the inner
courtyard. Some lay happily in the sun outside snapping at the troublesome
houseflies. Ruby sat up on her forelegs gazing at mother and son curiously,
tail wagging furiously, possibly because of the milk pot Gowramma carried.
‘Thamma,’—that was what she called her son—‘Could you do something
for me?’ A smile suddenly hovered over her face with a lightning glimpse of
her teeth gone red like pomegranate seeds from chewing betel leaves.
‘What is it?’
‘I shall tell you only if you promise to do it.’
‘Come on, avva.’
Both mother and son savoured their playfully whimsical conversations.
‘Will you tell Kala to get some haruve greens from the backyard?’
‘You can tell him yourself.’
‘Will he listen to me?’
‘Why not? Will he say no?’
Chinnayya failed to fathom her words. It didn’t strike him that she needed
the haruve as the opening move to their conversation. He brushed it away as a
trivial detail.
‘Let that be. Hoovayya and Ramayya are coming from Mysore this
afternoon.’ Chinnayya was suggesting that she make something special for
lunch. His mother realized it too.
‘Who told you so?’ Gowramma asked eagerly.
‘No one. The cart from Kanooru was on its way there and I asked them. I
am going to Bailukere to fish. I want my coffee, and breakfast soon.’
‘They are ready. You were late.’
Just then a sweet call was heard from the rose bushes by the garden fence.
‘Annayya, please come here.’ Mother and son turned round. Seethe stood
smiling by the rose bushes, roses in her hand. Her little sister Lakshmi hung
on tightly to the pleats of her saree.
‘Ayyo! This is too much. Why did you take her there? There might be
snakes in there. You just don’t listen. What on earth can I do? Thamma, pick
her up and bring her here,’ said Gowramma to her son as she went in.
Chinnayya went to Lakshmi who saw her brother and ran to him, proud of her
little adventure. In her excitement, she tripped on her dress, fell on the grass
and started to cry. Chinnayya ran to her and consoled her. Then he looked at
Seethe. ‘Why did you call me?’ he asked.
‘Get that rose for me,’ she said, pointing to it.
Chinnayya gently deposited Lakshmi on the ground and got Seethe the
flower. ‘That’s enough, let us go,’ he said.
 ‘No, annayya. I want some more.’
‘Didn’t you hear avva call? She’ll get angry.’
‘You take Lakshmi in. I’ll come later.’
‘Whom are they for? So many flowers? Are you getting married or what?’
Seethe puffed up her cheeks in anger. ‘No, they aren’t for me. They are for
my sister-in-law,’ she said.
Chinnayya grabbed her and punched her softly as he would a flower.
‘Why did you say that?’ said Seethe smiling crookedly.
‘Want to know why? Do you know who is coming today?’
Seethe knew, having listened to Gowramma and Chinnayya. Nevertheless
she asked, her face totally changed, ‘Who?’
‘Who? Your cousins from Mysore.’ ‘Oh! Ramayya.’
‘Come on. Why do you behave as if you know nothing? Was Ramayya the
only one who went to Mysore?’
Seethe bent her head and said nothing.
‘Really! Look at you. So shy that you can’t even say his name even before
you are married.’
‘Annayya, stop it,’ said Seethe in anger.
‘Well then, why are you so shy that you can’t say his name?’
Seethe was crestfallen but decided to brazen it out. She looked up at her
brother. ‘Who else? Hoovayya Bhava! That’s all.’ Blood rushed into her
cheeks and turned her face red.
You hussy, no respect for your husband! Just wait. I’ll tell him when he
comes,’ Chinnayya laughed. Lakshmi was looking for something in the grass
with her little hands.
Seethe was caught in a dilemma and tears flowed down her cheeks.
Chinnayya felt fulfilled. ‘Lakshmi, come, let’s go home,’ he said as he went
to pick her up. Lakshmi started to protest, crying. Chinnayya picked her up
forcibly and left. Seethe continued to cry, her head bent.
Seethe’s tears were not born of sadness and told a tale of bashfulness, loss
of pride, coquetry, joy. Soon after Chinnayya left, her turbulent emotions
melted away like a wisp of cloud in the dark blue sky of a summer afternoon,
and a smile dawned on her lovely, rosy lips, touched her cheeks and
transformed her face. The mention of the handsome Hoovayya conjured up a
celestial world for her and turned her into a glad nymph, disporting in the
bowers of her creation.
 Hoovayya had been an intimate friend since the days of Seethe’s
childhood. It was usual for Gowramma to visit Kanooru at least once a year
and stay for over two weeks. Though Hoovayya was five or six years older,
Seethe was closer to him than to those of her own age. She would sit next to
him while they ate and play with him and it was he who helped her with her
lessons. ‘Hoovayya Bhava’ meant a great deal to her. Once when all the
children were playing it was decided that Hoovayya would marry Seethe. All
the traditional customs were faithfully followed and Hoovayya tied a thali
round her neck. A rag doll ‘baby’ had been born to them. Then ‘the couple’
had, with fanfare, gone to Theerthahalli for a New Monday, the chariot
festival in Melige, and bought sweets, puffed rice, dried figs, trumpets and
sundry goodies at the fair. Once they had even pretended to have had a fight
and Hoovayya playfully hit Seethe and Ramayya had come to her rescue.
Both of them had had a great time the whole day, even happier perhaps than
those who were really married. They never so much as left each other’s side.
Seethe had insisted on sleeping with Hoovayya. Gowramma had then dragged
her off with a couple of blows. This game of make-believe had reached
everyone’s ears and people began to call them man and wife for fun. Another
time, Seethe had made a garland all by herself and put it round his neck
imitating what she had seen in a folk play and made him her husband. Once—
she might have been six or seven and Hoovayya perhaps twelve—
Seethemane Singappa Gowda on a visit to Kanooru was reading the Jaimini
Bharatha, and explaining it to the children around. Seethe had sat close to
Hoovayya with her hands on his shoulder as if embracing him. When there
was a description in the story of two lovers, Singappa Gowda had pointed to
them jocularly and said something. They had felt humiliated, moved away
and sat crying. A hundred such memories flashed through Seethe’s mind as
she stood by the rose bush, and she felt happy. As she reminisced further, she
smiled to herself shyly. She neither saw nor heard a pikalara on a nearby
branch which was singing away unaware of her presence.
Now out of childhood and entering adolescence, Seethe and Hoovayya
appeared to have grown distant in the eyes of the world, though in each
other’s minds they were even closer. But their relationship was not the erotic
one shared by a young man with a woman. It was still innocent childhood
love, without the pain of separation. Nor did they think of each other all the
time. Seethe hadn’t so much as thought of him the previous day. It was only
after she had heard of him from Chinnayya that she remembered, and their
dormant friendship had awakened, while Hoovayya’s mind was innocent even
of this.
All of a sudden, the golden bubble of Seethe’s dream burst. A frond fell
from a tall areca tree, its long crashed plumes trembling in the wind. A
moment later it crashed into a young banana stem, sliced through its smooth
tender head, and fell heavily on the twigs and dry leaves on the ground. The
banana leaf arced up and down like a swing from the blow. A lustreless hard
body, head kissed by the clouds, a dark green hood bending powerfully from
the top on all four sides like bows, the still-folded and tender leaf in the centre
like a green spear against the sky, and the white-yellow banana, against the
stem at the bottom, embracing the soft centre within like a mother’s love
enveloping a child’s heart—surrounded by all this and standing upright, the
areca tree brought Hoovayya to her mind. The banana sapling at its foot she
thought, was like herself.
The hood of the swinging sapling stopped eventually. Seethe didn’t gather
any of the flowers as she had wanted to. Like the gentle breeze of spring,
eager and expectant, the pleats of her colourful saree swinging, she went
towards the main door. A calf being licked over by its mother watched her
without blinking.
When Seethe washed her feet, left the flowers in her room and entered the
kitchen, she found Gowramma making holige. Chinnayya finished with his
coffee and breakfast looked at his sister and said, ‘Finished picking your
flowers?’ teasingly. Seethe knit her brows and began to help her mother,
saying nothing.
 5
Kanooru Chandrayya Gowda’s Third Wife

K ANOORU CHANDRAYYA GOWDA’S bungalow with its Mangalore tiles stood

all by itself, like the anthills that rise up under the giant trees on the hill slopes
thick with forest. To the west rose a sheer wall of forest and hill looking
dangerously close, and to the east of the house were his fields, orchards,
tenants’ and workers’ grass-thatched houses, tents, barn, cowshed and huts.
It was an old house from bygone days, solidly built from the walls and
pillars to the beams and lath. The Mangalore tiles on the roof, covered by
moss which had grown all over them in the rain and dried up under the sun,
had lost their original hue of red earth and had turned black. The tiles had
cracked in places, under the big hailstones during the monsoon rains, sprung
leaks, and had been replaced by new ones, rare instances of modernity in the
general antiquarian ambience. The woodwork in the house had turned black
as if covered with tar exposed to smoke over the years. A couple of anthills
had grown high, against the walls and the red and white namas which had
been smeared on them in puja looked weird. In the centre of the walled yard
was a black stone structure holding a well-nourished tulsi plant, the Angalada
Devaru, the deity of the yard. In one corner of the yard was an oven for the
areca nuts, by its side a mud-covered plough. There were some coloured
pictures of Thirupathi and Ravi Varma’s gods and goddesses around a giant
wall-clock which adorned the raised platform of the jaguli. There were also a
couple of portraits of patriots and a picture of Mother India, proof that the
influence of the growing nationalist movement had showered its benevolent
blessings over even the corners of Malenadu. This, in short, is a rough picture
of the house.
The living things around the house were equally quaint. There were seven
or eight dogs in the house, some good breeds, the others mongrels, some
black, some white and the rest a mélange of colours, some sleeping while
others moved in and out of the house. Occasionally men clad in white or
workers would go to the Gowda on some business or the other. The fowl in
the backyard—cocks, hens and chicks—would trespass while looking for
food, inevitably soil the place and flee shrieking only when the dogs or the
men chased them out. The untethered cattle in the milking shed would stamp
restlessly asking people to let them out to graze. The sound of paddy being
pounded and sundry other everyday noises filled the house.
If all this is a picture of the front of the house, it is a different scene
altogether in the backyard. Puppies with no respect for the niceties stretched
out ever ready for food. The hen was busy with its tiny chicks, all scraping the
earth and messing about. A brooding hen sat over the eggs she had laid in a
basket full of hay slung in a corner of the yard. A mixture of horsegram and
husk was being boiled on a huge stove for the cattle. Above it on a hanging
plate were big chunks of meat left to dry. In the attic lay a bundle of
blackened brooms. A couple of pestles leaned against the wall near a stone.
mortar and the grinding stone, a millstone and mettugatti for slicing and
scraping. A brass cauldron filled with water lay around. A medley of spiders’
webs filled every crack. An abandoned garland of wilted flowers and black
knot of hair, the detritus of a woman’s toilette, lay among red streams of
tobacco juice and the stench of urine.
Some thirty or forty people could be easily accommodated in the house. It
is said that at a time before this tale unfolds, there were twenty-five or thirty
members of the family living there along with some ten or fifteen servants,
not unusual as it was a joint family. Unfortunately a few years later there had
been a visitation of Mariamma in the form of smallpox and many members of
the family had perished. There were only seven left at the time of this story.
As Hoovayya and Ramayya had gone away for their studies, there were only
five members of the family left, the rest being servants: the master of the
house, Chandrayya Gowda, his third wife, Subbamma, Puttamma and Vasu,
born to his second wife, and Nagamma who was the widow of Chandrayya
Gowda’s brother and the mother of Hoovayya.
Chandrayya Gowda’s brother, Subbayya Gowda, had been the head of the
family. At the time of Subbayya Gowda’s death, there was no love lost
between the brothers. Nagamma had even said that Chandrayya Gowda had
been responsible for her husband’s death. She was convinced that it was black
magic that had killed him. As a matter of fact, he had died of a bout of
Reshme fever. Chandrayya Gowda’s behaviour was such that people believed
Nagamma. His attitude towards her was not one of hatred but indifference.
Hurt as she was, Nagamma saw each act of indifference as born out of the
terrible hatred he had for her. Hoovayya knew all this, but was a man of
emotions, and being interested in his own education and under the influence
of Ramayya’s friendship, he did nothing.
Chandrayya Gowda, distraught when his first wife and Ramayya’s mother
died, had picked up his gun wanting to commit suicide but had married again
within a year. His second wife had given birth to Puttamma and Vasu and
both mother and child had died during the next confinement. Everyone was
surprised when Chandrayya Gowda felt the need to marry again within a year.
A scandal had broken out within a few months of his becoming a widower
because of the special fondness he showed a lady from the South Canara
district who worked under Rangappa Shetty, the overseer of the place.
Though Chandrayya Gowda was able-bodied and rich, the affluent and
cultured families around were not eager to have him marry any of their girls
because he was already middle-aged and the father of three children. The
Gowda didn’t care and went to Nelluhalli in search of a bride. The poor,
uncultured and unsophisticated folk there were overjoyed and they gave their
consent immediately. As soon as they knew of it, well-wishers and relatives
like Shyamayya Gowda tried to dissuade Chandrayya Gowda from such an
adventure. It didn’t become a man of his stature, they said. Puttamma and
Vasu came to know of these things from their big aunt and cried. Even
Nagamma, who had no love for the Gowda, felt sorry for them. Nothing
affected the Gowda’s ardour and a day was fixed for the wedding. Hoovayya
and Ramayya who were in Mysore knew nothing of all this and were not even
invited for the wedding according to the Gowda’s wishes.
Anyway, Subbamma came to Kanooru as the Gowda’s wedded wife.
Subbamma had earlier caught a glimpse of the resplendent figure of
Hoovayya on a couple of occasions when she had attended weddings in the
family. She had listened to the laudatory terms in which the women
assembled there had talked of him. Like any other girl on seeing a handsome
youth, she too had been attracted. But she knew fully well that all her feelings
and desires were mere daydreams, like an earthen lamp hankering after a star
shining eternally in the distant night sky. It was no crime, only an
impossibility, that a lamp without even a burning wick wanted the star to light
her heart. When she heard that Chandrayya Gowda had come to her house
looking for a bride, she was astounded that something unimagined had come
to pass, but elated that a star beyond reach would soon be in her hands. When
she came to know the real objective of the Gowda’s visit, she was deflated but
not unduly sad. In the normal course of things, she would have married an
indigent farmer and worked hard to earn her living. She was happy with the
thought that it was indeed a blessing that she would be the wife of
Chandrayya Gowda and become a heggadithi in the prestigious Kanooru
household. Entering a loveless marriage and marrying a widower would
shatter the heart of any sensitive girl. But there had been neither place nor
opportunity in Subbamma’s life to nurture such sensitivity. And so she was all
excitement when she came to Kanooru as Chandrayya Gowda’s third wife.
Having grown up in poverty and brought up by uncultured people, Subbamma
had learnt their way of life and so had none of the generosity, dignity,
pleasant manners or restraint which came naturally to the cultured. The result
was that qualities like vanity, obduracy, haughtiness and selfishness which
have no place in a civilized society and which had remained dormant in her,
raised their head as soon as she became the mistress of the house and the
Heggadithi of Kanooru. She was relentless in exercising her authority over
everybody at all occasions. Each and every act of hers betrayed her meanness.
Once, though she had herself never known earlier a thing called soap, she
took Nagamma to task for having used hers while bathing Vasu! Nagamma
found herself unable to tolerate the reign of the newly arrived queen of the
forest. Puttamma came to hate Subbamma’s shadow. The Heggadithi kept
things like butter and ghee under lock and key. There was always a running
fight in the house and no sense of well-being.
Though Chandrayya Gowda was authoritative by nature, he was interested
only in what he could get from her and became a puppet in her hands. He
would have found her unattractive, almost ugly, in his youth. But she was
now his Rathi! No wonder, since anything new appears beautiful to the old!
Instead of advising her on how she should conduct herself, he believed all the
tales she carried and became heartless in his dealings with Nagamma and his
own children. To Subbamma, his indulgence set a pair of horns on her head—
she butted everyone around.
There was a reason behind Chandrayya Gowda’s meek surrender to his
eighteen-year-old wife. He knew he was old and not the right groom for a
young girl of her age. He wasn’t fortunate enough to win her over by his
looks, youth or playful ways and resorted to such mean ways to retain her
affections, as listening to the tales she carried, letting her behave in an
uncivilized manner and constantly giving her gifts of clothes and jewels. He
was also worried that her mind would stray. The man who planted such a
worry in him was Rangappa Shetty.
 Anyway, a girl who used to be called ‘Subbi’ in Nelluhalli became
Kanooru Subbamma Heggadithi, thanks to Chandrayya Gowda.
 6
The Overseer’s Gun

T HOUGH THE LONG serpentine outline of the distant eastern horizon formed
by the Sahyadri range was becoming clearer every minute in the first light of
dawn, the darkness lay thick over the forests of Kanooru hill. The wild cock
on top of the hill, hiding in the dark womb of the leaves of a giant tree, was in
two minds, now turning to the east and then towards the forest darkness.
While the first light in the east tempted it to set out on its morning rounds, the
forest darkness seemed to ask it to wait. One could feel the movement of the
cool air despite the thick forest. The cock listened intently. The endless forest
seemed to have congealed into silence. Within a short while however there
were chinks in the forces of the night and the rayless red of dawn mounted an
attack here and there to take over the forest. The shrill call of the madivala
bird from the distant valley reached the cock. It stretched itself to its full
height on the thick branch where it sat, crowed loud to wake the forest silence
and descended, flapping its wings. The leaves of the nearby trees rustled. The
cock felt that the morning air was cooler than before as it rushed in through its
wings and feathers. As soon as it landed, the cock raised its head, puffed up
its chest, bent its neck to one side, spread out its wings and called out
‘kokkoko,’ in a loud voice. Flapping its wings once again, it settled down to
work. Soon one could hear other wild fowl call and the flapping of their
wings.
The cock set about scraping the leaf-covered earth to peck at the insects. Its
periodic invitation to the hens to join it went unanswered. The cock went back
to its pecking. After an hour, when its stomach was full, it called out again, a
mixture of sadness for its lonely state and an invitation full of sweetness and
the promise of love. After repeated calls with great flourish, a hen and its
brood rushed noisily to the spot. The cock displayed its interest in mating but
the hen seemed to be more intent on food. The cock gave up, scraped at the
earth, called the hen with a cackle and offered up its catch. The uninvited
chicks partook of the meal with their mother.
 The sun had risen. Golden sunlight penetrated the dense trees to reach the
bushes, the entwined creepers and the earth covered with dry leaves. Other
birds piped up with their distinctive calls. While the forest and hills seemed
afloat on the divinely melodious notes of the kajana, the startled calls of a
flock of parrots had a sweetness of their own. The enticing voice of the
kamalli was dripping honey from the sunlit broom-like top of a tree. Mangatte
birds startled the forest into fright and millions of bees buzzed . . . ‘OM’. . .
among the flowering trees. The cock began to crow ecstatically but its call
this time was not an invitation to a hen. It was more to declare its masculinity
to the forest, though a hen at some distance responded to it with a suggestion
of interest in mating. The cock inclined its head slightly, stood motionless on
one leg and curiously surveyed the distance. Though there was a hen nearby
to keep it company, its mind fancied the other one. Not that the cock wanted
to desert the first one. It desired the other one too and so ran a few steps and
called out again. There was a prompt response. But the hen wouldn’t leave its
place though its ‘theko, thek, thek, thek’ indicated its interest. The cock was
drawn to the unseen hen. It took a few steps more, stopped as if it smelt
danger and turned back to the mother hen and its chicks seemingly asking
whether it should proceed any further or not. Absorbed, scraping the earth and
pecking, they paid no attention to the cock. ‘Theko, thek, thek, thek.’ The
cock was startled and retreated a few steps. Its stance was not one of curiosity
but of deliberation. Wasn’t there something wrong with the call? ‘Theko,
thek, thek, thek.’ No, there was nothing wrong with it. It was indeed the sweet
call of the beloved. ‘Theko, thek, thek, thek,’ again! Charged with passion,
the cock rushed down the slope and up an incline. It looked up and saw a
man’s figure hidden among the bushes. So this was the source of the call of
the magic hen. The cock was just about to beat a retreat when there was an
explosion and something hit its body. The cock fell and the mother hen and its
chicks fled.
Holding the still-smoking gun in his hand Rangappa Shetty the overseer
jumped out from the bush where he had lain hidden and ran to the cock with
alacrity. The bird was still. Red blood squirted from its body to fall on the
earth, dry leaves and twigs. The crest on its head was like a jewel whose red
put to shame both the tonde fruit and the red hibiscus flower. The yellow
feathers on its neck shone in the sun like the rich colours of a peacock’s neck.
Its feathers were of many hues and its three-clawed feet were covered in mud
and looked dull. At the back of its rose-tinted forelegs were two claw-like
weapons, hard thorns, half-an-inch in length. Two long and black tail feathers
curved arrogantly were lying on the ground, shining. The eyelids fell over its
eyes in the upturned face, death’s curtain falling over life. The overseer
looked at the cock with satisfaction and pride, picked up the bird, its neck
with his left hand. Its long feathers sweeping the ground, he took it to his
hiding place, threw the bird next to his black blanket and reloaded his gun.
Rangappa Shetty was an ordinary-looking man of about thirty-five. There
was nothing specially attractive about his sturdy nondescript build. A brown
complexion, a flat face, eyes, brows and lips with a touch of cunning about
them. His lips were parted, his teeth showing in a perpetual smile. When he
did laugh, one could see more of his blackened teeth. The stone-studded
earrings he wore were a sign of his fondness for fine things. There was a
prominent birthmark on his cheek. He wore a snuff-coloured vest and his
dhoti which was drawn up between his legs and then tucked at the back came
down to his ankles. The white buttons on his vest were visible from a
distance. On one of his hairy legs was an anklet worn in fulfilment of a vow
and on his feet, thick rough-looking Malenadu slippers.
Rangappa Shetty hailed from the land below the Ghats and brought men
and women across to work here. An overseer from the Dakshina Kannada
district was called Seregara. He had lived in Kanooru for over five years and
was known to be a trustworthy soul. He was an avid hunter and had taken one
of his female workers mistress. He had no sense of guilt about his temporary
liaison though his own family waited back home. It was even rumoured that it
was through his mistress that he had managed to get into Chandrayya
Gowda’s good books.
Pleased with his catch, Rangappa Shetty leisurely reloaded his gun. As he
packed gunpowder and some coconut fibre into the barrel with a ramrod, the
cock lying still by the blanket started to fidget. Surprised that it was still alive,
he looked at it. The cock lay still once again and he thought there was no
more life left in it. He took out some pellets from his pocket, laid them on his
palm and was looking at them, when the cock flapped its wings and
staggering up began to run away. Amazed, Rangappa Shetty emptied the
pellets into the barrel of his gun, transferred it to his left hand and ran after the
cock. The bird swayed as it zigzagged into the bushes. As it fled further
Rangappa Shetty grew anxious, left his gun behind on the ground and chased
it with hands outstretched. The cock slipped in and out of the bushes and
finally disappeared behind thick impenetrable growth. Rangappa Shetty stood
rooted to the spot disappointed and angry, listening to the sound of the bird
running away. It was quiet soon and he returned sighing, picking up the gun.
The black blanket lay there seemingly laughing at him.
Utterly disgusted and even more determined to catch something, Rangappa
Shetty went deeper into the forest. When he stopped, he found himself on
unusually level bush-covered ground. He was curious and feeling with his
foot, found it to be flat as a cot. He tugged at the bushes and found a row of
wooden beams: piles of neatly sawed planks and beams equally neatly
arranged. He felt elated as if he had stumbled on hidden treasure. Someone
had cut down the trees without a license and had hidden the loot from others’
eyes. What if the finder took it all home before the thieves did? Chandrayya
Gowda would get a lot of free timber and he, Shetty, would get his share. All
thoughts of hunting disappeared as he searched for a way to cart the timber
home. His sally into the forest that morning, gun in hand, had been
worthwhile. It didn’t matter that he had lost the cock, he had unearthed the
timber! Meanwhile, he heard the sound of a saw and went forward stealthily
like the police on the trail of a thief. There they were, some carpenters he
knew, using long saws on logs from giant trees! It was clear from the
coloured sawdust piled around that the work had been going on for quite
some time. Though the carpenters were taken aback on seeing Rangappa
Shetty, they invited him to partake of their betel leaves and spoke to him
politely. Rangappa Shetty learnt from them that Seethemane Singappa Gowda
had long been smuggling timber. Rangappa Shetty was excited as he made his
way home: he was providing his master with a golden opportunity to revenge
himself on Singappa Gowda. The sound of the saws subsided gradually.
He stumbled on his way through the thick undergrowth. He slowed down
only when prickly creepers grazed his bare legs. A footpath suddenly
appeared on the trail he was following. He was surprised, unable to work out
how it came to be there. It led straight to a giant bagani tree and he knew that
someone was tapping it illicitly for toddy.
A round black pot tied to the blossoms at the top of the bagani tree was
swinging to and fro. The rungs of the bamboo ladder fastened to the tree with
creepers were worn out. A fresh layer of mud on them and the wet patch of
tobacco juice spat out nearby indicated that someone had been there a little
while ago. Though his mouth watered at the thought of the toddy, Rangappa
Shetty would have been on his way without daring to venture up the ladder if
he hadn’t heard a sound from a bush. Something seemed to move and he
stopped to investigate. He was sure it was some animal though he couldn’t
identify it. Afraid that it would run away, he shot at it.
‘Eh, who’s that shooting?’ A human voice said from the bush.
Rangappa She try’s heart missed a beat, as if someone had doused him with
boiling water. He shivered, perspiring profusely and collapsed to the ground
thinking he had killed someone.
‘Who’s that shooting at me?’ Baira emerged from the bush. He was a Bela
by caste and worked for Chandrayya Gowda. He saw Rangappa Shetty and
said again, ‘Was it you that shot at me?’
Rangappa Shetty stared at him, surprise and fear in his eyes. He didn’t say
anything. Baira wore only a dhoti on his black body which came down to just
below his knees. His head was covered with a stubbly growth, and one could
see the outline of a horseshoe where his head had been shaved. He had tied up
his tuft but his hair, which hadn’t known oil for ages, was dishevelled and
rough. An inch-long beard covered his face and he had rings in his ears and a
copper amulet on his arm fastened with a black string. His bloated stomach
indicated that he had had a bout of malaria, but he was still a well-built
fellow. The marks of branding on his body were proof of the cruelty of the
traditional cures which he had tried. Rangappa Shetty was relieved when he
saw neither blood nor wounds on Baira’s bare body and heard his level voice.
He sighed and said, ‘yes, maraya, it was I that shot.’
Baira looked at the state that Rangappa Shetty was in and asked, ‘Why did
you do such a thing?’
‘I hope you aren’t hurt.’
‘Why do you ask?’
‘Forget it. God must have saved you!’
‘What did you shoot at?’
‘You! I almost killed you!’
‘Me?’
‘Why were you hiding like that, maraya? I almost killed you!’
‘I had come looking for some hedage creepers and sat there.’
Shetty couldn’t understand how he had missed his mark. Both of them
traced the course of the bullet. It had not touched either tree or leaf.
‘Baira, my stars were obviously in the right place. And you, you are
blessed with a long life. How else could I have missed? And no sign of the
pellets . . .! I shall pledge an extra chicken to Bhootharaya this time.’
 Still searching for traces of the pellets, Shetty approached the bush where
Baira had hidden himself.
‘I had come for some hedage creepers and I was sitting there.’
Baira was frightened. ‘Forget it. Come back. Why are you going forward?’
he said.
Shetty’s nose had already caught a whiff of Baira’s secret. There was a
blanket, a pot and a long knife in his hiding place. And in the pot, frothing
strong-smelling toddy freshly tapped from the tree.
‘What’s this, Baira? So you are the one tapping for toddy!’ Baira’s face
fell. He wouldn’t have been as pained if Shetty’s gunshot had found him. He
fell at Shetty’s feet. ‘Please, ayya, don’t tell anyone.’
‘Eh, fellow, my neck would have been in a noose, thanks to your illicit
toddy-tapping! May your home be ruined! Tell me, why were you hiding in
the bush?’
‘Ayya, God saved you and you must save me now . . . I heard your
footsteps and so hid myself.’ ‘Forget it, now that it has happened. Is the toddy
good?’ Baira was a Bela, an untouchable. But Shetty enjoyed the frothing
toddy that Baira kept pouring for him into a bagani leaf cup. It was close to
noon when the two walked towards Kanooru with each other’s secret safe in
their breasts.
Suddenly Shetty knew why he had missed his target. When he had taken
out the pellets to pack them into the barrel, the cock had got up and started to
run away. He had hurriedly emptied the pellets into the barrel and run after
the bird. On his return he had forgotten to pack the pellets in firmly. As he
walked, gun in hand, looking for prey, the pellets must have slipped out. That
was why there had merely been a loud report when he had shot and Baira had
survived!
Rangappa Shetty offered the cock his silent thanks.
 7
The Kadegolu Kamba Bears Witness

T HE FIRE-GOD OF the kitchen fire licked at the blackened bottom of the pot on
the stove with his playful tongue. This holy friend of the wind who had
savoured the sanctified oblations in the merit-earning yagas of mythical men
like Dharmaraya and Janamejaya had fallen into the clutches of Subbamma,
ostensibly under the sway of Kaliyuga, and was absorbed in the lowly act of
licking the bottom of the pot. Subbamma stood by the fire, ladle in hand, like
a mahout with an ankush! The melogara cooking in the pot boiled noisily
breathing white steam.
The kitchen hadn’t emerged from its dimness though the world was filled
with light. This was because it had only one window by the stove.
Nevertheless one could see the kitchen’s clutter quite clearly exhibited. A
couple of curved bowls, one of them to hold pickle, a brass finger dish, a
basket for red chillies on the shelf, a pot of curd and a pot of buttermilk, a
kadegolu kamba or churning rod, a cupboard under lock and key containing
things like ghee and butter, a pile of wooden planks for sitting on, a mother
cat—an inevitable part of the kitchen—with her two kittens in a warm corner,
houseflies flying here and there and sundry other things. The atmosphere in
the kitchen was so antediluvian that had an antiquarian entered the kitchen, it
would have brought to mind a legendary cave or a temple in ruins.
Many generations had eaten there and passed on. The three-feet tall
kadegolu kamba stood witness to the centuries gone by. How many women
had sat in front of it and churned buttermilk in the mornings! How many
tender hands had touched it! How many voices, faces, conversations and petty
quarrels was it witness to ! Vasu’s mother, Chandrayya Gowda’s mother, the
kamba knew them all. If it attained the power of speech, how many secrets
would be out! How many friendships and loves would break into a million
pieces and be reduced to dust! How many hatreds and jealousies would
disintegrate and let friendship and peace come into being! God help them all
if ever it learnt to speak! The story would have greater dimensions than the
Ramayana or Mahabharatha. Great poets like Valmiki and Vyasa would have
to lower their heads, ashamed at having thought that they had excelled in
narrating the stories of Rama, Seethe, Hanumantha, Ravana, the five
Pandavas, Krishna, Kaurava and Draupadi. Thankfully, the kadegole kamba
had no tongue. Or even if it did, it pretended not to have one. That is how
they were all still around! ‘Vasu, shall I tell them that you stole some butter
yesterday?’
Leaning against the wall smeared with red mud and seated on a wooden
plank, Vasu eating the uppittu on the banana leaf before him with matchless
concentration, was startled and looked up. The kadegolu kamba seemed to be
staring at him and smiling. Vasu was scared, wondering who had seen him
steal the butter. The voice he had heard was like that of his dead grandmother.
He thought she had spoken, hiding herself in the kamba. ‘Grandma. I beg you.
Don’t say anything. Chikkamma is right here,’ he pleaded in his mind and
went on gobbling the uppittu. It had covered his cheeks, chin and nose.
Nagamma who sat some distance away chopping vegetables saw Vasu
startled by the question she had asked in a low voice,, smiled and said nothing
out of compassion. He wanted his hair to be like his brothers’ and there
seemed to have been a revolution on his head, with his hair somewhere
between a short crop and a tuft. A few strands of hair had swarmed over his
left cheek and ears like giant bees around a honeycomb. With all the buttons
somewhere in exile, his shirt was gaping open and disorderly like that of a
street lunatic. The accumulation of dirt on it would make a cake of soap break
into a sweat. The dhoti he wore too was a fitting companion to his shirt.
Nagamma felt a great surge of love looking at him. She held the forgotten
vegetables and gazed at him.
Vasu finished the uppittu on the leaf and said, ‘Chikkamma, I want some
more uppittu.’
‘What sort of belly do you have? No more uppittu,’ said Subbamma angrily
and carried on poking and stirring what was in the pot.
Vasu gazed at the floor before him despairing and in tears. The sunlight
had just filtered in through the window bars and lay in stripes on the floor. He
looked at the window. The sunlight played happily on the new leaves of the
jackfruit tree. The green of the distant forest trees appeared to be calling him.
Just then a shot was heard from the forest. It was then that all the brave deeds
that had to be performed that day came to his mind: Hoovannayya and
Ramayya were coming. He should bring kallusampage and bemmarala fruits
for them, see if a bird had been caught in the trap which he had set yesterday
and check on the eggs of the pikalara bird in the hulichoppu bush and
ascertain how far Baira’s son Ganga had progressed with his flute-making. A
bird which he had hit with his catapult had fallen among the bushes and
couldn’t be traced however hard he looked for it. That had to be found. The
list grew longer as he thought. There was no time to make a fuss over more
uppittu. Tears falling from his eyes, he drank his coffee in one gulp and
banged the tumbler on the floor. ‘What is it to you! Whoring widow . . .!’ he
mumbled many more swear words and rushed out without answering
Puttakkayya who asked him what had happened.
Nagamma was burning with anger at all this. When Puttamma came in, she
gave her an angry and loud account of all that had happened. Subbamma had
heard what Vasu had said and she too was like a volcano. As soon as
Nagamma finished what she had to say, there flowed a torrent of words from
her. In between, hailstones of abuses flew like bullets.
‘This is the fate of widows . . . May they be struck blind . . . Telling lies,
telling tales . . . May they lose their tongues . . . Why did I ever step into this
wretched house where termites don’t spare even God’s eyes! I could have
lived on ganji . . . May worms fall into their mouths . . . How the people in the
house set one on fire . . . How they burn . . . The Goddess Mari has already
consumed two and is looking for the third . . . May their faces be set on fire!
Setting children up against me, making them say anything that comes to their
lips!’
‘Who set them up? When?’
‘Didn’t I see you winking at him?’
‘Aren’t you letting your tongue wag? Evil slut!’
‘You call me an evil slut, do you? Adulteress!’
Nagamma could bear it no longer. Subbamma had never crossed all limits
like this before. Who knows what Nagamma might have done! Puttamma
who had been listening all the while said, ‘Doddamma, don’t say anything.
What is the point in talking to that bitch?’
‘You call me a bitch, do you? Shrew!’ Subbamma stepped towards her with
the ladle.
‘Come on, let’s see,’ said Puttamma standing up.
Subbamma who had known difficult days from early on was stronger than
Puttamma but went back mumbling, nervous in the presence of the rich girl.
Meanwhile, the vegetables in the pot had burnt. Subbamma picked up the
pot angrily and put it down with greater force than necessary. The pot which
had survived for years cracked as if presaging the future of the Kanooru
family and the remains of the vegetables started flowing red to the floor.
Subbamma’s anger turned to fear and remorse and she quickly started pouring
the melogara into another pot.
‘Ayyo, it’s gone, Doddamma! A pearl-like pot!’ Puttamma exclaimed for
Nagamma who was busy cutting vegetables to hear.
‘Let it. Let everything get lost. What’s it to you? Don’t think you are
permanent in this house!’ Nagamma said and kept on at the chopping without
turning around.
Puttamma couldn’t keep quiet. ‘Her head needs to be scratched with the
potsherd!’ she said, gnashing her teeth.
‘Your grandfather should be here for that to happen!’ Subbamma replied.
‘You aren’t fit enough to sit where my grandfather shat . . . Wait, I shall tell
Appayya!’
‘Tell your father or even your grandfather. What do I care?’
‘You are throwing a stone at filth! Can’t you keep quiet?’ Nagamma said to
Puttamma.
‘Your mouth is full of filth!’ Subbamma carried on.
Thereafter no one spoke. They carried on with their work. The kadegolu
kamba literally stood witness to all that was happening. Flies flew noisily
about, sunning themselves in the strips of sunlight on the floor. The cat was
sitting up in the corner, licking herself. Her two kittens were licking up the
bits of uppittu Vasu had spilled on the floor. One of them went towards
Subbamma, wanting to be petted, tail held high, but flew into the corner
where the stove was, crashed against the wall and fell down when she kicked
it angrily aside.
Just then someone called from the backyard, ‘Amma, Amma! ‘
No one answered. Everyone knew that it was Sesi, Baira’s wife.
Sesi called out again loudly. ‘Amma, Amma! Is anyone around?’ Not
getting an answer, she came to the window and called.
‘Who is that?’ grumbled Subbamma, standing by the stove.
‘It’s me, Sesi. You had called me to grind the rice.’
‘Nobody has died here for us to have to prepare kadubu,’ said Subbamma.
Sesi couldn’t understand the remark. ‘They said I could have the leftovers,’
she said in a low voice.
‘Who said so?’
‘Nagamma.’
 Nagamma had heard that Ramayya and Hoovayya were coming and so had
sent for Sesi to grind the rice to make rotti with.
‘I don’t know anything about it. May whoever called you be damned!
There’s no rice or anything else.’
‘Sesi,’ called Puttamma forcefully.
‘Yes?’
‘I’ll give you the rice. Wait.’
‘Yes, amma.’
Subbamma had kept a basinful of rice for the dogs, left over from the
previous night. Taking it into account, she had cooked less rice than usual.
Puttamma walked quickly towards it, picked up the basin and went towards
the backyard. Under normal circumstances, she would have said that the rice
was for the dogs. Puttamma wouldn’t have insisted on giving it to Sesi. She
could have been sent away saying that there had been no rice left over. But
circumstances now were different. Subbamma came up, running and tried to
grab the bowl. Puttamma pulled back with all her strength. The bowl fell to
the floor with a thud and the copper-coloured rice lay strewn on the black
floor smeared with cow dung. Some angry words were spoken and
Subbamma went back. Puttamma put all the scattered rice back into the bowl,
left it by Sesi waiting at the backdoor, and came back in anger saying nothing.
Sesi knew of the terrible war in the kitchen by the noise and the curses.
Rather than take the food that had led to the fight, she left it behind and went
back to her hut, wondering. She hadn’t surmised that there would be so much
heat in the master’s kitchen.
In the backyard the puppies with bloated stomachs saw Puttamma carrying
the bowl and followed her with wagging tails and stood at a distance or
frisked about. As soon as Sesi disappeared, they put their mouths to the bowl.
Their gobbling would have put Bakasura to shame. Totally absorbed in their
eating, they strove mightily against time, since any delay would have made
the rice vanish. While their tails danced in delight, their stomachs swelled like
rivers during the monsoon. A few hens feeding in the mire nearby came
around regardless of the puppies and commenced pecking at the rice in the
bowl. The puppies were lost to the outside world. Each one raced against the
other assuming that the rice would be finished off if it tried to drive the hens
away! From a distance, Tiger heard the commotion among the hens and
puppies and came up to satisfy its curiosity. What did it see but the portals of
rice-heaven lying open! No lock, no guard! Covering the distance in one leap,
chasing away the hens, pushing the puppies aside with a growl, it plunged
into the bowl. But would the puppies leave well alone? They jumped over the
bowl again and again to join Tiger. Tiger grew angry and bit and chased them
away. Hearing the puppies’ piteous wails, Ruby, Diamond, Rosie, Topsy and
Kotwala came and pushed in as well. A scuffle broke out. The bowl turned
upside down and the rice flew everywhere. This was of greater advantage to
the hens than to the dogs and so they rushed in too. The hostility which
existed between Tiger and Diamond on account of Rosie’s amorous ways
flared up and a powerful duel began that could be heard in every part of the
house. A puppy, trampled by the dogs at war, fell heavily into the mire. Black
slush covered its body, face and eyes. At the same time, a rooster gleaning
rice from the mire wilfully or inadvertently pecked at the puppy’s eye. The
puppy began to yelp incessantly in great pain.
 8
With Ganga, Belara Baira’s Son

U PSET WHEN HIS stepmother refused to give him more uppittu Vasu rushed
out of the kitchen towards the verandah. His father, sitting among his account
books scattered by an open cupboard, was talking to some one. Vasu had no
time to find out who they were. He walked noiselessly so that his father
wouldn’t notice and reached out to the horns of a wild buffalo which had been
nailed to the top of a wooden pillar. He pulled out the first shirt hanging from
it, walked to the edge of the verandah, stood by the blanket which lay there in
a heap and called out, ‘Putta, eh, Putta!’ Putta, cartman Ninga’s son, answered
from under the blanket. ‘Yes?’
‘Coming? Remember what we decided yesterday?’
‘Can’t. I’m in great pain because of the thorn which pricked me. You go
ahead.’
‘Where is the bag with the pebbles?’
Putta’s grotesque face with his dishevelled hair, dribbling mouth and
gummy eyes peeped out from the blanket as he said, ‘You know the place
under the door where the crowbars and pickaxes are . . .’
‘Yes.’
Dooly was there, tail wagging. Vasu had fed the bitch when she had her
puppies and so he was her favourite.
‘You know the basket with the red earth . . .’
‘Yes.’ Vasu was losing patience.
‘There’s a basket for catching fish . . .’
‘Yes.’ Vasu was irritated.
‘Not the big one but the little one . . .’
‘Go on . . .’
‘Not the one that Baira made but what Sidda . . .’
Vasu left with his cheeks puffed out and searched under the door. Crowbar,
pickaxe, spade and the basket! When he put his hand into the basket, a rat
nibbling at the remains of the fish scrabbled onto his hand, jumped up and
disappeared into a hole. Vasu stood up and sighed. He was annoyed with
Putta for no reason. He looked again but couldn’t find the bag with the
pebbles anywhere.
Gnashing his teeth, he went to Putta who still lay there under the blanket.
‘Eh, Putta!’
Putta’s face emerged.
‘It isn’t there! Tell me where you left it.’
‘You rushed off before I could tell you. It’s there under the roots of the
tamarind tree.’
Vasu found the bag with the pebbles. The bag meant to carry school books
had been detailed to carry pebbles for the catapult. There was no reason for it
to be unemployed during the school holidays!
Vasu tried to put on the shirt he was still holding in his hand. As one of the
sleeves had turned inside out-when he took it off in a hurry the previous day,
he had a problem. However he got it right eventually, using more force than
skill. He put his hand into the pocket but the catapult wasn’t there! He felt
like an orator standing up to speak on stage only to discover that his head was
missing! Taken aback, he searched his pockets. Whatever held sticky, all-
purpose-museum-like-pockets emerged: a broken coloured picture of a
miniature Saraswathi, an out-of-shape tin whistle, an ancient piece of rotti,
two or three lengths of balapa, the contorted Vamana-face of a pencil, seven
or eight pellets, a coloured piece of mica, a half-eaten uttutte fruit, one or two
round pebbles, crushed bemmarala fruits, a dhupa nut, pieces of rubber, a
length of string, a grotesque-looking dagger without a handle, a multi-hued
bird’s feather, a safety pin and a three-paisa coin with a hole in the centre!
Worthless things! Each pocket was either an akshaya patre or Draupadi’s
saree! But no catapult. Someone must have stolen it, Vasu thought initially.
He deliberated for a while and decided that it was Putta who was the thief. He
picked up everything from the ground and refilled his pockets. In his
eagerness some earth too entered them.
He went back determined to reclaim the catapult from Putta. Putta had
pleaded that he was in pain. Just a pretext, Vasu was sure. The thief!
He saw the catapult lying on the path.
He hadn’t noticed it slip out of his pocket. Vasu gripped it tightly like a
policeman who catches a sleeping runaway thief, went back to the tamarind
tree and slung the bag on his shoulder, its string worn like a sacred thread, and
set out on his mission.
 The workers from beyond the Ghats were whetting their knives on the
building stones. Some were sitting in the sun chatting. Gange was among
them, all decked up. She called Vasu as if to show to the others the special
place she occupied in the affections of both the overseer and Chandrayya
Gowda. But Vasu ignored her and walked on.
As usual, he glanced towards Ummigudde where the rice husk lay in piles.
His indifferent glance turned into curiosity when he spotted seven or eight
horasala birds feeding on the husk. He took out a pebble from his bag, readied
the catapult and was taking aim when the bird hopped and settled elsewhere.
Still targetting the bird, Vasu took a step forward. His right foot stepped on a
pat of cow dung and felt cold. When the slushy dung oozed out between his
toes, he was disgusted and wanted to shake it off. Yet he stood still and took
aim. Dooly wanted to help him and rushed at the birds. They flapped their
wings and disappeared among the trees. Vasu was furious and turned the
catapult on Dooly and the bitch whined and ran away. Cleaning his foot by
rubbing it on the roots of a jackfruit tree, he turned towards Baira’s hut to call
Ganga.
No one was there in the hut, neither Baira not Sesi, his wife. Baira wanted
to go to the bagani tree in the distant forest and had gone early to the shed to
let the cattle out to graze. And Sesi had gone to the house as Nagamma had
sent for her to grind some flour. Ganga had come back from his morning
rounds and was sitting in front of the hut doing something. In front of him sat
a mongrel dog utterly black like the amavasa, intently looking at him. Close
by grew the halivana tree with a mallige creeper around it under which a hen
and its chicks were busy scraping the earth.
The dog looked up and barked. When Ganga turned, he saw Vasu
approaching. It was in fear that he quickly picked up what lay in front of him
and threw it away into the darkness of the hut. Vasu called and Ganga got up
to go to him. He was anxious when Vasu kept on towards the yard of the hut
and said, ‘Why should you bother? I’ll come. Wait.’ Vasu, unmindful of
Ganga’s anxiety and fear walked straight to the yard.
He looked at Ganga, naked but for the dirty loincloth he wore, his body the
colour of rust, and asked, ‘Have you finished making the flute?’
‘No, not yet Ayya,’ Ganga said and looked stealthily at the wings and
feathers that his dog was sniffing.
‘Let me see what you have done. Go fetch it.’
 ‘My father has kept it somewhere . . .’ The truth was that Ganga hadn’t
even started making it.
‘Never mind. Come, let’s go and find the bird we shot yesterday.’
Ganga took another stealthy look at the feathers by the door and said, ‘I’m
not sure we hit it. No sense in looking for it now.’
‘What do you mean? I saw it fall.’
‘You may be right. But a fox will have probably picked it up in the night.’
‘Tell me, are you coming or not? We have to look at the trap we laid . . .
We have to give some fruit to the pikalara chicks . . . Hoovayya and Ramayya
are coming from Mysore this afternoon . . . We have to gather some
bemmarala and kalsampage fruit for them . . .’
‘What can I do? No one is home. Avva has gone to your place.’
Vasu had taken a couple of steps having decided to go ahead alone. He saw
Sesi coming with a long face, thinking of what had happened in the house.
Vasu called out, ‘Ganga, there comes Sesi. You can come along now.’
‘Wait, I’ll join you.’ Ganga went into the hut and came out after a while,
knife in hand. ‘You better tell Avva,’ he whispered to Vasu.
Vasu addressed Sesi who had come into the yard. ‘Sesi, I will take Ganga
with me. We have some work to do.’
Sesi said yes and went into the hut and the boys set out. When Vasu, Ganga
and Putta had gone out looking for birds’ nests among the bushes a few days
earlier, they had chanced upon the nest of a pikalara. There were three small
eggs in it, red and blue and spotted. Vasu had ordered that no one remove the
eggs and that they would catch the mother and chicks once the eggs hatched
and keep them as pets. He would go at least twice a day to look at the eggs.
Every time he went there, the mother bird would fly away. Once on his usual
visit, he discovered that the eggs had hatched. There they were, three
disgusting-looking chicks—no feathers, bald heads and beaks much too large
for the body! Whenever he peeped in, they would beg for food opening their
mouths wide as if they wanted to swallow the whole world. He would pluck
the lantana fruit which grew in abundance nearby and stuff their mouths with
it. It was a miracle that they didn’t die of indigestion, what with the food the
mother bird brought and the fruit which Vasu, the stepmother provided! (One
doesn’t know whether Putta and Ganga were feeding them too.) At last
feathers began to sprout on the chicks. Vasu was afraid that other birds would
snatch the chicks away if they were left there any longer. Vasu, Putta and
Ganga put their heads together. Thanks to Ganga’s technical expertise, Putta’s
effort and his own supervisory skills, a trap had been set nearby. It was this
trap that he had set but to inspect that morning.
There was the mother bird, one of its legs caught in the noose of the string
which fell straight to the ground from the top end of the taut bow-like stick! It
was hanging head down. It was still now after a good deal of struggle. The
white on its chest and the necklace-like red stripe round its neck were shining
in the sun. The tene fruit which had been fixed to a pole nearby to attract the
bird also shone red like maize.
The two boys shouted in joy and rushed forward. Vasu didn’t mind the bag
of pebbles swinging and hitting him on the waist as he ran. The bird flapped
its wings wanting to dodge the onslaught of the giant creatures. Tired and
scared, it gasped for breath as Vasu caught it and they freed the leg.
Vasu caressed its smooth feathers and kissed it saying, ‘Ganga, we have the
mother bird. Let us keep it with the chicks in a cage.’ There was a touch of
greed in Ganga’s eyes as he looked at the bird and said, ‘Let’s put up the trap
again. We may catch the male bird too.’ Holding the bird in his left hand,
Vasu used his right hand to bend the stick and loosen the string. Ganga got
busy setting up the trap once again. When Vasu let go of his hold on the stick
thinking that Ganga had finished, the stick jumped back forcefully and hit his
left hand. The bird was free! It flew to a bush and sat there. Vasu cursed
Ganga for no reason at all and ran to catch it. It flew to another spot nearby as
it didn’t have the strength to fly far. Vasu, who had kissed the bird earlier,
was so furious that he fitted a pebble to the catapult and shot it. He missed the
first time but hit the bird’s head at his second attempt. The bird fell to the
ground and Vasu picked it up. He wanted a live bird, not a dead one. Wet-
eyed and cursing Ganga, he went to the nest. There was no trace of the chicks
in the nest which was deserted like a house in ruins! The mother bird and her
mate were flying around chirping sorrowfully. (It was some other bird that
had been caught in the trap.)
‘Eh, Ganga, the chicks aren’t there!’ Ganga joined him to look into the
nest. ‘Ayyayyo! What could have happened to them?’
‘Some rascals must have taken them away.’
‘Could they have flown away?’
‘The mother bird wouldn’t be crying like this.’ Vasu looked up at the
grieving pair of birds.
‘Do you think that someone stole them? May he fall dead!’
 ‘Was it you by any chance?’ Vasu’s eyes were red with anger. The fire of
anger and grief needed a target. Ganga was the only one close at hand.
Ganga was sure that Vasu wouldn’t dare touch him, an untouchable. There
was no fear in his voice as he said, ‘I didn’t come this way at all. I swear on
God! Is it possible that Puttayya might have passed this way?’ to divert
Vasu’s wrath away from himself.
‘The fellow is down with a thorn in his foot.’ Vasu couldn’t solve the
riddle. Cursing the thief, he took Ganga with him to look for the bird he had
hit that had fallen into a bush the previous day. He couldn’t find it either.
They went searching for fruits and it was nearly eleven when they returned
to Baira’s hut. Vasu hadn’t gone home hoping that Baira would be there and
he could have a look at the flute that was being made.
Sesi, who was busy cooking in the darkness of the hut, heard their voices
and called out, ‘Eh, Ganga!’ Ganga was talking about the flute and replied,
‘Coming.’
‘Pluck the bird and roast it, will you?’ Sesi called out from inside the hut.
Ganga felt as if someone had poured boiling water over his body. His eyes
opened wide and his face blanched.
Vasu was suspicious as he asked, ‘Where did you find the bird?’
‘I . . . I . . . this morning . . .’ As Ganga was mumbling, Sesi came out,
threw an adult bird and two chicks at his feet and went. in.
Vasu looked. It was a gijagarlu bird, the one he had hit the previous
evening. With it were the pikalara chicks, the ones that had been in the nest.
Lying motionless on the ground, they were mute witnesses to Ganga’s
perfidy.
Ganga stood there shivering. Everything was clear to Vasu whose rage now
knew no bounds. He knew he was forbidden to touch a Belara but didn’t care.
He pounded the boy like a pestle determined to produce flour from grain, took
out the dead bird from his pocket, flung it at Ganga’s belly and went home
weeping.
By way of expiating the crime of having touched a Belara, he stepped on
some cow dung before entering the hut through the backdoor. He heard his
father’s shouts and the sound of blows from the kitchen and his stepmother’s
wailing.
 9
Chandrayya Gowda Holds Court

V ASU WOULD HAVE recognized the people who were talking to his father—
Venkappayya, the Joisa from the Agrahara, Annayya Gowda from
Kelakanooru and Halepaikada Thimma, each one occupying a place on the
verandah in accordance with his status, his sartorial elegance speaking of his
culture and affluence.
Tall and lean and blind with cataract in his left eye, Venkappayya was
seated cross-legged on a broad low plank placed against the wall. Being an
orthodox Brahmin, he didn’t want any sullying contact with things like a
carpet in a Shudra’s house. Not for him any modern clothing like a shirt. He
had on him only the time-honoured vestment of skin. However he had
covered his bare chest with an angavastra as a mark of respect. His dhoti
tucked in at the back came down to his knees. His clothes had been washed
innumerable times and were no longer pure white in colour. One could see on
close inspection a snuff box tucked in at his waist. His major tasks included
puja, interpreting omens, fortune-telling, writing and reading horoscopes,
fixing auspicious times for weddings, offering flowers and fruits instead of
animal sacrifices to the Shudras’ demons, exorcism and invocation of spirits,
and so on. No wonder the villagers looked upon him with awe.
On the soiled carpet spread on elevated ground in the verandah and facing
Chandrayya Gowda sat Annayya Gowda from Kelakanooru, looking much
older than he was. He had a shirt on and his dhoti was wrapped around his
waist and reached his knees. His clothes hadn’t been washed for years and his
shirt had lost its top buttons and the lower ones were left undone, for all
practical purposes like the mythical horns of a rabbit! His chest with its thick
gray hair and his wrinkled stomach aroused pity. He had had his face shaved a
couple of days ago and one could see on it the surging waves of age. His
cheeks had sunk into valleys and he had lost all his teeth. The bones and veins
of his chin, cheeks and head stood out on his face which had been blackened
by sixty or seventy summers. Almost bald, he had wound a red cloth round
his head with its sparse white hair. His speech slurred like a child’s and had a
noticeably nasal quality.
He had taken Chandrayya Gowda’s fields and orchards situated a mile or
so away from Kanooru in the lower parts on lease. He had known everyone in
Chandrayya Gowda’s family including his father and grandfather. He had ben
prosperous as a farmer but had recently fallen on bad days, having repeatedly
paid the bride price. Three wives had died and his fourth one was chronically
sick. His son Obayya born to his second wife was twenty-five years of age.
His third wife had left behind a girl who was now seven or eight.
The fact that Obayya was not married even though he was twenty-five was
only one of the many reasons why father and son didn’t get on with each
other. Obayya was threatening to set up on his own. The reason why he
couldn’t get married was because there was no money to pay as bride price.
Annayya Gowda had already borrowed a thousand rupees from Chandrayya
Gowda and the latter was adamant that he wouldn’t lend him even a paisa
more. It was about money that Annayya Gowda had come to Kanooru that
morning. A glance at his face was enough to know that life had become pure
hell for the old man.
The one who sat at a respectable distance on a clay seat covered with his
blanket at the lower end of the verandah was Halepaikada Thimma. He too
was a farmer in Chandrayya Gowda’s service but his profession by caste was
to tap the bagani trees for toddy. It was his toddy that had endeared him to
Chandrayya Gowda. It was obvious from his physique that life had been kind
to him. His torn, much-patched shirt was fastened with string. One could see
an amulet tied with black string on his right arm through the window-like tear
on his sleeve. He wore a bunch of fresh mallige flowers in his unkempt hair.
The dirty dhoti he had round his waist was so short that even the loincloth
under it could be seen clearly. The mark on his upper lip was from a previous
accident when he fell from the bagani tree and cut his lip. The sun’s rays
which filtered through the areca pandal patterned his body and everything
around him. His dog Kotwala was at his feet wagging its tail in pleasure
whenever Thimma caressed its head.
Sitting among his account books scattered by the cupboard Chandrayya
Gowda was talking to the others. Everyone was talking in a raised voice
because of the cotton plugs in Chandrayya Gowda’s ears. He had a chronic
ear-infection and so to instil drops in them and to plug them with cotton was a
daily routine.
 Chandrayya Gowda raised his head from the books. Reiterating the point
he had made earlier he said to Annayya Gowda in a firm voice, ‘Look, the
outstanding amount, including the interest, is one thousand and two hundred
and six paisa and. . .,’ and pushed the book forward, as if he wanted Annayya
Gowda to inspect it if he so desired.
Annayya Gowda, not at all anxious to examine the account book, opened
his betel leaf-filled mouth and said, ‘Tell me, do I question that?’
The sahukar pushed the book a little further and said, ‘Take a look yourself.
Come on!’
Annayya Gowda didn’t know how to read or write. Like going through a
meaningless ritual, he bent forward to look at the book and repeated what he
had said before.
‘I can’t give you even one paisa more. It’s enough if you pay back what
you owe,’ said the sahukar.
‘I know, I know. I should get him married, you see. I won’t run away
without paying back the loan. Isn’t he there to clear it even if I die?’ Annayya
Gowda got up to spit out the tobacco juice into a spittoon improvised from a
bin filled with rice husk and came back.
‘Did I say no to your getting him married? Don’t ask me for the money,
that’s all. You haven’t even given me my whole share of this year’s crop,
remember.’ The sahukar turned to Venkappayya and said, ‘You tell me
Joisare, whose house will be in ruins if one goes on advancing loans like
this?’
The Joisa turned to Annayya Gowda. ‘He is right, Annayya. Don’t you
understand even at this age? If you keep borrowing, what you owe him keeps
growing. When will you ever clear it? A debt is like a grinding stone around
one’s neck. “It is like feasting on milk and rice while borrowing. But when
the loan-giver asks for its return, it’s like the breaking of the pelvis,
Sarvajna!” Remember,’ he pontificated. The Joisa too owed more than five
hundred rupees to the sahukar.
‘I know it, Ayya. What can I do? I have this grinding stone round my neck,
I know. Every day there is a running fight between the boy and me. He keeps
reminding me that he is already twenty-five and threatens to leave the house
unless I get him married. I didn’t know that he had gone to Seethemane
Singappa Gowda wanting a loan. He didn’t tell me. The Gowda sent him
away saying that there was no love lost between him and Chandrayya Gowda
. . . ’ He hadn’t completed what he was saying when Chandrayya Gowda
flared up.
‘Go tell him that he should ask Singappa Gowda for a loan. You won’t get
even a single paisa from me.’ He turned to the Joisa and asked, ‘What brought
you here, Joisare?’
‘I came to give you Lord Chandramowleshwara’s prasada,’ the Joisa said
taking some flowers and half a coconut full of kumkuma out of the bag beside
him and placing them in front of the sahukar. Chandrayya Gowda took it
reverently, applied the kumkuma to his forehead and tucked a flower behind
his ear after having touched his forehead with it.
Full of worries, Annayya Gowda looked at the tulsi katte in the centre of
the yard. As pictures of his sick wife, his cruel son who was threatening to
leave home and his innocent daughter came to his mind, tears of self-pity
flowed down the wrinkles on his cheeks. But the stone god in the yard, more
hard-hearted than Chandrayya Gowda, sat there unmoved.
Meanwhile noise of the verbal battle raging in the kitchen reached the
verandah. Unwilling to recognize the dissension in his household in front of
the Joisa and the others, the Gowda sat silent.
‘Chandrayya, the expenditure on the Satyanarayana vrata came to twenty
rupees. It would be nice if you were to meet it,’ the Joisa said in a tone which
suggested that he was imparting sound advice, with the additional promise of
the sahukar acquiring great merit if he were to pay.
The Gowda coughed once and cleared his throat before he said, ‘Take it out
of the thirty rupees I gave you the other day. I shall enter only ten rupees
against your name in the book. ’ He looked at the Joisa with a question in his
eyes.
The Joisa spoke with seriousness and piety. ‘Why should you mix up God’s
account with mine? It doesn’t do you good. It is better that the two accounts
are kept separate . . .’ He closed his eyes and opened them.
The Gowda was about ten or fifteen years older than the Joisa. It was the
custom of the place for a Brahmin to address a Shudra without the respectful
suffix at the end. Adding the suffix was considered to be tantamount to
cursing the Shudra and leaving it out, a blessing.
Meanwhile Kotwala who was lying at Thimma’s feet and whining, heard
dogs barking near the backyard door and rushed in that direction. The Gowda
thought for a while, took out twenty rupees from the cupboard and placed it in
front of the Joisa. As the latter was making it secure, tying it to one end of his
dhoti, the noise of the fierce battle raging among the dogs in the backyard
reached them.
The Gowda turned to Thimma. ‘Eh, Thimma, go there. Quick!’ Thimma
ran towards the backyard with the knife tucked in at his waist.
The Joisa got up to leave. The Gowda too got up and walked to the lower
end of the verandah to see him off. The red shawl which he had wrapped
around himself fell off revealing his muscular and hairy chest. He folded it
about himself again.
As he reached the door the Joisa said, ‘You had asked me for an amulet for
your boy.’
‘Yes,’ said the Gowda.
‘I had made one last year . . .’
‘Well, Hoovayya who was here during the last vacation must have spoken
to him. The boy threw it away.’
‘Didn’t I tell you earlier? Present-day education is a curse for the young
ones. Erases all thoughts of God and piety! They pick up all sorts of bad
habits besides. Look, if you want your house and property to stay intact, put
an end to their education, get them married and set them to work. Once they
have a family it is sure to knock some sense into them.’
‘I think you are right. Hoovayya and thanks to him, Ramayya too has
started saying that there’s no place for God and spirits like Jakkani. And that
Hoovayya! His head is full of things like Bhagavadgeetha and the
Upanishads. He won’t even bother about what the workers do around the
house. He goes up to the attic and spends all his time reading books!’
‘Why should he bother about such things if there’s someone else to toil and
keep him going? Listen, give him his share of the property and send him
away. Everything will sort itself out then. How can these Shudra children
hope to understand things like the Bhagavadgeetha and the Upanishads? Even
we find them difficult to understand . . .’
The Gowda laughed. ‘Come on, I bet you understand them.’
‘It’s not that easy, Chandrayya. You don’t know how great scholars have
struggled to interpret them. There has been no single interpretation they have
all agreed on . . . How can these Shudra children hope to make sense of them?
Getting to read them will only lead to their ruination. That’s all!’
There was an implied decision in what the Gowda said then in a sing-song
voice. ‘I have made up my mind already. No more education for them, only
work around the house.’
 ‘Do that and you will have saved your family. One can be at the receiving
end of God’s anger. But after all, he is kind and full of compassion. It’s these
spirits! No salvation if one incurs their wrath. Why am I telling you all this?
You know everything.’
‘Nothing of the sort! Who else is there but you to advise us?’
Holding the dhoti end which held the money firmly in his hand and
unfurling his umbrella the Joisa left, his slippers noisy. The Gowda returned
to the jaguli. Thimma was standing there holding up a filthy puppy by the
scruff of its neck. Ruby the puppy’s mother was close by looking intently at
it.
‘Why did you have to bring it here? Thoo! Take it and throw it away!’ the
Gowda shouted.
‘Damn the hen, it has pecked out the puppy’s eyeball!’
‘Didn’t you hear me? Take it away!’
‘May I keep it, Ayya?’
‘Do anything you like, for all I care!’
Thimma went out by the main door along with the puppy. Ruby followed
them.
Putta listened to all this still lying down with the pain in his leg. Unable to
stand the puppy’s plight and the fact that Thimma was taking it away he got
up and slowly limped out behind him.
‘Thimma, Vasayya won’t be happy! It’s his puppy.’
‘I’m taking it because the Gowda asked,’ Thimma said and put the puppy
down. Ruby began to lick it. He knew that Vasu wasn’t the sort to accept
things easily.
Thimma watched Putta limp and asked, ‘What’s happened to your leg?’
‘It’s a thorn.’ Putta held up his sole. The foot was inflamed and full of pus.
One could see the thorn, black at the centre. Thimma plucked a thorn from a
dodali tree and prised out the thorn from Putta’s foot. A little pus ran out with
the thorn and Putta felt a great relief. When Thimma left, Putta took the
puppy to a well to clean it up and apply medicine to its wounds.
Annayya Gowda was deep in thought with his head in his hands when the
Gowda came back after bidding farewell to the Joisa. Grief welled up in his
heart like an ocean. After having been burnt by life over and over again, he
couldn’t see a way out of the situation he was in. When a problem becomes
insoluble, it is natural to say, ‘God, let the nataka end and the final curtain of
death fall.’ The old man was in one such desperate situation.
 If one read the Gowda’s thoughts, it wouldn’t have been easy to say he was
being heartless. He was on the horns of a dilemma. He had money and he had
known the old man since his childhood and the man had served the family
loyally since the days of his ancestors. His refusal to give him a loan when the
old man was in dire straits might have looked cruel. But it must be
remembered that the Gowda had lost thousands of rupees by advancing
similar loans. He had said no as there was no hope of even the interest coming
to him. He was convinced that Annayya Gowda himself was responsible for
the condition he was in. Not he, the sahukar. Why did the fellow have to
marry four times? Why did he pay such a high bride price on each occasion?
Going through hard times in one’s old age was a way of atoning for the
extreme pleasures one had enjoyed in one’s youth and that was how karma
worked. His heart had hardened particularly when he learnt from Annayya
Gowda that Obayya had approached Seethemane Singappa Gowda for a loan.
‘Tell me, what shall I do? Shall I hang myself?’ Annayya Gowda asked.
‘As you wish! I am not going to loan you anything.’
‘If that is so, I shall leave.’ The old man folded his palms, got up and,
leaning upon his walking stick which he had placed against a wall, went out,
his back slightly bent. The Gowda took a pinch of snuff and buried himself in
his accounts.
It was a hot enough day and the sun had no mercy for the old man. He was
five-and-a-half or five-and-three-quarter-feet tall but his shadow was only a
foot-and-a-quarter long, and symbolizing his pitiable state moved slowly in
the dust at his feet.
The old man lifted his face. A crow cawed from a tree. The old man sighed,
bent his head and walked on. A chameleon on the fence bobbed its head up
and down as if saying, ‘You got what you deserved, you got what you
deserved!’
 10
Beauty Adorned

A FTER HIS BATH Shyamayyayya Gowda of Mutthalli came out of the

bathroom to the verandah and looked at the clock on the wall. It was twenty
to eleven. From the shelf he took out the box with the accessories for drawing
the nama and placed it in front of him as he sat with his legs crossed on a
broad and low wooden plank. He could see before him the tulsi katte
decorated with red and white stripes and many coloured flowers. His
admiration for his daughter Seethe’s art was stronger than his piety as he
looked at it with pleasure.
He was still good-looking despite his paunch and it was obvious that he had
been a handsome man in his youth. There was a radiance about him which
could have come only from piety—his devotion and worship of Eeshwara. He
still had around his waist the knee-length dhoti in which he had bathed. His
otherwise naked figure commanded the respect of the serious-minded and
caused mirth in the light-hearted. The areas of his stomach, chest, shoulders
and forehead which had always worn namas and known no sun were blanched
and looked as if the namas were already painted on. There were folds of skin
on his stomach and forehead which spoke of both his age and the comfortable
life he had lived. If he were a Brahmin he would surely have been dubbed a
useless Goddu Vaidika, a redundant priest.
He opened the lid of the cane box, ancient by the colour and look of it. In
his eyes it was as holy as the tulsi katte. While progressive thinkers, mildly
amused, thought of it as ‘a store-house of psychedelic drugs’ producing
religious hallucinations, it was ‘an arbour of peace’ for the traditionalists. In
any case, the box said nothing.
Many an object lay within, meditating long in its cavernous darkness: a
small container for the red nama, lumps of white nama, a garland of tulsi
beads, dried tulsi leaves, two square inches of a broken mirror, pencils to
draw the red and white namas with, vibhuthi powder, four or five worn-out
three paise coins, six paise coins, a small trident made of silver, and various
other relics. Unknown to the Gowda a few insects had made their homes in
the crevices very much like the atheists, keeping their views secret in order to
survive in a society of believers.
There was devotion in the satisfied and leisurely way in which the Gowda
hoisted the red and white flags on specific areas of his considerable frame.
Chanting the names of God he got up, picked up the silver tamlige beside him
and went to the tulsi plant. The yard was covered with strange rangoli-like
patterns of light and shade as the sun’s rays filtered through the chinks in the
areca pandal. They jostled with the red and white namas on the Gowda’s
enormous body. A butterfly flew around graciously adding its mite to the
beauty of the scene. Some dogs were cowering in distant corners afraid of the
Gowda’s puja.
As usual, he called out, ‘Seetha,’ as he offered some more flowers from the
plate to God.
Seethe came to her father swaying like a creeper while the folds of her
saree murmured. The radiance on her face outshone both the glistening silver
pancha patre and the milk in it. That again was a routine with her. As he
looked at her the Gowda felt both flattered and self-satisfied. Having bathed a
little while ago and in a freshly washed saree, she looked like a pretty rain-
washed lotus bud. She hadn’t put on any jewels as yet. Nor had she combed
her hair. As she helped her father in his puja, one could see her black
abundant hair which fell to her hips in bunches and waves. There was a
special glow of contentment and joy on her face and in her eyes that day.
‘Where has Chinnayya gone? I haven’t seen him since the morning,’ the
Gowda said as he carried on with his puja. His hands, legs and lips had learnt
the rituals involved years ago and so his mind could wander elsewhere
without affecting the puja in any way.
‘He went out in the morning with his gun for fish. Kanooru Ramayya and
Bhava are coming today, it seems.’ Seethe was on very friendly terms with
her father.
‘What time are they coming?’
‘They should have been here by now.’
The clock struck twelve while the Gowda thought it was eleven. He had not
noticed when the clock had struck previously. A breeze blew from the kitchen
bringing with it the whiff of savoury dishes being prepared.
The puja ended soon after. Seethe took the prasada and theertha which her
father offered her, circumambulated the tulsi katte like her father and went in
to attend to her toilette. The Gowda waited for a while and when neither
Chinnayya nor the Kanooru cart arrived went into the kitchen for his lunch.
By the time he had finished Kala had spread out a carpet, placed a pillow on
the verandah and prepared the betel leaves and nuts.
Gowramma asked Seethe to come, eat. But she refused saying that she
would eat with her mother later, went into her room, closed the door and got
busy making herself up. All her toilette-aids like the hair-oil, mirror, comb
and a garland of flowers lay round her. She looked into the mirror now and
then and seemed to fancy what she saw. Once or twice she looked at the door
startled but resumed when she realized that she had bolted the door. Her
fingers ran over her hair which was still a little wet. Normally, she wouldn’t
have been audacious enough to apply oil to her wet hair—her mother would
have told her off. She wasn’t afraid that day. She bunched her shining hair
into strands, brought them up to the front and applied the oil. There was
satisfaction on her face as she looked at the mirror occasionally and admired
her own eyes, nose, cheeks and chin. Suddenly there was a knock on the door.
‘Akkayya, Akkayya!’ It was Lakshmi with her screeching voice, knocking
and scratching at the door like a cat.
Seethe gritted her teeth in anger and carried on, having decided not to open
the door. But Lakshmi’s knocking and scratching continued unabated. ‘Wait,
I’m coming out!’ Seethe shouted but Lakshmi went on with her satyagraha.
Knowing that Lakshmi’s entry at that stage would hamper her toilette and
destroy the single-mindedness she needed to make a good job of it, she
shouted angrily that she wouldn’t open the door. She was also self-conscious
about repeatedly looking into the mirror in Lakshmi’s presence even though
she was an innocent little girl.
That signalled the beginning of a revolt outside the door. Lakshmi started
rolling about on the floor, all the while wailing loudly. When Seethe, now
furious, opened the door, there was Gowramma standing beside Lakshmi.
‘Why did you have to close the door?’ Gowramma asked in anger and came
in with Lakshmi in her arms. She took one look at the things spread out on the
mat and asked, ‘What’s the matter with you? Couldn’t you wait till your hair
was dry?’
‘It was dry!’ Seethe knit her brows.
‘Do as you please. You aren’t the one to listen to others, are you?’
She eased Lakshmi onto the mat and said, ‘Come here. I’ll do your hair.’
‘No, thanks, I’ll do it myself.’ Her mother’s help would be more of a
hindrance than anything else. Gowramma mumbled, ‘Do as you please!’ and
went into the kitchen smiling all the while. She must have remembered her
own youth.
As soon as her mother disappeared Seethe gritted her teeth and looked at
Lakshmi sitting doll-like on the mat and asked with anger in her eyes, ‘Why
did you have to bawl like that? You weren’t dying!’ Lakshmi’s mouth was
about to open to break into crying again. Afraid that Gowramma would come
back, Seethe sat down, hugged her sister and said in a sweet voice, ‘Don’t
cry, my darling! You shall also have flowers in your hair. Hoovayya Bhava is
coming, you see!’ Lakshmi didn’t cry. Hoovayya Bhava’s coming must have
seemed to her sufficient reason for her not crying! Seethe who wouldn’t
mention Hoovayya’s name when her brothers were present had no such
reservation while talking to Lakshmi. She seemed to be savouring it as she
said his name.
‘Hoovayya Bhava is coming, Hoovayya Bhava!’ Seethe continued to
emphasize the fact even when Lakshmi fell quiet. The little girl couldn’t
recall who he was. She remembered nothing about him but sat there with a
blank expression, accepting however that anyone who commanded love and
respect from her sister should be worthy in her own eyes too.
Seethe combed her hair, parted and plaited it. It was while she used her
finger to get the kumkuma mark on her forehead perfectly round like the full
moon that Lakshmi fidgeted, and the mark went awry, like a comet with a tail.
She told her sister off but was pleased that the mishap gave her both the time
and the justification to gaze long at the mirror. She studied her image for a
while. It was with great care and skill that she put on her jewels on her ears,
nose, arms, legs and head. She even looked into the mirror to see what the
bangles on her wrist looked like!
Meanwhile, Lakshmi was busy on her own. Having inspected the comb,
flowers and jewels, she reached out for the pot of oil. As luck would have it, it
toppled over and a rivulet of oil flowed on the mat. One end of her dress was
soaked. The stream was about to reach the flowers when Seethe screamed,
picked up the flowers to put them safely elsewhere and attended to her sister
instead of bothering about the oil. When Seethe pinched Lakshmi’s cheek, the
girl didn’t cry aloud, guilty that the whole thing was her doing. Stretching her
mouth out wide she produced a thin wail afraid that if she cried aloud
Gowramma would rush in and thrash her. Seethe rushed to the window when
she heard the noise of a cart approaching crying, ‘It’s Hoovayya Bhava!’
There was no one on the sunlit road covered in red dust: no sign of a cart,
only a few hens scratching for food in the gutter by the road. Lakshmi had
stopped wailing and had come to the window to look. She couldn’t see even
the hens: only the sky, some clouds, green tree-tops and the bars on the
window dividing all these into sections!
Disappointed, Seethe came back and gathered as much oil as she could
back into the pot. She picked up the mat to discover that the floor underneath
had turned black with the absorbed oil. She drew the mat over the stain so that
no one would find out. Lakshmi had started to cry again looking
disconsolately at the edge of her dress, dripping oil. Seethe muttered inaudible
curses and squeezed the end of Lakshmi’s dress so that the oil dripped into
the pot.
She had no time to wear her flowers. She was looking into the mirror as if
it was the very last scene of a play, when she unmistakably heard both cart-
bells and the roll of wheels. She ran to the window shouting, ‘It’s Hoovayya
Bhava!’ There was the cart with its arched top and the black and white
bullocks, Laccha and Ninga! Who sat just behind them? Puttanna and Nanja
carrying guns. The one sitting in the cart at the front end? It was Ramayya
Bhava! Where was Hoovayya Bhava? She was excited and eager, a poet
standing on a high mountain top waiting for the moonrise. What had
happened to her plaits, flowers, jewels, face and beauty? She was all eyes.
The cart stopped in the yard outside. Chinnayya and Singappa Gowda
jumped down from the rear. When Ninga unhitched the cart and jumped down
too, Ramayya got down.
Not seeing Hoovayya, Seethe was slightly puzzled.
There was anxiety on everyone’s face. No one spoke aloud. Puttanna
handed over his gun to Nanja and walked over to the front of the cart. He
spoke to someone inside. Seethe looked on and her blood coursed hot through
her veins. Chinnayya got into the cart again and she saw Hoovayya get down
a little later holding on to Chinnayya. Seethe was shaken as she saw
Chinnayya’s right arm round Hoovayya’s back.
‘Can you walk? Or shall we carry you in?’ asked Singappa Gowda.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll manage.’
Seethe ran to the verandah and saw everyone coming in. Shyamayya
Gowda who was enjoying his siesta got up startled and ran to Hoovayya.
‘What’s this? What happened?’
‘Nothing serious. Don’t worry. My back is slightly hurt, the trunk hit it.’
Hoovayya smiled trying to reassure the Gowda.
 The others too echoed the same story. No one mentioned the fact that the
cart had toppled over. The Gowda turned to Seethe standing at the door and
asked her to get a bed ready. Kala was already there to do it and Seethe
helped him spread the bed.
It was after they had had their meal that Singappa Gowda rendered an
account of what happened, ending with, ‘Thank God it was nothing serious!’
Puttanna intervened occasionally with his explanations which tended to be
longer than the account of what had transpired. Ramayya was at Hoovayya’s
bedside massaging his back with a mixture of oil and lime juice. Chinnayya
also stood by, chatting to the others and assisting Ramayya. Seethe was the
nurse diligently supplying whatever was needed.
The only two who enjoyed the feast that day were Shyamayya Gowda and
Lakshmi.
 11
Annayya Gowda’s Travails at Home

T HE HEAT WAS harsh. Even though there was a breeze, it wasn’t getting any
less sultry. Shadows lay tired at the foot of the tree, resting. Cloud-masses
could be seen sailing across the blue sky. The forested hills lay in folds on the
horizon with a brave indifference. The aged body of Annayya Gowda who
left Kanooru in a despondent mood was too tired to move on. Overcoming a
periodic desire to sit down he walked on stooping, supporting himself with a
stick. He moistened his dry throat by swallowing over and over again.
Longing to go to his wife who had lain sick in bed for a long time, he felt
particularly scared after hearing an inauspicious crow call. But the exhaustion
of his body was greater than the soul’s desire to venture on and he sat under a
basiri tree. Sighing, he took off the red cloth from his head, wiped his sweat
and fanned himself. At the sight of him, a few uruli birds sitting among the
leaves flew away chirping softly.
Disquiet and an upheaval had begun to rage in Annayya Gowda’s mind. He
was like a man left blindfolded in the desert. Chandrayya Gowda wouldn’t
lend him any money. What next? Who could he turn to if even his son left
him? Could his weak little daughter look after his ailing wife as well as an old
man like himself? Who would plough and Who would sow? Ayyo, Devare!
What adversities he had faced! Images of his past life appeared before his
eyes. The old man’s heart was shattered by sorrow. There was no one else to
see or hear him there apart from the world of nature. He sobbed like an infant
. . . Narayana! Couldn’t He hear him either? How many times had the old
man offered things to Him? He had gone to Thirupathi and Dharmasthala and
beseeched Him, offered Chandramowleshwara fruits and coconuts through
Venkappayya, asked for omens and brought back vibhuthi, sacrificed
chickens for Jakkani, Panjroli and other spirits and made all the herbal
concoctions he knew! Some people advised him to go to a hospital and get
medicine from a doctor. What could doctors in hospitals do? How could a
doctor do things which the incantations of the Agrahara Joisa Venkappayya’s
spells and charms, the Gods of Thirupathi and Dharmasthala, his own native
medications (How many had received medicines from him! How many had
survived too!) and the spirits and Jakkani couldn’t? Hadn’t he himself
preached to others not to visit the hospitals? Wasn’t there a proverb which
said that only orphans went to hospitals? The Veda might prove fake, but
never a proverb . . . Everything was the result of karma. What his back carried
on it in the previous birth would not just go away. . . Again, the old man
remembered his four marriages. He felt he had done wrong . . . But what was
wrong in his marrying again? How could one manage a family without a
wife? As he kept justifying himself, a crow in a nearby tree began to caw. The
old man was startled. Among the green leaves on a thick brown branch the
crow sat, black and calling. And turning towards the cremation ground too.
May your throat dry up, cursed the old man, getting up. He wound the red
cloth about his head and walked on, bent over the walking stick. The sun
seemed to shine even more sharply. In that mid-day world the terrible silence
of solitude appeared to point a finger at him and mock, hailing him destitute.
When he sighted his small thatched house among the fields and forest
Annayya Gowda tried to walk as fast as he could. The thatched house was
still, like an unclaimed corpse in a forest. There was no sign of any human
movement. As Annayya Gowda walked like a spirit on its way to the
graveyard, he heard the sound of weeping from his house. His spirits sank. He
walked on. He knew that the wailing was his daughter’s. He sighed heavily,
‘Narayana!’ He did not even hear the name of the God he called his. Tears
flowed with his sweat. Not paying any attention to the chickens raking
through the rubbish heap or the black dog lying asleep, unconscious as if to
indicate the state the house was in, he rushed in. The low door frame crashed
into his head as he crossed the threshold.
When Annayya Gowda left for Kanooru that morning his son Obayya had
been at home. Since there had not been much communication between father
and son lately, Annayya Gowda told his daughter that he was going to
Kanooru and that she should look after the sick woman and the house, in a
voice loud enough for his son to hear. His daughter, an innocent girl, sat by
her mother, who was suffering from nausea and headache. Nor was the girl
healthy either. She had often had bouts of malaria. The malarial tumour had
grown and with neither care not comfort the girl was like a blade of grass
growing under a stone. She had never known natural childhood games or fun
since the day she had been born. There were no neighbours and even the
companionship of other children was mere hearsay to her. Her spiritual
development, like her physical growth, was stunted in the absence of a normal
environment. Being too old and pained by numerous worries and problems
her father had not attempted either to entertain or play with her. Her mother
had been up to her neck in work and had even suckled her in great haste,
unable to stop and enjoy her motherhood. The daughter hadn’t known the
love a child usually got from her parents. Her elder brother Obayya treated his
stepsister as he did his stepmother. The little girl had grown up like an
orphan.
A little after his father left, Obayya called his stepsister to the kitchen and
ordered her to light the stove. The girl was as scared of her brother as she
would have been of a tiger. Her brother used to hit her across the face and she
never answered him but did whatever she was told to do.
‘I shall go to the cowshed and let the cows out to graze. Get the gruel
ready,’ said Obayya with a threatening expression and left.
The girl ventured forth into the brave act of lighting the stove. There was
no firewood. She went out and began to gather dry sticks. She had gathered a
few when she heard her mother retching loudly sitting up on the bed, clothes
covered in her vomit. The stench was strong enough to drive the darkness out
of the house. The daughter felt neither disgust nor loathing; her tolerance was
born of habit. Her mother’s dishevelled hair, sunken cheeks, lustreless eyes
and decrepit body made her feel pity and fear at the same time. Her lips
trembled and her tears flowed. Her mother didn’t have strength enough to
talk. She stared at her daughter with eyes full of pathos. Her gaze was
unearthly. Hot tears flowed and moistened her cheeks burning with fever. She
gestured, expressing her desire for something to drink. The girl ran and got
some water in a small earthen pot. Had there been a wise person to guide her,
her mother would not have been given cold water to drink at such a critical
stage. The water wasn’t clean either. It was from the deep pit in the field
which served them as a well.
Right from washing clothes, all cleaning activities took place there and the
water was green with spreading moss. Once in a while, in the morning sun,
buffaloes would roll around in it and there was a smell of dung about it.
The fever-stricken mother who had lost her senses drank the water her
innocent daughter offered. Afterwards she lay down on the bed full of vomit.
The girl cleared it up as much as she could and called, ‘Avva, avva!’ with a
sad tearful face. Her mother tried to speak and the daughter put her ears close
to her mouth.
 The mother took the girl in her wasted arms and the girl was scared in the
quiet loneliness. She called out, ‘Annayya, annayya!’ When Obayya ran in, he
found his stepmother lying down as usual. He shouted at his sister for having
scared him for no reason at all and asked for the silver bracelet on her arm to
offer to Chandramowleshwara. She gave it to him. He took it round the sick
woman once and put it in his pocket saying he would go to the Agrahara and
ask Venkappayya to perform puja.
Obayya was waiting to make the ganji having asked his sister to start a fire.
The girl was exhausted with blowing continually on the fire. Smoke filled her
eyes and nose. Her eyes became red and her tears flowed relentlessly. Wiping
her running nose on her right sleeve and her dirty worn-out saree, the girl kept
at her blowing. But instead of the Fire God it was the smoke-devil that
materialized. She became angry, spat once into the fire and eventually wept
quietly. Obayya punched her on the back for having raised up smoke, pushed
her away, made the fire and put the ganji on to boil. The girl sat in a corner
sobbing.
Obayya served himself. He then left home saying, ‘Give some to your
Avva. Have some yourself and leave some for Appayya.’
The girl took some ganji to her mother who was sleeping, eyes closed.
Scared, the girl went back, poured some ganji on a leaf and started to eat The
black dog sat in front of her drooling. She put a little of the gruel on the floor
which the dog licked up noisily and with relish. The girl had no companion
but the dog. Its closeness to her was more pleasing and supportive than
Obayya’s company.
She came out into the yard to throw away the leaf. Some hens rushed at it
and pecked at the few rice grains sticking to it. Some of the horasalu birds in
the field flew away; the cattle and sheep continued to graze. The sky, forest,
hills, fields and plains were at peace. The girl stood long, looking. The world
outside the hut was beautiful with air, light and living creatures. There was no
sign of her father. After some time the girl went to the water hole in the field,
washed her hands and mouth and returned to her mother’s bedside. She called
out, ‘Avva, avva!’ Her own voice sounded horrible in the silence. She
summoned enough courage to go up to her mother, touch and then shake her
body, all the while calling, ‘Avva, avva!’ The touch of her mother’s body
frightened her instead of giving her pleasure as before. Her mother opened her
eyes slowly and the girl screamed, seeing the whiteness in them. The sign of
life in those eyes was as horrible as any sign of death. When her mother shut
her eyes again the girl started wailing more out of fear than grief. She stopped
crying after some time and went to the door once or twice to look out. There
was still no sign of her father. She went in again and, summoning all the
strength in her body began wailing. Her wailing was preferable to the silence
that settled around her and seemed to give her comfort and courage.
When Annayya Gowda came in she started to weep even more. The old
man was terrified and went to his wife. He had been a village doctor and had
stood by the deathbeds of many patients. In such situations he would try to
instil courage in the others. But now it wasn’t like that. The old man’s heart
had become frail as a dry leaf through the countless cruel blows and conflicts
of family life. He felt hollow and began to cry too. The patient opened her
eyes slowly. Realizing that there was life in her still, Annayya Gowda stopped
crying and was galvanized into action. He rubbed hot ash over her feet and
hands which were growing cold. He opened her mouth, poured medicine into
it and asked the girl to bring some milk. But the only cow they had hadn’t
been milked that day. Obayya had driven off the cattle into the forest to graze.
Eventually he fed his wife a little gruel. Though she drank it, the old man
realized that her life would desert her any moment. When he asked his
daughter where his son was, she told him everything, showing him her bare
arm without the bracelet. The old man sighed deeply and sat down, hands on
his head.

* * *

When Annayya Gowda left him, Kanooru Chandrayya Gowda spent some
time studying the accounts register, went into the bathroom, had his bath and
emerged. He was somewhat disturbed. The Gowda had consciously
suppressed the pity he had felt for the old man and that bothered him. He was
also worried about the noise of fighting from the kitchen which reached his
ears when he was with Venkappayya Joisa. Having listened to his wife’s
complaints every night, he had come to think of Nagamma as a poisonous
snake. He did nothing about it partly because of the awe he was in of
Hoovayya and partly because Nagamma was his late brother’s wife.
As he sat on the wooden plank and applied the nama to his forehead,
Puttamma came out and told him what had happened. Her version was
somewhat damaging to Subbamma. Fights in the kitchen were not unknown
to the Gowda. But the incident of the fight in the kitchen that day was
particularly galling because he had been humiliated with Venkappayya
present. The fire raging in his heart had been ignited much earlier. He vented
his anger on Puttamma and his shouts were loud enough for everyone to
beware of his state of mind. Puttamma dashed in crying and went to her aunt.
When the Gowda went into the kitchen and sat down for his meal he
noticed that the floor around the stove was wet and slushy. Since the day of
his marriage he hadn’t behaved cruelly towards his new wife. But he had been
born into and grown up in an affluent house and had been married twice to
girls from noble families. Having been happy with the way his former wives
had conducted themselves, he had often had reason to find fault with
Subbamma’s behaviour. The anger he had suppressed on such occasions in
the past had reached a flashpoint. It was like a charge of gunpowder in a
packet of tolerance waiting to explode.
One could see the irritation on his face even as he started on his meal. It
turned into sheer cruelty when he realized that the curry Subbamma served
was burnt.
‘Eh, why is the curry burnt? Why?’ he looked up at his wife and shouted
threateningly. The question was merely an excuse for what followed.
Subbamma hadn’t even started to reply when Chandrayya Gowda got up,
picked up in his unwashed hand the thick stick on the shelf to drive away cats
and started to thrash her mercilessly. ‘Dammayya!’ screamed Subbamma.
There were more blows as she screamed some more. Within a minute both the
stick and some bangles broke into smithereens. The Gowda grabbed her by
the hair with his left hand and continued to hit her with his right. Though both
Nagamma and Puttanna would have come to her rescue, they were scared off
by the Gowda’s fury and stood at a distance watching helplessly. Meanwhile
the overseer Rangappa Shetty who had just returned from the forest rushed
into the kitchen on hearing all that noise, folded his hands and begged, ‘Please
stop, Odeya, please!’ Vasu who came in from the backyard at that moment
stood next to his sister and aunt and cried. Puttamma too was crying. Within a
minute or so, Vasu, still crying, rushed to his father pleading, ‘No, Appayya,-
no!’ Subbamma was in no condition even to cry.
The presence of the overseer who was an outsider, the boy’s tearful pleas
and his own tiredness made the Gowda draw back. He stood breathing heavily
while his lips trembled and his chest heaved. His eyes were red and dilated.
As soon as he let go of her hair Subbamma collapsed on the ground.
 12
The Toddy Shop

T HOSE WERE PROSPEROUS days for Annayya Gowda’s family when Obayya
was born. Cattle in the shed, rice in the barn, jewellery in the box, strength in
limbs, joy in hearts and the respect and friendship of the villagers—Annayya
Gowda had them all. Obayya grew up like any other boy of a reasonably
affluent family. He helped in the domestic chores and his father was fond of
him. It was even said that Annayya Gowda had prospered as a farmer because
of Obayya. It was only when Annayya Gowda married for the third time
paying a bride price of eight hundred rupees that Obayya’s attitude suffered a
sea change. He didn’t want his father to marry again and the bride price of
eight hundred rupees was in his eyes sure to ruin the family. He didn’t want a
stepmother in the house. If cooking was the problem, Annayya Gowda could
have found a wife for his son. The bride price wouldn’t have been as high!
His indifference towards his father and the housework ever since his
father’s third marriage turned into open rebellion when the old man set about
marrying for the fourth time paying a bride price of nine hundred rupees. He
was of the right age to get married, not his father, and his heart was filled with
jealousy, anger and hatred. Which son could bear the injustice of such a move
when a foolish father wasted what he had earned by dint of his own hard work
to ensure his future well-being?
This was the beginning of Annayya Gowda’s increasing indebtedness to
Kanooru Chandrayya Gowda. The farm’s earnings declined. Unmarried and
opposed to his father’s decisions, Obayya took to evil ways and squandered
money. Annayya Gowda had always brewed his own toddy at home and was
known to drink within limits. With no love lost between father and son
Obayya began to drink on his own, outside the house. He smuggled out things
like betel nuts and rice to pay for it and ran an account both at the toddy shop
and with Halepaikada Thimma. He stole jewels from the house to clear his
debts. When a woman entered his life purely by chance, both his fondness for
drink and his need for female company turned out to be irresistible.
 He had once gone to the forest near Kanooru to sit in the hideout he had
built on a fruit-bearing tree and wait for prey. By eight in the night the sky
filled with black clouds. There was no trace of moonlight as the wind rose and
the sky was rent by thunder and lightning. Afraid that it would pour, Obayya
climbed down and set off towards home. He hadn’t gone far when big drops
of rain fell. He remembered the huts a couple of furlongs away in which the
overseer Rangappa Shetty’s workers from below the Ghats lived, and walked
fast towards them. Hail-stones fell and Obayya ran with his gun on his
shoulder. He saw a light burning in a hut removed from the rest and he rushed
in.
The hut belonged to Gange, Rangappa Shetty’s lover. The overseer spent
most nights there and so had built a large and attractive hut for her.
Gange was all decked up, waiting for the overseer whose headquarters was
Chandrayya Gowda’s residence. He would even have his meals there. After
dinner and the usual post-dinner chat with the Gowda, Rangappa Shetty
would quietly walk over to Gange’s hut after all the workers had retired for
the night. Gange had had her food and was waiting for her lover to arrive. She
was afraid that he might not come when the sky filled with clouds and was
rent asunder by thunder and lightning. She was sighing in despair when
suddenly someone knocked on the door. She threw open the door in
eagerness. It was not the overseer, but Annayya Gowda’s son, Obayya, from
Kelakanooru!
She spread out a mat for him, and Obayya sat down to catch his breath after
all that running, wiping raindrops from his face. He told her how he came to
be there. Rain, wind, thunder and lightning were still raging outside and
Gange had given up hoping that Rangappa Shetty would come. Obayya’s
arrival seemed to her to be a blessing. He looked like a juicy fruit which no
one had tasted. Skilled as she was at the game of love, he seemed easy prey.
Nor was Obayya in a state to say no to her.
Gange took her place next to him on the mat and started to talk. Her eyes,
brows, lips and cheeks—in short, her entire body— was like a dancing flame,
its flickering tongue out to trap a moth. Obayya behaved quite normally in the
beginning wanting to carry on talking until the rain stopped. But her magic
didn’t take long to ensnare the full-blooded youth in his state of innocence.
Talking of this and that, she brought up the question of his marriage. Obayya
lost his cool and turned emotional at that point. The matter of his marriage
was like a keg of gun-powder between them as they sat on either side of it
like burning wicks. Blood rushed to his face, his heart beat fast and his body
broke out in perspiration. He knew what was happening to him as a strange
new feeling overcame him. Gange sensed it too. She went in and brought him
some warm, sweet and foaming toddy. Drenched in the rain and feeling cold
Obayya drank it all. She offered him betel leaf and said that it would be better
for him to spend the night there as he wouldn’t be able to go home in the rain.
Obayya agreed though he hadn’t fully grasped the implication of his consent.
The door was shut and the lights put out. The monsoon rain and the thunder
and lightning outside went on relentlessly.
When he left the hut at dawn, Obayya was no more the boy he had been the
previous day. He had come to know of a sweet world of utterly new
experience. He understood then why his father had spent so much money to
get himself married four times!
His own expenses doubled and he went downhill steadily.

* * *

Taking his sister’s bangle Obayya went straight to Seethemane. He learnt that
Singappa Gowda hadn’t returned from Theerthahalli, had his lunch and siesta
and then went on towards the Agrahara. Feeling thirsty he remembered the
toddy shop but hesitated recalling that he hadn’t cleared his account there and
that the shopkeeper had said that he would not give him any more toddy
unless Obayya paid back what he owed. His eyes lit up when he remembered
the silver bangle in his pocket. He hesitated again when he thought that it had
already been pledged to God. He was a fallen man but not an evil one. His
fear helped him overcome his temptation and he made his way to the
Agrahara.
The Agrahara was a beautiful place on the banks of the Thunga. The clear
blue waters of the river reflecting the sky, the soft white sand on the banks,
the rocks in the water some big and some small, looking like elephants, and
the range of green forests rising from the edges of the water to the blue
horizon had all made it so. The Chandramowleshwara temple was on the river
bank and near it the tiled house of the Joisa, Venkappayya. The front of the
house decorated with rangoli patterns was spotless and it was obvious that it
was a Brahmin’s house. Red and black sarees were spread out on the fence to
dry.
 The two boys playing in the front yard stopped when they saw Obayya, a
Shudra, and moved away. Obayya talked to them and found out that
Venkappayya was not at home. When he said he was thirsty, one of the boys
brought some water in a copper vessel and some jaggery paste on a strip of
banana leaf. While he placed them in front of Obayya and stepped back, the
other boy spoke. ‘Don’t touch the vessel with your lips. Pour the water into
your mouth.’ Obayya did as he was told, putting a lump of jaggery into his
mouth before he drank. He wasn’t accustomed to drinking water that way and
most of the water ran over his face and shirt. The boys were disgusted and
their contempt for the Shudras which they had picked up from their elders
increased.
As Venkappayya wasn’t there, Obayya could not have the puja conducted
and make his offering. He had to make do with offering his obeisance from
outside the temple. He walked down the steps to the river and saw hundreds
of fish in the water. There was no danger to the fish as only the Brahmins
used the ghat at that spot and fed them with rice, banana and slivers of
coconut. They swarmed about utterly carefree and even the Shudras left them
alone as they were God’s fish. It was said that any dish made out of the fish
there would instantly turn into dung. Obayya knew what people said. As he
went down to the water, many fish hurried to him thinking that he was about
to feed them. Some of them were four or five feet long and one or two feet
broad. Obayya looked around and saw nobody. He took out a paring of
tobacco from the pocket where he kept his betel leaf and nuts, mixed it with
some chunam to roll it into a pill and flung it into the water. Some twenty or
thirty fish jumped on it immediately. They had turned gluttonous like the
residents of the Agrahara and probably lost their capacity to distinguish
between the edible and the inedible! Within a minute or two a normal-sized
fish began to writhe with its belly turned up and leapt out of the water to fall
on the bank. Obayya quickly removed the cloth wound round his head,
bundled up the fish, slung it over his shoulder and took an unfrequented path.
The fish was in its death-throes and whenever it stiffened up, Obayya would
press it down hard. Very soon it was evening and the fish was still.
On the way between Mutthalli and Kanooru was a toddy shop frequented
by customers who came from a radius of seven or eight miles. There would be
a milling and noisy crowd around it between evening and nine in the night
and fights erupted frequently among the customers. The shopkeeper was
known to lace the toddy with strange herbs to make it even more potent and
there was a great demand for it. The most important customers were the ones
that worked for Kanooru Chandrayya Gowda, Mutthalli Shyamayya Gowda
and Seethemane Singappa Gowda. Many of the farmhands too were in the
habit of visiting the place now and then. The workers would spend all the rice
which they had been given as daily wages and go home drunk even though
neither their family nor themselves would now have anything to eat. There
were occasions when they would barter stolen things like hatchets, pickaxes
and crowbars for some toddy.
Obayya left the Agrahara with God’s fish slung over his shoulder and took
the road which led to the toddy shop because it was a short cut to his own hut.
He had also hoped that there would be someone there he knew who would
buy him a drink. It was already dark by the time he reached the toddy shop.
The red light inside the hut under the low thatched roof indicated that the
lamps had already been lit. There were people everywhere; the upper caste
ones inside and the lower caste ones outside. The shopkeeper and his son
were busy serving the drink and the shopkeeper’s wife was somewhere inside.
The smell that wafted along with that of the toddy was obviously of cooking
mutton, salted fish and eggs.
Everyone there knew Obayya and he knew most of them. Some of the
customers were in the yard in groups, tugging away at the mutton and fish
pieces between swigs of toddy, chatting and laughing loudly. Some of the
ones inside were busy drinking and playing cards. Mutthalli’s Nanja was
there sitting all by himself on a low stool staring at the mogé of toddy while
eating fried mutton from a coconut shell in his left hand and spitting out both
curses and bones. Only his cheek bones moved up and down while he sat
there staring at the moges of toddy and chewing at the meat. His mind was
mulling over the tragedy that had struck him in his hut. He had already
consumed two moges of toddy and was getting ready for his third. His half-
shut eyes were cruel and his stomach was bloated. Obayya didn’t start the
conversation; it was Nanja who started to talk to him.
‘Tell me, was I at fault? What is wrong in my asking for the jewel I had got
made for her? You tell me! Did I hit her?. . . her sister!’ His dirty hand took
out an earring made of gold from the dhoti-fold at his waist and held it up.
The drinks he had consumed had gone to his head.
Nanja who had gone hunting for fish with Chinnayya in the morning had
returned home in the afternoon and had set out for the toddy shop in the
evening. He had neither money nor rice. He asked for the ring in his wife’s
ear. When she refused to hand it over, he had thrashed her, pulled off the
earring and come to the toddy shop. That was the incident he narrated to
Obayya.
Meanwhile the shopkeeper who came there took the earring from Nanja
and deposited it in a box. Nanja didn’t seem to have noticed. He took a big
swig from the mogé, smacked his lips, looked at the shopkeeper
appreciatively and shouted, ‘Take it, take it! It’s what I earned, and so I drink!
Ha, ha, ha!’ Suddenly he raised his voice and demanded another drink. The
shopkeeper’s son brought him toddy mixed with the water in which rice had
been washed. Nanja was in no condition to discriminate between a genuine
drink and an adulterated one and went about his eating and drinking. His
dhoti was wet with the spilt toddy.
No one was eager to have Obayya as his guest. The shopkeeper told him in
no uncertain terms that he wouldn’t get even a single drop unless he paid back
what he owed. Obayya drew in the breeze which wafted in with the aroma of
toddy and mutton. His thirst doubled. He took out the fish from under his arm
and pleaded with the shopkeeper for a drink in exchange. He didn’t divulge
that it was God’s fish from the Agrahara. The shopkeeper gave him a small
drink which only increased his thirst. He took out the silver bangle pledged to
God from his pocket and pawned it against the drink, promising to come back
later to redeem it. The shopkeeper was pleased to take it and knew that talk of
redeeming it later meant nothing.
Gradually there was more noise than talk in the shop. Men turned into
animals as the drink flowed. Obscenity crept into men’s talk, abuse and
action. Obayya was totally drunk. Nanja removed his dhoti, wrapped it round
his head, guffawed for no reason and went out singing bawdy songs. Fights
started in the yard at about eight in the night. The toddy shop which was silent
during the day like a sage in contemplation turned into a fearsome and ugly
haunt for the demons of the night.
Meanwhile two more untouchables came in and asked for their drink.
‘Eh, Baira, why so late?’ the shopkeeper asked. The newcomers were
Belara Baira and Sidda, Kanooru Chandrayya Gowda’s workers.
‘Got late chopping wood to cremate Annayya Gowda’s wife. Ah, how the
body aches! Each of us got a rupee and so we are here,’ said Sidda.
‘What was wrong with her?’
‘Something or the other . . . Give me a drink,’ said Baira.
 ‘Did you hear them, Obegowdare?’ Asked the shopkeeper as he served the
newcomers.
Obayya had heard what Sidda had said but was in no condition to grasp its
full import. ‘Oh, God! Is she dead?’ he bawled, more from excitement than
grief. The effects of the drink had found a way to work itself out.
Obayya staggered to his feet and fell down as he stepped into the yard. He
got up and disappeared into the black womb of the night, crying and walking
unsteadily. If the men in the place had been sober, they wouldn’t have let him
go home in that state. But the toddy shop was caught up in the high tide of
drink, dance, fight and noise.
 13
A Brewery in Kanubailu

T HE WORLD WAS preparing to sleep. The sun had set and along the hill-lined
western horizon the blue-red light had pierced the heart of a thin film of
clouds at that post-sunset hour. The Goddess of Night gently draped her
seragu over the forest-clad range of the Sahyadri mountains. Nest-bound birds
had stopped singing and home-bound cattle had stopped lowing. Instead the
buzz of thousands of bees so typical of the sunset hour in Malenadu roared
like a full-flowing stream or murmuring ocean and filled the night with the
sound of Om. Having lost their clear shape the trees looked like patches of
grey.
A small fire burned on a hill-top to the south of Chandrayya Gowda’s
house. The place was flat and overspread with rocks though it was in the
centre of a thick forest of trees. From this vantage point one could look far
into the distance during daytime. The smoke that rose above the forest, fields
and areca farms helped one identify places like Seethemane and Mutthalli.
Through the blue air of the morning, parts of the Sahyadri range like
Agumbeghat, Kundada Gudda, Kuduremukha and Meruthi sometimes shone
like giant heaps of copper sulphate against the blue western sky. The rising
sun and moon and the setting sun were a splendid sight from this beautiful
spot. Hoovayya and Ramayya would come here every day whenever they
were home on vacation. The villagers had given it the name Kanubailu,
clearing of the forest.
The fire that burned here at the twilight hour that particular day seemed
alternately to go out and then burst into life. A superstitious villager looking
at it from a distance would have decided that it was a ghost with a torch. The
knowledgeable would have realized that it was an ordinary torch made of
areca or bamboo splints. A curious person of stouter heart would have
discovered that the facts were entirely different had he gone to Kanubailu to
investigate.
He would have seen the figure of the man who had lit the fire and caught
the whiff of toddy had he gone any nearer. He would have recognized the
man, Halepaikada Thimma, heating toddy in an earthen pot!
Bending low to blow into the fire, standing up to look in the direction of
Kanooru with expectant eyes, sitting down despondently, clearing his throat
and coughing, scratching his thighs, stomach, back and legs as if out of habit,
and making noises to overcome the heaviness of that lonely silent place—
these were what Thimma did. He would occasionally think of something and
exclaim, ‘Rascals, they are staking out paths all over!’ and tell himself, ‘I’ll
teach them a lesson when Marka comes next!’ He blew into the dying fire and
fed it with grass and twigs to get it going again. Puffs of smoke rose as the
flames leaped into the air.
Tapping toddy was Thimma’s profession by caste. He wouldn’t sell it
except on the rare occasions when he was left with a surplus. He would then
take it to the toddy shop on the sly. The toddy he tapped was normally not
enough even for the people in Kanooru. It was his daily routine to set aside
some warm toddy for Chandrayya Gowda. It was to his advantage to keep his
master happy. The Gowda responded by treating Thimma with greater
affection than he showed any other worker in his place. He would give him
loans whenever he asked and even some land to plough and lend him the
bullocks for it. He would even send his own cart to help out Thimma! There
were many others who were as good as Thimma in their work but there was
no one who could tap toddy like him. It was the prized secret of his caste.
None of the other castes like the Bela, Kumbara, Marathi, Shetty and
Vokkaliga enjoyed the right to tap toddy, which belonged exclusively to the
Halepaika caste and so Halepaikada Thimma was the monarch of the bagani
trees. If anyone else were to intrude into this domain he was sure to be
excommunicated. When Belara Baira fell at Rangappa Shetty’s feet that
afternoon it was not only because of his fear of having been caught tapping
toddy without a license but also because of the fear of being socially
ostracized!
Thimma who had been carefree with no competitors and who regularly
tapped more toddy than his license allowed for had recently noticed that new
footpaths had sprung up in the forest. He followed one of them to discover
that someone had fixed a pot on a bagani tree. He couldn’t imagine who it
could be. The possibility of Baira being involved wouldn’t have occurred to
him even in his wildest dreams. How could that stupid untouchable know
anything about it? The skills involved in the operation like the right way to tie
the pot, getting the toddy’s composition right and such other aspects would be
beyond him even if all his ancestors going back some twenty generations had
put their heads together! Thimma was so sure of his own toddy tapping skills
that he told Baira of his discovery and sought his help in catching the
poacher! Baira obliged and they took turns beeping watch but no poacher was
caught. Thimma didn’t realize that the thief himself had turned into the
policeman. Finally he was so furious that he chopped off the flowers that
yielded the toddy!
Soon after, Baira tied a pot to another bagani tree. It was under this tree that
Rangappa Shetty had nearly peppered him with shot. The tree was in a
secluded place and no one would normally have seen it. When Thimma was
on his usual evening rounds collecting toddy from the bagani trees he decided
to gather some of its bark in strips as well to mend his fence. It was then that
he saw the freshly made path. He went along and at the end, there it was, a
pot on a tree! No operative of the C.I.D. stumbling on a cache of bombs
would have been as filled with a mixture of joy and anger as Thimma was at
that moment. He knew from the way the pot had been tied that it was the
same thief as before. He would catch him this time for sure!
As he heated the toddy for Chandrayya Gowda, Thimma was still thinking
of the thief and the new paths all over the forest. He told himself that he
would get his own back when Marka came next to visit. Darkness descended
and one could tell the earth from the sky only by looking at the horizon. The
sky was filled with millions of stars like a body covered with itching sores.
The milky way looked like the grey marks left from scratching at them
heartily. He scratched himself once more, put down the pot of toddy, covered
it with a muttuga leaf, weighed it down with a stone and began to pace about
impatiently. The pouch of betel leaves lay in his pocket but he wanted to
savour it only after a drink. Not before, or the drink wouldn’t taste right. He
had to wait for the Gowda who would thrash him if there wasn’t enough to
drink. Besides he would on occasion bring someone with him.
Something caught his attention and he stood staring. There was a fire
burning on the slope of a valley a mile or a mile-and-a-half away towards the
south-west. It was a beautiful sight, the golden flames in the midst of all that
darkness, turning fearsome when they leaped high and dancing like so many
deranged fire-demons. Thimma stood on top of the hill and wondered what it
could mean. A hut on fire? A haystack? Karigudde aflame or a thicket of
bamboo? There was no hut there and scorched grass would have been thrown
up in clumps if a haystack were on fire. He would have heard the joints
explode had it been a thicket of bamboo! Karigudde on flame wouldn’t be
burning steadily like that. He was startled when it struck him that the fire was
burning in Kanooru’s cremation grounds. Annayya Gowda’s wife was
seriously sick in Kelakanooru, wasn’t she? That could be the reason for
Chandrayya Gowda not turning up on time for the rendezvous. Thimma
looked at the fire again. His thoughts and conjectures leaped into his eyes.
Why were the flames leaping up so grotesquely? It was surely a cadaver
burning with ghosts dancing in the middle! He could see shadows moving in
the light of the ugly flames. His mind’s eye saw the cadaver stretch its limbs
and grin. He remembered all the horror stories he had heard. When men left
for home after the cremation, spirits were known to swarm the place, pick up
the half-burnt body, hack it to pieces and eat it! They would do the same to
any living human beings who were unlucky enough to catch their eye!
Thimma wasn’t afraid of either the forest or the wild beasts in it. But his
blood froze at the thought of ghosts. Standing on top of the hill and looking at
the fire on the slope of the valley, he was sure that there were ghosts standing
all around with hunger in their eyes. He could see their eyes milling around in
the darkness. Just then he heard the sound of flapping as if of wings and
something let out a strange cry. Thimma felt as if the blood that coursed
through his veins had turned into darkness. Had he been in a normal state of
mind he would have realized that it was only a blind gappate bird that had
cried out. Nature rarely looks undistorted to an agitated or startled mind.
Thimma looked at the trees and his frightened mind was sure that there was
something white standing among them. It was only a distant patch of sky but
Thimma didn’t know that: he bolted homeward leaving the toddy and the
moge behind!
Someone called him before he had gone very far. He fled in fright. When
the call reached him again louder than before he knew it was Chandrayya
Gowda. He stopped and it was only when Chandrayya Gowda and Rangappa
Shetty the overseer approached him that he recovered himself.
‘Where are you going?’ asked the Gowda.
‘I was on my way home. I wasn’t sure you would come.’
All three returned to Kanubailu. Nothing that had alarmed him earlier: the
fire in the cremation grounds, the cry of the gappate bird or the sky among the
trees frightened him any more. He learnt of Annayya Gowda’s wife’s death,
about Chandrayya Gowda having gone to the cremation grounds with his
workers to help and the Gowda’s decision to bring the overseer with him as it
was late. Thimma served them the warm toddy in coconut shells. They drank
steadily and kept up their talk.
‘Where did you see it?’ asked the Gowda.
‘There, beyond that elevation,’ said Shetty pointing out the direction.
‘How did you know that it was Singappa Gowda who was poaching the
timber?’
‘I know because all the carpenters are from our place. They told me
everything.’
‘Do one thing then. Go with some workers in the morning and bring home
as much timber as you can shift. I shall look after the rest!’
‘Ayya, someone is tapping toddy on the sly all over the forest! I chopped
off one flower-bunch the other day only to find someone at yet another tree
today!’ Thimma brought up the matter that was uppermost in his mind.
‘Do you know who it is?’
‘No.’
The overseer kept quiet. He was tempted to mention Baira’s name and talk
of his experience of the other day, not out of a sense of honesty, but merely
for the sake of adventure! Baira had however sealed his mouth by falling at
his feet and supplying him with toddy.
‘Show him the tree when Marka comes again. Let him catch the poacher.’
The problem is that I am tapping some trees for which I have no license.
Won’t he spot them if I were to take him into the forest?’
‘Don’t worry about it. Leave it to me. We shall give him some money. The
tree isn’t his father’s property, is it? The tree is the forest’s and you are the
tapper!’
The overseer who was staring intently at the fire in the cremation grounds
startled and the shell with the toddy dropped from his hands. He recalled the
horrible sight of the dead body and was frightened. He firmly believed that
everyone from the land below the Ghats was a cheat when alive. He also
believed that no man from over the Ghats could be trusted once he was dead.
So those living below were scared of the ghosts from Malenadu, the land of
hills. That was how the people of Malenadu had succeeded, where
government rules, the police or jails had failed, in forcing them to be law
abiding.
Chandrayya Gowda too was a little afraid when he saw the Shetty in that
state. ‘What happened?’ he asked.
 ‘Nothing,’ the Shetty said and got up. ‘It’s full moon today, isn’t it? It’s
getting late. Come, let’s go home.’
His voice and words said it all. The three of them left for home and took
care not to refer to the Shetty’s fear. Meanwhile they heard the sweet notes of
cart-bells reaching them like so many flowers in gentle waves. Chandrayya
Gowda was more angry than pleased on hearing the bells. The cart had been
due by noon and it was coming this late. Everything had upset him since the
morning—the shouts from the women in the kitchen while the Joisa was still
with him, his having dispatched Annayya Gowda without giving him the loan
he wanted, Puttamma’s complaints, the thrashing he gave his wife, the cart
not arriving on time from Theerthahalli, the news from the Shetty of Singappa
Gowda’s poaching of timber and the back-breaking effort he had put in along
with his workers at Annayya Gowda’s hut on his wife’s death. Groping, he
staggered along the stony, thorny path taking care where he placed his foot
next. As he approached his house he was afraid again on hearing the dogs
bark and people wailing loudly.
‘Who’s that crying?’ He asked the overseer who was behind him.
The overseer stopped, listened for a second and exclaimed, ‘Worthless
dogs! They won’t stop barking!’
‘I think it’s Nagamma’s voice,’ Thimma ventured.
The three of them reached the main door. A combination of wailing and
curses met them. ‘Ayyo devare! May your temple be reduced to dust and your
eyes go blind! What have I done to you that you take away my husband and
now break my only son’s back? May your temple be in ruins!’ The Gowda
entered the house to find Nagamma standing near the tulsi katte, cursing and
wailing, dashing her head against the stone base and beating her chest and
head with her hands. She was a picture of intense grief and next to her were
Puttamma and Vasu weeping and trying to console her. Puttanna too was
standing at a distance speaking words of consolation.
 14
When the Old Meets the New

IT HAD BEEN decided that the cart from Kanooru would leave Mutthalli in the
afternoon. It had also been decided that Hoovayya would stay back in
Mutthalli till his back was better and Ramayya would stay with his brother for
a couple of days and Singappa Gowda would spend at least that night there.
Chinnayya was thrilled that he would have his friends with him over an
extended period of time. Ninga and Puttanna were about to get the cart ready
when Kala came running to tell them that Venkappayya Joisa would join
them and that they should wait for him.
The Joisa had gone to the Agrahara from Kanooru for his meal and left for
Mutthalli. His mission was to get some money out of Shyamayya Gowda and
so he carried some prasada with him. He was not happy when he saw
Hoovayya sleeping on the verandah: the fellow was intent on curing the
villagers of their superstition, the source of his own income. Moreover he had
realized that the Shudra boy knew more about the Upanishads and the
Bhagavadgeetha than himself, a Brahmin, though the others weren’t able to
sense it. Therefore his attitude towards Hoovayya had an element of fear in it
and he distributed the prasada without much talk. Hoovayya accepted it
reverently Encouraged by Hoovayya’s condition, the Joisa told Shyamayya
Gowda that he would chant some spells, tie on an amulet, conduct puja and
set aright the planetary movement to cure the boy of his backache. The
Gowda didn’t react but told Hoovayya of Venkappayya’s offer. The boy
laughed it away and a heated discussion ensued between him and the Joisa.
The latter felt humiliated. While Singappa Gowda and Shyamayya Gowda
joined forces with the Joisa, Chinnayya and Ramayya supported Hoovayya.
What began as light-hearted banter grew into a heated discussion.
The Joisa was angry. ‘Hoovayya, this won’t do you any good, believe me.
You are sure to come to harm with this attitude of ridiculing our customs and
God, the Vedas and Shastras that have come down to us from the past.’
‘You think you are wise but earn your living by preaching superstition to
the villagers, reading omens, giving them vibhuthi, asking them to undertake
Satyanarayana Vratha and making them offer animal sacrifices to spirits.
Instead of suggesting some medicine for my backache caused by a metal
trunk you want to apply some kumkuma and vibhuthi and chant spells to cure
it! Which philosophical treatise has suggested such a course of action?
Moreover, should we respect a treatise which suggests such a course? Do you
know how many have died as a result of your asking them to apply vibhuthi
and kumkuma instead of taking their medicine?’ Hoovayya spoke with
passion.
‘Do you know how your father revered us all? He was a devoted soul with
faith in God! Do you know how many times I gave vibhuthi to him when you
were a child . . .?’ The Joisa took recourse to narrating old tales.
Hoovayya remembered his father and he lost his harshness. His words were
gentle.
‘Forgive me, Joyisare. It was not from a lack of respect that I spoke in that
manner. My object was to point out how your beliefs have harmed our people.
What you say will not be the truth just because there is no guile behind your
words . . . Didn’t my father suffer from congestion in the lungs and die
because he came down to the yard, sat in front of the tulsi plant, exposed
himself to cold water and wind and got worse, all for the sake of your puja,
mantras and rituals? No hospital would have allowed a patient in that
condition to leave his bed. I know your intentions were noble . . . But good
intentions won’t change ignorance into wisdom . . . Forgive me, I can’t speak
any more . . . Don’t think that I have no respect for you . . . Please . . . My
father had great regard for you and so have I.’
Seethe brought in some hot water and Chinnayya and Ramayya began
fomenting Hoovayya’s back. Singappa Gowda and Shyamayya Gowda had
already started talking to the Joisa on some other matter.
Meanwhile someone began to wail outside. Before the people on the
verandah could ask what it was all about the wife of the potter Nanja came
into the yard crying loudly. Her ear was torn and blood had dripped onto her
saree. Her cheeks and hands were covered with blood. They found out that it
was her husband who had thrashed her and snatched her earring by force to
go to the toddy shop. Shyamayya Gowda was furious and dispatched Kala
and Putta forthwith to bring Nanja in. But Nanja was not to be found. ‘Let
him come here, I’ll break his bones!’ the Gowda shouted and gave Nanja’s
wife a little coconut oil to apply to her ear, consoled her and sent her home.
 It was dark by the time everything was quiet again. The Joisa got into the
cart after making sure that the cartman was not an untouchable. Puttanna sat
away from the Joisa and the cart set out towards Kanooru.
When the cart reached a spot near the toddy shop they saw the figure of a
man standing by a white milestone, spitting, cursing and kicking it. The lamp
on the cart as it drew near revealed that it was Nanja. He paid no attention to
them, repeatedly kicking the milestone thinking that it was either his wife or
an enemy. Ninga tried to stop the cart but the Joisa urged him to proceed. It
was obvious that he was afraid of something. After the cart had covered some
distance he got down and recited a string of god’s names loud enough for the
spirits to hear as he took the turn towards the Agrahara. He took the lamp
with him and said that he would be sending it back the following day. He
needed the light to see his way in the darkness.
The cart was once again on its way. The bullocks could see the road and so
were able to pull on briskly. The expectation of the hot boiled horsegram that
would be waiting for them was a greater driving force than the whip.
The cart had gone beyond the toddy shop. The forest grew thick just there
and men’s eyes couldn’t see the road that stretched ahead. Suddenly the sound
of the cart-bells stopped churning the night’s silence. The bullocks stopped in
their tracks and one could only hear their breathing. Ninga woke up from his
reverie and egged them on. They refused to budge. He gave them a taste of
the whip. The bullocks flinched and the bells tinkled but they refused to
move. Ninga and Puttanna were amazed and thought that perhaps a tiger was
sitting by the roadside. Ninga didn’t get down but Puttanna did and walked to
the front. His feet brushed against something warm in the middle of the road.
He bent down to check and found that it was a man’s body lying across the
road. That was why the bullocks had stopped. He took a box of matches from
Ninga and struck a match and saw that it was Obayya, Annayya Gowda’s son
from Kelakanooru. He was stone drunk. The two picked him up and put him
in the cart.
Vasu and Putta had run to the main door when they heard the cart-bells as
they approached Kanooru. Vasu was eagerly awaiting the arrival of
Hoovannayya and Ramannayya. His face fell when he heard what had
happened from Puttanna. The bubble of his expectation had burst. He ran in
and excitedly told Doddamma and Akkayya what he had heard from
Puttanna. Being a small boy, he wasn’t careful in choosing his words. He said
that Hoovannayya’s back had been broken and that Ramannayya had stayed
back with him in Mutthalli. It was then that Nagamma started to wail loudly
cursing both God and Chandrayya Gowda and came into the yard to dash her
head against the tulsi katte. And that was the moment when Chandrayya
Gowda and the Shetty reached home with Thimma and listened to
Nagamma’s curses.
 15
By the Gecko’s Grace

T HE VILLAGE AND the forests were like congealed ink in the darkness of the
new moon night. Countless stars shone brightly in the cloudless sky. A few
moths flew around enchanted by the bright light of the lamp which burned on
the verandah of Mutthalli’s Shyamayya Gowda. Shyamayya Gowda,
Singappa Gowda and Ramayya sat on the verandah. Their talk took in
everything from Mysore to Bailakere.
Lakshmi came running from inside the house and wanted to go to her father
when Singappa Gowda caught her and put her on his lap. She was shy
initially but soon began to prattle familiarly to Seethemane Singappa Mava.
Singappa Gowda took pleasure in joking with young children as he told them
the interesting tales from the Bharatha and Ramayana. The others laughed as
they also joined in the light-hearted conversation between Lakshmi and
Singappa Gowda.
‘Lakshmi, tell me, are you your Avva’s daughter or your Appayya’s?
‘My Avva’s.’
‘Who told you so? I was myself there when your Appayya bought you in
exchange for a maund of areca nuts from the people of Kandare. You are not
your Avva’s daughter but your Appayya’s!’
Lakshmi knit her brows. ‘No, no! I’m my Avva’s daughter.’
‘Forget that, but tell me, what’s your Appayya to your Avva?’
‘Appayya!’ When everyone burst out laughing her face fell.
‘All right. Tell me, what’s your Avva to your Appayya? Get this at least
right!’
Lakshmi hesitated. Singappa Gowda prompted her. ‘Isn’t she his Avva?’
Lakshmi who had wanted to say so agreed.
‘So your mother is Avva to both your Appayya and you?’
‘Yes,’ Lakshmi said. Everyone laughed again.
The girl wanting to divert his attention caught hold of his shawl and cried
out, ‘This is Appayya’s shawl.’
‘What’s this, girl? I brought it today from Theerthahalli!’
 ‘No, it’s Appayya’s!’
‘How do you know? There’s no name emblazoned on it!’
Lakshmi held it close to her nose and exclaimed, ‘It has his smell!’ She was
taken aback when everyone laughed but joined in later.
Chinnayya came and called Ramayya in. They both went into the room
where Hoovayya was lying down. Because of the noise in the verandah, he
had been shifted in the evening to Seethe’s dressing room. The girl threw
herself fully into the task of nursing him.
Chinnayya and Ramayya fomented Hoovayya’s back and then massaged
the area vigorously with some medicinal oil. When Hoovayya moaned, it was
Seethe who was in pain. ‘Why are they causing him pain? I would have
massaged him painlessly,’ she told herself. She would whisper her advice in
her brother’s ears and he would smile while following her instructions. When
this happened once too often, he shouted, ‘Stop it, will you? You think you
are a great doctor!’ Humiliated, she stood there with a downcast face.
Ramayya turned towards her and she felt bashful. Ramayya’s eyes beheld her
loveliness after a long time and his heart was strangely stirred. He turned
away to attend to nursing Hoovayya, but not before a vague desire had
sprouted in him.
Later they sat there chatting for a while. Chinnayya told them how he came
to be in Bailukere when the cart overturned. There was a lot of light-hearted
banter too. Gowramma came in to enquire about Hoovayya’s backache and
then whispered something in Seethe’s ears. The two went out and soon
returned with the things needed to give Hoovayya his food. Kala
accompanied them with the dishes. Meanwhile they heard Singappa Gowda
reciting from his favourite, the Jaimini Bharatha. Chinnayya and Ramayya
left Hoovayya and went out to the verandah. Gowramma and Seethe got
Hoovayya to sit up with his back propped up against a bolster. The two of
them served him his food on a banana leaf over a brass plate placed on a low
stool. Hoovayya ate, talking to his aunt and occasionally smiling at the joyful
face of Seethe. A certain bashfulness mingled with love when their eyes met.
Meanwhile Lakshmi had had enough of listening to the Bharatha and
started to fidget. Shyamayya Gowda called in Kala and asked him to take the
girl inside but she wouldn’t oblige. Kala carried her in to Gowramma in spite
of her cries of protest. Seethe tried to pacify her and even Hoovayya joined in
with endearing words. Lakshmi didn’t stop crying and Gowramma, slightly
annoyed, had to take her into the kitchen. Seethe called Kala and said, ‘I’ll
stay here. You may go inside, it’s time the leaves were laid out. I shall call
you if I need you.’ Kala picked up the vessels and went into the kitchen.
Lakshmi hadn’t given up crying. Gowramma was trying to pacify her with
some holige. The girl threw it on the ground and Gowramma was so angry
she hit her. Lakshmi cried aloud some more, went into a corner and sat down
in a heap. Gowramma was sorry she had hit her but her comforting words of
tenderness failed to pacify the girl. Gowramma joined Kala in laying the
leaves for the men to eat. Lakshmi stopped crying hoping her mother would
call her, and started again, humiliated, when Gowramma didn’t respond.
There was no suggestion of grief in her wailing. She seemed to be saying to
her mother, ‘Call me once more, I shall come!’ She wouldn’t think of going
to her mother without being invited but didn’t seem to consider that her
pleading for attention was a greater humiliation. Gowramma smiled to
herself, picked her up and gave her some more holige to propitiate the little
goddess. Kala couldn’t help laughing at all this but Gowramma, afraid that
the girl would start all over again, pretended to tell him off. Lakshmi was
satisfied and gave the holige her undivided attention.
Seethe had sent off Kala on a pretext hoping to talk to Hoovayya as freely
as she used to in the past. But once Kala had left she found herself feeling
strangely disturbed. She was bashful in a way she had not known before. She
had not realized that the passage of time had brought into her life a newness.
How utterly bold and uninhibited she used to be with Hoovayya! She found it
impossible now to say anything, let alone behave with the freedom she had
known in the past. She was eager to talk to him and indeed made one or two
attempts only to have them end in an agitated silence. She felt herself blush
and break into perspiration. She looked at him as he ate his food. He was no
longer the former Bhava. His handsomeness and manliness seemed to have
grown and taken on an other-wordly quality. She felt her love for him surge
with a greater force than ever before but mixed as it was with a sense of awe,
she found herself tongue-tied. She couldn’t talk to him with her former ease.
She would have found it difficult to stay with him alone and would have
probably left the room had he not needed nursing for his backache! It
wouldn’t be right for her to leave him while he was eating and so she stood
there next to his bed. She was also aware of her happiness in being there
despite her agitation. Once she thought of calling in Kala but ruled it out. She
hoped that there would somehow eventually be a solution to her bashfulness
and that her desire would be fulfilled. She couldn’t initiate a conversation
with him, true, but she hoped he would, giving her no choice in the matter.
She stood leaning against a wall as if she was listening intently to Singappa
Gowda’s musical rendering of the Bharatha on the verandah.
Though Hoovayya was eating, his eyes took in everything. He found it
significant that Seethe had sent Kala out of the room. He too wanted to talk to
her. He felt neither inhibition nor urgency in talking to his childhood
companion, he told himself when he too discovered that he was tongue-tied
like Seethe. He couldn’t face her as he did when the others were present. He
hesitated to raise his head and look directly at her. Time had wrought a
change in him too.
He tried once but ended up looking at the white wall. There was a gecko on
it which he could see in the dim light of the brass lamp hunting for tiny
insects. Its smooth brown body stayed motionless and only its tail twitched
occasionally from one side to the other. The tail’s black, tiny pointed shadow
would dance about on the wall as it moved. The gecko’s eyes shone like two
small lovely black beads. Even as Hoovayya watched, the gecko moved
swiftly towards a small insect. It stopped, aimed and sprang and the insect
disappeared into its mouth. Hoovayya’s eyes fixed on the gecko found
something else on the wall. The gecko’s body had half-hidden something
which had been scrawled on the wall with a pencil. Curious, he bent his head
forward and the gecko ran away frightened. His face turned red as he saw
written in Seethe’s hand, ‘I’ll marry only Hoovayya Bhava.’ Seethe standing
at a distance hadn’t seen all this. She had forgotten what she had scrawled
ages ago. She thought that Hoovayya was looking at the gecko. Thanks to the
creature, his heart’s desire dormant and unclear, had been brought clearly into
the open and it was no wonder that Seethe looked to him like a rainbow, a
sweet image of love and beauty. His eyes shone with a new light and his heart
knew a strong new desire. His casual air when he read the scribble on the wall
had given way to a new sense of excitement. In the innermost recesses of his
being, he felt that as a result of an unbreakable bond that she was herself
unaware of, Seethe was his. He felt that it wasn’t Seethe who had written on
the wall but Fate. ‘I’ll marry only Hoovayya Bhava’—the words seemed to
him to be a secret and powerful mantra of love. His eyes turned repeatedly to
the wall. The writing was as enchanting as the girl and the inert wall had
metamorphosed into a living force. What was earlier a despised and common
living thing, the gecko, had turned into an auspicious sign, beloved and full of
promise. For a moment, he even forgot his backache.
 ‘Seethe, please give me some water.’
He sounded eager and tired as he asked for water and thus bridged the
silent chasm which divided them. It could even be said that he had breached
the dam that separated two streams of love. No sooner did the breach open up
than the stone dam which had looked impregnable a moment earlier was
washed away without a trace. It was not that the dam was weak, it was that
the streams were so powerful and sweeping. Feeling the dam being swept
away, both Hoovayya and Seethe were surprised, incapable as they had been
of introspection. Their unexpressed and separate loves were merely waiting
for an opportunity and merged into one as soon as the artificial dam of
bashfulness was swept away. Seethe was like Lakshmi in the kitchen with her
plaintive ‘Call me once more, I shall come!’ She came to him quickly, looked
into his eyes with all her unspoken love and asked him in a gentle voice, ‘Do
you need to wash?’
‘No, I want some water to drink.’ Hoovayya smiled as he replied and
looked into her lovely liquid eyes. Her eyes, curls, cheeks, ears, neck and
hands—everything seemed a miracle to him. She was no longer the former
Seethe. Love had transformed everything into something extraordinary.
‘Why do you want to drink water? There’s milk here.’
Her voice was sweet like the kamalli bird. She didn’t wait for his answer
but poured some warm milk into a tumbler from a vessel and gave it to him. It
was as if the milk was merely a pretext to offer him her love. Hoovayya drank
it like a satiated bee at the honey from a beautiful flower. He looked at Seethe
as he drank and she too was looking at him. Their eyes met and it was an
indescribable event—a meeting of two pairs of loving eyes, more holy, more
mysterious and more significant than the confluence of the Thunga and the
Bhadra, of the Ganga and the Yamuna.
Before Chinnayya spread his bed next to him that night, Hoovayya erased
Seethe’s scribble with his fingers. His eyes turned repeatedly towards the
spot. He was afraid that Seethe would be embarrassed if someone saw the
writing and had made up his mind to erase it. He took some time as he was
loathe to act on his decision. Who would be eager to destroy what was so dear
and full of promise to him? That was why his eyes travelled repeatedly to the
wall. Finally he did, wanting to spare Seethe unnecessary embarrassment, but
once he had erased it, he felt strangely agitated as if he had seen bad omens.
His mind said, ‘No, I shouldn’t have done it. Who would have seen it?’ He
wanted to restore the writing. His agitation was so obvious that Chinnayya
asked, ‘Is your back hurting you very much? Must be because you sat up for
so long. Lie down.’
‘It’s not all that bad,’ said Hoovayya and lay down with Chinnayya’s help.
Chinnayya blew the light out and the darkness of the new moon night
rushed into the room. The smouldering wick-end glowed in the darkness and
the room filled with the disagreeable smell of burning oil. Chinnayya slept off
after a few words with his friend. The house was quiet but for the cattle
occasionally butting the posts and stamping on the cobbled pavement. These
sounds like a drop of milk falling into the sea, failed to disturb the silence of
the night. Wherever one turned one could see nothing but a conspiracy of
silence and darkness, and could hear it too. The world had been ceded over to
sleep and silence.
But Hoovayya had not slept. With his backache and disturbed mind he
found himself lost in a forest of thoughts. He was by nature a creature of the
world of ideas, imagination and feeling. Every one of the day’s incidents was
full of significance for him. Why did the cart have to overturn? Why was he
the only one to get hurt? Why did the gecko appear on the wall and point to
Seethe’s writing? It appeared to him that Fate had secretly spun a web and a
permanent bond was thus established between Seethe and himself. At other
times his sharp intelligence would have helped him ignore such events. But he
was in love and his captive heart saw nothing but omens everywhere.
Even as he thought about Seethe his mind was on his own education.
Having read about the lives of great men, he too had dreams of achieving
great things and becoming famous. He was not clear about either the great
thing he would achieve or the strategy he had to adopt. Ever since his father’s
death, his uncle had been indifferent to the boy’s further education and had
even discouraged it. Every year it was the same—he would insist that the boy
give up his studies. Hoovayya however had argued his own case strongly,
sometimes using others to intercede on his behalf. Moreover, Chandrayya
Gowda had been forced to yield to his wishes for the sake of his own son
Ramayya’s education. Hoovayya was clear in his mind that what he wanted
was an education, not a share of the property. If he hadn’t spoken out about it,
it was for the sake of his widowed mother. During his previous visit
Nagamma had told him that she didn’t want to continue living with
Chandrayya Gowda’s family and that they should set up a household of their
own after claiming their share of the ancestral property. Hoovayya had
silenced her by using his studies as an argument. Living as he did in a world
of the imagination, setting up a home was to him an unpleasant burden. He
didn’t want to do anything which would stand in the way of the great goal in
his mind.
He turned over in bed still lost in his thoughts and moaned as his back
ached. The pain subsided and he fixed his gaze on the window in front of him.
He saw the stars shining brightly in the distant sky. His thoughts hitherto
earthbound, broke free to voyage the universe. A new feeling entered him as
he remembered what he had read about the marvellous discoveries the
astronomers had made in recent times. How many million miles away were
the stars, each one of them a million times larger than either the earth or the
sun! How terrifying must be the liquid fires raging in them! Space and time,
infinite and beyond the grasp of the human imagination. How great the poet
who conceived the rhythmic song of the universe! What an insignificant
particle was this earth which went round and round an equally insignificant
sun! How ordinary were man and civilizations when viewed against the
backdrop of such cosmic happenings! And how inscrutable! Hoovayya’s eyes
travelled beyond the stars. Not just his own self and life, even the whole
world and its supposedly great events and adventures appeared utterly
inconsequential. His body shook as his mind was swept up in a surge of
terrifyingly sweet emotions and expanded as it experienced a frightening
ecstasy.
He had had a similar experience earlier that day, when he had read Seethe’s
scribble. His mind returned to Mutthalli as Seethe’s image appeared before
him. How beautiful she was! He would never tire of looking at her. How
smooth were her cheeks, bursting with love’s sweetness and overflowing her
red lips! He imagined himself embracing and kissing her. The stars he had
seen through the window earlier had taken him far away and made this world
and its affairs seem insignificant. But now as he thought of Seethe, the
universe itself turned out to be inconsequential. In the flood waters of her
love, the entire universe with its countless stars and planets, infinite space and
time appeared to be no more than a bubble floating helplessly on the surface.
Contemplating Seethe was a thousand times more important and satisfying
than contemplating the stars! Her love transformed his own self and life
which had formerly looked insignificant, and they now seemed of great
import in the scheme of things. A struggle had broken out in his mind. Setting
up a home for her wasn’t a mean thing, was it? He wouldn’t be losing
anything, he told himself. At the same time, the great dream he had was
pulling strongly at him. Hoovayya was confused . . . He was walking along
the bank of the Kukkanahalli tank in the evening. There had been a murder in
the world of clouds towards the west! There was blood all over and the tank
was still. Who was the woman coming to him as the trees stood motionless? It
was his mother, Nagamma! How could she have come there? Hoovayya
walked towards her, calling. Nagamma came even closer. Blood dripped
unceasingly from a wound on her forehead! She was about to faint and fall
when Hoovayya tried to rush to her. But his legs wouldn’t move. Ayyo . . .!
Hoovayya opened his eyes in fright. He wasn’t walking on the bank of the
Kukkanahalli tank. He was lying on a bed in Mutthalli! Though frightened by
the strange dream he had had, he smiled to himself and shut his eyes again . . .
He was having his bath in the house of Venkappayya Joisa. He had touched
the cauldron of water in a Brahmin’s bathroom! Meanwhile the angry Joisa
came towards him, raised stick in hand! Forgive me, please, I did wrong!
Hoovayya pleaded but the Joisa hit him on the back. Hoovayya fell to the
ground crying ‘Ayyo!’ and woke up. His back ached. Chinnayya woke up
when he heard him cry.
‘Hoovayya, Hoovayya!’
‘What?’
‘Is your back hurting? Shall I light the lamp?’
‘Don’t bother, I’m all right.’
‘Why did you cry out?’
‘I must have cried out in my dream.’
The two fell silent. The world was taken over by darkness, silence and
sleep.
 16
The Hundred Rupee Note

T HE NEXT MORNING Chandrayya Gowda set out walking to Mutthalli. His

mind was in turmoil. He had beaten Ninga and scolded him some more after
Puttanna told him what had happened. In addition Nagamma’s tirade induced
by sorrow had broken his spirit. She had banged her head against the tulsi
katte and had bled from her forehead. She had lost consciousness and the
family was worried. Being the head of the family, he had to please Nagamma
as well as show his sense of moral duty by being concerned for the injured,
and so had set off towards Mutthalli at the crack of dawn to see Hoovayya.
He walked because the distance by bullock cart was longer. It was not as if he
was disinterested about seeing his son either. He felt a sort of apprehension
too about his meeting the boys. He felt he had committed a crime by marrying
an uncultured woman without their knowledge. What if the boys had already
found out about it? He was perturbed about how they might behave with him.
Moreover the intrepid act of secretly transferring to his own house the timber
that had been cut down by Seethemane Singappa Gowda was to take place
that day as well. That was why the Gowda had decided to stay at home and
make sure that there would be no mishaps or lapses. But Fate had plotted to
send him off to Mutthalli. So he had called the overseer and Puttanna and left
after giving them the necessary instructions. Just then Vasu came running up.
‘Doddamma wants to go to Mutthalli to see Hoovayya,’ he said.
The Gowda was angry. ‘Why? There’s no need. I shall go and see him,’ he
roared and went on.
He took a few steps and stopped. Thinking this would sharpen Nagamma’s
already growing discontent with him he called Vasu. ‘Let her go. Tell Ninga
to hitch the cart.’
‘I’ll go with her, Annayya. I want to see Hoovannayya.’
‘You could kill yourself for all I care,’ said the Gowda half in disgust and
half in anger.
Vasu called out from behind his retreating back. ‘Puttakkayya wants to go
too.’ The Gowda walked away without answering or looking back.
 Obayya lay still, rolled up in a blanket in a corner of the yard waiting for
the Gowda to leave. When he had regained consciousness the night before he
hadn’t known where he was. In the dark of the new moon night he couldn’t
even recognize the house. But he knew he was safe anyhow. He couldn’t
make out who had brought him there and how. As far as that was concerned
his mind was as much in the dark as the night outside. But when the sun rose
and he realized that he was still in Kanooru, he was scared because he knew
that Chandrayya Gowda wouldn’t let him off without punishing him. That
was why he had lain still in the corner like a snail which curls up as if dead,
sensing danger from a mere touch. He felt revived when he learnt by listening
to the loud talk around him that the Gowda was leaving for Mutthalli. No
sooner had the Gowda crossed the threshold than he rushed to the well,
cleaned his teeth and completed his face-washing ritual in a hurry and went to
the kitchen where Subbamma was busy with her culinary activities. He was
famished because he hadn’t had anything to eat the night before.
After Nelluhalli’s Subbi married Kanooru Chandrayya Gowda and became
Subbamma, Obayya researched their lineages to discover a hidden distant
relationship between them and started to call her ‘Little Sister‘. Subbamma
too called him ‘Obannayya’ and gave him coffee or savouries or toddy which
she had stockpiled secretly. She felt lonely in Kanooru. Nagamma, Puttamma,
Vasu and the relatives who visited them were distant from a cultural point of
view. They were aliens and it was impossible for her to converse with them at
their level. It was only in foul-mouthed abuse that she; would win hands
down. It was useful for her to call Obayya ‘Anna’ because he was her equal in
refinement and poverty. She would tell him her joys and sorrows. Obayya too
would listen to her for any length of time, when no one else would give her a
patient hearing. Being a kinsman was not what motivated him, but her
hospitality and the favours he wanted of her.
When Obayya came to the kitchen Subbamma sat him on a wooden plank
and gave him coffee and savouries. Both Puttamma and Vasu were in
Nagamma’s room getting ready to go to Mutthalli. Subbamma therefore had
the opportunity to talk to him at length. She talked about all the hardships she
had to endure in the house and cried, recalling all her woes. Obayya too
recounted the hardships he had to face because of his father. Even when
Subbamma reminded him of the death of his stepmother the previous day he
didn’t say a word. He wore not the least expression of sorrow. On the
contrary he talked of his own suffering in a lively, detailed way. Subbamma
listened to all he said and cried even more in sympathy. As soon as Obayya
realized that she bore compassion for him, he said in a piteous tone, ‘I want a
favour from you.’ Having been slighted by everyone Subbamma considered
Obayya’s request a matter of pride.
‘Ayyo, Maraya! Who am I to help you?’
‘I can live only if you grant me this boon. Otherwise there is only one way
out for me—the noose.’
‘Tell me what it is. I shall do what I can.’
‘I want some money urgently. I’ll return it within a month.’
‘But where can I get the money from? It’s quite impossible.’
‘Subbakka, you have married a rich map. How can you say that?’ Obayya’s
voice was sorrowful.
Subbamma felt flattered and insulted at the same time. She reasoned that
she could lend him the money because she was a rich man’s wife. It was a
slur on her status if she couldn’t. She had jewellery aplenty but no money. It
should have been her husband’s duty to give her some. But he hadn’t. He had
cheated her! How could he do that to a naive person like her? Didn’t he beat
her last night? Subbamma had even got angry with him.
Obayya could have been sent back with a refusal. But the foolish woman
thought it below her dignity to do so. She wanted to show off her possession
of money. She asked Obayya to wait and went into her bedroom.
A few years ago a hundred rupee note torn down the centre with different
numbers on its two halves had found its way into Chandrayya Gowda’s
hands. He didn’t know who had given it to him. Maybe he didn’t have the
courage, being a villager, to inform the authorities and have it changed or
perhaps he didn’t wish to take so much trouble. In any case, he had left the
note in the pocket of an old shirt in his bedroom. Subbamma had seen it when
she came to Kanooru as a bride and had inspected the shirt. She knew no
reading or writing but had found out through Puttamma that it was a hundred
rupee note. Neither Puttamma nor she knew that the numbers on the two
halves differed. They believed that it could be used as long as it was a note.
Many a time had Subbamma taken it out and gazed at it with desire. She
believed that her husband had forgotten the note. She hadn’t told him about it.
She hoped to use it some day when the need arose.
Subbamma brought out the two halves of the note and gave them to
Obayya saying that he should return the money within a month. He was
blissfully happy. He was illiterate too! Meanwhile, Vasu duly dressed up to
visit his uncle and shouting with joy came to the kitchen for his second cup of
coffee, like the sunlight peeping in during the gloomy rainy season.
Subbamma and Obayya were startled and on their guard. Obayya put the
pieces in his pocket quickly. The boy observed nothing and came in and sat
down on a wooden plank asking his stepmother for his coffee. The memory of
her callousness of the day before seemed to have been erased completely
from his mind. Subbamma started to make the coffee with a smile as if to hide
what she had done. ‘Vasu, all dressed up!’ Obayya exclaimed. ‘We are off to
Mutthalli, Obannayya,’ said Vasu in a sing-song voice.
Vasu was in the habit of calling Obayya ‘Obannayya’ and Annayya Gowda
‘Ajjayya’.
‘Obannayya, did someone beat you up and leave you on the road
yesterday? When our cart came by, Ninga and Puttanna put you in the cart
and brought you along.’ Vasu didn’t know that Obayya had fallen down
inebriated.
‘No one beat me up. I had gone to the Agrahara on some work. It became
dark when I was on my way back. I had just passed the toddy shop. You see,
it was totally dark. There was something white on the road. There it was,
reaching from the sky to the earth all at once.’
‘What was it?’ asked Vasu, eyes wide with terror, face stricken with fear.
‘What else? Our Bhootharaya!’
Vasu was even more frightened. ‘What then?’
As was the custom there, all the houses worshipped a few spirits, ghosts
and devils. A few stones lay at the foot of trees in the forests around the
house, known as the Garden of Spirits, the Deyyada Bana. Every year,
chickens and sheep were sacrificed to the spirits. The number offered varied
with the status of the spirits. The fear of spirits was a hundred times stronger
in the minds of the villagers than their fear of wild animals. They also bore a
greater faith in the spirits’ power to punish than in their grace and so knew
more fear than devotion. Each house had ample ghost stories of its own. The
older members of the family passed on these stories to the younger. Having
listened to them over and over again, Vasu was terribly scared of
Bhootharaya. Obayya who had actually seen him appeared to be a great hero
to him. With fearful eyes Vasu said, ‘What then?’
‘Then what? It should be obvious. I folded my hands and lay down
headlong on the road. “Bhootharaya,” I begged, “Whatever my mistake, I
shall offer you a chicken next time.” He banged his iron staff on the ground.
Rama, Rama! It was like being struck by lightning! I lost my senses. Ninga
and Puttanna took me into the cart and brought me along.’ Vasu implicitly
believed whatever Obayya said. Obayya himself believed half of what he
narrated—his account was so vivid. As far as Subbamma was concerned,
there wasn’t an iota of falsehood in the tale.
Obayya hadn’t recounted it to Vasu merely in jest. He had used the same
story in the past to cover up his now established habit of falling down drunk.
The villagers too were very curious about such happenings and had been
silenced by his version.
Obayya bade Subbamma goodbye, left the kitchen and went straight out by
the main door. He felt as if he had grown a pair of wings because of the two
pieces of the note in his pocket. In the yard outside Puttanna, the overseer,
Belara Baira, Sidda, Halepaikada Thimma and the workers from the
overseer’s gang were all talking spiritedly while going about their work.
Ninga, ready to set off for Muthalli, stood holding the bullocks and describing
the adventure and disaster of the day before to the company. In the early
morning sun the shadows of the cart, the bullocks and the men measured their
length on the ground. Puttanna with a country gun over his shoulders
swaggered about like a general ready for battle. All around him the dogs
frisked, excited. How could the animals know that they were not leaving for a
hunt but to transport timber?
It was usual for the workers to start off for work with long faces, but what
lay ahead that day—the daring adventure of smuggling timber—had infused
them with enthusiasm. Didn’t people broadcast their eagerness in wartime,
believing that it was an act of glory to shed their blood or die, when they
hardly bent their backs during peacetime? Wearing Kulavi caps made of areca
spathes on their heads, bare-chested, a blanket over their shoulders, a knee-
length dirty rag tied round their waists, the skeletal cowardly workmen were
possessed with the zest for war that day and there was much excitement in
their conversation.
As soon as Obayya appeared, all eyes fastened on him. He realized that
everyone knew about him because they started to whisper among themselves.
Answering Rangappa Shetty’s question, he narrated in great detail the story of
Bhootharaya he had told Vasu.
Puttanna laughed. ‘Yes, it must have been the Bhootharaya of the toddy
shop!’
 Some laughed but most of the others didn’t because such lighthearted talk
about Bhootharaya wasn’t safe. Obayya pretended not to understand
Puttanna’s dig at him. ‘Oh, as if I don’t know! It wasn’t the spirit of the toddy
shop. It was our Bhootharaya all right! From the earth to sky, I said . . .’ He
was about to start on his story again.
‘That’s enough. Maybe you know every single spirit!’ Puttanna said.
Obayya thought that his secret would be out if he said any more. He
pretended not to have heard Puttanna and asked Halepaikada Thimma for
betel leaves and nuts.
In a short while, the army of brave people attacked the forest noisily along
with their retinue of dogs under Puttanna’s leadership and the guidance of the
overseer.
There was no place for the women workers in the adventure of the day. So
they all ‘sat around’ instead of going to work. They were on leave. When
Obayya arrived, Gange was at home. He spent an inordinately long time with
her, lost in dalliance. In between, he learnt that the overseer had gone with the
menfolk to transport the timber cut down by Singappa Gowda. The overseer
had told the secret to his paramour Gange and she had passed it on to Obayya,
one among her many lovers! She wasn’t aware that she had let the cat out of
the bag. She had merely mentioned it in the excitement of conversation.
Realizing that he stood to gain Singappa Gowda’s appreciation, clear his
father’s debt and even save themselves from Chandrayya Gowda’s
harassment, Obayya left Gange’s hut and went straight to Seethemane.
Not to Kelakanooru!
 17
A Wild Pig Hunt in the Tracks of Kattalegiri

M ANY GREAT EVENTS take place in this wide world. Wars are fought, crowns
and thrones bite the dust and treaties are drawn up bringing seminal changes
into the lives of nations. Cities are reduced to ash by erupting volcanoes and
the land swept away by furious floods. Millions of lives are lost.
Technological progress turns deserts green. Poetry and art flourish and the
number of births exceeds the number of deaths. The oceans grow restless and
while some islands sink, new ones are formed. The sun, moon and planets
follow an inscrutable reason. Fiery turmoil shapes constellations, visible only
to instruments, not the naked eye. Unaffected by any of these events the
ascetic in the caves of the Himalayas pursues his meditation seeking peace
within himself. There are places in the Sahyadri range of mountains, like the
ascetic.
They are the silent valleys in the midst of high mountains. One such place
near Kanooru called Kattalegiri, the name speaking of the place, a hill-top of
darkness. The sunlight which fell on it only at high noon would merely touch
the tree tops, unable to penetrate its thick growth of very tall trees. At the foot
of the trees flowed a small stream. Though it flowed only during the rainy
season, the ground was moist and slushy even during the summer. Stepping
into some areas there would mean being sucked into the marsh right up to the
waist. There were a million or more varieties of lush water-loving greenery all
over the marsh: elephant grass, mundaga, kedage, betta, vate and kesu among
them. The undergrowth was so thick in some places that even a dog could not
make its way through and immortality had here been granted to the leech. It
was impossible to venture there even during summer when most leeches are
known to die. The men who braved the area in order to gather betta or vate
carried with them bags of salt and chunam which they used to rid themselves
of the leeches. Even this would not dissuade them from their bloody repast,
such was their unshakable faith in their immortality. There were also snakes
like the dasara, kalinga, nagara and kere, perhaps drawn there by the smell of
the kedage flowers, by the shadowy coolness and the easy availability of food
in the form of lowly creatures such as frogs. The swamp was the home of
mosquitoes and no bird ever ventured there. It was only during the summer
months that wild creatures ranging from tigers to wild fowl came there to
drink.
Animal tracks in Kattalegiri were deciphered from the effect on its
atmosphere. When a hunter approached, the first thing he would feel was the
extreme cold of the zone. The light would dim as if he was making his way
through a cave and soon darkness would settle in around him. There would be
a gradual increase in the silence and stillness of that uninhabited place till his
mind went blank and he felt that he had entered a deathless, devilish world. A
feeling of terror would course through his veins and every drop of blood
would freeze. The silence of the place, not the mere absence of sound, was
like a living presence that he could hear. In the hazy light of the dark the
forest trees would look to him like phantoms themselves lost in dreams. He
would experience the shock of a long-buried, rotting, and worm-infested body
when life suddenly returned to it. No man normally ventured into that nether
world.
Having eaten heartily overnight, a lone wild pig had come to Kattalegiri
and was rolling about that morning just like the bullocks in the mire under the
sun. This forest hell for men was a divine spot for the giant pig’s water sport.
There was so much grey slush on his body that it looked hairless and smooth.
The face, repeatedly dipped into the slush, looked as if it had been cast in clay
except for the eyes and its horns. Though dangerous, it now merely looked
ludicrous. Soon it lay still, utterly happy, and closed its eyes. When the frogs
hopped around noisily it would open its eyes and close them again. It had
been asleep some time when suddenly it heard men talking. The animal
cocked its ears but went back to sleep when it smelt no danger. When the
men’s voices seemed nearer and small animals began to scuttle around
followed by a dog’s sharp bark, the wild pig seemed to ignore it all. When the
dog barked again and again, each bark piercing the forest silence like an
arrow, the pig stood up and faced it, bristling in fury. Having followed the
first, four or five other dogs rushed in and stood around barking. When the
pig tried to run away, two more dogs joined the others and all of them rushed
at it. It grunted so fiercely that the forest seemed to tremble and rush at them.
Though the dogs jumped back to dodge the attack, they held their ground,
stopping it from escaping and barked. This went on till the men’s shouting
voices were heard Knowing that danger was imminent not from the dogs but
from the men, the pig decided to flee until it was safe. It hadn’t gone a great
distance when one of the dogs fastened on its back and bit it. Wanting both to
protect itself and avenge the attack, the pig stopped, turned and rushed at the
dogs so abruptly that the one on its back was flung far away. It whined when
its body crashed into a tree while the other dogs managed to dodge the attack.
Once again the pig fled with the dogs in pursuit. It was harried, unable either
to stop and fight or run. The dogs, experienced hunters, wouldn’t let the
animal go all the while feinting and dodging its attack. Their loud barks
informed their masters of their having stopped a wild pig in its tracks. The
place, as motionless and still as a corpse earlier, was now rent by sound, like a
mad man shouting in excitement.
When the band of brave ones from Kanooru was walking along near the
animal track in Kattalegiri, their dogs suddenly started to sniff at the ground
and ran about excitedly in the thick growth. Everyone knew that the dogs had
picked up the scent of some animal and looked closely at the ground. It was
Halepaikada Thimma who shouted first, ‘Look here, Puttegowdare, the
footprints of a pig! It has passed this way in the morning!’ The overseer was
overjoyed as if he had sighted the pig himself and exclaimed, ‘What shall we
do? We could have gone hunting if we didn’t have this job to do, Gowdare!’
A worker from the Ghats shouted, ‘Look here! It has pressed its snout to
the ground here,’ and bent down to look.
‘You are right, a giant pig! Look at its footprints, like those of cattle!’ said
Baira.
Meanwhile a dog barked ahead and everyone, startled, stopped to listen. In
the greenish sunlight of late morning, the thick shadows of the trees lay on the
ground like so many patches of spilt ink. One could also hear the pikalara
birds call.
The dog barked once, and later, again.
‘Isn’t that Tiger barking?’ Puttanna asked in a whisper Yes, it is,’
Halepaikada Thimma replied.
‘He doesn’t bark for nothing! He barks like that only when he sees a pig,’
said Baira.
Soon one heard many dogs bark in many voices. Thimma’s heart rose to
his mouth as he addressed Puttanna in a loud whisper, ‘They have stopped a
pig in its tracks! Run!’ Even as he spoke, the pig emerged with a terrifying
grunt which rose over and above the dogs’ barking. Puttanna rushed towards
the spot without wasting a second. Thimma started to pace up and down
bemoaning the fact that he had left his gun behind. There were shouts of
‘Come here!’ ‘Go there!’ from the workers as their eyes looked for trees they
could easily climb.
Puttanna stumbled blindly into the thick growth where the sound of barking
erupted, completely lost to everything but the wild pig. There were places
where he had to bend almost to the ground, crawling in order to move
forward. Bushes, trees and creepers were in his way. He didn’t even notice
leeches that had gone up his legs and sucked at his blood. The cap on his head
had never been washed since the day it had been bought and was greasy. His
unkempt matted hair tumbled out from under the cap even as he struggled to
press on, trying to keep it from falling. He judged from the noise that the wild
pig was trying to scare the dogs away by attacking them and its grunts
showed it to be a huge male.
He was careful as he made his way through to the battle ground. When he
sighted the pig he raised the gun, ready to shoot. He stopped as the dogs now
encouraged by his presence jumped at the pig from all sides. He remembered
how many a hunter had indiscreetly killed his dogs along with the pig they
hunted. As he waited for the right moment, the pig rushed forward in an
attempt to flee having sensed a man’s presence in the vicinity. As the dogs
fell back, Puttanna took aim and shot the pig as it appeared fleetingly among
the bushes. Another shot rang out at about the same time. The dogs chased the
pig with redoubled zeal like soldiers responding to the sound of war drums
when they heard the shots. Puttanna ran behind them but was unable to keep
pace with them and stopped, gasping for breath. The sound of the animals
could be heard no more in the distance.
He came to the spot where he had sighted the pig when he had pulled the
trigger and examined the bushes and the ground for blood. He saw some on
the fallen leaves and knew the shot had found its mark. ‘Hoy!’ he called aloud
and Thimma’s response came from the distance. ‘Come here,’ Puttanna
shouted into the forest silence.
Thimma came running certain that the pig had fallen. Everyone knew from
experience that Puttanna never missed his mark, their faith in his
marksmanship almost amounting to superstition. The overseer and Baira too
came up from behind. Some of the workers were so terrified by the pig’s
grunts, the dogs’ barks and the loud report of the guns that they were ready to
seek refuge in the trees if the wounded pig were to rush at them. One of them,
pot-bellied Soma, was repeatedly trying to climb a nandi tree and slipping to
the ground in his mounting fear and excitement. Nobody laughed, everyone
was gripped by fear. Finally, when the pig’s grunts and the dogs’ barks
stopped and they heard Puttanna’s call and Thimma’s response, the workers
got their breath back and slowly made their way to where Puttanna stood.
Everyone fell to tracing the bullet’s flight. The first report seemed to have
been accompanied only by grapeshot and some of the pellets had hit a tree.
The second must have been the bullet which didn’t seem to have hit anything.
They decided after a long examination that the bullet must have hit the pig
and the animal had run away as it wasn’t a fatal shot.
Soma drooled as he saw the blood on the ground. He loved meat more than
he loved his own life. Though his pot belly was the result of a malarial
tumour, the villagers attributed it to the quantity of meat he consumed. He
couldn’t hide his greed for meat either. Once during a hunt when a big deer
had been killed and its meat shared out, he had stolen a piece of another’s
share and had since become the butt of their jokes and chastisement.
‘What shall we do now?’ asked Puttanna.
‘Let’s go further and look. The dogs haven’t come back,’ said the overseer.
‘That’s right! It might be lying there, dead. We shouldn’t lose it for
nothing,’ said Baira.
‘You may be right but remember it’s getting late for the job we have come
to do. The Gowda won’t let us off that easily.’ The others’ faces fell with
Puttanna’s reminder.
‘The rotten pig, it had to come this way today! We could have asked the
Gowda if he were at home whether we could transport the timber tomorrow.
Who cares! Let’s go. Call the dogs back!’ Thimma was dispirited.
Everyone pretended to be happy with the suggestion. They called out
‘Kroo! Kroo!’ to get the dogs back.
Soma was heartbroken as he looked at the blood on the ground. He opened
his mouth wide and cried out, tugging at every one’s heartstrings. ‘Ayyayyo!
How can we go from this place leaving the pig behind? Look at the blood it
has lost! Must be lying dead somewhere. Let’s go a little further and look
before we give up.’
The others wanted nothing better. But they pretended to be doing Soma a
favour as they followed the trail of the pig’s blood. There were huge gouts of
blood in some spots followed by long bloodless gaps. The pig, not being able
to run very much further had stopped, leaving behind a congealed pool of
blood. As they inched forward, they heard another shot.
 ‘Hoy! Who’s it shooting at our pig?’ Puttanna asked. The dogs’ barks could
be heard at a distance.
They all rushed to where the sound of the shot had come. As they went
further, they heard the dogs more clearly and walked briskly.
The dogs had given up barking and men’s voices could be heard. The
overseer looked around and exclaimed, ‘Hoy, Puttegowdare, we have come to
the very place where the trees have been cut!’
There they all were, Seethemane Singappa Gowda’s son Krishnappa, their
worker Jackie the Kilistha—the only Christian— and twenty others guarding
the timber! The dogs were moving around them in a circle as if to suggest
either an act of robbery or smuggling. As soon as he sighted Puttanna, Tiger
rushed at him with joy.
 18
Jackie the Kilistha and the Dog, Tiger

K NOWING THAT CHANDRAYYA Gowda was coming to Mutthalli to see

Hoovayya and having no desire to meet him there, Singappa Gowda had risen
early that morning and had gone home. He was furious when he learnt from
Obayya that the timber he had cut would be taken away. He sent his son
Krishnappa, Kilisthara Jackie and about twenty men to protect his cache. ‘I
don’t care if heads roll. Not a single piece of timber should fall into their
hands. I shall take care of everything. I don’t care even if the house has to be
sold off.’ This was his terrifying oath and their orders as well. Kilisthara
Jackie, strong, rowdy and villainous had understood Singappa Gowda’s words
spoken in rage to mean that heads must roll. He had set out determined to do
just that.
As soon as they reached the place where the loot had been hidden, the dogs
arrived chasing the pig. Wounded and tired, the pig was running to a stop.
Krishnappa shot it dead. The dogs surrounded it whining.
Krishnappa recognized the Kanooru dogs. Following Kilisthara Jackie’s
suggestion, they covered the pig with leaves and branches. Throwing a
blanket over it, Jackie sat on top of it, stick in hand. When the dogs tried to
get any closer, he brandished his stick and beat them. Puttanna arrived there
with the others. Tiger jumped up to complain and went wagging its tail to
where Jackie sat to indicate the presence of the pig’s body there.
Puttanna experienced as he was, quickly grasped what must have
happened. The shot they had heard which killed the pig must have come from
Krishnappa’s gun. If the pig had gone further, the dogs wouldn’t have stayed
on here without following it. Their excited behaviour confirmed his guess.
The expression on the faces of those gathered there spoke of a secret the men
wanted to guard. Everyone had stopped talking and stood expectantly to see
what would happen next.
Despite knowing all this Puttanna spoke with courtesy. ‘Namaskara,
Krishnappa Gowdare. Come for a hunt?’ There was a smile on his face.
 Krishnappa took it equally lightly and greeted him, his voice taunting. He
glanced at Jackie and said, ‘We heard two shots. Did you fire them?’
‘Yes, I did. At a pig which ran this way. We heard a shot from here. Who
fired it?
‘We heard a shot too but we don’t know who fired it.’
‘Our dogs are here!’ Puttanna looked at Jackie with suspicion.
‘They came just now, with you,’ said Jackie as he drove the dogs away
hurling the stick at them. Tiger sprang aside and started barking furiously at
Jackie.
Puttanna and the overseer were a little disappointed. They had felt that the
timber would be easily transported since no one would be around. But the
number of people there took them by surprise. Above all, Kilisthara Jackie!
The rascal wouldn’t think twice before killing a man. It was impossible to
take away the timber that day, they decided.
In stirring up trouble Puttanna was in no way inferior to Kilisthara Jackie.
He had no home, wife, children, property or land. Nothing. He had never been
scared of anything. He had been caught in terrifying situations before with
tigers and wild pigs during hunts but he had managed to escape unscathed. He
wandered in the forest with a gun on his shoulder regardless whether it was
night or day and had spent many a night in the forest sleeping on the ground,
untroubled. Fear was something he had never experienced. There were quite a
few marks on his body, wounds inflicted by pig’s canines. In his bravado,
daring and trouble-making, he was like a daitya. But he hadn’t lived a wicked
life without honour like Kilisthara Jackie. Jackie was a great drunkard, a
butcher. The roots of his courage lay in his ignorance and lack of refinement.
He was a sort of swine. There was nothing in him of the gentleness,
refinement or sense of honour that Puttanna possessed. His arms and legs
were rough and gnarled like the big branches of a giant tree. His black body,
pock-marked face, long, bushy and beastlike moustache, teeth jutting over the
upper lip, rock-like bald head with a red cloth wound around it, frightening
eyebrows, harsh squinting eyes, flat ugly nose—each bore evidence to his
cruelty, ferocity and callousness. Had this been the time of the puranas, he
could have joined the ranks of Hidimba, Bakasura, Viradha or the other
asuras. Not a whit of his demonic nature had been tamed by his conversion to
Christianity. Freed from the shackles of Hindu society and unconcerned in the
absence of a Christian community about its customs and rules, he lived the
uninhibited life of a savage. It was rumoured that he had tried to kill the Padre
who had converted him to Christianity because he hadn’t been paid the
money that was promised to him if he changed his faith. It was even said that
he had become a Christian so that he would have more money for his brandy!
After his attempt on the Padre’s life he had run away and sought shelter in
Seethemane. Singappa Gowda needing someone like Jackie to give him added
power, had taken him into his service.
Soma went to inspect the spot where two or three dogs were licking at
something under a thick layer of dry leaves. ‘Ayyayyo! Look here,
Puttegowdare, there’s a stream of blood flowing!’ he shouted. There was a
celebratory ring to his voice as if he had caught a thief on the run.
Putttanna, Rangappa Shetty, Thimma and Baira went up to him.
Krishnappa’s men didn’t move as they looked at one another.
‘Come here, Krishnappa Gowdare,’ Puttanna called.
‘Why?’ Krishnappa demanded as he stood rooted to the spot.
The overseer was angry. ‘Do you want to know why? Come and look! You
lied when you said you hadn’t shot the pig! It must have collapsed here. Look
at the blood that the creature has shed. Its struggle is written all around for
anyone to see!’
Jackie who was sitting on the blanket covering the pig’s body was getting
angrier by the minute. He was afraid that the dogs would betray his secret if
he were to get up. ‘Do you know what you are saying? You are a set of ill-
mannered louts! We don’t need your pig’s body! You better . . .’ He stopped,
shot up from where he sat, startled, and leapt away to a safe distance. The
blanket on which he was sitting had started to move. There was a rustle from
the dry leaves under it. The blanket seemed to be breathing as it rose up like a
balloon and moved forward. The dogs rushed at it at the same moment. The
blanket fell to the ground and the leaves scattered to show the pig struggling.
In a rage, Tiger had jumped up and bitten the pig’s neck before falling back to
whine. As soon as Jackie had run away in fear, Puttanna trained his gun on
the pig, but put the gun down when he realized that it was in no condition to
run away. He took out the big dagger from his pocket, rushed through the
milling dogs and stabbed at the neck of the pig. Blood gushed out and his
hand turned red.
Krishnappa’s men had not bothered to check if the pig was dead or alive in
their haste to hide its body.
The pig’s struggle was soon over. Puttanna threw away the blood-covered
dagger on the ground and stood at a distance sighing. The dogs were still
venting their rage on the animal. Jackie who had run quite a distance now
came running as if he wanted to establish his claim over the dead pig, and
chased away the dogs, brandishing his stick at the animal.
‘Eh, fellow, why are you chasing away the dogs?’ the overseer shouted.
‘Speak to me with some respect, will you? I am not your wife!’ Jackie
replied and turned to his workers. ‘Come here! Tie up the pig’s legs and carry
it home!’ he ordered in a fearsome voice. The overseer’s ordered his own
workers to do the same.
‘You are as good as dead if you attack me!’ Jackie’s hold over the stick in
his hand tightened.
Krishnappa sensed the danger and called to Jackie.
‘Forget it, Swamy! It’s either that pig or my dead body that will be carried
home!’ Jackie didn’t even bother to turn towards Krishnappa as he spoke.
Tiger was looking at Jackie with angry eyes. No one moved towards Jackie,
afraid of the stick in his hand.
It was the pot-bellied Soma who took a step forward. It was his greed for
the meat that had made him do it, not his courage or strength. Anyone there
was superior to him in either of the two attributes.
Jackie saw him approaching and thundered, ‘Don’t you dare! Go back!’
Soma paid no attention to his warning. He thought that Jackie intended
merely to frighten them away. He wouldn’t dare hit him, he was sure.
But he guessed wrong. Jackie aimed a powerful blow at him. Soma raised
his arm to ward off the blow. The stick caught his left hand. ‘Ayyo, I’m
dying!’ he screamed as he fell to the ground.
The overseer shouted in anger and fear, ‘Catch him, Tiger! Catch him!’
As soon as Soma collapsed, Puttanna, Krishnappa and the others shouted,
‘Jackie!’ in one voice and rushed towards him.
Tiger the pedigree dog had nursed a rage towards Jackie from the very
beginning and flew at him like an arrow. Jackie jumped back and aimed a
strong blow at the dog’s head. The dog fell to the ground whimpering.
‘You have killed the dog, haven’t you?’ Puttanna shouted in great sorrow,
ran to the dog and sat down with his head hanging.
‘What has got into you? Is it your bile that’s playing up?’ Krishnappa told
Jackie off as he snatched at the stick.
Tiger lay still. Its skull had cracked open from the blow and its white silken
hair had turned red, soaked in blood. Blood gushed out of its nose and mouth.
There was no sign of life in the creature. Its open glass-like eyes lit a fire in
Puttanna’s belly. Caressing its back and fanning it with his cap, he called out,
‘Tiger, Tiger!’ and in a heavy voice asked Baira to bring some water.
The overseer and Krishnappa helped Soma sit up and bandaged his injured
hand. There was a heavy silence as some of the workers stood around Soma
and the others round Puttanna. Jackie had meanwhile moved away to a
distance. It seemed as if some wisdom had dawned on him. A sense of shame
and with it, a feeling of guilt seemed to have replaced his former rage and
madness. His bestial daring had lowered its hood.
There are two types of courage. The first is bestial and belongs to the world
of darkness. The second is divine and noble. Emotions are at the base of the
first kind which flares up, excited at a moment’s happenings. It is not rooted
in wisdom while the second has an ethical base. The first is like the fire in a
haystack while the other is like burning coal. The sustenance of bestial
courage is the body while divine courage draws its strength from the power of
the soul. Bestial courage surrenders when a stronger force confronts it while
pure courage grows into light when faced with tribulations and challenge. The
first fears death; the second knows it not. The first is nothing but cowardice in
disguise while the other is the limitless power of Christ on his way to his
crucifixion. The bestial wilts once the excitement is over. That was why
Jackie stood at a distance ignored by his own men after having killed the
dumb dog.
Baira brought some water from a water hole and sprinkled it on the dog’s
head at Puttanna’s bidding. Puttanna tried to force some water into its mouth
but it wouldn’t open. The faint hope he had nursed till then that the dog might
survive died then. A fierce rage burned in him, spewing smoke, and he
became a terrible sight.
Any hunter loves his dogs like his own life. The ones that are skilled at
stalking wild animals are his close relatives. He is in no doubt that such a dog
possesses a unique personality. The dangers they face are his own. He grieves
at the death of such a dear creature as inconsolably as did Shivaji when he got
the news of his loyal companion Tanaji’s death!
Puttanna stood up enraged when he was certain that Tiger had died, bent on
wreaking vengeance. His tear-filled eyes widened and were the colour of
blood. His lips trembled in anger and his face took on a hard and unsightly
look. His sinews and muscles grew taut as every line on his face made his
decision clear. He looked doubly fierce with the pig’s blood covering him.
Everyone there was frightened at what lay ahead.
 ‘Where’s that son of a slut?’ Puttanna shouted and turned around. His
nostrils flared in anger. His chest heaved with his deep sighs.
‘Puttegowdare, be patient!’ the overseer tried to restrain him in a pleading
voice.
‘Don’t worry! I have neither wife nor children . . . I don’t mind going to the
gallows for having shot him!’ Puttanna rushed to his gun.
‘Please wait, Puttegowdare!’ ‘Wait a second!’ ‘No, no. Please. I beg of
you!’ ‘Thimma, take away the gun!’ Many voices spoke full of fear and
excitement.
Puttanna was wild with rage, not finding his gun where he thought he had
left it. ‘Give it to me, will you?’ he thundered as he looked at those around
him with his red eyes. Nobody had the gun. Halepaikada Thimma had picked
it up and was sneaking further and further away from the spot. ‘Will you stop
or not?’ Puttanna thundered like a man deranged and rushed towards
Thimma, who stopped dead in his tracks, petrified. Puttanna had the gun in
his hands in no time.
‘Run, Jackie, run!’ ‘Jackanna, run away!’ ‘Ayyo, ayyo, don’t, don’t!’
Voices pleaded all around but Jackie didn’t move.
As Puttanna raised the gun implacably and turned towards Jackie, the
overseer and Krishnappa rushed to him shouting, ‘No! No!’
‘It’s only over my dead body that you shall proceed,’ said the overseer as
he gripped the gun, its barrel pressed against his chest. The forest resounded
deafeningly as the men shouted and the dogs barked.
When Puttanna failed to wrest the gun from the overseer’s grip, he
loosened his hold on it leaving it in the overseer’s hands. He went back to the
dog, sat by it and started to sob. His rage had turned to grief. Instead of
Jackie’s blood, it was Puttanna’s tears that bathed the dog’s body. The forest
was silent, as after a downpour.
After some time Puttanna called Baira over to him in a voice humble with
grief. ‘Pick it up,’ he said, pointing to the dog. Baira heaved it onto his back.
It wasn’t much of an effort as he had carried many dead calves like this.
Puttanna wiped away his tears, came to the overseer, asked for his gun in a
calm, gentle voice and stretched out his hand. Formerly a picture of rage, he
was now merely one of sorrow. Still the overseer was not reassured. ‘Don’t
worry. I’ll carry it for you,’ he said.
‘Give it to me, please. Why should I kill that wretch? Let him live and rot,’
Puttanna said.
 When the overseer handed it over, Puttanna looked in the barrel. There
were no cartridges.
‘Where are the cartridges? Give them to me.’
‘I didn’t take them out!’ the overseer replied.
Thimma spoke from the back of the crowd. ‘I had taken them out. Here!’
he said and handed over two red cartridges. Puttanna put them in his pocket
instead of loading up, signalled to Baira to make a move and set out with the
gun on his shoulder. His dogs followed him silently. As Baira walked, Tiger’s
head lolled from one side to the other. Some of the dogs would look up with a
question in their eyes. Tiger too had in the past looked at the carcasses of wild
animals carried by Baira after a hunt. But his look had had the joy of
conquest.
Even though it was afternoon, it was cool in the thick forest. One could see
the sunshine in only a few places here and there. The overseer, Krishnappa
and the others stood watching silently as Puttanna walked ahead with the gun
on his shoulder with Baira behind him carrying the dog’s white body and the
dogs, big and small, around them. It was an impressive funeral procession,
sorrowful, silent and dignified! The only missing element was the playing of
the instruments of death. Even Jackie was moved. He couldn’t recall a
Christian funeral procession which could match this one in either grief or
dignity.
In a short while, Puttanna, Baira and the dogs were out of sight among the
bushes. A flock of green parrots flew past like arrows, momentarily filling the
silence of the forest with their calls.
Soma with a bandage round his arm, was looking longingly at the carcass
of the pig!
 19
Gange the Sorceress

O NCE, WITHIN A few days of Subbamma’s coming to Kanooru, she had seen
a woman on the small verandah combing Chandrayya Gowda’s hair. It was
obvious from her features and dress that she was from the South Canara
district. She had her hair in a bun, wore flowers and had jewels on her:
earrings, nose stud and golden bangles. Being simple, Subbamma felt no
jealousy on seeing her husband having his hair done by a stranger. She was
however curious and found out that the woman was Gange.
Subbamma came to know her within a few days and found her different
from the other women though she couldn’t say where the difference lay.
Gange was freer with the men than the others. She was neither bashful nor
inhibited. On the other hand, there was a kind of flirtatious showiness about
her. The men too were freer with her than with the other women. All this
made Subbamma take a liking to Gange. She confided in her and asked for
advice when she was faced with problems.
Gange’s feelings were entirely different. Since Subbamma’s coming,
Chandrayya Gowda’s love for her had waned and almost died. Her heart was
full of bitterness but she acted as if she was Subbamma’s friend and
confidante. Though Subbamma was uncultured, she had a natural rustic
innocence about her which Gange couldn’t stomach. The evil ones always
have a desire to corrupt the good ones to their ways. Subbamma was such a
simpleton that she did not suspect that Gange harboured any evil designs.
Anyway there they were, often spending time with each other. Gange would
come to the house for a chat whenever she was free and Subbamma would
visit her friend in her quarters, accept betel leaves and drink toddy. Thus
innocence, unaware of what lay in the offing, was gradually walking into the
trap set by evil.
Subbamma ignored the occasional warning that Nagamma sounded,
thinking that she was jealous. Besides there was Gange’s sweet talk and the
delectable toddy which Subbamma couldn’t resist. Her untutored mind found
nothing wrong in her visits to Gange’s place to chat and relax. Though
Chandrayya Gowda was secretly worried about it he kept quiet for Gange’s
sake.
Subbamma had often asked Gange about her native place and family.
Whenever the question of her marriage came up, the girl would hide the truth
and say that her husband was back at her home. Subbamma was too simple-
minded to ask searching questions or discover the truth.
Chandrayya Gowda, Nagamma and Puttamma had left for Mutthalli and
Puttanna and the men had gone to transport timber. There was no one in the
house that day apart from Ninga’s son Putta and a couple of household
workers. Gange turned up in the afternoon and Subbamma was overjoyed.
Gange had brought some toddy she had brewed on the sly with her, and fish
to go with it. The two women sat near the door to the backyard. They chatted
happily savouring their betel leaves.
The shadow of the upper floor of the house lay obliquely towards the west
on the yard. In one corner where the sun fell, there was a plate of chillies
dipped in curd and in a basket left to dry in the sun. In another corner where
people had repeatedly washed their faces there was a muddy puddle near
which a mother hen and her brood of chicks were raking the ground for
insects and worms. The baby chicks looked pure and lovely like living buds,
covered as they were with feathers that had just formed and clustered round
their mother cheeping, as on an important mission. But their light-red baby
legs, thirty or forty of them, were dripping with the slush and looked filthy.
Subbamma and Gange talked about many things. Gange found out what
had happened the previous day. Though she knew why Chandrayya Gowda,
Nagamma and the others had left for Mutthalli, she brought up the matter
again and again to ensure that Subbamma grew quite upset.
‘After all, the third wife! And so the beating!’
‘It’s all Nagi’s doing, the dirty widow! May her hands wither away!’
‘Speak to your husband. Let him throw her out!’
‘I told him that I wouldn’t live here with her.’
‘What did he have to say to that?
‘He asked me to wait for the holidays when Hoovayya would be here.’
‘A nice man, that Hoovegowda . . .! I don’t think you have seen him.’
‘I have seen him . . . When they came asking for my hand, I thought it was
for him ‘Did you think that you would be that lucky?’ It was a mocking look
that Gange gave Subbamma. Blissfully unmindful of the barb, she was
looking at the baby chicks. It was then that Gange attempted to reveal the
story of her life, kept secret so far, and thereby penetrate Subbamma’s thick
skull.
‘Don’t tell me that you had set your heart on marrying him!’ The remark
was not an innocent one.
‘Yes . . . But there he was saying that he would never get married.’
‘All men are like that . . . at first . . .’ Gange whispered something obscene
in Subbamma’s ears. Subbamma laughed self-consciously and Gange joined
her.
‘I know men well . . . I too trusted someone, like you, and ended up
marrying another . . .’
Subbamma wanted to hear the story. Gange’s face was downcast and her
voice heavy as she said, ‘I don’t know what you will say if I were to tell you .
. .’ She heaved a sigh. Subbamma didn’t say anything and Gange came up
with a fascinating tale. She cried now and then during her narration.
Subbamma listened to Gange’s adventurous life, her mouth half-open without
either speaking or moving.
Gange’s parents were poor and worked for others to earn their living. When
she was a young girl she became friendly with a boy called Krishnayya Shetty
who was poor too like herself. Their friendship gradually turned into love and
they had had an affair. They were together even at work and they talked of
getting married and setting up a home. There was a rich man called
Thimmayya Shetty in the town. Though he had been married four or five
times earlier and was past sixty at that time, he desired to marry again and had
approached Gange’s parents for her hand. Being poor, they hoped that the
connection with a sahukar would end their poverty. They also found it
difficult to say no to a rich man. When the lovers came to know of this, they
decided to elope but their plan failed. Gange was forced to become the wife of
Thimmayya Shetty. She still had her heart set on Krishnayya Shetty who
visited her for a chat whenever he was free. Thimmayya Shetty didn’t like it
and forbade his visits. The young man continued to visit Gange on the sly.
When Thimmayya Shetty came to know, he threatened to shoot the young
man.
Krishnayya once came to see Gange at eight in the night having heard that
Thimmayya Shetty was out of town. But Thimmayya Shetty was very much
in town and was hiding in the house having spread the news of being away.
Gange and Krishnayya Shetty were in a room when the husband, loaded gun
in hand, knocked on the door. Not knowing who the caller was, Gange hid her
lover behind the door before opening it. And there he was, her old husband,
raging with jealousy, ready to kill.
‘Ha, ha, ha!’ Subbamma got up shouting and ran to the yard.
While they were talking, a garuda was hovering above stalking the baby
chicks and their mother who were feasting on some tasty worms. They didn’t
see the bird. Suddenly the kite swooped on them with the speed of lightning.
The chicks scattered cheeping. Some hid themselves in the cracks of the tulsi
katte in the yard while some others ran about with all the urgency their little
legs and wings could muster. The mother hen chased the kite even as it
swooped on a chick. Maybe its time hadn’t come, or it was the mother’s
courage, or the kite’s aim which went awry, or its own ingenuity—the chick
survived. The kite rose into the air and circled before it struck at another chick
ignoring the mother hen’s kicks and Subbamma’s shouts. The baby chick’s
wails gradually died as the kite flew away with the chick in its deadly claws.
Gange and Subbamma had stood there utterly helpless as the red-bodied
white-chested garuda, Lord Krishna’s mount, suddenly materialized from the
limitless stretches of the heavens to pick up a baby chick frolicking in the
mire-covered backyard of Kanooru and transport it to Vaikuntha, as though
the chick had earned the passage through its good deeds in its previous birth.
Subbamma who had often folded her hands in obeisance to Garuda cursed it
as she heard the pathetic cry of the chick, ‘May your tribe be destroyed!’
Then she turned her anger on the mother hen. ‘And this slut has to bring her
brood into the open to die!’ The chicks came out of hiding and joined their
mother in raking through the mire again.
It didn’t look as if the mother hen was upset by the loss its family had
suffered through the untimely death of a chick it had hatched so patiently or
by thoughts of the chick’s agony as the kite’s beak pecked at its tender flesh.
The bird was busy, absorbed in raking the slush for the sake of the surviving
chicks.
Subbamma and Gange spat out the juice of the betel leaves turning the yard
red and sat down again to resume the interrupted tale.
When Gange opened the door, Thimmayya Shetty rushed in, closed the
door and saw Krishnayya Shetty standing there like a statue on show.
Thimmayya Shetty’s fury was beyond words. He shoved the barrel of his gun
into Krishnayya Shetty’s chest as he stood trembling, his mouth dry. Even as
Gange held Thimmayya Shetty’s hand and cried, ‘Please let him go!’ and
Krishnayya Shetty asked to be spared his life with folded hands, the gun went
off.
Thimmayya Shetty was given a life sentence for having murdered
Krishnayya Shetty and Gange was thrown out of the house for her adultery.
After a couple of sorrowful years she had come up the Ghats with Rangappa
Shetty the overseer.
Gange’s narration of the trials of her life as a widow, the happiness she
found later and the justification she offered for her actions were so convincing
and detailed that Subbamma was full of sympathy for her. She approved of
every decision that Gange had taken. Gange had succeeded in infusing the
poison of her cunning into Subbamma’s rustic innocence.
Certain informed thoughts in Subbamma’s mind were awakened when she
heard Gange’s tale: she too was in love with Hoovayya but had had to marry
Chandrayya Gowda. He had married twice earlier and she had come into his
life as his third wife. No one had bothered at the time of her marriage to find
out what she desired. Even Chandrayya Gowda had changed. The affection he
had showered on her during the first few days of their marriage had vanished
and he had started beating her of late. Even though he still kissed and hugged
her when they were alone it was more an act of selfish happiness on his part
than love for her. It was not that she thought of these things in a lucid manner.
She had neither the courage nor the skill to think clearly. If someone had
asked her, ‘Are these really your thoughts?’ she would have called him a
blasphemer. There is no baby snake within a newly-laid snake’s egg. All that
one finds is some red-and-white jelly. And how innocent and lovely those
eggs are to look at! A simple soul would find it difficult to believe that
frightful and poisonous snakes could come out of them. But it’s a fact that
they do in the course of time, under the right circumstances. So it was with
Subbamma’s thoughts.
Her words offered no clue to what passed through her mind. Why had the
people that had gone out to collect timber not come back for lunch? They
hadn’t made even one trip though it was late. There wasn’t enough sour
buttermilk to dip the chillies in, was there?
Suddenly there was a noise from the kitchen as if someone had fallen
down. Subbamma and Gange rushed in. Putta who was slowly getting up
from beside a tumbled pile of wooden planks started to cry as soon as he saw
them.
 Before leaving for Mutthalli Vasu had entrusted the puppy whose eye had
been pecked out by a hen to Putta’s care and ordered him to look after it.
Putta had asked for some milk to give the puppy but Subbamma had refused.
He waited till no one was around, wanting to steal some milk from the pot
next to the stove. But all the tumblers were on a shelf which he could not
reach. He placed the wooden mane on which people sat for dinner one above
the other and stood on the pile. He had in his hurry placed the smaller ones
below and the bigger ones on top, and the pile tumbled down as he got on to it
and he was hurt. He started crying when Subbamma and Gange came in, more
out of fear and a desire to win their sympathy than out of pain.
He was saved as Puttanna came in at that moment with Baira who carried
Tiger’s body.
Puttanna sent Baira out asking him to come back after his lunch. Refusing
to eat, he took out the clothes he had stored in a jayikayi case one by one.
That case was his prized possession and it held everything that belonged to
him, from the things he needed for his gun to his clothes. He didn’t own any
fancy clothes. The most precious of them was an ordinary dhoti which he
wore whenever he attended a wedding or went to Koppa and Theerthahalli.
He took it out, packed the other things back into the case and locked it. He
picked up the dhoti and spread it out to examine. He felt sad that it wasn’t
good enough for Tiger, but he had nothing better.
When Baira came back after his lunch the two of them went up the hill
towards Kanubailu with a crowbar, pickaxe, the dhoti and Tiger’s body.
Puttanna walked a few steps shooing off the dogs that kept following him,
called Putta and asked him to feed them. Knowing their master’s mind, the
dogs went back home meekly. The long shadow of the tree was hurrying
towards the east as evening drew near.
Puttanna looked for a fine and elevated spot in Kanubailu, dug a grave,
lovingly wrapped Tiger’s body in the dhoti and placed it gently within. He
had tears in his eyes as he covered it with earth. Baira covered the grave with
some thorny plants he had chopped up and placed a heavy stone on top so that
wild animals wouldn’t pull them away. Puttanna sent Baira away with the
implements saying that he would return later and sat down on a rock. Baira
found Puttanna’s behaviour rather strange. He hadn’t imagined that a man
could mourn a dog’s death so deeply. As Puttanna wrapped his dhoti round
Tiger’s body before covering it with earth, Baira had wondered, ‘What a
waste, he could have given the dhoti to me!’
 Puttanna had paid twenty-five rupees for Tiger and brought the dog with
him from Bangalore. Tiger was scared initially of forests, hunts and gunshots.
Many a time had Puttanna put the dog on a leash and dragged him along with
him when he went hunting. Tiger would run back home on hearing a couple
of shots. It was some time before he turned into a wonderful hunting dog.
Towards the end he had become the other dogs’ guide and guru. One knew
that if Tiger stopped a pig in its tracks, the animal was as good as dead. Even
those who ignored the other dogs’ barking would attend to Tiger’s. His fame
had spread and Vasu was particularly proud of him. He got the largest share
among all the dogs. He would stay by Hoovayya’s side whenever he came
home for a holiday. The dog’s hair had turned to silk as Vasu often washed
him with soap and water. He would lift up Tiger’s forelegs and wonder as he
stood towering over him. He had sacrificed a belt that had been specially
bought for him to make a collar for Tiger and had been promptly punished.
Puttanna’s hunting expeditions had doubled in number after Tiger went into
service. He would ask for the spices to cook the meat to be kept ready before
leaving for the forest with Tiger. Puttanna sat on the rock recollecting a
hundred other such episodes from the past.
The sun was fast approaching the wavery western horizon of mountain
peaks. The evening sky was ripening like an orange, bathing the clouds of
various shapes with colour. Puttanna who was looking here and there
listlessly under the weight of his grief awoke suddenly. He stared curiously at
the evening sky towards which he had been indifferent till then. ‘My Tiger is
on its way to heaven!’ he exclaimed as he stood up on the rock.
A cloud seemed to have taken a dog’s form and come to life. He wouldn’t
have thought so on any other day. All his feelings and imagination peaked at
that moment and enabled his mind to conjure forth any image it desired, and
an ordinary sign made by an evening cloud was sufficient for him to see Tiger
in it. He had no clear thoughts on matters like heaven, hell, life, or God. He
had some vague notions, born of having listened to the Harikatha, Bharatha,
Ramayana and Hoovayya’s talk besides seeing the plays put up by the
Bhagavathas. He knew that the soul would end up either in heaven or hell
after death. Tiger would never go to hell. No. He loved the dog. Moreover the
loyal dog had given his life for his master. And so his soul had taken the form
of a cloud on its way to heaven. Puttanna was happy and surprised that his
sorrow had turned into joy. Meanwhile the sun had set and the dog-like cloud
had lost both shape and colour. Only the western horizon was heavenly;
heaven itself.
Puttanna was so lost in the scene that he failed to notice the arrival of
Soma, the pot-bellied toddy thief. He was startled when Soma called out,
‘Puttegowdare!’ He had a bandage round the hand which had taken Jackie’s
blow and was an indistinct shape in the twilight darkness. Puttanna was
forced to the earth from his evening heaven.
‘How many shares for the pig’s meat? They want to know.’
Soma had no knowledge of Puttanna’s state of mind or of the sublimity of
his world of feeling. Nor had he a sense of propriety which he didn’t need
anyway. He had come to ask about the customary sharing of the pig’s meat.
The roughness in the way he asked was only natural to him.
Puttanna was disgusted. ‘Do anything, do whatever you want. I don’t
know,’ he said.
‘How can you say such a thing? The first shot was yours. Why should
Krishnappa Gowda get the larger share?’
Puttanna was angry. ‘Get lost, will you? Later I’ll . . .’
‘They sent me here to find out . . . And so I came.’
‘Will you go or not? You are prepared to lay down your very life for meat,
aren’t you?’ Puttanna shouted in a rage.
‘Should there be a share for Tiger too? They wanted me to find out.’
Puttanna said nothing, his heart wept.
‘May I have his share?’ Soma begged.
‘Do anything, fellow! Anything! Please go, I beg of you.’
Soma the pot-bellied toddy thief thought that Puttanna had said yes and
went down the hill. He had found out from Baira where Puttanna was and had
come there specifically to lay claim to the meat that was rightfully the dead
dog’s share.
 20
Seethe and Hoovayya

T HE GENTLE RAYS of the young sun had travelled millions of miles and were
playfully planting warm kisses on the lovely cheeks of Lakshmi who sat on
the threshold of the main door of Mutthalli house. Though the golden beams
shone on the green tops of trees, over the tiles of houses and the red dusty
road pretending to be impartial, their only ambition and happiness lay in
dancing on and playing with the little girl’s lips, cheeks, chin, forehead, eyes
and forelocks. How obvious this was even to a slow-witted person! Lakshmi
tried to catch the sunbeams with her lovely hands, expressing her happiness
through her rippling cheeks as she waited with eager eyes, gazing at the road
which disappeared between trees on either side, curving and flowing away.
Kumbara Nanja, the potter, came walking slowly along from beyond the
distant jackfruit tree, carrying his year-old child savouring the sunshine.
Nanja who had been a devil incarnate at the liquor shop the night before
walked like a mild-mannered parent and asked Lakshmi why she was sitting
on the threshold.
‘Kanooru . . . the cart is coming. M. . .m. . .m. . . Vasappa Bhava and
Puttathigamma are coming,’ lisped Lakshmi. She stood up. ‘Nanja, give the
baby to me! Rangi, come here,’ she called stretching her small arms out to
carry the baby.
Nanja’s baby with thin arms and legs and a pot-belly had a running nose,
with deposits of dried mucus above the upper lip, scabies on her hands and
stomach and the contours of the ribcage showing clearly through the skin
stretched over it. A clean person would be disgusted at having to touch her.
But Lakshmi thought nothing of it, desiring only to carry the baby. It didn’t
matter whether she was beautiful, ugly, clean or dirty. The only merit Nanja’s
baby possessed was that she was alive!
‘Rangi, come to me. I’ll give you jaggery. Come,’ said Lakshmi, arms
stretched out.
‘No, no. Your mother will get angry,’ said Nanja trying to go into the yard.
‘No, she won’t. Give her to me,’ said Lakshmi blocking his way.
 ‘No, no. Let me go. You don’t understand.’ Nanja crossed the threshold
and left.
Lakshmi kept quiet. Her demonstration of love had been rebuffed. She
hadn’t yet learnt about restrictions in society regarding the high-born.
Chandrayya Gowda and Shyamayya Gowda sat talking on the verandah, a
plate with betel leaves and areca nuts before them. As soon as he saw Nanja,
Shyamayya Gowda remembered the atrocities of the previous night and flared
up. Nanja was spared blows because he had his child in his arms. He looked a
father now, not a drunkard, and decent enough to surprise anyone who had
seen him the night before.
Chandrayya Gowda who had arrived in Mutthalli early in the morning had
met Hoovayya. Ramayya and Chinnayya had also been present. He had talked
freely with his nephew Chinnayya but only as much as barely necessary with
Hoovayya and Ramayya. That was the way of the people in Malenadu, the
hilly region. People do not interact with their family members with the same
informality as with outsiders, particularly a father with his grown-up children.
Such formality gradually leads to disaster, not indifference or even hatred.
Shyamayya Gowda behaved with Chinnayya as did Chandrayya Gowda with
the children of his family, Hoovayya and Ramayya. One should be free and
open with guests and relatives. But there is no wrong done either if the master
of the house behaves with good cheer and friendliness with his own family.
Then wouldn’t there be less chance of pettiness and enmity and greater
domestic happiness?
After Ramayya and Chinnayya went off to investigate the news of a tiger
attacking a cow, Seethe took out some books that Hoovayya had asked for
from his case. She did it with such pride that anyone watching her would have
realized that there was more devotion than was necessary. When she gave him
the books, it was with the ostentation of a wife handing their offspring to her
husband. That she had the good fortune of touching the books with their
special smell, the grandeur and the weight of their red and green binding and
the English script that was unknown to her, seemed highly auspicious. She
had indeed read stories and novels in Kannada. She also possessed a few
books. But they were as different from Hoovayya’s English books as the
labourer in a coffee plantation and its owner. Her love and respect for
Hoovayya doubled when she saw the books he read. She had a great desire to
open them. Hoovayya understood what was going on in her mind, gave her a
history book with pictures and leaned back on the pillow with a book of
poems. In a few moments his mind was in a celestial world filled with the
imaginative beauty and grandeur of poetry, for removed from Seethe and
Mutthalli. Even poems that appeared insipid in the fast-footed and dusty
atmosphere of the town sparkled with their emotional outburst in the midst of
the dark, cool, beautiful world of nature. The early morning sun shining
through the window, the call of the pikalara among the trees outside and the
sweet proximity of a loving young girl, forgotten at that moment but present
as an unacknowledged memory, had given wings to his imagination.
Seethe looking at the pictures in the book looked up twice or thrice. She
wanted to ask him about them, but he was absorbed in his own thoughts and
didn’t turn towards her. When she looked up the fourth time, she didn’t look
down again. She gazed at his face, still as a figure carved of stone, forgetting
herself.
Hoovayya’s face flushed red with emotion and happiness as if he had just
bathed. His eyes shone with tears. His chest rose and fell at times. Even as she
looked, tears fell from his eyes like dew drops from a flower when a gentle
breeze blew. Hoovayya closed his eyes. When Seethe saw that the book he
was reading was still in his hands, fear sprang up in her innocent heart. She
thought he was crying because of the pain in his back. She tried to ask him.
Her heart might have understood what her head didn’t—Hoovayya’s divine
state of trance. She was afraid that he might be possessed by spirits. She had
seen possessed people many a time. She had been dumbfounded observing
Nanja’s pregnant wife being possessed. But there were no such frightening
signs to be seen in Hoovayya’s case. On the other hand, his face was calm and
beautiful. The young girl’s mind grew turbulent with various emotions and
doubts and she stood up noisily on the pretext of closing the book.
Hoovayya opened his eyes. Suddenly aware of the state he was in, he felt
ashamed of having displayed his emotions and wiped away his tears
pretending to rub his eyes. Seethe had just closed the book and appeared to be
looking at the window. He was reassured, believing that she hadn’t witnessed
his emotional outburst and he started a conversation to hide his confusion.
‘Did you look at the pictures?’
Seethe heard his calm voice and was surprised into thinking that her guess
was wrong. She said yes with happiness, looking at him.
Wanting to banish the question on her face, Hoovayya asked her, ‘What
pictures did you see?’
‘I looked at them but didn’t know what they were about.’
 ‘I’d have told you if you had asked me.’
‘You had closed your eyes. I thought your backache had got worse and
didn’t ask you,’ said Seethe, feeling pleased.
Then Seethe had seen him!
‘Not my backache. I was just thinking of something with my eyes closed.
Mava said that the cart would come from our house.’
‘Yes. Attemma, Vasu and Puttathigamma are supposed to come,’ said
Seethe and asked with great hesitation, ‘Why were you crying?’
Hoovayya laughed as if her question didn’t deserve an answer because it
was so trivial. ‘Who was crying?’ he asked.
‘There were tears in your eyes!’
He couldn’t escape her. Hoovayya’s face grew solemn. Seethe was
wonder-struck at the sudden change. Perhaps it was wrong to have asked.
Making an effort to be light-hearted, Hoovayya asked, ‘Seethe, have you
never cried?’
‘I have.’
‘When?’
‘When someone scolded me, when awa hit me or when I fell over and hurt
myself.’ Seethe was smiling at her own words.
‘Have you not cried at other times?’
Not knowing what to say, Seethe kept quiet for a while.
‘Not even when Attemma left you and went away to visit her relatives?’
‘You are right, I had cried.’
‘Have you cried while reading a story or listening to one?’
Seethe thought about it. She remembered crying without letting anyone
know while reading novels. Once, when Hoovayya read Vishavriksha aloud
with Nagamma, Gowramma, Seethe and Vasu for his audience, she had
hidden herself behind her mother, unable to control her tears, and wiped them
away with her seragv.
‘Yes. There have been many such occasions.’
‘Have you ever been to the top of the hill overlooking your house in the
evening?’
‘Yes, I have gone there.’
‘Have you watched the sun set in the west?’
‘Indeed I have.’ Her language rose unconsciously to the level of
Hoovayya’s by imitation.
‘Have you ever cried at the beauty of such an evening?’
 ‘No,’ Seethe replied. She could not comprehend either the question’s
meaning or the sensibility behind it.
Hoovayya kept talking. Seethe understood a little of what he was saying.
Most of it was beyond her, like a person who has merely looked at the sky
with his naked eyes and said yes and no to someone who looked through a
telescope and described the stars he saw. She listened intently as she loved the
speaker. As she listened, her own feelings and imagination were heightened.
What wasn’t perceived by her intellect was divined by her feeling self and a
great change began to take place in her heart.
As Hoovayya talked he gazed at Seethe’s eyes. She too looked at him. The
sublimity of what they were talking about had made their souls transcend
mere physicality. Their relationship then was that between master and
disciple.
‘I have cried, Seethe. Didn’t you say you do not when you see the beauty of
the evening? I have cried, many times.’
Seethe sat speechless, not understanding why one should cry on seeing the
evening sky. It seemed to be a flaw in her that she didn’t cry as he did.
‘Not only that. I have cried standing at the top of a hill, looking at the huge
forests stretching out as far as the eye can reach. I have cried looking at the
rising sun bathed in kumkuma. I have cried when black clouds have filled the
sky in the early monsoon with lightning dancing like the great tongues of a
great serpent. . . I have cried on the night of the full moon, the radiant
moonlight (remembering that it was Seethe who sat before him) spilling over
like milk on the forests . . I have cried reading about the lives of great men . . .
You may be surprised. You may assume that there are more tears in me than
the others. Why do I cry then? Tell me. (Seethe said nothing.) You too have
the power to cry, Seethe. Nobody has taught you how. (Seethe said ‘no’ in an
almost piteous tone.) Never mind. I shall teach you. Then your outlook will
change. Your soul will change. The world will become happy. Even sorrow
becomes sweet . . .’
Seethe’s eyes widened. She experienced the joy of a traveller setting out on
a journey to a beautiful new world. The uncertainty and strangeness she now
felt about the world made her curiosity keener.
‘Do you pray everyday?’
Seethe like the others would often fold her hands and prostrate before the
tulsi plant in the yard. But this was in mere imitation and she felt nothing.
Moreover the people at home would supplicate before spirits to whom
chickens and sheep were sacrificed every year in the nearby forest. The older
people worshipped in fear, to get rid of their troubles and the younger ones
with blind faith, because of the censure of their elders.
Anyway she said, ‘No,’ to Hoovayya’s question.
‘You must pray, Seethe, you must. See, God has made the whole world. He
has created you, me and the others too. How much happiness He has given
us! The flowers in your hair, He alone has grown them! Your beautiful eyes
too! Just think: What if there were no eyes? I couldn’t have seen you and you
couldn’t have seen me . . .’
Hoovayya was purposely coming down to Seethe’s level as he talked.
‘Seethe, we are not mere bodies. We have a soul. It wears this body as we
wear clothes. You are a rich man’s daughter. That’s why you wear a lovely
saree and look beautiful. Poor people wear very ordinary clothes. When you
look at what people wear, you can usually assess their status in life. In the
same way, bodies conform to the quality of souls . . . But how long will the
saree last? You throw it away when it becomes old and wear a new one, don’t
you? Just like this, the soul throws away the body as soon as it becomes
unworthy. That is called Death. The soul doesn’t disappear when the body
does; the soul is permanent; it belongs to God. That is why we should nurture
it. You wash your saree and keep it clean until it becomes old. But don’t we
nurse our body better than that? Similarly, we should keep our own body
clean as long as we live. But we shouldn’t ever forget to look after the soul
which is everlasting, and not just the body. The soul is purified by refined
conversation, thought and behaviour; it will then become dear to God. That’s
why we should pray everyday, asking Him to give us good speech and good
thought and protect us all . . . Did you understand?’
‘Hm . . . m,’ said Seethe. Her face was full of gratitude.
‘God has created the whole world. He is everywhere. Here too. He is
listening now to what we are saying. He is powerful enough to do what he
wants. We must love Him. That’s what is called Bhakti. He hasn’t created the
world and run far away from it. He is in it like the sugar dissolved in water!
He rises as the sun in the morning and as darkness at night. He is the wind
that blows and He falls as rain. And He shines as lightning. See, He is the
beauty of the flowers you are wearing! He is your own beauty too! He is the
beauty of the evening that I talked to you about. I feel as if I have seen Him
when I look at that beauty. Then I am extremely happy. That’s why tears
come to my eyes. They’ll come to your eyes too if you experience it. Not
from sorrow but from joy. Did you understand what I said?’
Seethe nodded in affirmation. Her heart was filled with emotion and her
eyes were tearful. Hoovayya’s words would seem ordinary to the enlightened
but were forceful enough to bring tears to the eyes of naive Seethe. Tears
streamed down her cheeks, flushed with emotion. Tears flowed from
Hoovayya’s eyes too.
‘Seethe, why are you crying now?’
Seethe smiled. ‘No, I am not,’ she said wiping her eyes.
‘But you are shedding tears!’
‘I don’t know why,’ Seethe said, not having the intellectual ability to
describe her experience.
‘That’s why I cried then too. When we see or listen to something great, we
cry in joy because we are reminded of our own greatness. We feel fulfilled as
we cry. All that is great is God.’
Both fell quiet for some time. ‘Did you see the picture of our country?’ said
Hoovayya intending to change the subject. He opened a book and said, ‘This
is the world we live in.’
Then he explained briefly certain elementary geographical details to her.
When he described the solar system he told her that the sun was a thousand
times bigger than the earth. Seethe was surprised. She asked him why the sun
appeared smaller. ‘Not only that,’ he said, ‘The stars we see at night are a
thousand times larger than the sun.’ Had anyone else told her that, Seethe
wouldn’t have believed it. Hoovayya told her about the terrifying size, speed
and distance of the stars. He unfolded a map of India. ‘This is our India. This
is where we live, Mysore, ruled by our Maharaja.’
‘Is our Maharaja’s kingdom so small?’
‘Yes, when compared to the size of the world.’
‘Then where is Theerthahalli?’
‘It isn’t shown here because it is very small.’
He showed her the map of Mysore and put his finger on a dot. ‘This is your
Theerthahalli.’ ‘Ayyayyo! Is this all?’ exclaimed Seethe. The big
Theerthahalli that she admired was just a dot on the map. She was amazed.
‘Then our Mutthalli?’
Hoovayya smiled and explained that it was so small that it couldn’t even be
indicated by a dot. Seethe felt a little sad. Such an important place which had
her big house, fields, gardens and servants! Appayya and Avva didn’t even
merit a dot!
The sound of cart bells, barking dogs and Lakshmi’s joyful loud voice
could be heard from outside. Seethe ran out into the yard, believing Attemma
had arrived.
The guests washed their feet and went in with Seethe and Gowramma
smiling at those who greeted them. Though his heart flew inside the house
Vasu sat outside in the yard, for he was the male of the family and had been
called by Shyamayya Gowda. But he couldn’t manage to sit like a formal
visitor for long and soon got up quietly and charged inside.
Nagamma’s anxiety was quelled as soon as she saw her son and her natural
dignity returned. Nevertheless she had coins of small denomination taken
round her son and called on every god and spirit she knew from Thirupathi
and Dharmasthala to Bhootha and Panjurli and pledged offerings to them in
gratitude.
Hoovayya watched helplessly but savoured his mother’s love, holier than
his own rationalism. ‘What wound is that, Avva? You have a bandage over
your forehead?’ he asked.
‘Nothing. It was just a knock against the door,’ said Nagamma sitting close
to him, caressing his forehead, cheeks, head, hands and arms on some pretext
or another. In any case for Hoovayya his mother’s touch was the nectar-like
seal of peace and joy.
 21
Is the Newcomer Appayya’s Wife?

T HAT EVENING RAMAYYA came to Kanooru with his father as the old man had
desired.
When they sat down to dinner he was surprised to see a young woman
serve them their food and wondered who the stranger was.
Puttanna and the overseer were narrating passionately to Chandrayya
Gowda what Singappa Gowda’s men had done to them that day. Chandrayya
Gowda frequently flew into a rage as he listened and told them what they
should have done. Finally, his anger focused itself on Singappa Gowda and he
roared. ‘Wait and see what I shall do to him. I’ll make him surrender all that
timber. Let me see if the government has gone to the dogs!’
Ramayya was lost in thought when he retired upstairs.
Not long after he arrived he had felt that Mutthalli was a happier place than
his own home, maybe because Vasu, Puttamma, Hoovayya and Nagamma
were all there. He tried talking to his father about Mysore, the Congress party
and the freedom movement. But the old man had no knowledge of such
faraway matters. He had no interest or sympathy for them. His life was
centred round domestic matters and court litigations. He was contemptuous of
those who engaged themselves in such affairs and even condemned them. He
sneered at white clothes, the khadi cap and dhotis of ankle length. He was
convinced that even cleanliness was just a fad.
Ramayya talked to Puttanna about hunting, dogs and guns and was thrilled,
listening to his adventures in recent months. He felt sad when he heard of
Tiger’s death and Jackie’s cunning and cruelty, and nothing could lift his
depression. He had felt happy thinking about his home while he was in
Mysore. But such promised happiness failed him when he was actually there.
There was darkness all around and the hill and forests ahead were like
blobs of ink. Even the stars that shone in the sky added to-his loneliness and
his depression doubled. He was wrecked by disquieting thoughts as he lay on
his warm bed. Who was the woman who had served them their food? No one
who was a visiting relative would have been able to do so with such practised
ease. It was as if she had known the kitchen for a long time. If she were just a
cook paid for the job, she wouldn’t be dressed in such finery. Was it Puttanna
who had been married recently? No, he would have mentioned it if he had. It
was obvious too from his looks that there was no room at all for such a guess.
Suddenly, as he played with possibilities, blood rushed into his heart. ‘No!
Such a thing is impossible!’ He tried to brush it aside. The harder he tried, the
firmer the thought became. What had seemed a possibility grew into a
certainty. Even so Ramayya found himself unwilling to believe it. He cursed
himself for thinking such a blasphemous thought. His mind grew agitated as
he considered the implications of its being a fact. He sat up on the bed and
prayed with all his heart, ‘O God, let it not be true.’ That his father had
married the woman without letting him know seemed unbearably ugly.
He felt the next morning that everyone in the house was trying to hide
something from him. Their words, looks and behaviour seemed to confirm his
suspicion. As soon as breakfast was over, he asked Puttanna to join him
upstairs and questioned him. The two spoke in low voices so that the master
downstairs wouldn’t hear.
‘Who’s the newcomer, Puttanna?’ ‘Which one?’
‘The one working in the kitchen.’
Puttanna smiled. ‘What a question! Your stepmother!’
‘My aunt? Tell me, which family does she belong to?’
‘She is from Nelluhalli. She came here as your father’s bride.’
What he had begged God not to let happen had happened. Ramayya was so
distressed that he couldn’t control the tears that streamed from his eyes.
Puttanna who had initially talked in praise of Chandrayya Gowda for having
brought home a ‘new’ aunt changed his tune when he found Ramayya crying.
His words sank again to a whisper. ‘Didn’t you get a letter?’ Ramayya shook
his head.
‘We pleaded with him to send for you both. He wouldn’t listen to us, would
he?’
‘In a way it’s good he didn’t send for us.’
‘Everyone in Mutthalli, including Shyame Gowda, told him that this liaison
was not for him. He didn’t listen to any one, didn’t budge . . . And now,
nothing but disgusting quarrels at home day in and day out. She and your
sister can’t stand each other. She doesn’t hold her tongue even when she
speaks to Nagamma. Given the present situation, she’s sure to end up dividing
the property.’
 Ramayya didn’t say anything again. He just sat there thinking. The sad
image of his mother shedding tears was before him. Her friendly and
compassionate ways came back to him. Remembering his mother’s love,
which he had seemingly forgotten, his eyes filled with tears.
He was tender-hearted by nature and certainly not self-willed. Having been
in fear of his father since his childhood, he couldn’t think of standing up to
him. None of the heart-rending events of the future would have come to pass
if only he had had the requisite strength of character to go with his nobility.
That was perhaps why he bore such love and respect for Hoovayya.
Hoovayya was his ideal and he worshipped his strength of character, self-
confidence and conviction—qualities which he himself lacked.
‘Puttanna,’ Chandrayya Gowda called from the verandah. As Puttanna
noisily went down the loose rungs of the ladder, the Gowda asked, ‘Where is
Ramu?’
‘Coming,’ Ramayya answered, wiping away his tears in a hurry and getting
a hold on himself.
Chandrayya Gowda pretended not to have noticed the look on his face as
he said, ‘Come, let’s go to the sugarcane field,’ and left through the main door
with the other two in tow.
The dogs, busy with their activities like sleeping, scratching themselves,
warding off the flies or chasing one another, got up immediately and followed
them one behind the other.
Nothing seemed to have changed. Everything was more or less the same as
it had been when he went to Mysore. The same yard and the same threshing
area and the same stone wall rising to man’s height, separating the two. The
wild growth on the wall too was the same, though no longer green but dried
and sere under the sun, the same tamarind and basari trees in the threshing
area and to the right, the green of the banana trees. Birds chirped in the trees
as ever. Ramayya’s mind however was not at peace as before but full of
sadness.
The workers had assembled in the sugarcane field and the overseer was
giving them their instructions. The sun’s rays too looked green as they fell on
the sugarcane fronds that stood one-and-a-half to two feet tall. Here and there
stood dark-complexioned male and female workers from beyond the Ghats
wearing head-dresses fashioned out of fronds, chatting in Tulu.
Both the overseer and the workers put on a show of complete absorption in
their work as they saw the Gowda approaching. The overseer began loudly in
Kannada. ‘Eh, Bagra, bring the crowbar over here . . . Gutti, what are you
doing there? Lazy one! Subbi, Kadi, why have you all ganged up there?
Sadiya, come and fill up this hole here . . .’ With these orders from the
overseer, the sugarcane field burst into noise and activity. Meanwhile the
Gowda was walking from one end to the other, inspecting the work done and
giving instructions. The overseer with a red cloth round his head would either
be behind or beside him, moving with great alacrity, exhibiting his loyalty to
his master and his commitment to his work. Puttanna who walked behind
Ramayya was regaling him with how he had laid a trap for a lonely pig which
used to eat away the sugarcane and felled it with his gun. Soon, all talk died
away as the digging began. The Gowda sat on a blanket spread out by the
overseer on an elevated stretch of green grass on the bank, watching them.
The dogs were running around in the sugarcane field, as was their nature.
Suddenly, a dog barked sharply and chased something as the sugarcane
fronds rose and fell noisily. The other dogs too rushed off in the same
direction. No one knew which animal it was. The Gowda stood up to see and
the workers too stood up with their implements in their hands. So did
Puttanna and Ramayya. The dogs rushed through the sugarcane field and into
a paddy field. It was only then that one could see a hare flashing away with
the speed of an arrow, leaping and running.
‘Ayyayyo, I didn’t bring the gun!’ Puttanna exclaimed. ‘Choo, catch it,
catch it,’ he shouted as he rushed to climb the fence of the sugarcane field and
jump down to chase the hare. The Gowda shouted at the workers who were
watching the hare running away, chased by the dogs and Puttanna.
‘What do you think you are doing? Get on with the job.’ There was once
again the noise of hoes digging.
The Gowda called again. Ramayya who was watching the chase in a
pleasant mood felt depressed once more. He came to his father and sat a few
feet away.
‘What do you mean by stopping at relatives’ houses and feasting there
instead of coming straight home?’
Ramayya felt even more depressed then and his voice was low, as if he
were pleading guilty. ‘Annayya had a backache. I couldn’t leave him and
come away.’
‘What business did you have there if Annayya had a backache?’
Ramayya didn’t say anything. He sat there, head bent, looking at the
sugarcane frond he was busy splitting.
 ‘Have you brought back all your things?’
‘No, we have kept them in the hotel.’
‘Why didn’t you bring them with you?’
‘Didn’t want the trouble of carting them back.’
‘No question of carting them anywhere. Enough of your studies and
passing examinations. Don’t I know about your becoming an Amildar? You
seem to think that parading around in a white dhoti long enough to sweep the
floor is everything in life! Venkappayya was right. What else can we expect if
we place a pen in the hands of one who should be holding a hoe? Get all your
things back by train.’
Ramayya felt as if a boil had festered. Shaken, he didn’t know how to
respond. It seemed as if his father had acquired a new methodology of cruelty
along with a new wife. He had not been prepared for such harsh words so
soon after his coming home. He looked this way and that and haltingly said,
‘Annayya wants to carry on with his studies.’
‘You want me to carry manure and slave here to keep sending you money
while you study and make merry in the city, don’t you? Let him do whatever
he wants . . . Let him take his share of the property and go either to Mysore or
Madras . . . I can no longer stand his mother’s complaints . . . She is said to
have talked to every one of our visitors about dividing up the property . . . I’m
fed up with listening to her non-stop grumbling . . . Moreover, his mother
can’t stand the sight of her . . . (Ramayya didn’t need to be told that it was
Subbamma, his new wife, that the Gowda was referring to when he talked of
‘her‘. Convinced that his son knew about his recent marriage, the Gowda
spoke even more freely.) Fights every morning in the kitchen . . . More so,
when a visitor is waiting on the pyol . . . Eh, Bagra, haven’t you still chopped
off the tree, you lazy son of a slut?’
There were a few broken patches of white unmoving cloud in the blue sky.
No longer gentle as in the early morning, the sunshine rolled in waves over
the forests and land which stretched as far as the eye could see. Ramayya’s
heart wasn’t in the breathtaking landscape which lay before his eyes.
Out of breath, having run behind the hare and the dogs, Puttanna stopped.
The animals ran past the field and entered the undergrowth of the forest. He
called out when the dogs didn’t come back even after a while. Soon after,
with its red tongue dripping in its open mouth Diamond returned, still gasping
for breath. And behind it, Ruby, Topsy, Roji, Kotwala and Dooli appeared,
one after another. As soon as he saw them Puttanna knew that they had lost
the hare.
As he was returning home with the dogs, he saw a few of Halepaikada
Thimma’s goats grazing near the Ghat-workers’ camps. He could see from a
distance a tall black he-goat on his hind legs stretching out to a low branch to
reach its leaves. Frustrated at not getting the hare, the angry dogs rushed
madly towards the flock. While most of them ran bleating helter-skelter, a
helpless kid became an easy target. Puttanna shouted at the dogs as he ran to
save the kid which succeeded in dodging the dogs for a while. But not for
long as the cheated dogs turned more ferocious than before, chased and
caught it. The kid bleated once piteously and fell down, still.
Puttanna ran up hitting the dogs with his clenched fist to chase them away.
The kid, white as foam was on the grass, its body quivering. Puttanna’s heart
bled as he looked at its pathetic state, a bundle of tenderness. ‘May the
cheetah get you!’ Gritting his teeth and cursing the dogs, Puttanna lifted the
kid gently into his arms. His concern for it grew two-fold as he felt its soft,
smooth skin. He went to the workers’ camps to find some water for the kid
and to nurse it. As all the workers were away at work, most of the doors were
shut and boarded. Puttanna had known while he was in the sugarcane field
that Soma hadn’t reported for work as his arm had been hurt the previous day.
He went into Soma’s open hut. There was no sound whatsoever. ‘Soma,
Soma! ‘ he called but there was no answer. He bent low with the kid in his
arms as he crossed the threshold.
He was half-blinded as he had come in from the sun. The stink of old, dirty
rags, coconut oil, smoke and fried pork assailed his nose as he walked in.
Hearing the sound of heavy breathing, he called out, ‘Soma, Soma!’ No
response, only the breathing. Puttanna’s eyes grew accustomed to the gloom
and he could see Soma lying on the floor beside a stove, breathing noisily.
Dumbfounded, he placed the kid gently on the floor and bent over Soma’s
body. Soma’s eyes were fixed in a squint and his mouth was open. He was
breathing with great effort and his Stomach was bloated. Though his body lay
still it was obvious from the objects in disarray around him that he had
struggled much. Confused and disturbed initially, Puttanna unravelled the
secret within minutes as he looked at the earthen pot containing the fried pork
and got busy. He quickly lifted Soma’s body into a sitting position and gave
him a hard blow on the nape of his neck. A piece of bone covered with a little
meat and dripping with saliva shot out of his cavernous mouth like a bullet
from a gun when the trigger is pulled and fell on the floor with a thud and
rolled away. Soma took long, deep breaths and sat there looking at Puttanna
as if he had come back from the land of the dead.
When all the workers had left that morning after their breakfast of ganji,
Soma lay all alone in his hut with a bandage round his arm. Finding it
difficult to pass the time, he munched on his betel leaves a couple of times.
As he spat out the juice from the tobacco which had been mixed with the betel
leaves for the last time, his eyes landed on an earthen pot. He knew that it
contained some fried pork from the pig that they had killed the previous day.
His mouth watered. He hadn’t felt satisfied that morning when he was served
his share of the pork to go with his ganji. They had all decided that the
leftovers could go with their dinner and left them in the pot on the still-
smouldering stove. How would anyone know if he took just a little? Soma
helped himself to the pieces, first just one, then two and later three and
savoured them with a pinch of salt for taste. The ‘little’ he intended to pilfer
knew no limits and soon about half the pork in the pot had disappeared. In all
probability, Bhimasena who devoured all the rice loaded on a cart and meant
for Bakasura would have been dumbfounded, forced to concede defeat if he
had seen Soma! Soma started worrying about his being branded a thief when
half the pot had been consumed. He did have a right to a larger share, didn’t
he? Wasn’t he the one who took the lead in getting the pig from Jackie?
Wasn’t he the one who went to Kanubailu and got Tiger’s share with
Puttanna’s permission? Nonsense! He couldn’t have the same share as the
others! He went back to the pot. Instead of chewing the meat well, he merely
tossed it around in his mouth a few times before gulping it down. It was
neither hunger nor a taste for pork that moved him at that moment—it was
just greed. It was when he heard the dogs bark and Puttanna’s raised voice
that he began to bolt down the meat pieces, afraid that someone would come
in and catch him in the act. It was then that he swallowed a thick bone
covered with some meat. It didn’t go smoothly all the way down to his
stomach. Instead, it started playing up halfway. When Soma tried to force it
down, it ended up getting lodged firmly in his throat. His efforts to expel it
failed and he found it difficult to breathe. He couldn’t even shout aloud to
anyone. He who had desperately wished that no one would come into the hut
was now wishing that someone or the other would enter. His eyes rolled as he
struggled on the floor. Soon his body stopped twitching as his eyes filled with
darkness and his body lay still. That was why he hadn’t heard Puttanna call or
registered his entry into the hut.
Soma soon recovered as the bone was dislodged at Puttanna’s blow.
‘May your stomach be set on fire! You were about to lose your life for a
piece of meat.’
Puttanna’s censure fetched no reply from Soma. He sat on the floor looking
at the bone that was now covered with flies and said slowly, ‘You shouldn’t
have shot the pig, Puttannagowdare. It was some devil’s pig, I think.’
He remembered all the unfortunate things that had happened as a result of
the pig incident. He was sure that some devil or the other had been riding on
its back. He was convinced that all of them, Jackie, Tiger, Puttanna and he
himself, had suffered because of the pig.
Puttanna couldn’t help bursting into laughter. He held his sides as tears
streamed out of his eyes. Watching him, Soma was all the more convinced
that he had been right!
When Puttanna returned to the kid, he found it dead, stiff.
 22
Hoovayya’s Trance

R AMAYYA FELT LIKE visiting Hoovayya two days after be had returned home
and conveyed his desire to his father. Not liking the fondness that his son had
developed for Hoovayya, Chandrayya Gowda refused permission.
‘Why should you go? They’ll all come here today or tomorrow,’ he said.
Ramayya’s mind was disturbed. He had a keen desire to tell his elder
brother everything and lighten his heart’s burden to some extent. That was
why after conquering the natural fear he had for his father, he said he would
return the same day and went walking to Mutthalli against his father’s wish.
Since Hoovayya’s backache had got much better, it had been decided that
everyone—Nagamma, Puttamma and Vasu—would leave for Kanooru.
Puttamma implored Gowramma and Shyamayya Gowda to send Seethe
along, but they said, ‘Not now.’
The next afternoon the arched cart from Mutthalli set off for Kanooru. The
sun was hot. ‘The heat makes me think that it may rain in the evening,’ said
Kumbara Nanja who was driving the cart.
Within a short time the still air quickened. The wind gradually started to
blow harder and harder. Smooth like kumkuma, the red dust on the road, light
from being burnt under the hot sun, rose up in clouds, swirling picturesquely
and rushed into the green of the thick forests on either side. The sky-high tree
tops swayed like creepers and moved from side to side, terrifying. The
quietness of the land was lost in loud fearful noise. Cotton from the booruga
tree, dry leaves and twigs flew around madly. Bamboo thickets with ruffled
hair trumpeted like elephants, rubbing against one another, like the terrifying
wailing of forest demons. Even those inside the cart felt choked as the wind
buffeted them.
Even as one looked, the sky cleared and came alive with small white clouds
here and there at a distance. The clouds scattered like a flock of woolly sheep
scared by a pack of wolves. In their place a dark army of monsoon clouds
tender but hard like huge boulders, coloured and smoke-like filled the whole
sky, bold, solemn, fast and fierce. Thunder and lightning, distant at first,
hastened close. Hoovayya sitting at the back of the cart was agitated at the
glory of both beauty and terror. It was as if fear and excitement were
competing within him. Before the unrestrained play of the powerful forces of
nature, even the momentous actions of man appeared trivial. To the diamond-
like flashes of lighting, Mutthalli’s cart and its occupants, civilized,
uncivilized, and half-civilized, appeared no more noteworthy than the dry
leaves dancing around.
Nanja began to beat the bullocks relentlessly. He knew that it would be
safer for everyone and advantageous to him too if they reached the toddy shop
before it started to rain. The cart sped on noisily, raising a continuous storm
of red dust as it negotiated the ups and downs.
At the distant bend of the straight road a gentleman wearing a turban, coat
and dhoti could be seen. He had a folded umbrella in his hand and he was
looking for something in the small bushes by the roadside. ‘Who’s that, in this
storm?’ Nanja said to himself audibly.
Even as everyone looked wondering who it could be, the cart approached
and they discovered that it was Seethemane Singappa Gowda and stopped.
Ramayya got down. Answering his question, Singappa Gowda said that he
was going to Mutthalli. As he took out his handkerchief from his pocket, his
son Krishnappa’s horoscope had fallen out and had been blown away by the
wind. It was lost somewhere among the bushes and he had been looking for it.
Nanja got off the cart and joined Ramayya in the hunt for the horoscope.
Singappa Gowda had come around to the back of the cart and was asking
after the welfare of everyone there. Meanwhile, Ramayya returned with the
horoscope. The already tattered paper, was in pieces because of the wind.
‘What’s that, Kakkayya?’ asked Hoovayya.
‘It’s Krishnappa’s horoscope. It had to be shown to Venkappa Joisa. He
said he would go to Mutthalli today. That’s why I am going there’ he said,
putting the horoscope into his inner pocket.
As they spoke, large drops of rain pattered on the palmyra mat arching over
the cart.
‘You’d better leave. It’s going to rain,’ said Singappa Gowda, hurriedly
unfurling his umbrella. It turned inside out in the wind and made everyone
laugh. Singappa Gowda turned it against the wind and when it regained its
shape walked on quietly. After Ramayya got into the cart, they resumed their
furious pace. Singappa Gowda walked on gripping his umbrella tightly as it
battled the wind. His back got smaller and smaller before the cart disappeared
around a bend in the road.
By the time the cart reached the toddy shop, the drizzle had turned into a
downpour. The fury of thunder, lightning and wind doubled and the sky
hurled hailstones at the earth. Because of the wind, the rain got into the cart
too; it was impossible to sit within. Nanja’s desire was fulfilled. They left the
cart in the yard and went into the toddy shop. With great respect, the
shopkeeper spread a geku mat on the pyol and requested them to be seated.
The mat was worn thin at the edges, was torn in every corner and faded with
dirt ground-in with constant use. It took a lot of effort for the guests in their
nice clothes to sit on it.
While Nagamma busied herself with the betel leaves and nuts that the
shopkeeper brought for the guests, Puttanna and Vasu were laughing and
talking with each other. Leaning against the wall, Ramayya and Hoovayya
watched the rustic scenes around them, exchanging glances as they talked.
Nanja sat on his blanket and chatted with the shopkeeper’s wife and children
who stood by the threshold, curious about their guests. The monsoon rain
came down with fierce intensity.
Though Hoovayya was revolted at first by the filth on the mat, the heap of
old dirty clothes hung up above, the stench of toddy and salted fish, he soon
became engrossed in the breathtaking activity of nature outside. Black clouds
crowded the sky, moving arrogantly; lightning every minute like a linear
flood of fire, with its own pattern of boughs and creepers, blinding by its
sudden appearance, followed immediately by fierce ear-splitting thunder; the
swift monsoon wind pitilessly breaking and crushing the clumps of
tungavriksha in the surrounding forest ranges with the roaring terrifying noise
of a disembodied insane demon hell-bent on destruction; the fierce beauty of
the rain, blurring the whole landscape now curtained by the relentless flow of
water erasing the division of earth and sky; the beauty of the giant hailstones
glittering as they fell and covered the ground—all these had lifted
Hoovayya’s mind into a trance and the disgusting stench of the place he sat
on was not felt by him. A few goats and kids running in fear from the rain
came in and stood by the pyol, their wet warm bodies steaming, water
dripping from their smooth black and white fur. A black mongrel watched
them. A cow came in with its calf for shelter. Lacking adequate space and
driven away by the owner, the cow went to the shed at the back leaving the
calf behind. The smell generated by the bodies of the goats, the dog and calf
merged with that of the shop. The straw roof sprang leaks here and there and
men had to shift to drier places.
When Mutthalli’s cart stopped at the yard of the toddy shop, Jackie,
Obayya and Krishnappa who were talking inside excitedly, enjoying their
drinks and salted fish, had to stop. As soon as he realized who had come in
the cart, Krishnappa felt ashamed at what he was doing in the company of
Jackie and Obayya. He came from a respectable family and instructed his
companions that his presence in the shop shouldn’t be made known.
Moreover his father had just then gone to Mutthalli to find a bride for him.
What would happen if his father-in-law’s people were to find out that he had
been drinking with corrupt creatures like Jackie and Obayya? How shameful!
However without saying a thing the three of them finished drinking and
Jackie and Obayya then crossed over to the front yard to greet Hoovayya and
Ramayya respectfully. Lost in reverie, Hoovayya didn’t notice them.
Ramayya was disgusted at their sight. Puttamma and Vasu looked at Jackie’s
hideous face with fear.
‘Obannayya, why are you here?’ asked Vasu.
‘I was on my way back from the Agrahara. I came here because of the
rain.’
Unable to keep quiet, Vasu asked innocently, ‘Did the spirit you saw the
other day appear again?’
‘Of course not! Is it our slave to be seen everyday?’ he said and continued
talking to Nagamma.
Nanja, who had been sitting quietly wondering how he could fulfil his
desire, got up slowly, put the blanket over his shoulder and walked in. There
he saw Krishnappa trying to eavesdrop on the conversation outside. ‘Oho,
Krishnappa Gowdare, here?’ he said and stopped when Krishnappa gestured
to him. Krishnappa asked Nanja not to tell anyone that he was there and
bribed him with plenty of toddy.
After the rain stopped, Nanja untied the bullocks tethered at the back of the
shop and got the cart ready. Everyone got up but Hoovayya. He sat there, still
lost in his reverie. Tears flowed from his eyes and his face was red. Everyone
was anxious when they saw him in that state. Ramayya comforted them
saying it was nothing, and that it happened once in a while. No one else
would appreciate the fact that Hoovayya was in a trance because of nature’s
beauty. That was why Ramayya offered no explanation either.
 When everyone got into the cart and left, Krishnappa came out into the
front yard. Obayya told him everything in detail and added, ‘Hoovayya was
possessed!’
‘He wouldn’t have sat still if he was possessed, would he? It must be fits!
Someone in Theerthahalli used to suffer from it. He used to be just like this,’
said Jackie.
‘Yes,’ said the shopkeeper, ‘I too have seen someone in a similar state.’
‘I have also heard about it,’ said Krishnappa.
It was from that day that Hoovayya’s trance assumed various distorted
forms. Rumours spread about his being possessed by a spirit or suffering from
fits.
 23
The Spark—A Prelude to a Forest Fire

W HEN HOOVAYYA WOKE up the next morning, his heart was heavy. Ramayya
had unburdened himself, telling him everything he had learnt about his
household. But it wasn’t possible for Hoovayya to feel depressed for long.
Even though he was unaware of it, the house was full of joy because of his
homecoming. Vasu particularly was like a fledgling who had just grown
wings. The naïve joy of his simple soul would have lightened any burden.
Moreover the morning possessed a heavenly beauty and his mind couldn’t
ignore its influence very long.
After his bath and breakfast, Hoovayya, Ramayya, Vasu and Puttanna went
out of the house together. The dogs followed them too. Watching them from
the door, Puttamma wished that she had been born a boy.
Puttanna, a country gun on his shoulders, narrated Soma’s story with a
pinch of salt and some spice and everyone laughed heartily. Vasu was the
self-appointed guide for the morning’s tour.
The air was pure because of the previous night’s rain. The sky was tranquil.
Washed by the rain, trees, creepers and leaves had become greener and the
forests appeared to be chuckling. On the grass on the ground, amongst the
bamboo clumps, in every sprig of creepers, at the end of every leaf, in
spiders’ webs, millions of dewdrops shone like tiny golden lamps in the early
morning sunshine, sparkling, flaming and twinkling in the gentle breeze.
Parrots, pikalaras, kamallis, kajanas, minchullis, bores, kuturas and purulis
made the silent morning sea flow with waves of sweet sound. The whole
world was touched with the coolness of the wet earth, the washed greener)’
and the gentle breeze. It seemed there was no other goal in life other than to
just be alive.
They went to the tank near the house and saw the orange trees Vasu had
planted and nurtured. They went to Puttanna’s vegetable garden and saw the
mulugayi, haruve, coriander and chilly plants in it. They staked the plants that
had fallen down after the storm the day before. They made small canals and
drained away the water that had been standing in tiny tanks at the foot of
small plants.
From there the group descended to the plantation and approached the
fields, wriggling its way through the alleys between the banana clumps thick
among the areca trees. Everyone’s clothes were wet from the water drops
falling from the green banana and areca. Vasu collected the hombale which
had fallen here and there, looking for one which could serve as a suitable
bowl at supper. The others were jumping over pits as they proceeded, talking
of this and that.
Belara Baira’s son Ganga had dug a hole by the foot of a banana tree and
filled it with straw. When no one was looking, he would chop off the banana
bunches, hide them, wait till they ripened and eat them whenever he liked. He
saw the group approaching, gulped down the fruit he was eating, hid
everything and concealed himself behind the banana leaves that were hanging
dry. But a dog, hearing the rustling sound, looked in his direction and barked
on seeing him. Vasappa too looked this way and that. He was not aware of
Ganga’s presence and had not seen him either. But Ganga, anxiously
watching the approaching group thought that Vasappa had really seen him
and shooed the dog away, wanting to show that he hadn’t been hiding.
Suspecting Ganga, Vasu went there. The boy had hidden everything but not
the banana peels he had thrown around, forgetting all about them.
Seeing the peels, Vasu asked in an authoritative voice, ‘What are you doing
here?’
‘Nothing, Ayya, just came for some dry banana leaves.’
Vasu hadn’t yet forgotten how Ganga had cheated him by stealing the
fledglings from the nest.
‘You are lying, you thief!’ he said, looking around. Like the saying set a
thief to catch a thief, it wasn’t difficult for Vasu, an expert at such deeds
himself, to discover the hidden fruits.
‘Hoovannayya, Ramannayya, come here, come here!’ he cried. Having
gone ahead a little, they stopped.
‘Come here, come here,’ shouted Vasu and turned to Ganga. ‘You thieving
son-of-a-whore. You want to cheat me, don’t you?’
Everyone came and looked. Ripe, golden-yellow bananas lay in the hole
lined with straw, fragrant. Even after he knew the truth, Hoovayya didn’t
bother to chide Ganga but distributed the fruits among all of them there and
asked the boy to take the rest back home. Vasu was utterly disappointed that
Ganga hadn’t been beaten!
By the time Hoovayya and the others came to the fields after eating the
guava and panneralu fruits which had escaped the notice of Putta, Ganga and
the birds, Baira and Sidda had set up the plough. The fields, dry and cracked
under the hot summer sun had become soft after the previous night’s heavy
rains. The sponginess and moisture of the earth when stepped on made one
happy. The horasalu birds feasting on the corn flew away and settled on the
trees by the edge of the fields. Puttanna went stalking them. Hoovayya, Ramu
and Vasu went to the edge of the field that was being ploughed.
Baira was handling the iron plough. Sidda’s was a country one made of
wood. As the oxen moved to the continuous signals huma . . . chiga . . . hum .
. . m . . . m . . . chiga, chiga, chiga, the plough made furrows in the earth; a
line flowed out piling up mud on either side.
‘You have decided to become a rishi, have you, Ayya?’
‘Yes, yes!’ laughed Hoovayya. Ramayya laughed too.
‘You won’t be marrying then . . .’
‘What’s it anyway to you?’
‘I just asked. People were saying things . . .’
‘Forget it . . . Let me go and plough.’
‘Do that! Your white dhoti will look fine after sweeping the ground, won’t
it?’
‘I shall hitch it up.’
‘What if the oxen get startled?’
‘No, they won’t. Give me the plough.’
Hoovayya pulled up his dhoti and jumped down from the bund. Baira gave
the stick to him and stood at a distance. Ramayya took over from Sidda. Baira
advised them about the art of ploughing and the secret of huma . . . chiga . . .
‘Don’t press down too hard on the plough, make sure the ploughshare
doesn’t hurt the animals. Say chiga . . . chiga and tap on the left with the stick
if you want the ox to press down right. Say huma . . . huma and tap on the
right if you want the ox to press down left.’
Even as Baira instructed them, Sidda spoke up. ‘Look, Putrama is already
widening its eyes.’ He scolded the ox which was looking at the white clothes.
‘Watch it, Annayya,’ warned Ramayya. ‘The ox seems a little worked up
about you. Take care!’
 ‘If the ox shows off like that, all that one needs to do is to hold the plough
tightly. Its pranks will stop,’ said Hoovayya.
Vasu standing on the edge also had his say, as if he was experienced and
wanted to help. ‘Shall I take over, Hoovannayya?’
‘No, for heaven’s sake! I’d rather you stay put there. Even stones, leave
alone the bullocks, fly around when they see you!’
‘Well, ask Baira. I did plough last year.’
‘It’s true, Ayya. He has learnt enough about ploughing,’ said Baira.
However Vasu had to be content with watching from the bund.
Having always seen people wearing faded clothes, the bullocks were
startled at the sight of these white clothes. When the men took the plough in
hand and started driving them forward, they lost the track and moved on.
Huma . . . huma, chiga, chiga . . . went on but the bullocks cared nothing for
the technical language of farming and rushed wherever they wanted to in the
field. Vasu, Baira and Sidda were guffawing, watching the plight of
Hoovayya and Ramayya. In between, they came up with suggestions. The
bullocks were even more startled and sped on. In the mad rush, the sharp edge
of the iron plough in Hoovayya’s hand hit the upper part of the bullock’s hoof
and resulted in a cut as if by a knife, and the blood spurted out. Seeing this,
Hoovayya was scared and pushed the plough down with all his might. The
bullocks stopped because the plough had sunk deep into the earth and
couldn’t be pulled up and forward.
Just then Puttanna who was lying in wait for the horasalu birds fired a shot.
The bullocks out of control and galloping away with the plough and
Ramayya, now grew even more scared, left the field and ran to the next.
Ramayya was holding the wooden plough and however hard he tried, he
couldn’t push it deep enough into the ground to make the bullocks stop. They
dragged him and the plough towards the edge of the field. They were about to
jump from the higher field to the lower one, when Ramayya decided that it
was the right time to press the plough hard into the field bund which was one
foot high and two feet wide. The bullocks stopped suddenly and at that
moment, the wooden plough broke. The bullocks jumped down to the lower
field with the plough shaft while Ramayya stood there holding just a pole-like
piece of wood!
None of them could keep up the merriment. It is fun when there is just a
little danger but it quickly turns into regret when things get serious. The blood
spurting from the injured leg of the bullock and the broken plough were not
minor events in the farmers’ eyes. Moreover they believed that a broken
plough at the start of the season was an evil omen. Their happy chatter gave
way to gloomy whispers. Baira and Sidda were scared. What would happen if
the Gowda came to know?
‘Don’t do it, I said,’ said Baira in a voice filled with fear and agitation, ‘I
knew the bullocks would surely panic‘
Sidda threw the broken plough on the ground and sat with his hands on his
head. ‘I don’t know whose face I saw on waking up. It’s just my Fate!’
‘A crow flew across our path on the way here. I knew something would
happen and it did!’
‘I knew when I tripped over a stone that something would go wrong for
me.’
Baira and Sidda carried on grumbling. Even Vasu joined in. ‘I did say
before that I would join them. But Hoovannayya told me off and wouldn’t let
me. Now?’
Hoovayya and Ramayya who had kept quiet until then, got angry. Things
had come to pass anyway. Who wouldn’t feel hurt if people started talking
that way instead of doing what was needed?
After Vasu had stopped talking, Hoovayya turned to him suddenly with a
frown. ’That’s enough. What did I say to you? As if everything would have
turned out right if he were present! ’
Vasu stood quietly with a downcast face.
Ramayya shouted his orders. ‘Baira, no more ploughing. Take the bullock
to the shed and put some medicine on its leg.’
‘Why are you sitting there with your head in your hands? Get up! Get up or
else . . .’ he said, turning to Sidda.
‘How can I? I have lost my legs,’ said Sidda standing up and grumbling in
a worried voice.
Meanwhile Puttanna could be heard bawling at Kotwala ordering the dog to
let go of the bird, ‘Hachi, hachi! Let go, let go, Kotwala!’ Hoovayya,
Ramayya and Vasu ran towards the shouts.
As soon as Puttanna fired a shot, all the dogs had surged forward. The
pellet had hit a horasalu’s wings and the bird had fallen to the ground. But it
was still alive and hid itself among the thick bushes and creepers.
After a short search, the bird was sighted by Kotwala and ended up in its
mouth. The bird struggled as the dog ran off with it. Puttanna chased it
bellowing and trying to get his prey off the dog. The dog fled, swallowing the
bird as it ran and crept inside a seege bush. ‘You just come home! I shall
make you throw up the bird!’ shouted Puttanna as he gnashed his teeth.
When Hoovayya and the others joined him, he told them everything that
had happened.
‘What can I do with the dog? This isn’t the first time. He has done it twice
or thrice before.’
‘He should be tied up for two days and not fed.’ Vasu pronounced his
punishment.
Everyone went towards lower Kanooru for the bird hunt.
Baira went towards the cowshed with the injured bullock. Sidda followed
him carrying the broken plough.
Chandrayya Gowda who was supervising the labourers in the sugarcane
field along with the overseer saw Sidda and Baira going away, leaving their
ploughing behind. ‘What should one do with these bastards? They start work
at nine o’ clock and finish at ten!’ he shouted. ‘Eh, Baira! May your tent catch
fire! What do you mean by giving up ploughing so early and rushing off
home?’
Sidda’s knees buckled on hearing the Gowda’s voice. ‘We are fated for the
worst today, Bairanna,’ he said.
Baira described everything as it happened and the Gowda saw the bullock’s
injury and the broken plough. ‘Home-wreckers! Who told you to give them
the plough?’ He slapped Baira’s cheek hard. Sidda, standing on the field bund
was afraid that he too would get a blow, moved back, lost his balance and fell
into the neighbouring field four feet below with his broken plough.
The Gowda turned towards Rangappa Shetty. ‘No quota of paddy for these
two today,’ he ordered as he walked away taking a pinch of snuff.
‘What could we do, Seregarare? How could we not give them the plough
when they asked for it?’ said Baira tearfully rubbing his cheeks.
‘This is our Fate! To hell with this life!’ said Sidda getting up from the
field and dusting himself.
The bullock which Baira lead was licking itself, straining its neck.
The overseer winked at Baira and Sidda and whispered, ‘Can you get me a
bottle of toddy?’
Baira forgot in a moment the pain and insult he had suffered and whispered
as if he had woken up in a different world, ‘I’ll try, though I make no
promises. We are expecting visitors at home. Anyway, come to the stretch of
hulichoppu under the basiri tree in the evening.’
 In the evening when the shadow of the basiri tree grew longer by the
minute, pointing to the east, before the cattle came back to the shed, the
overseer went to the place Baira had indicated. A blue-green bottle was
indeed standing there silently. But there was no toddy inside it. Shetty was
furious. ‘Well, let us see what I can do,’ he said to himself as he walked
home.
A little later both Baira and Sidda came home along with the others to
collect their wages. (‘Home’ was the Gowda’s abode. The rest lived in
camps.)
The overseer gave the daily wages to everyone else but not to Baira and
Sidda in accordance with the Gowda’s orders. They begged and beseeched in
many ways.
‘How can you do this? My wife is sick in bed. There’s no rice for ganji,’
said Baira.
‘Go, ask the Gowda. How can we go to sleep on an empty stomach?’ Sidda
asked.
‘The Gowda isn’t at home,’ said the overseer.
Meanwhile, Baira submitted his plea to Puttamma who had come out.
‘Poor souls!’ said Puttamma, ‘You should perhaps give them their wages
today.’
The overseer told her about the broken plough, the injured bullock and the
Gowda’s strict orders.
‘Really! How could you do such a thing?’ asked Puttamma.
Hoovayya, reading upstairs, listened to all this and called Puttanna who
was cleaning the gun. He told him to go and see that Baira and Sidda were
given their wages. Puttanna went down to tell the overseer who wouldn’t
agree. Had Baira filled the bottle with toddy, he might not have been as
zealous to obey the Gowda’s orders.
When the overseer didn’t relent, Puttanna came forward to pay the wages.
The overseer felt affronted.
‘No. You shouldn’t pay them. That’s what the Gowda has said,’ he said
and blocked Puttanna’s way.
‘If Hoovegowda and Ramegowda hurt the bullock’s leg and broke the
plough, why shouldn’t these two be paid wages?’
‘Don’t ask me. Anyway that’s what the Gowda ordered.’
‘I have been asked to pay the wages by the Gowda, remember.’
‘Which Gowda?’
 ‘Does it matter? It was Hoovegowda!’
‘Chandregowda is the yajamana here, not Hoovegowda!’
Puttanna stood there, stunned. No one spoke and there was silence for a
couple of minutes. Then there was the sound of steps thudding down the
ladder. Everyone turned around. Holding the book he had been reading in his
hand, Hoovayya walked down in fury and said in a terrifying voice,
‘Puttanna, get up from there!’ Everyone could see the anger in his eyes even
in the falling dusk. Puttanna moved away. The overseer too pulled his hand
away from the top of the paddy kalabi. Puttamma who was used to her
brother’s pleasant smiling face was frightened at his fury.
‘Seregarare, give them their dues,’ roared Hoovayya and the overseer’s
heart missed a beat. He tried to say some thing.
Hoovayya got angrier, took two steps forward and shouted.
‘There’s no need for you to say anything. Are you going to give them the
paddy or not?’
The overseer shrank before such an awesome presence and meekly
measured out the paddy without delay. And then he gave them some betel
leaves, nuts and a little tobacco to chew on, as is the custom in Malenadu.
Hoovayya turned around quickly and raced up the ladder.
Baira set off across the main road carrying the paddy wrapped in a blanket
on his back. The overseer followed him. ‘Listen, it wasn’t that I didn’t want to
give you the paddy but you cheated me about the toddy,’ he whispered.
‘I had indeed filled the bottle,’ said Baira gaping at him.
‘You are lying now. I went for it but the bottle was empty!’
‘No, no. As God is my witness, I had left the toddy there. What could have
happened to it?’
As they were talking, Chandrayya Gowda came along in the fading light
with Halepaikada Thimma from his ritual daily drinking.
‘Who’s it?’ the Gowda asked, his voice a mixture of authority and
intoxication.
‘It’s I,’ said Baira in a weak voice filled with fear.
The Gowda who had come up close saw the blanket-bundle on his back.
‘What’s that?’ he asked.
‘Paddy.’
‘Paddy! Paddy! Is that your father’s property? Who gave it to you?’ he
bellowed. ‘Didn’t I tell you not to give him any? Why did you disobey me?’
he asked looking at the overseer.
 The overseer told him concisely what had happened. The Gowda’s mood,
already violent because of the drink, became demoniac.
‘Who was it that cancelled my orders? Whose house is this? Just leave the
bundle there and go! Will you put it down or not?’ shouted the Gowda as he
ran towards the bullock cart and pulled out a peg from the yoke.
Before he could turn back Baira had thrown down the paddy wrapped up in
his blanket and run towards his tent, all in one breath. Sidda who had been
watching everything hidden from view, took another way home, richer and
more at peace than Baira.
The dogs which had come over watched dazed as if wondering about
human behaviour.
While this scene was being enacted in the courtyard, a different one
unfolded upstairs.
Hoovayya, Ramayya, Vasu and Puttanna had been watching everything
from the window. When the Gowda went off to pull out the peg on the yoke,
Hoovayya decided to stop his uncle. He wanted to help Baira out of pity and a
sense of remorse. Someone else was being hurt for what they had done.
Ramayya gripped his hand tightly. ‘No, Annayya! Please don’t go now. This
isn’t the right time. He has just come back from the toddy shop. He has no
control over his thinking.’ Meanwhile Baira had bolted from the scene and so
Hoovayya decided against the adventure of confronting his uncle.
 24
At the Great Gathering of the Shudras

T HERE WAS WISDOM in Ramayya’s stopping Hoovayya. It was of course true

that a person who had taken leave of his senses because of drink and great
anger would find it difficult to listen to good advice. Nevertheless had
Hoovayya gone down, Chandrayya Gowda would not have behaved as
Ramayya thought he would. Though he was much older than Hoovayya, he
was much his inferior as far as sensibility went. There was also in Hoovayya a
moral strength that would consume all other forces. Even though Chandrayya
Gowda behaved in a cruel and uncivilized manner at times, there arose in him
a kind of spiritual fear and respect when he saw something that was superior
to him or when he imagined it to be so. Even though he had not the strength
in his heart to conquer evil desires and temptations, there was a love of
goodness. He had some years ago even sworn in the name of God and signed
an agreement that he would give up drinking. That was why Venkappa Joisa
too, who had supported him then, had become worthy of respect.
There is no doubt that a concise narration of that story would help in
getting acquainted with Chandrayya Gowda’s personality.
For a very long time the intake of liquor, toddy and other intoxicants had
been a very common custom among the Vokkaligas of that area. Even at the
time of this tale, it hadn’t left them totally. What used to be carried on
publicly now went on in private here and there. Anyhow, everyone had
realized that drinking was a shameful thing. The reason was this. About thirty
to thirty-five years earlier, there had been a stir among the Vokkaliga leaders
against drinking. One could only guess at the reasons: It might have been the
preaching of the Christian missionaries, the instructions from the Malenadu
Development Department, the arrival of civilization as a result of British rule,
the import of foreign drinks like coffee, wine, whiskey, etc. and the awareness
that naturally arose among people due to circumstances.
In those days, if one went visiting relatives, he would be given water first
to wash his feet. Then betel leaves and areca nuts would be offered. Finally
roasted meat, salted fish, pickles, etc. were lovingly served with sour toddy at
which one would smack one’s lips. That was the hospitality one got on a visit.
Just as people nowadays consider offering coffee and drinking it a sign of
modernity and civilized respect, people in those days similarly honoured
liquor and toddy.
It is believed that a respectable gentleman, the first one in the region to pass
the lower secondary examination and considered a scholar, was influenced by
the priests and the red-faced reverends and started making speeches
castigating both the good and bad aspects of his religion in the same breath.
He even announced that he would convert to Christianity. To gain the
admiration of the priests and reverends, he even made some of his relatives
Christians. Though he announced over and over again that he too would
convert, he reached heaven without enriching the Indian Christian community
in any way!
At a meeting of an association launched by him there were speeches on
abstinence. Unsteady on their feet, a few of the speakers mumbled through
their speeches, having arrived after a bout of heavy drinking. Among them
was the exalted Chandrayya Gowda.
The fragrance of toddy and liquor issued forth from the mouths and noses
of all the members including the President and rose to cover the entire
auditorium, making a mockery of the resolution on prohibition. After Baluru
Singegowda finished his ‘speech’ and somehow stumbled to his seat drooling
saliva, Kanooru Chandrayya Gowda stood up to speak. The members of the
association who had recently learnt that it was a mark of courtesy to applaud
whenever anyone got up to speak or finished speaking, clapped their hands
for all they were worth in their inebriated state, as soon as he got up. It wasn’t
clear whether it was indicative of encouragement or ridicule. Anyway
Chandrayya Gowda already softened by all the drink he had had, was taken
aback by the sudden, thunderous applause which greeted him. Using the
language of the plains, we may even say that he was a little surprised (—more
than a little surprised—as a matter of fact!). He swayed and was about to fall
down, when Seethemane Singappa Gowda sitting next to him propped him
up. Whatever Chandrayya Gowda wanted to say had got mixed up in the
applause. The whole auditorium seemed to lose its stability and he was
floating around as if in a dream. Nevertheless he did go on with his speech to
bring those that had gathered from the darkness of ignorance into light. But
no one could quite make out whether he spoke for or against drinking.
 ‘I fold my hands to all of you. I have stood up . . . stood up . . . to speak a
few words and then sit down . . .’
The Gowda didn’t know what to say next. Inside his head the toddy had
started a stir against the idea of abstinence.
‘Say that drinking is bad . . .’ whispered Singappa.
Cross-eyed, Chandrayya turned to him thinking that the suggestion about
the content of his speech was actually a piece of advice given to him. He
stared at Singappa Gowda and shouted angrily, ‘Who . . . who told you that?’
‘I wasn’t telling you. I merely asked you to tell them that,’
Singappa Gowda said, mollifying him.
Chandrayya Gowda started again.
‘Drinking is very bad . . . Very bad . . . Drinking coffee . . . It is even worse
. . . If we stop drinking, what next . . .? Tell me . . . My father drank, my
grandfather drank . . . We drink . . . If you drink in the rainy season, you get a
good deal of warmth . . . Energy, energy, it is very bad to drink . . .’
Chandrayya Gowda collapsed in the middle of his speech.
A declaration of intent was prepared the next day. Chandrayya Gowda was
among the few that swore in the name of all the Gods in Thirupathi, Kashi,
Rameshwara and Dharmasthala and affixed their signatures to the document.
Baluru Singegowda wouldn’t sign. ‘I can’t swear in God’s name and sign
the document. I neither believe in nor like giving up drinking.’
‘Why did you come to the meeting then?’ asked Chandrayya Gowda.
‘All of you invited me and so I came. I shall leave if you want me to.’ So
saying, Singegowda left the place.
Anyway, he never gave up drinking till he died. It is believed that only a
couple of those who signed the document gave up drinking completely. The
others made private what had hitherto been public.
Hearing about what happened before and after the great gathering of the
Shudras, all the Vedamurthi Brahmins including Venkappa Joisa rolled about
laughing. ‘Can the leopard ever change his spots? It’s like Thenali
Ramakrishna washing a black dog to make it white!’ they said.
Chandrayya Gowda nearly died after signing the document. He somehow
got through one day with great difficulty. His state of mind was indescribable.
The world, life and everyone around seemed to be his enemies and he
quarrelled with all and sundry. When he sat to eat, the rasam was very sour,
the curds watery and there was no salt in the vegetables. He took the
womenfolk to task. The servants watched the state the master was in and
trembled.
In the evening as usual, Halepaikada Thimma brought some liquor and
invited the Gowda to come and drink. The Gowda’s mind, after the day-long
struggle, was happy. But he was scared when he remembered that he had
sworn in the name of the Gods in holy places like Thirupathi, Kashi,
Rameshwara and many others. Since he was very scared of supernatural
policemen like demons, spirits and Gods, he sent away Thimma with the
resolve of a Bhishma. Thimma was dumbstruck by the Gowda’s strength of
mind and went back quietly. But then he started wondering. ‘What power has
a false God in the presence of the God of drink? If not today, tomorrow! ‘ His
confidence returned with the thought.
The next day Thimma’s prophesy came true. ‘Don’t tell anyone,’ the
Gowda said to him as he drank more than usual, came home and paid a
‘penalty’ to all the Gods he had sworn upon and was at ease in his mind.
A few days after this Chandrayya Gowda had to go to Mutthalli. There in
the evening, Shyamayya Gowda brought up the subject of the document and
said, ‘You are really something! You have somehow given up drinking.’
‘What else could I do? One has to follow the others. How can we say no?’
Chandrayya Gowda looked at the wall as he said this.
After a little while, Shyamayya Gowda picked up a pot and went out saying
that he would be back soon.
Chandrayya Gowda was suspicious. He got up quietly and followed his
brother-in-law. He went towards the familiar toddy shop, but could see no one
there. He was about to turn back frustrated when he heard a cough from
among the bushes some distance away.
Chandrayya Gowda followed the direction of the sound. Even though no
one could be seen in the darkness, he could hear whispers. Chandrayya
Gowda went closer and saw the shiny brass pot smiling in the dark.
‘Who’s there?’ he asked.
An unknown voice asked from among the bushes, ‘Is that Chandrayya
Gowda?’
‘Is that Shyamayya Bhava? What are you doing here?’ His nose provided
the answer.
‘It’s nothing really. You said you had given up drinking and so I came
alone.’
‘You are really strange! Didn’t you sign the document too?’
 ‘I had to pay around forty rupees as penalty the other day for that error.’
‘I paid mine the very same day!’
‘Come over then!’
Both got together, finished up the liquor and went back.
Darkness enveloped the countryside. The forest and hills looked as if they
had fallen unconscious after a bout of drinking. Up above in the limitless sky,
countless stars winked and said, ‘Go on! Don’t worry. Who will see you now?
How can God get angry when the whole world is sympathetic‘

* * *

After Baira had run off to his quarters, Chandrayya Gowda came in and sat in
the courtyard away from the light. The whole house was quiet as if scared.
A little later, the ladder made a noise and the Gowda saw Hoovayya come
down and go out past the main door. The Gowda kept quiet thinking he had
gone to answer nature’s call. Five minutes went by. Ten minutes! Hoovayya
had not come back. Fifteen, twenty minutes! The Gowda got up, staggered
through the main door and looked around. The gentle light of the quarter
moon lay quietly on the green fields. In the moonlight the threshing floor and
courtyard looked as if white ash had been sprinkled over them. As he looked,
he thought he saw someone standing by the clump of banana trees. Just as he
concluded that it must be Hoovayya, the form disappeared and only the
drooping, dry leaves could be seen. The inebriated Gowda was bewildered
and looked again with fear. Yes, the same standing form! Next to the banana
trees, it now looked bigger than before.
‘Who’s that? Hoovayya?’
No one spoke. Instead, the form grew bigger.
‘Ayyo, Bhootharaya!’ screamed the Gowda and collapsed.
If the person by the banana trees had been Hoovayya, he would have
responded to the Gowda’s question. But Hoovayya was not there.
He had gone to Baira’s quarters carrying the bundle of paddy which Baira
had thrown away.
As he neared their quarters, he could hear pathetic cries in the quiet night.
Hoovayya was perturbed and walked fast. What did he see? Baira had gone
mad. He had caught hold of Sesi’s hair and was punching her like he was
pounding paddy with a large pestle. Sesi was screaming. Ganga was standing
at a distance trembling and crying. All the people standing around including
Sidda were telling Baira to stop.
In the commotion nobody noticed Hoovayya’s arrival. He dropped the
paddy bundle and ran shouting, ‘Baira! Baira!’ Baira, who had until then
carried on with his task, stopped and stepped back as soon as he saw a
civilized person wearing clean clothes. Sesi ran, fell at Hoovayya’s feet,
folded her hands and started weeping bitterly. It had seemed to her that God
had arrived there.
Baira had been very upset after he escaped from Chandrayya Gowda’s
clutches. He was burning inside particularly since the paddy he had held in
his hands had not reached his mouth. Anyway, he had gone back home and
drunk a lot and had asked Sesi to serve him his food. There wasn’t a grain of
paddy in the house, so she hadn’t cooked, Sesi answered. Couldn’t she have
borrowed some from the neighbours, Baira asked. The neighbours didn’t have
a granary, Sesi had said. Thus, one thing led to another and Baira had started
to beat his wife.
Hoovayya spoke a few words of wisdom to Baira, consoled Sesi, surprised
them when he gave them the bundle of paddy and went back, lost in thought.
How many extreme actions had followed a minor event! And all because of
an accident in which a plough had been broken and a bullock hurt! Wasn’t it
man’s pettiness that led to all this? How could his nature be changed for the
better? As his brother had said, his uncle’s mind was going berserk.
Probably because of the new woman!
As he reached home, he heard the sound of lamentation. Hoovayya rushed
in through the main door.
The whole household was gathered round Chandrayya Gowda who lay
half-conscious on a bed in the courtyard. Subbamma was crying aloud. The
overseer was praying to the Gods and demons and setting apart offerings.
Puttanna was fanning the Gowda. Ramayya sat by his father’s head, bathing it
with cold water. Hoovayya understood as much as he could from the scene
and started nursing his uncle and consoling the others.
Within an hour, the Gowda got up and described his experience in detail.
‘There has been some sort of remission on our part regarding Bhootharaya!
We must consult Venkappayya about the purification rites and make
offerings!’ That was his decision.
To everyone except Ramayya and Hoovayya, the Gowda’s words rang true.
 ‘Perhaps some menstruating woman went to Bhootharaya’s field,’ the
overseer suggested, accounting for Bhootharaya’s wrath.
‘How many more times do these bastards need to be told? I’m fed up!’ said
the Gowda turning to Subbamma with angry eyes as the group of women
turned quietly in towards the kitchen.
 25
The First Thunderbolt Hits Seethe

A S SOON AS Hoovayya left Mutthalli, Seethe felt as if the happiness that her
life was brimming over with had vanished and her mind became barren like
the woods around a dried up tank. She was despondent for she had believed
that she was going to Kanooru but wasn’t allowed to do so by the elders.
When the arched cart in which Hoovayya and the others were and the tinkle
of the bells around the bullocks’ necks went out of sight and earshot, she
stood dejected watching the road full of red dust. Her eyes filled with tears
and the road became hazy. She wiped her eyes with her saree and went to the
backyard. Seeing no one there, she sat on the threshold and started to
daydream.
She wasn’t the Seethe who used to be merely a village girl a few days ago
but was now a cultured young woman. It is believed that the touchstone turns
iron into gold. Certain coarse elements which were in keeping with rural life
had become sensitive and pure as a result of Hoovayya’s company. Refined
thoughts had sprung up and sparkled in her mind, awakened like waves in a
river after fresh rains. ‘How many new things had Hoovayya told her! How
many new emotions had been bestowed on her! How many idealistic stories
from mythology! The stories of Seetha and Rama, Nala and Damayanthi,
Harischandra and Chandramathi, Savithri and Satyavan! And not just stories,
a new spring had arisen in her soul from the influence of his loving, tender
nearness. All the gross feelings she had towards gods, demons and spirits, the
earth and the sky, worship and prayer had changed. Gradually, her daydream
became a vision in which the past, present and future became one. In the
centre she installed an unearthly, godly image. All the other pictures she drew
around it. Seethe said to herself with excitement, ‘I shall be Hoovayya
Bhava’s Damayanthi, Chandramathi, Savithri and in reality his Seetha.’ Some
other romantic pictures flashed across her mind and her lovely cheeks turned
red with shyness. Her body thrilled with sweetness and tingled with
excitement.
 ‘Akkayya, the saree is undone!’ Seethe, lost in her daydreaming hadn’t
noticed Lakshmi who was absorbed with a doll just by her. In her make-
believe dolls’ wedding, the bride had fallen over when the knot was being tied
and her saree had come off. She had tried to set it right herself unsuccessfully
and now was angry. Somehow deducing that the male doll was the cause of
the predicament, she had grabbed hold of it and banged it on the floor. It
collapsed, broken at the waist. Lakshmi having punished the new son-in-law,
started nursing her daughter in her right hand and called her sister for help.
Seethe was startled by her sister’s scream and asked with slight annoyance,
‘What’s wrong with you? Why do you scream?’ Lakshmi hadn’t screamed at
all.
Lakshmi whined in a shrill voice, ‘The saree is undone.’
That day, before going to Kanooru, Puttamma had with great effort
wrapped the saree tightly around Lakshmi. To an onlooker, it appeared as if
the saree covered her completely instead of being draped on her. It looked all
loose and strange. But for Lakshmi, it was the ultimate in grace. She had
flaunted her new-found glory before all and sundry. Seethe thought it was
Lakshmi’s saree that had come off. Perceiving that it was in place, Seethe
remarked that it was all right as it was.
‘No, it’s come off. Look here.’ Lakshmi held up the doll.
Seethe saw the wedding pandal and said, ‘Imagine your being excited
about a wedding at your age! Bring your bride here.’
Later on, Seethe had to attend not only to the doll-daughter’s saree but to
the son-in-law’s waist as well.
By then, a strong wind had sprung up, black clouds had gathered, thunder
and lightning had intensified and the rain came down with hailstones. Both
sisters gathered the hailstones that hit the ground to spring up like white
jasmine buds and put them into their mouths. It was believed that it did good
to women whose husbands were still alive to eat them as they were pearls
showered by the angels!
Lakshmi was particularly excited and jumped about grinning widely.
‘Look, Akkayya, look!’
Neither of them dared to go out and gather hailstones from outside because
of the wind, lightning, thunder and rain. Besides, there was mother too!
‘Why don’t the hailstones fall on their own? Why should the wind, rain,
thunder and lightning be there too?’ wondered Seethe, gazing at the pouring
monsoon rain linking the earth and the sky. Perhaps it was at the same time
that Hoovayya was in a trance at the toddy shop. ‘What on earth are you
doing there? Mind the thunder and lightning! Come in,’ called Gowramma
and they both went in.
When the rain receded and it was clear again, Seethe came out once more
and sat by the back door. She set the vegetable basket in front of her and
began to drain the haruve greens. The evening wind was cool, bathed in the
fresh rain. Water still dripped from the tiles. The rooster, hens and chickens
returning to their coops made all manner of cacophonous noises. A fire raged
and crackled in the fireplace and lapped the bottom of the black pot with its
red tongues. Seethe’s eyes reflected every one of these without any awareness
in them. Even her hands would stop working and then start again. In her face
lost in dreams played the softness of an unreal world, like the sweet promise
of flowers and fruits in a bud about to bloom.
When love enters the heart-bud for the first time, the inert world around
quickens as a result of love’s electric touch. Then in the vast sea of a golden
dream, the terrifyingly large world floats like a mere colourful bubble. The
bird of life spreads its wings and flies unencumbered and bodiless in infinity.
Desire enters many heavenly kingdoms and plunders all their riches. It bathes
in the holy Ganga flowing in the Nandanavana, sits in the tender shade of the
Kalpavriksha and fulfils many a strange wish. It puts its mouth to the full
udders of Kamadhenu and tries to suck in the last drop of ambrosia. Seethe
was in just such a heaven.
Kala who had arrived there to clean the pots saw Seethamma’s stillness and
grinned. ‘What are you thinking of, Amma?’
Seethe at once started draining the greens. ‘Nothing. I was just watching
the raindrops falling,’ she said.
Kala’s words were unrefined, as he asked familiarly, ‘Were you really
watching the water or thinking of your husband?’
‘Enough! That’s all that you can think of!’
Kala started washing up, stayed quiet for a while, and spoke again. ‘You
can’t say “Krishna” anymore!’
‘Why not?’
‘How can I say? You won’t be able to utter that God’s name.’
‘May your face he set on fire! Have you gone mad?’ Seethe lapsed into
familiarity herself.
‘I’m telling you something nice and you call me insolent! Tell me, does a
girl ever say her husband’s name?’
 ‘No.’
‘Then?’
‘Then what?’
‘If you got married to Seethemane Krishnappa Gowda, can you say
“Krishnappa,” Amma?’
‘May your tongue be set on fire. Shut up!’ Seethe was angry, as if she had
seen a bad omen.
‘Do you think I said it for fun? Singappa Gowda had come here to talk
about your marriage the day before yesterday. He has come today with the
horoscope. He was belching away, breathless after being drenched in the rain.
I have just now given him a cup of hot coffee. Yes, your father-in-law is
sitting outside. Go and see if you want.’
Kala had soured the milk, and got back to scrubbing a brass vessel with
some tamarind dipped in ash with great vigour, unmindful of the fire of
sorrow and anxiety that he had set alight in the young girl’s heart.
Seethe sat like a statue. For her the news was as harsh and cruel as a fiend.
Perhaps Kala had lied to her for fun. She decided to go and check for herself
if Singappa Gowda had really come but sat still afraid that it might be true.
Tears filled her eyes and the pleasing image of Hoovayya became unsteady,
like the golden rays of the young sun trembling in a dewdrop on the petal of a
lotus, after having travelled an infinite distance.
Uncouth Kala, oblivious of her state, looked up again. ‘Don’t forget this
poor soul when you are at your husband’s place, Amma. If I visit you, will
you give me coffee?’
Tears filled Seethe’s eyes and rolled down her cheeks. Choked with pain
and anger and not knowing what to say, she cursed, ‘May your tongue drop
off!’
Kala laughed, ‘Just wait! When I come to Seethemane, I shall tell
Krishnappa Gowda that you cursed me and have you punished!’
‘May a tiger catch Krishnappa Gowda! Leave me alone, will you?’
‘What’s this, Amma? You are cursing your husband!’
‘What is it, Kala?’ Gowramma asked looking out of the kitchen window.
‘Look at him, Avva! He says all sorts of nasty things,’ complained Seethe,
wiping away her tears.
‘You are lying, Amma. Is it a nasty thing to talk about marriage?’ Kala said
respectfully.
‘You keep quiet. You don’t have to talk to him,’ said Gowramma.
 ‘He says anything that comes to his head!’
‘Be quiet. It doesn’t mean the wedding is over just because they have asked
for a bride. Shouldn’t the horoscopes match? Let him talk. You say nothing . .
. Why do you have to talk of inauspicious things like a tiger catching anyone
and so on?’ said Gowramma and disappeared from the window.
No one spoke after that. Kala started washing the pots with great urgency.
Seethe’s pain had doubled. All her doubts about what Kala had said were
cleared by her mother’s words and she was sure that Singappa Gowda had
come to seek her hand for his son. Pushing the vegetable basket into a corner,
she got up and went to her room.
There in the ensuing darkness she sobbed silently. It was in the same place
that she had sat wide-eyed over the last few days till a few hours ago near
Hoovayya, listening intently to the sweet words that flowed from his
handsome face. She had now pledged her heart to sorrow as well as joy.
Even as she cried, she remembered Hoovayya’s words and stopped. He had
said that if one prayed wholeheartedly, wishes would be granted. Didn’t
Savithri win Satyavan’s life back from Yama through her devotion? Didn’t
Seetha escape from Ravana and go back to Rama? Devotion filled Seethe’s
heart as never before. She prayed to God fervently to fulfil all her desires. She
folded her hands and bowed her head over and over again before the picture
of Rama and Seetha. When her head was bowed, a gecko clicked its tongue.
Listening to it, Seethe felt overjoyed like a drowning man clutching at a
straw. What did it matter if Singappa Gowda had come there to ask for her
hand? By God’s will, the horoscopes wouldn’t match and things would be all
right. She hadn’t yet realized that everything was in the hands of those that
asked for the girl, those that would give her away and the Joisa.
 26
Baira Drains Waterholes for Fish

B ELAKA BAIRA STAYED away from work the next day. Afraid that the Gowda
might come and force him to go to work, Baira left his tent with his son
Ganga even as the sun rose above the forests and hills to warm the feathers on
the birds and cast a long blue shadow over trees, houses and tents. Having
collected what he needed for his day’s outing, blanket and dagger and a
spathe from an areca-palm for use as a container—implements for fishing in a
waterhole—he instructed his wife Sesi to grind the spices for fish curry. He
set out towards the pond beyond the fields, chewing betel leaves and nuts.
As he took the footpath along the edge of the field, Baira saw someone
coming towards him wearing a khaki jacket and trousers and with a red cloth
round his head. Frightened at the sight of khaki, he tried to make himself
scarce among the shrubs. The man in front shouted, ‘Eh, you, come here!’ and
Baira stood rooted to the spot with Ganga hiding behind him.
A visit from officers of the government to the villages was a rare
occurrence in those days. The police would put in their brief appearance once
a week or once a fortnight or even once a month and frighten the hapless
villagers into giving them a bribe if a suitable opportunity offered itself. They
were an eye-sore particularly to those who owned guns without license. The
villagers were apprehensive about some unpleasant thing happening when
they sighted khaki clothes and black turbans, as they were part of the uniform
that the police wore at that time.
As Baira stood rooted to the spot, the gentleman took a few steps towards
him and asked, ‘Is the Gowda at home?’
‘Yes, Swami, he is at home.’ Baira tried his best to speak faultlessly.
‘Thimma?’
‘Which Thimma, Swami?’
‘The one who taps toddy from bagani.’
No sooner did Baira hear Thimma’s name than his blood froze suddenly in
his veins before flowing again. ‘I don’t know, Swami,’ Baira said in fear.
 It must be a case of illicit toddy tapping and Thimma was involved in it,
Baira thought. Though he knew that Thimma was very much in his tent, Baira
wanted to play safe by saying that he didn’t know.
‘Liar!’ When the gentleman in khaki brandished the folded umbrella in his
hand and took a couple of steps forward, Baira mumbled, ‘What . . . What did
you want to know?’
‘Is Thimma at home?’
‘I see . .. I thought you were wanting to know some thing else . . . Yes,
Swami, he was there a while ago. He might have left by now.’
‘Where are you off to?’
‘To catch some fish in the waterholes,’ Baira said in a sing-song voice and
looked at the spathe in his hand.
‘Is there a lot of fish there?’
‘How can there be? Everyone has made it his job to catch fish, and not just
one or two. There was plenty there last year. It wasn’t bad even this year.
They might have been washed away into the stream by the rain the other day .
. .’
It looked as if Baira would launch into narrating the fishes’ history. The
gentleman cut him short, saying, ‘Go, then. Find some for your curry.’ He
was about to walk away.
Baira was himself again after having talked to him for so long. He was
emboldened by his familiarity to ask, ‘Where are you from, Swami?’
‘Theerthahalli.’
The market place of Theerthahalli, the metropolitan city, was a faraway
thing for Baira ‘Haven’t you come a long way then? What brings you here,
Swami?’
‘To put marks on the bagani trees,’ the man said and started walking away.
If the ‘marker’ had looked back he would have clearly seen Baira’s
frightened face. He hadn’t, and his figure diminished as he walked briskly
away. Baira stood there gaping at the man’s retreating back. He wouldn’t
have experienced such agonizing fear if the gentleman had even been a police
inspector and not a ‘marker.’ As the khaki-clad figure became just a dot in the
distance, Baira exclaimed, ‘He, a marker? What rotten luck!’ and called his
son.
Ganga appeared and asked, ‘Who’s it, Appavya?’
‘He is the marker. Bad luck!’
 He went to the stream and inspected the pits filled with water. The water in
a few small ones was motionless with all the sand, earth and stones which the
recent rains had carried with them. Heaps of bamboo leaves, areca twigs and a
variety of green debris carried down with the current and entangled in the
roots of trees and in the cracks of rocks covered the middle and the edges of
the pits. They bore witness to the height the flowing water had reached. There
was now plenty of stagnant water in the ponds. Baira and his son jumped over
the plants and shrubs which had dammed the water looking for fish in the pits
and finally came to a promising spot.
It was a waist-deep hole, two arms’ lengths wide and full of flotsam. There
was a thick growth of shrub-roots forming a hollow where fish could live.
The water on one side of the hole looked black from the shadow of a tree on
the bank. Though the swiftly flowing water of a couple of days earlier had
swept away the muck, dry leaves from trees could be seen in the water and on
the gravelled edges.
When Baira approached the spot, frogs leaped noisily away and only a few
small fish could be seen. He cleared his throat and spat out the phlegm. Some
sosalu fish rushed to the blob like spokes of a wheel towards the hub. Baira
felt pleased when he saw them.
Father and son started baling out the pit. Very soon the level fell leaving
behind some muddy water. When they saw small and big fish escaping with
the water they were pouring out, they used the blanket as a sieve. A few
shining fish with white fins could be seen leaping every time they lifted the
blanket out of the water. They caught the black-eyed, cold-to-touch and
slippery fish and let them into the areca-palm spathe. The fish lay still after a
few minutes’ struggle.
After they had caught all the fish, they threw out the remaining water. A
few chattangi and seegadi could be seen struggling in the wet mud. They
gathered them too and put them into the spathe. The frogs seized the
opportunity to catch some of the struggling creatures and swallow them.
Ganga was furious. He hit them with stones and watched them on their backs
quivering helplessly and saying, ‘You want to eat some fish, don’t you? It
isn’t your father’s property, is it? Want some chattangi, don’t you . . .?’
The water had drained away and only the wet mud was left. What was once
a full hole now looked ugly, pockmarked by the hollows among the roots and
stones on the uneven bottom. Baira and his son then drained out the dripping
mud, put their hands into the crevices among the roots and probed the hollows
with a stick for water creatures like tolle, murugundu, giralu, kocchili and
karedi. Ganga killed a frog, fastened it to the end of a stick and used it to
catch a large number of crabs. He broke their pincers and stuffed them into
the spathe. A crab inside a hole wouldn’t, in its greed, let go of the frog even
when Ganga pulled up the stick but would surface along with its prey. The
boy had his own strategy to catch the crab by pressing its back while seizing it
so that he wouldn’t get bitten. If by chance he was careless, he would take his
revenge on the creature by pulling out its eyes and shout in joy.
Once when Ganga thrust the stick into a hole and pulled it up, no crab
surfaced with it. A small part of the frog’s body had been torn away. He tried
again and found that the whole frog was gone. He thought that it must be
either a big and clever fish or a very large crab. Wanting to catch it at all
costs, he put his hand into the hole. A water-snake bit his finger and wound
itself round his hand. As Ganga screamed and pranced around in sheer fright,
Baira dashed up, pulled away the snake and killed it. He punched the boy
with his mud-covered fist and gave him a drink of medicinal water. The boy
sat on the bank, still trembling.
‘Who was it that shouted?’
Baira who was lost in straining the wet mud for fish looked up to see the
pot-bellied figure of meat-thieving Soma gazing at the spathe. His shadow lay
distorted on the uneven ground.
‘What may you be doing here?’ There was courtesy in Soma’s question.
Can’t you see?’ Baira replied indifferently, no hint of an attempt on his part
to be pleasant.
‘Who was it that shouted?’
Baira narrated what had happened in the same vein as before and went back
to his task.
Soma came up and stared at the fish in the spathe very much like a hungry
dog looking at cooked rice. ‘Baira, do you know that I haven’t yet recovered
from the blow that son of a widow gave me the other day? I’m racked with
fever every day as a result. Can’t eat anything, not even ganji. My tongue—
issi!’ He spat out to demonstrate that he had lost his sense of taste.
As soon as Soma appeared, Baira was apprehensive that he would ask for
some fish. He had been both rude and indifferent in order to get rid of him.
Soma wasn’t one to be fobbed off so easily. He had started to moan about the
pain in his arm and his loss of taste. Baira knew what Soma was up to and
merely said, ‘You should have taken some medicine.’
 ‘Medicine? Who is there to give me some?’
‘You could have gone to Annegowda in Kelakanooru.’
‘What sort of medicine could he give? He is himself in need of some . . .!
Anyway, nothing will work once the sense of taste is gone.’
‘Get some vibhuthi from Venkappayya Joisa.’
‘What miracle can it work when my sense of taste is lost?’
‘Make an offering to the God in Koolooru and get some prasada from
there. Once I had the same problem. It was gone as soon as I took the prasada
from there!’
‘Maybe you are right. But . . . what can one do once the sense of taste is
gone? That is the question . . . There, there . . . There it goes . . . Here it comes
. . . A big one . . . shouldn’t let it get away . . .!’
Baira squeezed out the wet mud and searched every crevice for the slippery
murugundu. Soma stood there on the edge offering numerous suggestions, his
postures changing from a question mark to an exclamation mark to inverted
commas!
When Baira had finished he got ready to leave with Ganga.
‘Baira, please! My tongue is dead, thanks to the fever. If you were to give
me at least a crab, I’ll make a chutney to go with my ganji.’ He had decided to
come straight to the point.
‘Here . . .and that’s all,’ Baira put his hand into the spathe and took out a
small crab for Soma. Looking at Ganga, who was still shivering, he asked,
‘What’s the matter, boy?’
Ganga’s voice was weak. ‘I have fever.’
‘I think the boy has had a fright . . . Kill a chicken for the spirit that is said
to haunt this area!’ Having suggested a cure, Soma smelt the fidgeting crab
and felt happy.
 27
Baira Takes Marka for a Ride

W HILE BAIRA AND Ganga were busy catching fish at the waterholes, Marka
sat in the thatched hut of Halepaikada Thimma working out a strategy to catch
the person who was tapping toddy illegally. It was decided that they should
wait near the bagani tree the very same evening and catch the thief. Marka
was not familiar with the forests and lacked the courage to wait alone in the
forest at night. He was also apprehensive that the thief might be physically
stronger than himself and so it was settled that Thimma would go with him.
They left in the evening and found a hiding place close to the tree from
which Baira tapped his toddy. They talked in whispers and listened to the
forest’s silence, broken by the call of a flock of gilikamalli on its way home, a
woodpecker pecking at a dry branch with its metal beak, crickets trilling or
the wind blowing.
They chewed on their betel leaves and Marka took a pinch of snuff. They
fidgeted as they Spoke of the happenings in Kanooru and yawned. Nothing
approached them, let alone a human being.
‘You stay here. I shall be back in a minute,’ whispered Thimma as he got
up.
‘Where are you off to?’
‘Just here. I’ll have a look at my bagani tree. It’s close by. No need to be
afraid. I shall be back in a minute.’
‘Don’t be long.’
‘Don’t worry. I shall be back before you put some sunna on your betel
leaf.’
Thimma’s figure disappeared among the trees in the forest darkness of the
evening hour. His footsteps on dry leaves and the sounds as he made his way
through the bushes ceased. Marka was left alone looking at the giant trees of
the forest, the sky peeping through in patches, the dying light of the evening
sprinkling some golden dust on the green tree-tops and the bagani tree
holding a black pot in its hand of flowers.
 The thief will be here any moment. He will go up the bamboo ladder
fastened to the tree and come down with the pot filled with frothing toddy.
Marka would stand at the foot of the tree and catch the thief with his
incriminating pot and knife . . . He could then have a drink . . . That good-for-
nothing Thimma is taking his own time, isn’t he? Will the thief come this
evening? Well, tomorrow, if not this evening . . . As Marka sat there thinking,
he heard the rustle of dry leaves in the distance. Marka was all eyes as the
footsteps drew near . . . Was it Thimma? No. He wouldn’t be taking this way
back! Suddenly the footsteps stopped. Marka waited on a knife-edge with
bated breath. There, the footsteps again! It must be the thief. Stops and then
takes a few steps forward, the rascal! The bastard doesn’t want to take
chances, does he? Marka bit his lower lip. The sounds came nearer and nearer
and Marka could even see the bushes move. He would see the thief’s face
soon, as he walked past the bush. Who could it be? It was as if Marka was
lassoing him to his side of the bush with his eyes. ‘There! Bastard!’ he
muttered to himself, and then stared. It had the form of a man but wasn’t a
human being. Three or four feet tall, its body was covered with gray hair,
growing especially thickly all round its flat face. Its eyes sparkled in the
evening darkness. A broad chest and a narrow waist! Standing on its hind legs
it was looking ahead, a giant-sized simian, a singalika!
Marka was a trifle shaken. But he sat there watching Lord Rama’s trusted
servant with interest. He didn’t move. The simian looked around, ears cocked.
Marka heard the sound of another monkey behind it. The animal looked back
with fear in its eyes, tried to force its way through the trees ahead, raced
noisily up a huge tree, shaking its branches and disappeared, leaping from tree
to tree.
Marka felt more afraid than before. If the creature behind it were another
monkey, why did this one have to run away in fear? A tiger perhaps! He
shouldn’t have let Thimma go away. Rotten fellow! He still hadn’t come
back. As thoughts raced through his mind, the sound of footsteps drew closer
and he could see the creature in the faint light. Oh, the games that Fate plays!
It wasn’t an animal but a man! Marka could even identify him. He was the
same person he had seen on the fields in the morning, one of Chandrayya
Gowda’s workers! ‘Why did the fellow take to this?’ he asked himself.
Looking at the monkey leaping away from tree to tree, Baira cursed. ‘May
he fall dead! I was frozen with fear!’ he exclaimed aloud as he approached the
foot of the bagani tree.
 He had brought with him a black pot with a noose around its neck for the
toddy. Placing it at the foot, he raced up the ladder that was tied securely to
the bagani and unfastened the pot. The sour smell of the toddy brought to his
mind the red and highly spiced fish palya that Sesi had prepared to go with
the drink.
Holding the noose round the pot firmly in one hand, the highly experienced
Baira started to descend slowly. It was when he had come down a few rungs
that he heard a sound below. He looked down to see the bushes moving.
Frightened but curious, he looked around and saw Marka who had come up to
the foot of the tree. Their eyes met as Marka looked up.
‘Get down, get down. Never mind!’ Though tinged with humour, Marka’s
voice was firm, with no trace of pity in it.
Baira didn’t come down. One of his hands clutched the pot while the other
one encircled the tree trunk in a tight embrace. With his feet poised on two
rungs, one higher than the other, he seemed to have petrified as he breathed in
and out heavily, his pot belly hugging the trunk. He didn’t know what he had
to do next. His mind was in turmoil as he thought, ‘I’m caught. Ruined. This
is the end for me!’
‘Get down, will you?’ Marka raised his voice.
‘I’m coming down, Appa, coming down. Please, let me off this once. I beg
of you with my head at your feet.’ Though Baira whimpered through his thick
beard and moustache like a boy, he didn’t move an inch.
Look, if you don’t come down, I will untie the ladder and leave. You will
have to spend the night in the tree!’ Marka placed his hand on the foot of the
ladder. ‘Please, please! Here.’ Baira came down two rungs and pleaded again,
‘I beg of you, let me off this once. I shall give you anything you want.’ He
had tears in his eyes.
‘Will you come down or not, bastard!’ Marka was furious. He lifted his
face and spat at Baira. The spittle broke into spray in the air and landed on his
own face which made him mad with anger. He picked up a stick and hurled it
at Baira. It missed him as it rushed through the air to land among the bushes
with a thud.
‘Ayyayyo, I will come. Please!’ Baira started down. Marka was watching,
working out a plan to catch him when he arrived. Baira was working out his
own plan to make good his escape.
There were nine or ten feet to the ground below when Baira stopped again
and looked down.
 ‘Get down, will you? It’s getting dark.’ Marka was directly below Baira,
looking up as he shouted.
Baira had a brainwave at that moment. What had eluded him till then
appeared to him in a flash as he faced the ultimate danger. He transferred the
pot of toddy from his left hand to the right and Marka thought that Baira’s left
hand must have tired with all that weight. The very next moment the heavy
pot landed on his upturned face hitting the nose squarely, and broke into
smithereens. The frothing toddy rushed into Marka’s eyes, nose and mouth
even while he screamed in agony from the broken nose. The sour toddy had
efficiently argued Baira’s case.
‘Ayyo, ayyayyo! Bastard, murderer! Thimma, you haven’t died, have you?
Catch him, the killer! He’s running away. Catch him!’ Marka was shouting at
the top of his voice, shattering the silence of the evening hour in the forest
and leaping wildly about as if a scorpion had stung him. He hadn’t seen or
heard Baira coming down the tree and making good his escape.
Unaware of all this, Halepaikada Thimma returned with a pot of toddy. He
had finished his work and was walking at a leisurely pace over the ups and
down of the forest when he heard Marka’s bloodcurdling cries. Great fear
assailed him and he thought that there had perhaps been a murder. He
stumbled and fell when his feet caught in a thorny creeper as he raced through
the entwined bushes. The pot in his hand broke into pieces. Ignoring it as well
as his bloody palm and knee, he rushed to the spot where he had left Marka.
‘Bastard, where were you all this time?’
Thimma was relieved to find Marka alive and chose to ignore his rage. Still
gasping for breath, he asked, ‘What happened here?’
‘Bastard, don’t think that I know nothing! All of you ganged up wanting to
finish me, didn’t you?’ Marka seemed to be out of his mind to level such
charges. He was in a ludicrous state but Thimma didn’t laugh. On the other
hand, he tried to calm him down.
‘Where did he go?’ Marka shouted.
‘Who?’
Who, you ask! Your father! Don’t act as if you know nothing. Out with it,
fellow . . . Tell me, will you? I’ll put you behind bars otherwise. Bastard,
don’t think you can get away with such a show!’
Thimma was flabbergasted. He succeeded in calming down Marka a little
and told him why he was held up. Marka narrated what had happened and
declared, ‘I swear I’ll put him behind bars. Otherwise I am not fit to be born a
Christian!’
‘Do you know who it was?’
‘He’s one of the Belas. I don’t know his cursed name. The fellow’s face is
covered with a thick beard and he has a pot belly. Tell me who it is.’
Thimma thought for a while. ‘A bearded, pot-bellied fellow . . .? The only
one who fits the bill is Baira . . .’
‘That’s him, I’m sure! I’ll have him jailed.’
‘He isn’t in his quarters today. A kinsman of his is said to have died in
Seethemane. He must have gone there.’ Thimma couldn’t believe, try as he
might that it could be Baira who was tapping the toddy.
‘You are lying! I saw him this morning. He was on his way to drain
waterholes for fish.’
‘He might have done that in the morning and left for Seethemane in the
afternoon.’
After arguing for a while, they picked up the pieces of the broken pot and
the undamaged one that Baira had placed at the foot of the tree as evidence
and went home.
Thimma said on the way, ‘You are a Christian and so don’t understand
these things. It’s no man who can do all this and still make good his escape.’
‘Are you saying that it’s a devil then?’
‘This isn’t the first time such a thing has happened. Our Bhootharaya can’t
stand the sight of a Christian!’
‘Come on! Go tell such tales to the village idiot.’
Thimma’s words had taken root in Marka’s mind.
‘Don’t laugh it away like that. Do you know the fellow Jackie, a Christian
like you in Seethemane? He too used to sneer at our Bhootharaya in the
beginning. Chowdi decided to teach him a lesson and he started vomiting
blood. He now makes his offerings of chicken and sheep to our God, and
what is more, remember . . . It can’t be our Baira. Imagine him dropping a pot
of toddy on the face of a government officer like you and running away! He
hasn’t the courage for such an act. Besides, he isn’t bright enough to work out
such a plan. He wouldn’t have escaped from the clutches of a man like you . .
. This is Bhootharaya’s doing, I’m sure. Look, there is going to be a puja for
Bhootharaya in the next few days. Be there, burn some incense and offer your
prayers!’
 Marka’s Christian faith was slightly shaken as he listened to Thimma’s
urgent and utterly convinced voice in the forest darkness. As he recalled
events, Thimma’s theory seemed valid, though for appearance’s sake, he said,
‘I’ll have all the Belas at a meeting tomorrow and have the Gowda look into
the matter.’

* * *

That night, while Belara Sidda was in his quarters, Baira joined him and
they spoke in whispers for a long time. They went to Baira’s tent afterwards.
A razor and some water were already waiting for them and Sidda gave him a
clean shave. Not a single hair escaped either on Baira’s head or face.
‘Will anyone be able to recognize me?’ asked Baira.
‘Who can recognize you now? Even I can’t. Some hope of that Marka, the
city donkey, recognizing you!’ Sidda looked at Baira’s born-again face and
toddy pot-like head and couldn’t stop guffawing.
The next morning Puttanna came to the Belas’ street and told them of the
Gowda’s order that all the men there should assemble at his place. Sidda,
Baira, Manja, Kencha, Gutti, Doddarudra and Sannarudra followed Puttanna
who looked back at the group and said, ‘Where is Baira? Go, call him.’
‘I’m here, Ayya,’ Baira replied with a smile.
Puttanna couldn’t believe his eyes. ‘What’s this?’
‘One of my relatives died in Seethemane and I had gone there,’ Baira said.
He was happy that even Puttanna didn’t recognize him. Puttanna asked no
more questions, thinking that it was perhaps a custom in that community to
have a tonsure when one’s close relatives died.
All the Bela men lined up in the yard of the Kanooru house.
Chandrayya Gowda, Hoovayya, Ramayya, Vasu and some others were
seated on the verandah. Marka sat on the platform below.
The talk was all about tapping toddy illegally.
‘How do we deal with these fellows? They don’t stop at carrying rice to the
foreman’s place and the toddy shops and drinking themselves to death, do
they? They also have to start tapping toddy on the sly,’ said Chandrayya
Gowda.
Hoovayya said with a smile, ‘Tell me, how can we ask the poor folk to stop
drinking when the elders continue to drink even after having signed a
document and sworn in the name of God? They have money for the license to
tap toddy legally and drink it. The poor have to get their drink somehow’
‘Everything will be fine if we were to declare that no one here is permitted
to tap toddy. How can we expect others to keep quiet when only some are
privileged to tap toddy and drink? They steal because they have no money.
They take away things like hammers and crowbars and sell them on the sly to
buy their drink . . .’ Ramayya went on.
The Gowda was slightly annoyed that the axe of their criticism fell at his
own roots. ‘Do you know what you are saying? The two of you are asking
people to cheat the government. Fine . . . Just fine . . .’ He looked at Marka.
‘You aren’t paying tax on the bagani trees to fill the treasury, are you?’
Hoovayya asked, smiling wryly.
‘Don’t say that everything that the government does is good for the people.
What it wants too is money. Why should it bother if people here fall ill and
die as a result of drink? It will have got enough funds to beautify the cities.’
Marka didn’t open his mouth in the presence of these two who went to the
hairdresser, wore khadi and spoke English. The Gowda was seething inwardly
as Hoovayya had referred to his double standards in public. The overseer’s
eyes flitted from Hoovayya’s face to the Gowda’s. He hadn’t forgotten the
humiliation he had suffered at the hands of Hoovayya on his refusing to give
Baira his daily share of rice. It was clear from his eyes that there was a snake
lodged in the anthill of his heart.
Marka went down to the yard to look at the Belas’ faces. Though he looked
closely, his eyes made nothing of Baira’s face. The whole household seemed
to be waiting in silence for the verdict. Baira was now offering two chickens
instead of one to Bhootharaya if only he survived the crisis.
Are all the Bela men here?’ asked Marka as he turned towards the Gowda.
The Gowda knew that he would be in trouble if any of his men fell foul of
the government. He certainly wasn’t eager about the government officer
finding his culprit among them.
‘They are all here.’
‘The one I saw on the fields yesterday in the morning isn’t here,’ Marka
said.
‘I don’t know who it was that you saw. All our Belas were there.’
‘What about the fellow called Baira?’
‘He was there for sure!’ Puttanna said.
‘I didn’t see him, did I?’ asked Marka.
 ‘He had gone to Seethemane, it seems, as one of his relatives had died.
What business have you with one who wasn’t even here?’ asked Puttanna.
Marka thought of the Bhootharaya story that Thimma had narrated and
decided to participate in the puja.
 28
Some Talk of Dividing up the Property

IT WAS NOT possible for the ageing Chandrayya Gowda who had married a
young girl to enjoy unalloyed happiness for long. Trivial reasons are enough
to make an old man’s mind suspicious in such a situation. When it happens, it
is like the trunk of a dry tree being attacked by white ants. Whatever is seen
or heard turns to be yet more evidence in strengthening the Demon of
Suspicion. What had seemed to be ordinary, simple and innocent now appear
to be engaged in a fiendish conspiracy. Suspicion breeds jealousy, hatred and
anger and the mind turns to violence. An aged man taking a young wife is
neither an offender nor a sinner in the eyes of either law or custom. But nature
judges otherwise and this manifests itself in the old man’s mind. He thinks of
himself as a culprit even though he has taken the young girl at great expense
as his lawful wife, with relatives and Gods as witnesses at the ceremony. He
is troubled by a sense of guilt even as he exercises his right and uses her for
sexual gratification. It is again in his mind that he begins to undergo the
punishment for his guilt. What is young cannot fall in love with the old. There
may be a bond of respect between youth and age, but not of love.
It should be granted that Subbamma was a young girl, though she was rude
and uncivilized in her ways. It was a matter of great pride for the girl who had
grown up in poverty to have married the rich Chandrayya Gowda. She was
dazzled at the sight of such clothes and jewels as she had never seen.
Chandrayya Gowda too made an effort to relive the early days of his first
marriage and deluded himself that he had outwitted the terrifying arbiter of
Dharma, Kala Deva. This mirage of his citadel of golden dreams sprang
cracks when he noticed how the stupid artless girl talked and behaved in the
presence of people like the overseer Rangappa Shetty. The veil which covered
his infatuation lifted to reveal shameless lust standing before him! And in its
hands, greed! The Gowda’s jealousy needed an excuse and he found it in
Rangappa Shetty the overseer.
It is only a thief that can divine another thief’s secrets. The Gowda knew
how the overseer had kidnapped Gange, someone else’s wife, from the
Kannada district and used her. He also knew that Shetty made no distinction
between the pure and the impure, the sacred and the profane or between his
own things and others‘. It was evident in the way Shetty had encouraged him
to go to bed with Gange when he felt the need, rather than forbidding it. Was
there any act that such an individual would find disgusting? Any limit to how
far he would go? It was the same to him whether it was Gange or Subbamma.
Thus the overseer became the target of the Gowda’s suspicion, though he had
not courage enough to come out into the open with it. Such a thing wouldn’t
have become him. He could have driven the overseer and his workers out of
Kanooru, if only he wanted to. He kept quiet thinking that he would be
demeaning himself by taking such a step. He would do it, if ever the need
arose . . . But Gange too would go with the overseer, wouldn’t she . . .?
As a matter of fact, Subbamma’s mind wasn’t as evil as the Gowda
supposed. Nor had the overseer gone as far as the Gowda thought. When
Gange told her the story of her past and gave her some advice, a couple of
formless demons had indeed flitted through her mind. But she hadn’t reached
the point the Gowda thought she had. Nor had she the courage for it.
Anyhow, once the demon of suspicion had entered the Gowda’s heart, he
found one excuse or another to treat her harshly. Verbal abuse and physical
assaults increased in frequency. He did not speak to her about his suspicions.
Once or twice when he was assaulting his wife the overseer had intervened
and pleaded on her behalf, pouring ghee over the burning fire of his suspicion.
Though at the outset Shetty failed to understand why the Gowda was
behaving in such a manner, the truth soon flashed across his experienced
mind later. He took care not to give any more offense. The change in his
behaviour frightened the Gowda even more.
Such was the state of affairs when Hoovayya and Ramayya came home for
their vacation. Gradually it grew so complex that even the imagination paled
at trying to comprehend it.
Even as the tumult in Chandrayya Gowda’s heart grew, it looked as if
peace and a spirit of bonhomie had settled on the house. There were no
further fights between Nagamma and Subbamma. Puttamma and Vasu were
pleasantly surprised at the fondness with which Subbamma treated them.
Vasu gorged himself on ghee, butter, coffee and cookies very much like
officers fleecing a murderer for whatever they could get from him. Everyone
was pleased excepting her own husband that Subbamma was turning out to be
an obedient and gentle person.
 The reason for the change was the presence of Hoovayya and Ramayya.
Subbamma was ashamed of her own uncivilized ways and decided to change
for the better. Hoovayya’s personality and dignified behaviour like that of a
guru induced in her a spirit of worship towards him, untainted by even a hint
of eroticism. The amorous feeling that Gange had tried to evoke in her was
totally absent. It is a natural desire to worship and emulate a noble person so
that one is noticed and praised by him. The acrimony of the past was
forgotten and Nagamma now claimed her respect because she was
Hoovayya’s mother. Though Subbamma’s change of heart seemed to be a
miracle that Hoovayya’s personality had worked, it was nothing extraordinary
when one took into account Subbamma’s extreme youth, simplicity and
innocence. Hers was a rural and impressionable soul reacting to the ambience
around, whether it was good or bad. There was besides the desire to better
herself, natural for a girl of her age, and with it her husband’s indifference
towards her.
The Gowda’s cruelty and neglect grew in direct proportion to her improved
ways. His suspicious mind misinterpreted the change in her. In his eyes it was
a mask she put on to cover her sinful nature. Besides, an even more grotesque
demon had found a place in his mind. He decided that his wife pined for
Hoovayya who was far his superior in looks, intelligence and character. The
doubts he had harboured towards the overseer now fastened on Hoovayya.
The enmity he felt towards Nagamma, the natural way in which the
unknowing Hoovayya criticized him on occasion and the new-found
friendship that bound the former squabbling members of his family—
eventhing led him to believe that they had all hatched a conspiracy against
him. His behaviour became erratic and unpredictable.
The overseer watched all this from afar and decided that it was the right
moment to rid the Gowda’s mind of its suspicions about him. He also desired
to avenge the humiliation he had suffered at Hoovayya’s hands when he had
refused to pay Baira his wages. He carried his tales in whispers to his master.
But then, what was the point in showing a man a black rock in the dark when
he would go blind with rage at the mere mention of a bear.
He would spell it all out like a Shetty child from beyond the Ghats in a
concerned and sing-song voice as they sat down for their evening drink.
‘Believe me, it’s not jealousy that makes me speak about it. When I didn’t
give Baira, Belara Baira, his wages the other day, as per your instructions,
mind you, Hoovayya Gowda burst out in anger. You tell me, was I wrong in
what I did? He didn’t spare words in talking about you either. And can you
believe it, Puttanna who is somebody now thanks to the food and shelter you
gave him, was no better! Oh, oh! Let me not sin by such talk! It isn’t jealousy,
believe me! But . . . It doesn’t do, keeping grown up children in the house
without getting them married. Don’t you think so? Let my tongue drop away
today if I am telling a lie . . .’ The Gowda cut him short, having eagerly taken
it all in. ‘You don’t have to tell me. I know everything! There’ll be no peace
unless I throw him and his mother out of the house. I’ll have the property
divided and throw him out before getting down to work in the field. What is
to happen if the others too learn his ways and go to the dogs? You know the
saying, “As is the elder sister, so are all the others in the house!” He sits
upstairs with his white dhoti, low enough to sweep the floor, without any care
for household matters. It’s because of him that our Ramu too has strayed. He
has no respect for our Gods and spirits at all! De you know that Bhootharaya
was so enraged that he appeared before my eyes as soon as the boy came
here? Just wait a day or two, I’ll fulfil the vows and pack them off after
dividing the property. Let them get lost anywhere! And then . . . I’ll drive out
Puttanna too. A wastrel! An item to add to my expenses! All that he does is to
loaf around the whole day with his gun and spread tales! Let him work hard
for his food and he shall learn his lesson!’ The Gowda gave vent to his pent-
up rage.
The same evening the inebriated Chandrayya Gowda went upstairs.
Hoovayya was seated, reading a story out loud. Puttamma, Vasu, Ramayya
and Puttanna were assembled around, listening to him.
‘Wonderful! Hasn’t this turned out to be a real school . . .! What are you
doing here? Want to pass examinations too and become the mistress of a big
house?’
Puttamma stood up on hearing her father’s harsh words and rushed
downstairs hanging her head. Puttanna got up and stood at a respectful
distance. The Gowda looked at him and said, ‘What can hold you back now
that your luck has changed? Go, be a teacher with a turban wound round your
head!’ Ramayya and Hoovayya looked at each other and Vasu broke into
laughter. The Gowda lost his temper. ‘Why are you laughing? Is there a bear
dancing here? You wait . . . I’ll send you to school in Theerthahalli!’
Turning then to Hoovayya, he asked, ‘Did Ramu speak to you about what I
told him?’
‘What was it about?’ asked Hoovayya.
 ‘What else? No more studies for you. Send for your things.’
‘A year more and we shall get our B.A. Should we give up our studies
halfway?’
‘No need for your B.A. It isn’t at all possible for me to send you the
money.’
‘I have my scholarship. I shall manage.’
‘I don’t want to know about all that. Take your share of the property and go
wherever you want. I can’t get on with your mother.’
Nagamma had also spoken of the advisability of taking their share and
setting up on their own. Hoovayya had managed to convince her that it would
not do as he had to go back to continue with his studies. His mother was
prepared to shoulder the hardship for her son’s sake. But now it seemed as if
Chandrayya Gowda had made up his mind to divide up the property. The
ostensible reason he gave for such a decision concealed his real motive. If
Hoovayya were all by himself he could have handed over his property to
someone on contract and gone away to pursue his studies. But what of his
mother? For just a second he longed for the freedom he would have if only his
mother weren’t there. The inauspicious thought frightened him the very next
second.
The Gowda wouldn’t listen however conciliatory Hoovayya was in arguing
his case. Ramayya was in great trepidation as he offered to stay behind and
share in the household chores so that Hoovayya could complete the course.
The Gowda was furious and shouted and raved at his son with a red face.
Hoovayya gave up, thinking it would be unwise to argue any more.
As he went down the Gowda called to Puttanna who had been leaning
against a pillar and said, ‘After the puja to fulfil the vows, you can set up on
your own. I don’t want you any longer in my house!’
Ramayya was in tears. After the Gowda had left, Hoovayya looked at him
and said, ‘Why are you crying, Ramu, like a girl? This is the way of the
world. You have wasted your time reading all those novels if you don’t know
this!’ He pulled Vasu close to him and asked, ‘Shall we get on with the
story?’
Vasu didn’t say anything. A couple of drops rolled down his cheeks.
Ramu wiped away his tears as he said, ‘I don’t know why Appayya is
behaving this way these days.’
‘It’s all the overseer’s doing,’ said Puttanna.
 ‘Why don’t we drive the bastard out tomorrow?’ Vasu asked turning
towards Hoovayya who kept quiet, though there was a smile on his face.
It took a long time for Hoovayya to drop off to sleep. He went over his
uncle’s words. He felt pained that his studies had to come to an end. He
consoled himself saying that if God wiled so, he could stay at home and still
offer his worship to the Goddess of Knowledge by reading books. His mind
wandered and finally settled on the idol of his desire. Seethe’s graceful and
entrancing image stood before his mind’s eye. She shone like the only island
of happiness in an ocean of sorrow. The thought of being near Seethe made
even the pain of not returning to Mysore for his studies a pleasant experience.
But Vidhi was planning its own disposition of events.
 29
A Pledge for the Spirits of Kanooru

T HE PLEDGE FOR the spirits was always an event of great excitement in

Kanooru. It was customary for Chandrayya Gowda’s servants, tenants and
close relatives to participate in it. Many roosters and a few sheep would be
sacrificed to Bhootha, Rana, Beterana, Chowdi, Panjurli and such other spirit-
gods and it was a feast for the eyes of some, and the stomachs of everyone.
Relatives and their children would fill the house and there would be
merriment aplenty to gladden all hearts.
But the present year’s Dayyda Harake wasn’t all that exciting for the folk at
home as dark clouds overcast the skies of people’s minds. The others found it
enjoyable as usual. A few relatives and tenants had already arrived the
previous evening before. The next morning all the other servants working
outside, in the fields, presented themselves. Belara Baira, Sidda, Halepaikada
Thimma, Annayya Gowda from Kelakanooru, his daughter, Soma the pot-
bellied toddy-thief, Rangappa Shetty and the workers from the Kannada
district like Gange—everyone was there. Soon after, Marka also arrived after
completing his duties in other villages. (It was quite possible that the taste of
kadubu was a stronger reason for his arrival than the Dayyda Harake.) Even
Obayya who had left Kanooru for Seethemane turned up. He was deeply
pious as far as the pledge was concerned. Moreover he had spread word all
around that he was often visited by the spirits. How could such a devotee not
come to fulfil the vows?
A few from the upper caste took charge of the cooking, pounding the flour
for the kadubu, grinding the chillies for the meat, grating coconuts, preparing
spices, making large cooking pots ready, singeing banana leaves, etc. in an
orderly manner. Some others busied themselves near the tank sharpening
knives, spreading out coconut fronds, collecting firewood to boil the meat and
chicken before sharing them out, readying bone-choppers, etc. Some were
drafted to attend to the sacrificial part of the proceedings. The din was
unbelievable and out of all proportion to the actual work done. Boys and girls
who had assembled in the house under Vasu’s leadership seemed to have
decided that it was their primary duty to frisk about shouting and kept dashing
from the tank to the kitchen, from the kitchen to the verandah and from there
to the yard. Ramayya scared as ever of his father carried out the latter’s
instructions mechanically, though he had no faith in devil worship and was
opposed to the idea of sacrificing animals as part of such worship. Having
plugged both his ears with cotton wool, Chandrayya Gowda was shouting
orders over and above the din at the top of his voice. The dogs were
wandering around, constantly being shooed off. Puttanna had bathed, and
washed the dhoti he was wearing as per the Gowda’s instructions, and was
waiting for the arrival of Venkappayya Joisa from the Agrahara having got all
the things ready for the puja. It was the custom of the place to have the
Brahmins offer puja to the devils and feed them vegetarian food before
moving on to the ritual sacrifice by the Shudras.
While everyone took active part in the excitement of the occasion,
Hoovayya sat all alone upstairs reading the Bhagavadgeetha. It was not that
he was engrossed in his reading. He would occasionally lift his head and look
at the forest, hills and the sky before him. Perhaps too, he saw nothing at all,
his eyes turned inward like a mother bird’s while hatching her eggs. Many
images, feelings, thoughts and questions fell over one another like waves in
the lake of his mind.
What was the ideal of Aryadharma? What were these people who called
themselves Hindus doing? How could one reconcile the lofty vision enshrined
in the Upanishads and Bhagavadgeetha with these peoples’ worship of the
spirits? How could one bring about changes in such practices? Weren’t the
padres right in one sense in condemning such practices? Hoovayya looked at
the Geetha he had in his hands and his eyes ran over this shloka which said:

Those who sacrifice to the various deities, will return to those deities. The ancestor-
worshippers will return to their ancestors. Those who worship elemental powers and spirits
will return to them. So also, my devotees will to me.

He remembered another shloka and turned to the seventeenth chapter to read

from it:

Men whose temperament is dominated by sattwa and so endowed with goodness worship
God. Men of rajas are full of passion and worship power and wealth. As for the rest who
live in darkness—men of tamas—they worship the spirits of the dead and they make gods of
the ghosts of their ancestors.
‘O, God, grant me the strength to turn their minds towards you!’ Hoovayya
prayed silently. His eyes filled with tears in a surge of emotion. He turned to
the twelfth chapter and read aloud the shlokas on devotion. Having recited the
fifth one, he came to the sixth:

Quickly I come to those who offer me every action, and worship me only with devotion.
Because they are engrossed in me, I shall save them from the ocean of life and death. If
you are absorbed in me and lodge your mind in me, there is no doubt that you shall dwell in
me.

Hoovayya went into a trance and a thrill passed through his body. The Geetha
fell on the ground. He woke suddenly from the trance and as he picked up the
book and bowed his head, a tear drop fell on it. As he wiped off the tear drop,
the shloka reached him like a trumpet blast:

Be it a leaf, flower or fruit that one offers me with devotion, I accept it with pleasure.

‘God, is not the gift of tears to you the best one?’ Hoovayya thought and
looked at the infinite spread of forest green under the spring sun.
Below him in the front yard one of the goats brought there for the sacrifice
bleated. His trance broken, Hoovayya walked to the window.
Outside under a tamarind tree, three or four goats were tethered to its roots.
One of them, a he-goat, pure black in colour, was tugging at the leash,
stretching his neck and tongue towards the leaves on a bush, temptingly close
but out of reach. Its tongue would touch a leaf but its mouth wouldn’t close
on it. Hoovayya was moved to see the animal making such an effort for a few
mouthfuls barely an hour before it would be killed. Vasu, Putta and a few
other boys were standing in a circle near the unfortunate creatures, talking
among themselves. It must have been as a response to what they said that
Marka approached the black he-goat, put his right hand round its neck and his
left one under its hips, lifted it to assess its weight, nodded his head to
indicate his appreciation and said something to the boys. They burst out
laughing and all the goats looked at them in fear and bewilderment.
Hoovayya heard another familiar voice meanwhile and turned. Venkappa
Joisa from the Agrahara was there talking to Chandrayya Gowda. Beside
them was Ramayya talking to Chinnayya from Mutthalli. Hoovayya’s heart
was suddenly in the grip of strong emotion. Though he intensely disliked
everything about the pledge for the spirits, there was one element which
excited him. His excitement doubled when he spotted Chinnayya. His sister
must have come with him. It was the custom every year for either Shyamayya
Gowda or Chinnayya to bring Gowramma, Seethe and Lakshmi to the
ceremony in Kanooru. The womenfolk would stay behind for a couple of
weeks with their relatives after the ceremony and it was this that pleased
Hoovayya.
But where was the cart that had brought them there? It must have arrived
when he was sitting upstairs reading the Geetha, must be in the shed. Unable
to control himself, he came down and walked to where Chinnayya and
Ramayya stood talking.
The Joisa walked away with Chandrayya Gowda talking about feeding the
Brahmins. Behind them went Puttanna with all the things needed for the puja.
The other three came into the house and went upstairs.
‘Where is your cart? I didn’t see it come,’ said Hoovayya after having
exchanged a few words with the other two.
‘He has come alone. There was no need for the cart,’ Ramayya said.
‘Seethe isn’t well. That’s why no one else was able to come,’ added
Chinnayya.
‘What’s the matter with her?’ asked Hoovayya, disappointed, while
watching Chinnayya light the cigarette in his mouth.
Chinnayya spoke while blowing out smoke. ‘Honestly, I don’t know. She
has been rather dull and depressed ever since the day you left. She had a
nightmare that night and could be heard screaming “Tiger! Tiger!”. She was
down with fever the next day and is not herself at all. Venkappayya looked at
her horoscope and decided that she was under the evil influence of some
planet or the other. He has used his charms and spells to help her. She was
adamant that she would accompany me here but Avva had to tell her off!’
‘She could have travelled in the cart,’ said Ramayya. Hoovayya said
nothing. When he heard that Venkappayya had studied Seethe’s horoscope,
he remembered that Seethemane Singappa Gowda had taken his son
Krishnappa’s horoscope with him to Mutthalli. A formless fear raised its head
in his heart.
‘It looks as if a wedding too has been settled in the meantime,’ said
Chinnayya.
‘Whose wedding?’ Hoovayya suppressed his misgivings as he asked.
These seemed to be a sense of disappointment in Chinnayya as he spoke.
‘No one cares for what I say. They want to have their way and see that their
will is carried out! There was an exchange of words between Appayya and me
about the matter Isn’t she too young for any talk on her marriage? Nothing
will be lost if we wait a couple of years more! I know the likes of Seethemane
Singappa Gowda, don’t I? Even as he studies the Shastras, he is readying his
hook and line! Cuts you up secretly! He asked for Seethe’s hand in marriage
for Krishnappa and my folk are supposed to have said, “Yes, if the
horoscopes match”. That home-destroyer Venkappayya has looked at the
horoscopes and recommended the wedding, it seems . . .’
‘Has there been a single instance of a happy marriage when he has read the
horoscopes?’ Ramayya couldn’t help exploding with anger.
‘He is a veritable Brihaspathi in the eyes of Appayya, my Mava in Kanooru
and Singappa Kaka!’ Chinnayya exclaimed flicking ash.
‘Has the wedding been settled?’ There was sadness in Hoovayya’s voice.
‘It seems so. Some day after the full moon. Appayya was talking of going
to Theerthahalli to prepare the document of agreement. I don’t understand.
They needn’t have hurried at all. Could have waited a couple of years more.
They would have surely found another groom!’ Chinnayya’s eyes too seemed
to have clouded with tears as his eyes turned to Hoovayya in sympathy,
understanding his feelings.
Meanwhile the Joisa had offered fruits and coconuts to the spirits, collected
his dues, tied them all up in a knot at the waist and left for the Agrahara.
Chandrayya Gowda was disturbed when he heard from the Joisa about
Seethe’s betrothal. He had wanted to bring Seethe home as Ramayya’s bride
and was on the verge of broaching the topic. He knew that people would
gossip if Ramayya’s marriage was arranged while the older Hoovayya was at
home, unmarried. He had decided to arrange Ramayya’s marriage soon after
dividing the property and throwing Hoovayya out of the house. He was angry
with Singappa Gowda for having foiled his plans and decided that he would
break the proposed wedding. But how? He was upset with Shyamayya Gowda
too for having decided to give the girl away without consulting him. He
recalled the fact that Singappa Gowda had carted home the stolen timber as
well, and told himself, ‘You wait, I’ll plan a wedding for him too!’
 30
On Account of a Goat

A FTER THE PUJA by the Joisa, the blood sacrifice began. In keeping with the
Gowda’s instructions, all those that had undertaken to fulfil vows to particular
spirits went to the allotted areas dragging or carrying their sacrificial animals.
The bleating of goats and the cacophony of chickens with legs tied together
filled the air. Children and adults went off in small groups to watch the ritual
killings. The greatest number however went to the place where Chowdi was
enshrined, whose sacrificial goat was not killed with a knife. After tying up
the animal’s legs tightly and turning it over with the stomach up, a man would
pound its chest with a pestle over and over again to kill it and it was believed
that Chowdi would be most gratified.
Quite a few were partial to the area where Bhootha was. The reason was
that Halepaikada Thimma who was in charge of the sacrifice there would
chop down a goat no matter how large it was with one blow, like a
connoisseur. His skill and strength provided a compelling show of mettle to
many a weakling.
After the awesome offering of such things as kumkuma and red hibiscus
the sacrifice began. Straining its neck, the black goat was eating with great
difficulty the hibiscus flowers of the garland round its neck. But as soon as
the sacrifice of chickens began, the sturdy goat grew solemn. Perhaps it
became aware of the awful plight that was in store for it too.
‘See the greatness of Bhootha! Even the animal knows it! Standing with
such devotion!’ said the people nearby.
Thimma slaughtered the chickens one by one, separated them and started to
smear their blood on the Bhootha stone at the foot of the tree. Chickens that
had lost their heads flapped their wings, jumped about and fell in various
directions. In the light of the sun filtering through the branches the spilt blood
looked terrifyingly red. A headless chicken struggled towards Baira who
being an untouchable, stood at a distance and its blood spattered the dirty
dhoti he had tied round his waist. ‘Worthless creature! Lost its head but still
putting on airs!’ he said and stopped its flight with a whack of his stick and
everyone else laughed aloud. The black goat was startled and bleated as if to
say, ‘Compassionate humans, have pity, save me!’ It tugged at its halter and
tried to escape. Ninga who was holding it down gave it a punch. ‘Where else
can you find such good fortune? Stand still!’ he ordered.
After the chickens had been sacrificed, Thimma called for the goat to be
brought forth. Ninga who was not blessed with robust health was nevertheless
proud of the well-being of the goat he held and advanced with zest. The goat
wouldn’t move, not being inferior to Ninga either in strength or weight. Ninga
pulled hard and so did the goat Ninga had to take a step towards it. All those
watching laughed again. Meanwhile another man with a goat went towards
the sacrificial altar and Ninga stayed back. The other goat was trembling and
bleating. The man who was holding it pushed a bunch of greens towards its
face. The poor animal had eaten greens just like this from the hands of those
that had nurtured it. Imagining that this was a sign of kindness and maternal
feeling on their part or believing that they would let it go if it ate it up, the
goat went for it. Immediately Thimma’s knife fell on its neck and the head
rolled down. The body fell down too and twitched. Blood spouted like a
fountain and reddened parts of Thimma’s body. A man brought a basin
quickly as instructed and caught the blood before it fell to the ground.
The black goat held by Ninga saw it all and its body shivered violently. It
seemed to be unable to bleat. ‘Look there, how it trembles!’ someone said
appreciatively. ‘It’s afraid too,’ said another.
‘Ningayya, pull it over here,’ Thimma called out.
Ninga pulled. The trembling goat with its last surge of courage and power
in a final bid to save its life pulled hard at the rope and Ninga tripped and fell
over.
‘Catch it, catch it!’ shouted everyone and the goat started towards the forest
along with the rope before they could surge forward.
Ninga chased it and the weak shouted. Some set dogs on it. Anyhow the so-
called human beings and dogs got together, shouted to make the forest
resound and hunted the animal down. The goat went through the trees,
climbed up and went down the sloping track, jumped and raced with the
speed of death, slipping away from the men and the dogs. The commotion
spread everywhere and many rushed into the battlefield.
Those who didn’t know the truth started to spread any rumour they liked.
Puttamma ran to Nagamma. ‘Doddamma, it seems a tiger came and took
away Halepaikada Thimma!’ she said, shaking the while. As they rushed to
the courtyard, Ninga’s son Putta came and started weeping. ‘No, it was my
father that was snatched away!’ Then Vasu came and collided with
Subbamma. ‘It seems Thimma has been possessed and gone mad. Instead of
the goat, he has chopped off the man holding it,’ he said and ran upstairs
without stopping. The overseer dashing up with a stick called out loudly,
‘Bhootharaya himself has come down as a demon and carried the goat away
in his mouth. Come along if you wish to see!’ Hoovayya, Ramayya and
Chinnayya, hearing the terrible news from Vasu, came down the stairs and
rushed in the direction of the hullabaloo. Chandrayya Gowda, bewildered by
the varied stories from varied sources, walked towards Bhootharaya’s shrine
as fast as he could calling out for Hoovayya and Ramu. The crows that had
gathered for the feast were cawing away adding to the noise.
The goat terrified and exhausted at being stalked by dogs and men had
jumped into the tank near the house by the time Hoovayya and others arrived.
People stood all around the tank shouting joyously, throwing stones and
sticks, at it and close to victory. Some danced around. Only the goat’s head
could be seen moving in the tank. A couple of dogs jumped in, encouraged by
the people’s shouts. The goat was frightened and tried to get on to the bank
again, but returned to the water at the sight of the people standing there.
Meanwhile, the dogs dived and surfaced two or three times, searching for the
animal. People on the bank clapped and made triumphant noises.
‘Puttanna, swim across and bring it back,’ Hoovayya called out in a firm
voice.
Would the adventure-loving Puttanna fail to rise to an occasion like that
when everyone was watching? He took off his shirt, rolled up his dhoti and
jumped into the water, sending the whole tank into turbulence. Even as they
watched, he freed the struggling goat from the dogs, held its halter in his
mouth and swam ashore without scaring the goat by waring his arms and legs
outside the water. The poor, exhausted creature got up on to the bank with
Puttanna without offering any resistance. Everyone rushed there at once.
Thimma, Obayya and Ninga pushed in and tried to get hold of the goat.
‘Go back!’ Hoovayya shouted and they retreated, sensing the authority in
his voice. Hoovayya took the rope in his hands and started towards home. The
goat followed him like a lamb.
‘Ayya, give it back. Bhootha must be fed,’ said Thimma. Hoovayya
stopped and glared at the crowd that was following him. There was fierceness
in his look and no one spoke.
 In any case the goat survived that day. Chandrayya Gowda argued that
what was reserved for Bhootha should not be kept back. Many others gave the
same advice in many other words saying it would do them no good.
Hoovayya paid no heed to anyone’s advice, saying that compassion was a
higher form of worship than the sacrifice of a dumb animal.

* * *

In the evening Chandrayya Gowda saw Subbamma speaking to the overseer.

Obayya had to be told to return the money he had borrowed from her.
Chandrayya Gowda called the overseer to find out what it was all about. The
overseer said it was nothing, she had only asked for banana leaves. He went
off to Obayya who was busy with the distribution of mutton and chicken.
Unwilling to believe what the overseer had said, the Gowda followed him
surreptitiously.
There, a verbal fight was in progress between the liquor shop owner and
Obayya.
‘Take your note back. It is counterfeit!’ The owner thrust two pieces of
paper towards Obayya.
‘I don’t know all that. It was a genuine one that I gave you. If it was a fake
note, you should have given it back then and there. Whoever will take it back
after you have kept it all this time?’
Obayya said as he roasted a red, meaty leg of sheep in the fire.
‘I haven’t changed your note.’
‘Who knows whether you changed it or not?’
‘Are you taking it back or not?’
‘Do you take me for a fool?’
‘In that case, I shall go to the Gowda. Let him sort it out.’
‘Go! I won’t stop you.’
The owner suddenly got angry. ‘If you were born of your father, you
wouldn’t have lied.’
‘What did you say, bastard?’ said Obayya and threw the raw leg of sheep at
his face.
All those gathered there intervened and tried to stop the ensuing fight. That
was when the overseer arrived followed by Chandrayya Gowda. There was an
investigation into the incident. The owner explained what had happened.
Obayya had given him a hundred rupee note to cover a sum of fifty three
rupees, eight annas and three paise which he owed him. When the note was
taken to Koppa for the change, a shopkeeper there had said that it was a fake
note. Now the note wasn’t going to be taken back. After the explanation, he
gave the pieces to the Gowda.
‘Where did you get this note from?’ asked the Gowda, looking at Obayya
as soon as he saw the note.
Without batting an eyelid, Obayya said that he was walking along one night
when Bhootharaya appeared. He had fainted and when he regained
consciousness, he put his hands in his pocket and found the pieces of the note
there.
Chandrayya Gowda went straight to his room and put his hand into the
pocket of a coat. The pieces of the note were not there. He opened a pocket
book and discovered that the number of those pieces appeared in the book
too.
He called his wife and questioned her. Crying, Subbamma said she knew
nothing. He asked his daughter Puttamma. Vasu too. They all said they knew
nothing. In that case, which outsider would dare enter his bedroom? How
could Obayya know about the money in his pocket? Even if he did, how could
he steal it? The Gowda’s suspicions turned towards Nagamma. But how could
he ask her? Hoovayya was at home!
He kept quiet, deciding not to cause any commotion in front of their
relatives and friends who had gathered to fulfil their vows. He consoled the
shopkeeper saying that he would conduct an inquiry another day.
 31
The Secret of Seethe’s Ailment

D USK WAS FALLING fast. The blood-coloured, red-eyed sun was slowly
setting, shining bright behind the forests of the Western Ghats. A quarter of it
disappeared even as one looked, then half and then it was totally gone. The
evening light sprayed the forests and hills orange.
‘What place is this? What hills? Which forests? Where am I? Where am I
going to? Why? Why isn’t anyone else with me?’
Seethe could make nothing of it. She looked around in fear. Darkness was
closing in softly. Her heart started to thump. Seethe ran a short distance and
looked. She could see no one and hear no sound. She started to breathe
heavily with fear and her tears flowed. What town was that? What paths?
Where should she go? She was lost. Why was she there? Who brought her
there? Where were Appayya, Avva and Annayya? Even Lakshmi wasn’t to be
seen. She had suddenly become an orphan abandoned in the forest.
‘Annayya,’ she called out and no one answered. Seethe called out to her
parents tearfully but there was no reply. ‘Ayyo, why did you desert me like
this? What did I do? Forgive me. I’ll do as you say from now on! I’ll do no
wrong,’ she cried. It grew darker in response. Seethe listened carefully.
Suddenly there was a fierce roar accompanied by a cry of anguish. The earth
appeared to tremble at the roar. Seethe looked helplessly in every direction.
She couldn’t even call out, the roar was so fierce and the cry of anguish so
piteous!
As she stood, the roar and the anguished cry sounded nearer. With her heart
in her mouth Seethe saw a large, terrifying tiger chasing a man, roaring. The
man was running, shouting helplessly. She was petrified and looked on
without blinking. Was that not Krishnappa, son of Seethemane Singappa
Gowda? Ayyo! It was all over. The tiger would catch him any moment. No!
Krishnappa had jumped aside and was running away. He was headed towards
Seethe. She looked again. What was the matter? It wasn’t Krishnappa who
was running away. Who was it then? Kanooru Chandrayya Gowda’s son,
Ramayya! All of a sudden, Seethe called out, ‘Ramayya Bhava!’
 Ramayya rushed straight towards her as if answering her call. The tiger was
rushing forward like many coloured thunder. Seethe tried to run but couldn’t.
She looked again. The tiger pounced on Ramayya.
Lo! Where did Ramayya disappear? There was no one there. But the tiger
came on towards her, baring its fangs, roaring, terrifying! Seethe summoned
all her energy and will and tried to run. She couldn’t move. The tiger . . .
nearer, nearer, nearer! ‘Ayyo, Avva! Tiger, tiger!’ screamed Seethe. And
then! The tiger disappeared and it was Hoovayya coming towards her,
smiling. ‘Don’t be scared, Seethe. It’s me. Why are you screaming?’
Seethe woke up with a start and opened her eyes. Gowramma was sitting
by her bedside and consoling her. ‘Seethe, Seethe, did you get scared? Why
did you cry out?’ There was fear in Seethe’s eyes. She had broken into a
sweat and was breathing fast. It was obvious from the warmth of her body
that she had fever.
Man’s conscious life is truly wonderful. But the world of dreams is awe-
inspiring. Millions of people dream countless dreams every day and night.
And how strange they are too! In the kingdom of dreams, situations, pictures
and happenings which are even beyond the imagination, come to pass without
impediment, ungoverned by any rule or even against it. It wouldn’t be wrong
to say that it is dreams that are the primary source for all the demons, angels,
heavens and hells which poets of all lands have pictured in their mythologies,
epics and legends.
Psychologists say that the desires and fears of our conscious existence are
expressed as dreams in the world of sleep. The separated paramour may unite
with his beloved, a poor man may see money, a starving man may set eyes
upon a heap of rich food and dance with joy. A beggar’s dream is similar. But
all dreams cannot be proved to be mere wish-fulfilment. Some may indicate
what might have happened or what may happen in future. Some dreams are
like a play. A fearful student scared that he may not pass in the examination
might have a dream where he reaches the examination hall very late, or where
the bell rings before he finishes writing the answers. It may be that he is
climbing a steep hill with great effort and halfway up, he slips and falls into a
lake by the slope. Similarly we may dream of someone we dislike having to
face great difficulties or dying. Strange dreams are prompted by physical
postures too. A man who is lying with his arms over his chest may dream of a
demon sitting on his chest, pressing down on his nose and mouth. If the edge
of a shawl falls over a man’s neck, he might dream of being hanged.
 Anyway, if one considered Seethe’s dream as indicating her fears and
desires, one could hazard a guess about what was secretly going on in her
mind. One thing however was very clear: the way she felt about Krishnappa
and her trust in Hoovayya.
There is not much difference between dreams and madness. Both have a
common base. A man who is desperately poor in life dreams happily of being
a rich man. When he wakes up. he realizes that it was a dream and behaves
like a poor man again. But if he doesn’t, he may be sent to a mental hospital.
Such a man may imagine that he is very rich, that the hospital is his own
home, the doctors and nurses his family and all that they do is in his service.
Or he may infer that they are plotting against him to steal all his wealth away
and cheat him and act under the delusion. Whatever the case, a permanent
state of irrationality will drive one to insanity. There are many kinds of
madness. Unfulfilled desires and fears suppressed in the mind for society’s
sake turn into insanity when they become excessive. It is impossible to keep
track of the disguises it takes on, from the common headache to epilepsy, to
being possessed by spirits, permanent illusions and many others. It may even
culminate in suicide.
Disappointment in love leads many a time to varied forms of hysteria. If
the parents of a girl who is in love with a young man get her married off to
another for the sake of money, family, social constraints or because of a
promise, the disgust, sorrow and frustration that arise in her may take
different forms and fulfil their needs. Her true love will stay with the one she
has felt for, not with the one she has married. In such circumstances, the girl’s
subconscious will hatch many plans to escape from her relationship with the
man she has married. It happens involuntarily, without her being aware of it.
The mere indication of her husband’s nearness may make her behave in a
terrifying manner as if possessed by a spirit. A deadly disease may develop.
In such cases, too suicide is not uncommon.
If a girl is not of a sensitive nature, she might like Kanooru Subbamma,
blunt her disappointment in love on the hard stone of custom and habit, forget
and within a few days learn to adjust to the new situation and lead a fairly
comfortable life. But if she happens to be emotional and sensitive, no custom
or habit, no strictures of society or the rituals of a wedding can erase the
electric impact of her first love. On the other hand, because of the obstacles
she faces the edge of this love becomes even sharper. If Hoovayya hadn’t hurt
his back, stayed in Mutthalli or talked to Seethe so much, she might have
remained passive and led a contented life with whomsoever her parents chose
as her husband. But Fate didn’t will it so. Because of Hoovayya she had
become a sensitive and emotional girl.
None of the others knew of this. Seethe had kept it a secret. Neither
Shyamayya Gowda nor Gowramma was sophisticated enough to sense
intuitively the desire of the girl to choose her own mate. They and the others
were the sort to marry according to the decision of the elder members of their
society. Their philosophy and experience maintained that it was to be love
after marriage and not marriage after love. Hence there was mere ignorance
but no injustice in the promise that Shyamayya Gowda made to give Seethe in
marriage to Krishnappa.
Seethe had concealed her love for Hoovayya with a woman’s natural
shyness. The same kind of masculine inhibition had made Hoovayya imprison
his love for Seethe in the caverns of his heart. To ensure that his grit, loftiness
and poise wouldn’t be blemished, he hadn’t let the spark in his mind out into
the open and was cheating himself in wanting to cheat nature. But nature will
never refrain from taking revenge against those who try to cheat. Thus any
soul entangled in a war with nature should redeem itself with either victory
over nature or be defiled and destroyed by the loss of ideals. Or take the
ordinary path taken by millions of men.
According to custom, the people who arrange marriages do not seek the
wishes of those getting married—particularly the girl’s. Will parents and
relatives, interested in the welfare of sons and daughters ever fix up a
wedding which may harm them? Moreover, will the youngsters who get
married know better than their experienced elders?
But love is not shrewdness. The intensely emotional state of love is a world
apart from the calculations of shrewdness. Perhaps in the end, shrewdness
may have to serve love and learn.
Seethe took to bed from the day her wedding was fixed. Putting up with
fever every other day, the girl who was like a half-blown, happy bud among
the green leaves of a rose plant was transformed into a withered flower
thrown in the dust after being worn. At times she would scream in the throes
of terrifying dreams or shiver when awake, bewildered and scared. It came to
pass that she couldn’t even recognize some people. Seethemane Singappa
Gowda was severed from her memory. She wouldn’t recognize him even
when he sat near her and talked to her. Though too shy to ask for him, when
she was a little better, she would call out, ‘Hoovayya Bhava’.
 Shyamayya Gowda gave her medicines prescribed by the village doctors.
Venkappa Joisa of the Agrahara did his best for Seethe’s welfare by looking
at omens, tying talismans, accepting charity, worshipping Lord Subramanya
and offering sacrifices to demons and spirits. Nothing worked. Even then the
able Joisa with the virtuousness of taking on himself all the suffering of the
patient, ventured into the charitable work of accepting various offerings.
Once when Ramayya went to Mutthalli to enquire about Seethe’s sickness,
Seethe asked him in a weak, tearful voice, ‘Hasn’t Hoovayya Bhava come?’
Her eyes were overflowing with endless desire and boundless sorrow.
‘No, he didn’t. He has some work,’ said Ramayya, trying to console her
somehow. Seethe didn’t speak. She suddenly started to sob. Her emaciated,
unwashed body stretched on the bed began to shake as if the lightning of pain
had struck her.
Even though Hoovayya had heard that Seethe had taken to bed with a
strange illness, he hadn’t gone to visit her. His mind was perturbed after
hearing from Chinnayya that Seethe’s wedding had been fixed. Being highly
romantic, he had not experienced the harshness of worldly affairs as yet.
Moreover the only amorous world he knew was the magical world of poetry.
He had imagined that Seethe’s love was reserved only for him and the news
of the wedding was a blow to his self-respect. Even though it was her parents
who had decided on the marriage, he had somehow wrongly deduced that it
was because of Seethe’s assent. He had come to the conclusion that Seethe’s
love was false and as far as he was concerned she was someone else’s.
That conclusion hadn’t brought him any comfort. The garden in his heart
had been set afire and it was smoking. His earlier philosophical outlook
started to change slowly. A feeling that the world around him and life were
illusory, transient, deceitful and sorrowful, was growing within him. The
happy optimist was slowly becoming a pessimist schooled by frustration. An
aversion towards life was gradually stepping in. Smoke was filling his heart’s
home.
If Hoovayya who believed that Seethe had abused his bountiful love had
been a little impartial, he could have behaved with greater generosity. He
could have made his heavenly palace in the womb of the future a reality. But
in his heart, love had concealed jealousy in the name of generosity and
become niggardly.
 32
The Web of Life

O N THE DAY after the Dayyada Harake, Kanooru Chandrayya Gowda

conducted an inquiry into the matter of the note. Obayya repeated his story
that everyone had now heard about Bhootharaya materializing and bestowing
the note on him. Even the Gowda who had endless faith in ghosts and spirits
found it hard to believe this. However hard he tried, he couldn’t get the truth
out of Obayya. The Gowda had finally decided that Nagamma was the guilty
person. He had hoped to hear from Obayya that it was Nagamma who had
given him the note. He could then quickly give mother and son their share of
the property and get rid of them. His determination to get at the truth
redoubled.
‘Will you tell the truth or not?’
‘What have I been telling till now?’ ‘Let that be. You can’t get away with
cheating.’
‘Have I stolen anything for you to say that?’
‘Be straightforward, Obegowda. Why should you lie?’ said the overseer.
‘What are you saying, Seregarare? If I am lying, I swear by God, may my
head drop from me even as I stand,’ said Obayya as he bowed down to the
tulsi plant in the yard.
‘Does that mean my forbearance and kind words won’t make you talk?’ the
Gowda said indignantly.
‘It’s the same, be they kind words or harsh ones. How can I “talk” of what
is not there?’ said Obayya in a sing-song voice, imitating obliquely the
Gowda’s words.
The furious Gowda strode terrifyingly towards him, brandishing his cane.
‘Will you tell the truth or not?’ roared the Gowda as the others stared,
standing quietly by in fear. Obayya didn’t look up.
‘Speak up, Obegowda. Talk,’ advised the overseer.
The Gowda made even angrier by Obayya’s silence, started to lash him
with the cane. Obayya stood like a rock as the first few blows rained on him
and then screamed out and caught the cane in the Gowda’s upraised hand and
hung tightly onto it. The Gowda couldn’t pull it away however hard he tried
and began to pant in anger and exhaustion.
Puttanna and the overseer rushed forward and freed the cane from
Obayya’s hands. The Gowda hit him again and again. Obayya stood still, his
face taut, his teeth clenched. He would have retaliated unmindful of the
Gowda’s status had no one else been there. Afraid to launch into any such
adventure when the Gowda commanded the assistance of many servants, he
blurted out everything unable to withstand the lashing.
‘Ayyo! I shall die! Don’t beat me. I’ll tell you everything!’
‘Speak up then,’ said the Gowda holding back the cane.
‘Amma gave the note to me. I didn’t steal it.’
‘Which Amma?’
‘Subbamma.’
‘What? Who did you say it was?’ the Gowda was stunned. He had asked
the question with glee, hoping it would be Nagamma’s name that Obayya
would utter.
‘Subbamma.’
Anger and thoughts of vengeance loured over the Gowda’s mind like dark
clouds. The dim suspicions that he had harboured earlier of his wife now
appeared to be clear and proven. She had desired to lie and cheat him. She
was capable of anything. She had already cheated him, hadn’t she?
The Gowda’s tuft was undone, his hair was dishevelled, and his shawl lay
askew. His eyes had turned red and his nostrils flared. Beads of perspiration
appeared on his forehead, wrinkled with a frown. He rushed straight into the
kitchen with his cane.
Nagamma, Puttamma, Subbamma and a few other relatives who were
watching the proceedings from behind the door had run back to the kitchen,
afraid of what might transpire once Obayya had told the truth. Nagamma and
Puttamma pretended to be busy.
‘Subbu, he’ll beat you, kill you. Run quietly and hide somewhere,’
suggested Nagamma, full of pity for the girl. Subbamma ran and hid herself
behind a large cauldron in a dark corner. Chandrayya Gowda strode into the
kitchen, looked around and shouted at his daughter, ‘Where has she gone?’
Unable to speak, Puttamma turned towards Nagamma. ‘She must have
gone to the cowshed,’ said Nagamma.
The Gowda searched the cowshed and returned. He searched in two or
three rooms. Not finding his wife, he came back to the kitchen and struck
Puttamma on the back with the cane. ‘Where is she? Will you tell me or not?’
‘Please, please I . . . I’ll tell you. There!’ screamed Puttamma and pointed out
Subbamma’s refuge.
As soon as he made out Subbamma’s form in the darkness behind the
cauldron he beat her mercilessly mouthing all sorts of obscenities.
Subbamma’s nose-ring fell off. Her earrings were covered with blood from
the blows.
‘Please. I was wrong, I shall fall at your feet,’ she cried as she stood up.
The Gowda pulled her out by her hair and started beating her as if she were
cattle. No one was brave enough to stop him. It was Hoovayya who came
forward. ‘Chikkayya, that’s enough. Let her go,’ he said, holding out his
hands. Blows rained on them too. But more hurtful were the words that
flowed out of the Gowda’s mouth. He stopped beating Subbamma only to
start abusing Hoovayya. Certain words particularly seemed to imply that
Hoovayya was Subbamma’s paramour. Hoovayya saddened already by the
news of Seethe’s wedding, was shattered. ‘What are you saying? Have you
gone mad?’ he asked angrily.
‘Who are you to interfere if I beat my wife?’
‘If men don’t help other men, who will? Are you going to kill her because
she is your wife? Do we merely stand by watching this? Is there no limit to
beating someone up? People with a little sense would not even beat animals
like this. Think about it calmly. You will understand my words then.’
‘Enough of your preaching. I know enough. All of you have got together to
conspire against me. You and I cannot stay in the same house any more. Take
your share and leave. If I agree to stay any longer with you, my honour will
be at risk,’ the Gowda screamed.
‘If you think that your honour is at risk because of me, give me my share
and I will go. Anyway, I can’t stay a silent witness to all that you do.’ Saying
so, Hoovayya left.
Obayya having been thrashed already wisely didn’t stay in the Kanooru
house a minute longer than necessary, and left by the main door when
Chandrayya Gowda rushed into the kitchen. The toddy shop man ran behind
him. ‘What will you do for my money?’ he asked.
‘Money! Go hang yourself,’ said Obayya and walked towards
Kelakanooru without looking back.
Obayya had decided that the punishment that had been meted out to him
had paid off all his debts, and no one had any right to ask for repayment.
 On entering the thatched house in Kelakanooru, Obayya looked around for
his father. The house looked deserted. There was no sign of its having been
swept for days. Things were lying around in disarray and in the yard were
chicken droppings, feathers and animal hair. Finding no one Obayya went
towards the kitchen. There was his stepsister, sitting in the darkness cooking
some wretched thing.
‘Where is Appayya?’ Obayya asked.
Startled, the girl looked back with lustreless eyes at her brother. Cleaning
her sooty, running nose with her left hand and rubbing it on the stove and the
edge of her torn saree, she said in a voice that sounded as if it came from
underground, ‘He was outside.’
‘He isn’t there.’
‘Maybe he has gone to the cowshed.’
Obayya went straight to the cowshed. The old body of Annayya Gowda
was bent over in a corner gathering the cow dung from the floor to fill a big
basket. As soon as he saw his son he stood up heaving a sigh, giving Obayya
a questioning look. The strong odour of cow dung filled the air.
‘What are you doing here?’ asked Obayya.
‘Can’t you see?’ Annayya replied.
‘Are you going to stay in this wretched place or will you come with me?’
‘What was that?’
‘Nothing. I am never again setting foot in this god-forsaken land. Are you
going to stay on here and die or will you come and live with me?’
‘Where are you going?’
‘Doesn’t matter where. Tell me if you are coming.’
‘How can I leave without paying my debts? Will they let me go?’
‘In that case you can stay here clearing your debts. I’ll go elsewhere and
farm.’
‘Who is there to give you the land?’
‘Singappa Gowda has said he will. You may come if you want to.’
‘Will he repay our debts too?’
‘Debt, debt, debt! You are at it again. I have already paid it all off.’
Annayya Gowda was struck dumb with joy.
‘I have paid it all off. Completely. Look,’ said Obayya and showed him his
body. Tears flowed from his eyes and his voice was choked.
Annayya came forward towards his son, bent down and saw the red welts
and swelling caused by the caning.
 ‘Who beat you?’ he asked with compassion.
At that moment his son’s disobedience, iniquity and rascality were all
wiped away and only the pure love natural to a father emerged. Obayya
narrated all that had happened. Annayya Gowda who had at first wondered
how he could leave without clearing Chandrayya Gowda’s debts agreed to do
as his son desired on listening to his tale of woe. Maybe the strongest reason
behind his decision was the lack of opportunity to evade his obligation. When
he heard that Seethemane’s Singappa Gowda was willing to give them some
land, half his mind was drawn to his son’s plans.
Father and son decided that they would secretly take away their cattle and
household things to Seethemane the next night. Obayya went off to inform
Singappa Gowda so that he could get a cart and people to help him.
The same evening, Hoovayya sat alone on a high rock in Kanubailu. His
eyes filled with tears. His grief was etched on his face and his heart had lost
its will. The incident that had taken place earlier that day had disturbed him.
Neither the cruelty nor the unkindness that Chandrayya Gowda had shown
him so far were as heinous as his harsh words. His uncle’s sharp words
suggesting ironically that there was a secret love affair between him and
Subbamma who was like his mother had wrung his heart. His earlier
repugnance gave way to an equally urgent inclination to break away from the
house. He felt that it was best to escape as soon as possible from the terrifying
demon of Chandrayya Gowda’s suspicion. The fire of unrequited love too had
singed his soul. He thought of Seethe and cried. Had Seethe really cheated
him all the while loving Krishnappa Gowda? His laugh was ugly as he
remembered the words she had scribbled on the wall. As he sat thinking, the
feeling took seed and grew in his mind that everything in the world was
transient and sorrowful. He would stop thinking about Seethe. She had
cheated him. In any case she would soon be a married woman. She was
reported to be sick. Why should he go and see her now? She should realize
that he wasn’t merely begging for her love. If he was inconsequential to her
so would she be to him!
Though the red disc of the sun was beautiful as it set behind the horizon of
the mountain ranges covered in wave-like forests as far as the eye could
reach, it too seemed to be fickle, transient and momentan-like Seethe’s love.
The happiness and excitement that danced unrestrained in his heart at such
scenes in the past lay now in ashes, the fire put out.
 Hoovayya’s forgotten ideal that he should remain unmarried, follow the
lives of great men and serve the community raised its head again. What an
indiscretion he had been about to commit! What infatuation had he nearly
fallen prey to! God himself had forcibly saved him from the trap of
temptation. He had nearly been imprisoned by the beauty of a village girl and
strayed from the path of achieving his ideals. He would now keep all such
interests at a distance. He would acquire knowledge, piety and detachment
with firmness and single-mindedness, dedicate his light to the people of the
land by the grace of God and make! his own life meaningful.
Night fell as he sat thinking. The light of the half-moon was magical. The
one or two stars that shone in the sky became a hundred and then a thousand.
Bats called and thickened the sky. In the distance the thene bird sang as it
flew. Trees and even the forests became mere shapes.
The voice of Chandrayya Gowda walking to his rendezvous for his liquor
could be heard at a distance. The overseer was behind him.
‘No matter what happens, it must be unearthed. We shall take all our Bela
people. I shall also ask that layabout Puttanna to come. Ramu will also be
there. We are no better than bastards if we can’t find out where the stolen
timber is,’ the Gowda said.
What the overseer said in reply wasn’t audible. Everything was clarified by
Ramayya when Hoovayya returned home. Chandrayya Gowda’s petition had
informed the forest ranger about Singappa Gowda’s unauthorized felling of
wood and the Ranger had sent a guard to Seethemane. But no timber had been
found in Singappa Gowda’s house, the guard had told Chandrayya Gowda.
The Gowda had asked the guard for forbearance saying he would find the
stolen timber the very next day.
 33
The Banishment of Annayya Gowda

A ROUND EIGHT O’ clock in the morning, the slanting sunshine kissed the dark
green tops of the areca trees in front of Seethemane Singappa Gowda’s
Mangalore-tiled house. The sunshine streamed through the trees and lay in
lines on the green leaves of the areca saplings and the hoods of banana plants.
The ground was crammed with melusoppu. Its twigs, manure and the red
earth prevented one from walking with ease. A few labourers were busy
cutting down some old areca trees. The sound of chopping echoed to fill the
whole area with sound. The old areca trees at the end of their life span
trembled and swayed their tops of green.
A little distance from the workers sat Krishnappa calling out instructions.
All around him were the dogs resting in various postures.
The cut trunk of an areca tree crackled. Those that were nearby moved
cautiously away.
‘Take care the tree doesn’t fall on you. Beware!’ shouted Krishnappa as he
stared at the tree that kissed the clouds, preparing now to fall.
The tree leaned to one side and then fell to the ground with a great noise
startling the whole field. Its trunk grazed the areca trees nearby and they
swayed to and fro. ‘Ayyayyo! The tip of an areca sapling has snapped off,’
shouted Jackie.
‘You rotten wreckers! Breaking a sapling,’ exclaimed Krishnappa and ran
towards it.
At any other time Krishnappa would have taken the labourers to task. But
he hadn’t the heart to scold them as they were felling the trees joyfully to
construct a pandal for his wedding.
Singappa Gowda had instructed his son to have the trees cut and had left
for Mutthalli to see Seethe who was ill, leaving a happy Krishnappa
engrossed in his job.
Hardly had three or four trees been cut when a cowherd dashed up, gasping
for breath. ’The tiger has got a cow!’ he cried.
‘When?’ Krishnappa asked.
 ‘Perhaps last evening. The cow didn’t come back to the shed last evening.’
‘There is no way a cow can survive under your care. God knows what sort
of cowherds you are.’
Krishnappa was a passionate hunter. He had killed many an animal, but as
yet hadn’t had the opportunity to kill a tiger. When he heard that a cow had
been caught by a tiger he did feel sorry but was also overjoyed at this
opportunity to kill a tiger. He instructed the workers to get on with felling the
trees. Taking Jackie and Obayya with him, he left for the spot where the
cow’s carcass was found. He didn’t let the dogs accompany him.
The cowherd took them to the forest. ‘Ayya, look here,’ he said, when they
had walked a little distance. From the fight that had ensued when the tiger
attacked the cow, the grass on the ground was pounded and bruised. Even
small shrubs had been destroyed. Watery cow dung lay around. Though the
blood that had been shed was clotted, it looked fresh.
‘It has drunk the blood here and carried the carcass away,’ said Obayya.
‘It’s not a small tiger either! Look at its pug marks,’ said Jackie. The marks
were not clear since the ground was hard.
‘We should not leave without skinning it,’ said Krishnappa following the
tracks. It was easy to see where the tiger had dragged the cow.
As they went forward, they discovered the sandy bed of a dried-up stream,
boasting not even a drop of water. The signs of the tiger having dragged the
cow along the sand were very clear. The pug marks of the tiger were clear
too.
‘Look here, each claw is the size of a lemon.’
‘And look here! There are smaller footprints too. Probably a cub as well.’
The cub’s footprints were clearly visible by the mother’s.
Krishnappa looked at Obayya with contempt when he heard him say that
they had better leave the tiger well alone as she had a cub with her. ‘What if
there’s a cub? Won’t the bullet hit it? If you are scared, go home.’
‘Am I a woman to be scared? I just mentioned it because a cub could be
dangerous,’ said Obayya and walked ahead of everyone to show off his
courage.
The tiger which had killed the cow at the edge of the forest had dragged it
to the middle, eaten the hind legs and thighs and hidden the remains in the
bushes to satisfy its hunger later.
Krishnappa looked at it and the huge trees around. ‘If we sit up tonight, the
tiger can be shot. One on this tree, one there and another there. If the tiger
comes, it may do so from this direction. It will definitely come. Where else
can it go? Moreover, there’s the cub. It may come just as darkness falls.’
Jackie looked at the trees. ‘Yes . . . But in this darkness, how can the tiger
be shot? It looks as if there will be no moonlight.’
Obayya who intended to transfer his household goods and cattle from
Kelakanooru to Seethemane that night said, ‘How can that be? That is neither
here nor there. It’s enough if one were to set up a gun. The bitch will be in
pieces by morning!’
Krishnappa was angry again. You are all lazy. You just eat and sleep. Tell
me if you can’t come. I’ll go alone. What if it’s dark? Won’t there be a little
light from the moon? Even if it’s dark, where is the problem in shooting the
tiger? Was there moonlight when I shot a cheetah last year in the forest above
our fields? It was pitch dark at that time. Its eyes were dazzling. I just looked
at it, took aim and shot. The bullet struck the head, right on target.’ Once he
had explained that it was possible to shoot a tiger even in the dark, Jackie
talked about building a scaffolding to lie in wait.
‘Singappa Gowda had told us to transport the things from Kelakanooru to
Seethemane in the cart tonight. Can I come later for the watch?’ Obayya
asked, looking at Krishnappa.
‘Look now! One more thing has cropped up!’ said Jackie.
‘Get lost then! What else can be done? Tell me,’ said Krishnappa.
‘What will happen if we set up the gun?’ asked Obayya.
‘What will happen is . . .’ Krishnappa stopped midway with disapproval.
‘Let’s set up the guns in two or three places. If the tiger escapes from one,
the others get the animal.’
Eventually, they gave up the idea of building a scaffolding on the tree and
lying in wait through the night. All three returned home. They went back
around three o’ clock in the afternoon to where the carcass lay and set up the
guns.

* * *

At dusk a bullock cart travelled the high road from Seethemane to

Kelakanooru. There was no sound save the turning of wheels. There were no
bells round the bullocks’ necks. The cart driver had deliberately taken them
off and left them at home so that no sound could be heard. He had oiled the
springs and coils well to prevent any undue noise.
 Within a short time three people came up behind and got into the cart. They
whispered among themselves. The fact that they spoke in low tones though
there was no one else on the road made it obvious that they were up to no
good.
The cart went straight on and stopped in the courtyard of Singappa
Gowda’s house. Obayya jumped down and whispered, Krishnappa Gowda,
come in.’ Krishnappa too got down from the cart and went in with Obayya.
The cart driver had untethered the bullocks and lowered the yoke when Jackie
asked him how much further Chandrayya Gowda’s house lay.
‘Not far. As far perhaps as the time needed to chew an areca nut,’ the man
replied. He drew some straw from the cart onto the ground. The bullocks
started to eat it noisily.
When Annayya Gowda came out and called, Jackie and the cart driver
followed him. In the yard by the light of an oil lamp, Obayya was attending to
Krishnappa, pouring out the liquor. When the rest arrived, they were offered
some too, and everyone had his fill.
They had spoken in whispers at the beginning but were now venturing to
talk loudly. Towards the end, they were even laughing aloud. Annayya
Gowda realized that if any more drinking was allowed, the day’s work would
remain undone and asked his daughter to take the liquor pot inside. But Jackie
continued to laugh like a man gone insane.
‘The liquor is very good! Give us some more. We’ll have to lose sleep all
night!’ He put his hands into the pot and started to scoop up handfuls of the
liquor.
Jackie didn’t rise until the last drop at the bottom of the pot was drunk.
Then he stood up swaying all the while, and tried to help the others who were
loading the cart, a hindrance more often than not.
Once the cart was fully loaded, Annayya Gowda looked up as he spoke
making sure that no spittle would fall from his mouth full of pan, ‘You go and
come back. It’ll all be over with the next trip. Then we can drive off the
animals,’ he said.
Jackie sitting in the yard on a blanket and watching the sky, bared his teeth
which stuck out like fangs and said, ‘What lovely moonlight!’
‘Let’s tie some of the cattle up to the back of the cart. It’ll be that much
easier the next time.’
‘That’s right. A clever thing too,’ said Obayya and went into the cowshed.
He brought out three heads of cattle, lengthened the ropes around their necks
and tied them up to the peg on the cart.
The cart set off towards Seethemane. The hills, valleys and forests were
silent as if faint from bathing in the moonlight or lost in a happy trance. The
chirping of the thene birds and the response of Annayya Gowda’s mongrel to
the barking of dogs from Kanooru sounded like the voice of victory to
Krishnappa, Obayya and Jackie. In a little while, the cart and its noise receded
in the forest.
Even then Annayya Gowda’s mongrel didn’t give up its barking. Annayya
Gowda listened and heard the clamour of dogs in Kanooru! It was clearly
audible.
If he had gone to Kanooru then, he would have been flabbergasted.
Chandrayya Gowda, Ramayya, Puttanna, the overseer, Halepaikada Thimma,
Baira, Sidda and the other Belas, Soma and some others had all got together
and were about to set off on some mission! The forest officer was also there.
Were they setting out to hunt in the moonlight? It didn’t appear so because
they were deliberately shooing away the dogs to prevent them from coming
along. Chandrayya Gowda was ordering cart driver Ninga to shut all the dogs
inside while Putta and Vasu were tying up the noisier dogs with long ropes
and chains. Some carried long iron crowbars and some carried hoes. There
was a double-barrelled gun in Puttanna’s hands.
Prompted by fear of Chandrayya Gowda lodging a complaint against him,
Singappa Gowda with some foresight to his credit had buried the timber he
had poached in the sand by the stream which flowed along the edge of his
fields far away from his home. That was why when the forest ranger from
Theerthahalli sent a guard to Seethemane for inspection in connection with
Chandrayya Gowda’s petition, there had been no sign of any illegally cut
timber. When Chandrayya Gowda was informed about this, he had assured
the guard that he would find the timber and had sent off Puttanna on a mission
of reconnaissance. He had gone to the liquor shop, the market for all the news
of the neighbourhood, and cajoled the shopkeeper into coming out with the
truth. The owner was already angry with Obayya. In addition, he hoped that
he might get the money that Obayya owed from Chandrayya Gowda, Obayya
being among his workers. He told Puttanna everything he knew, but lacked
precise information about where the timber lay hidden. However it was
known that it was buried in the mud by the tank. That night Chandrayya
Gowda was about to set off secretly with his entourage to find the spot.
 As they walked on for a little while towards Seethemane, a man came into
sight, swaying from one side of the road to the other crookedly like a snake.
The moon was bright and in the shadows of the trees falling here and there
like ink on the red highway, his strange movement looked demoniac. Pot-
bellied Soma walking at the rear end of the group saw him and his hair stood
on end.
Puttanna walking ahead of everyone with a gun on his shoulders called out,
‘Who’s that?’
Puttanna called again. ‘Your father,’ answered the person and tottered on
without looking back.
Puttanna went forward quickly and ordered, ‘Who’s that? Stop!’
‘Your wife’s paramour,’ stuttered the man, turned back and tried to stand,
failed, and kept swaying. Puttanna went up to him angrily. It was Jackie,
Seethemane Singappa Gowda’s knave of a servant! The demon who had
killed Puttanna’s adored dog, Tiger. Puttanna wasn’t married. Nevertheless he
punched Jackie’s nose with his right fist for having spoken to him offensively
about his wife. Jackie who was totally drunk fell to the ground with a hideous
shout. Krishnappa and Obayya who were a little ahead, walking behind the
cart, heard his shout and ran back startled. Jackie had fallen down and
Chandrayya Gowda and the others stood around him.
Krishnappa wasn’t aware of the real purpose behind the expedition of
Chandrayya Gowda and his men that night. He thought they were there to
stop their labourer from running away secretly. ‘If your worker wants to come
to us willingly, why did you beat our man?’ he said angrily.
Neither Chandrayya Gowda nor his people understood the question.
‘Why should he say whatever comes to his mind?’ taunted Puttanna.
Even as words were bandied about, Jackie got up. ‘Which son of a bitch
dares to stop our Gowda’s cart? Heads will roll. Obegowda, carry on,’ said
Jackie. ‘Sukra, Sukra, eh, Sukra,’ he went along the road like a mad man,
calling the cart driver. Krishnappa planned on staying on there, so that the cart
at least could move on as far as possible. Jackie just wouldn’t listen but broke
into a run shouting, ‘Sukra, Sukra, Sukra!’ The cart driver was bewildered by
the commotion and stopped the cart when he saw a group of people.
Looking at the loaded cart and the animals walking behind it, the meaning
of Krishnappa’s words suddenly dawned on Chandrayya Gowda. Singappa
Gowda was hijacking his labourer in the middle of the night.
 He stopped the cart and had turned it around towards his house. ‘We shall
take the cart back. You can take away the things that belong to your men if
you want,’ said Krishnappa Gowda. Chandrayya Gowda, stronger and with
more men, refused. Jackie too, on seeing so many men, was merely loud but
incapable of doing anything. Krishnappa was helpless. ‘Unload all the things
in their house and bring the cart back,’ he told Sukra and walked away with
Jackie towards Seethemane. The Gowda took back Obayya with him by force.
Chandrayya Gowda and his entourage returned with the cart. Obayya was a
prisoner.
A little way away, Chandrayya Gowda called the overseer and Puttanna.
‘You go with four or five men and find the timber. I shall go and take care of
Annayya Gowda’s household goods and cows.’
However much they tried, Puttanna, the overseer and the others were
unable to find the cache of timber. They dug up every likely place with
crowbars and hoes and found stones, mud and slush, but no timber.
The next morning the guard went back looking crestfallen.
That same day Chandrayya Gowda confiscated Annayya Gowda’s
household goods, cattle and properly in lieu of his debt and exiled him, his
son and daughter. He did not leave them even their chickens. The only thing
they had left was their ugly black mongrel.
 34
And then, that Tiger

A FTER CHANDRAYYA GOWDA had the cart forcibly driven back with its
luggage, it was with great effort that Krishnappa was able to lead Jackie
towards Seethemane while he thrashed his arms and legs about and kept
shouting. Everyone at home was asleep. As Krishnappa quietened down the
barking dogs and spread his mattress on the verandah to sleep, he heard the
burst of gunfire. Hot blood rushed into Krishnappa’s heart when he heard the
roar of a tiger from the forest churning the night’s silence. The dogs began to
bark fiercely. Krishnappa was elated that the trap they had set had worked. He
went to bed eagerly waiting for the morning to break.
A hundred and one dreams, some sweet and some bitter. Some enchanting,
others frightening. It was the day of his wedding to Seethe. It was as if he had
looted heaven’s riches! What was that? The noise from the crowd that had
come for the wedding! No, not that! It was the roar of the wounded tiger. The
tiger was chasing him and all around lay the terrible forest! The wedding hall
had turned into a dense forest. Krishnappa fired his gun. The tiger was hit but
it pounced on him. Yes, it was on him and he could feel the tiger’s claws
raking him! Krishnappa groaned in his sleep and woke up. There was only the
silence and moonlight covered the place like spilt milk. Dreams again: a cart
with some luggage approached and Hoovayya came up with some people and
stopped the cart. They argued with each other and soon Krishnappa and
Hoovayya began to fight. Seethe came between the two and stopped them . . .
The servants were chopping the areca trees and one of the trees fell on him.
Krishnappa tried to run but his legs wouldn’t move. It was as if someone had
tied him up. The tree did fall on him . . . Krishnappa woke up with a start and
opened his eyes. What heavenly silence and what enchanting and peaceful
light lay around!
In the morning Singappa Gowda heard about the incidents of the previous
night. He was furious and took his son to task. ‘You call yourself a man! May
your manhood be set on fire! You let them take away the cart and you are
about to wed. Where is the need for a sissy like you to marry? Have you no
self-respect at all? If I were you I would have killed myself. Who will give
you a girl in marriage? Eunuch! Go wear some bangles and put on a saree . .
.!’
Krishnappa stood with his head bent and listened to his father’s words.
Tears welled up in his eyes. Every word his father spoke was a blow to his
ego and his heart felt as if it was being wrung dry. He was filled with a
wordless rage. He left the place, went into the kitchen and asked his mother
for his breakfast. He ate it without another word.
His mother sat down in front of him and tried her best but he refused to be
drawn into conversation. ‘Tell me, who else is there but your father to advise
you? Why should you get upset?’
He got up and left. He came back into the kitchen wearing a jacket and cap.
He carried a gun in his hand. He took out the box of bullets from the shelf
above the fireplace and pocketed a few.
‘Where are you off to, son?’ asked the mother but the son didn’t reply.
‘Are you upset with me too?’
Hearing his mother’s plaintive voice, Krishnappa said, ‘I’m going nowhere
in particular, Avva. I had set a trap for the tiger yesterday. I’m going to check
it, I heard a gunshot last night.’
He looked at her. There were tears in her eyes and anxiety was writ large
on her face.
‘Are you going alone?’ ‘No, I’ll take Jackie with me.’
‘Be careful! You can’t play around with a tiger!’ As Krishnappa went out
of the kitchen, he stumbled over the threshold. His mother called him back
and warned him again. ‘Be careful, will you? A tiger can be dangerous. Why
don’t you take someone else.’
‘We are not out on a tiger hunt, are we? The trap with the gun has been set
up and there was a shot. We’ll go there and check. That’s all.’
The sun had just then began pouring his rays over the hills and forests. The
cool air was echoing with songs from a variety of birds. Krishnappa and
Jackie were going up a hill, making their way through trees, bushes and
creepers. The dogs were excitedly running all around them, sniffing the
ground here and there and lifting up their hind legs now and then to mark the
bushes.
There was an eerie silence at the spot where the guns had been set up.
Krishnappa quickly untied the ones which had not gone off. Otherwise the
dogs would have run over the strings and been killed.
 The carcass of the cow was lying as on the previous day. There were very
many more flies around and there was a bad smell coming from the carcass. It
was clear from the blood and some coloured hair on the ground that the tiger
had been wounded. But it had not died anywhere near the spot. It was hurt but
not mortally. There was wonderment in the eyes of some of the dogs, having
caught the scent of the tiger.
‘What shall we do now, Jackie?’ asked Krishnappa. ‘What can we do but
go home? A wounded tiger is no joke. Let’s not have anything to do with it.
You know that the white man who went after a wounded tiger in Mandagadde
didn’t return.’
An experienced hunter like Puttanna wouldn’t have gone looking for a
wounded tiger without help and support from many more men. Krishnappa
was a fearless youth but somewhat rash. He was still burning with anger, and
his father had called him a coward, eunuch and sissy that very morning. He
wasn’t aware of the feeling that had sprouted in him of wanting to
demonstrate that he was an adventurous male capable of exercising authority
over Seethe. ‘Come on! Are you suggesting that we should go home? Having
shed so much blood, I’m sure the tiger will have died already. Let’s go a little
further and look for it. We have the dogs anyway. What are you scared of?
Follow me if you want to.’
Jackie’s wisdom sprang from his fear. ‘Looking for a wounded tiger is like
catching a cobra by its hood, remember. The Gowda will take you to task for
this.’
‘All right then. You stay here. J will take the dogs with me and look
around.’ Sotldy he called the dogs to him and took the trail left by the tiger’s
blood. Though unwilling Jackie followed him.
They were all eyes as they halted repeatedly after a couple of steps through
the thick undergrowth, all the while encouraging the dogs in a soft voice. The
dogs too were scared and watchful as they stayed close to the men.
Once when a dog stopped startled, Krishnappa asked Jackie who was close
enough to touch his back, ‘What’s the matter? The dog is startled. Is the tiger
lying dead somewhere here?’ He clicked his fingers and urged the dogs
towards the undergrowth in front, softly crying ‘Choo! Go, catch!’
The dogs went a little way forward and stopped. Krishnappa cocked his
gun, took a couple of steps and looked at the dogs alternately turning their
eyes towards him and the undergrowth in front. ‘Choo! Go, Potright, go!’
 Potright was a good hunting dog but was wary of tigers. Once while he was
sleeping near the house a big cheetah had tried to carry him away. Potright
had fought with the animal and managed to escape. Since then he ran scared
of tigers and cheetahs.
When the master called him by name and urged him on, Potright went
ahead. It was at that moment that they thought they heard a low roar from a
thick bush nearby. Both Krishnappa and Jackie jumped back a step or two,
hair on end. Even the dogs retreated in a hurry and barked furiously. Not one
of them was prepared to take a step forward even though Krishnappa urged
them. That the tiger was there was beyond doubt.
Hit by the bullet near its hip, the tiger had collapsed on the ground. Having
sensed the presence of men and dogs in the vicinity, the infuriated tiger was
ready to extract his vengeance. ‘Don’t! Krishnappa Gowdare, don’t! Let’s go
home and come back here with more men,’ pleaded Jackie.
‘They also will be like you, don’t I know? I think the tiger is hurt very
badly. I’m sure it will die if we shoot it through some hole or the other in the
bush,’ said Krishnappa and advanced slowly while Jackie stood rooted to the
spot, watching with great trepidation.
Krishnappa’s bent form disappeared in the thick undergrowth even as
Jackie watched. Jackie wanted to join him but didn’t have courage enough to
follow. He stood there and urged the dogs crying, ‘Choo, choo! Go, catch!’
Suddenly the tiger’s furious roar shook Jackie even as it shattered the forest
silence. The roar was loud enough to have made anyone’s blood curdle and
knock him unconscious with petrified limbs. He also heard the sound of a big
animal moving fast among the bushes which rustled violently. The dogs
howled. At the same moment there was the sound of a gun being fired and the
piteous cry, ‘Ayyo, Jackie!’ from Krishnappa. Shaking and shouting, Jackie
rushed unthinking to where the cry had emerged.
What did he see! Krishnappa was lying in the undergrowth with the giant
tiger towering over him. Jackie’s head went into a whirl. Objects turned into
colours and began to whirl; green, yellow, black, red and white! The green of
the undergrowth, the yellow and black of the tiger’s stripes, the red of blood
and the white of the tiger’s teeth and jaws! When Jackie felt as if boiling
water was being poured over him and his eyes went blind, he automatically
aimed the gun at the tiger and shot. On seeing him the tiger leaped towards
him. Jackie went down unconscious when he felt something hit him. Hearing
the gunshot the dogs felt bold enough to rush at the tiger. The tiger fell down
dead next to Jackie. The animal had been hit by the bullets which both
Krishnappa and Jackie had fired. Jackie’s body bore nothing more than a few
scratch wounds from the tiger’s leap.
Krishnappa’s mother was busy with her cooking when she heard the
gunshots. She felt as if her heart was being wrung dry. She ran to the
verandah and told her husband, ’The boy had gone to hunt a tiger! I heard two
shots! I don’t know what has happened. Take some men with you. Please go
and see!’
Singappa Gowda too felt suddenly frightened and rushed towards the forest
with some men in tow. Jackie regained consciousness after a while and saw
that the tiger was dead and lying next to him. The dogs were howling and
Krishnappa lay without moving. His own body was red with blood as a result
of the tiger’s claws. It was frightening. He tried to get up but couldn’t. He
crawled on all fours to reach Krishnappa.
Krishnappa’s body lay in a pool of blood. The wounds on his face had
made it unrecognizable. One of the tiger’s claws had gouged out a pupil and
his head looked as if it had been axed in two or three places. The white of his
brain smeared with blood had emerged and could be seen through his black
hair. The left hand still held the gun tightly. It was too grotesque a sight for
Jackie to cry. He was petrified.
Singappa Gowda swept away in a flood of tears, had his son’s body and
Jackie carried home. Jackie was in agony from the pain that the poison in the
tiger’s claws had injected into him. Krishnappa’s mother wailed aloud, beat
her head, chest and stomach, tore out her hair, scratched her face, fell on her
son’s body and rolled over it. With the neighbours and the workers joining in
the mourning the house turned into a veritable hell.

The news had spread by evening. Shyamayya Gowda and Chinnayya from
Mutthalli, Chandrayya Gowda, Ramayya, Hoovayya and some others from
Kanooru and relatives from other villages gathered in Seethemane. Every one
of them was in anguish on seeing the heart-rending scene and the parents’
grief. Krishnappa’s mother wouldn’t let go of her son’s body even though the
others importuned her in many ways. Her saree was completely drenched in
her son’s blood.
Hoovayya’s pessimism grew all the more. The world which had previously
appeared to be an abode of beauty now seemed ugly, a workshop for a cruel
demon. The basic premise of Buddhism that everything was transient,
sorrowful and ultimately nothingness seemed to have been demonstrated that
day. There was a time when he had laughed at that philosophical position as
that of the defeated and the chronically ill throwing up their hands. The lines
he used to recite from the optimist poet Browning with pride, ‘God is in his
heaven, All’s right with the world’ had been proven to be hollow without a
shadow of doubt.
Jackie was taken by cart to the hospital in Theerthahalli. Puttanna went in
the cart to take care of him. As Jackie’s ill luck would have it, there was
lightning and thunder and the monsoon rain poured relentlessly on their way.
 35
An Afternoon in Mutthalli

‘L AKSHMI!’
‘M . . . m . . .’ came a sing-song reply.
‘Come here.’
Her ‘Why?’ was drawn out further.
‘I said come here.’
‘Why, Avva?’ The tune grew even longer.
‘Will you come or shall I come myself?’
Gowramma had called her younger daughter in order to comb her hair and
looked pityingly at the elder one as she lay emaciated beside her on her
sickbed.
Seethe lay with a blue shawl pulled up to her neck. On her pale face, her
roaming eyes were full of sadness like song birds newly imprisoned in a cage.
Her hair was dishevelled, not having been combed for many days. The smell
of fever lay all around her bed. By her bedside were medicine bottles and
slices of lemon. Small fruit flies were hovering over them. The shawl rose and
fell ever so slightly as she breathed. Every time Gowramma heard the sound
of her daughter’s breathing, she felt like sighing deeply.
Seethe’s vision was fixed so far away that she was able to see neither the
coloured cucumbers that were hanging on bamboo poles in the corner nor the
coconut wrapped in a cloth and hanging over her head after having been
consecrated by Venkappayya, the Joisa of the Agrahara.
Looking at the piteous state of her daughter, compassion and fear arose in
Gowramma. She had hoped for wedded bliss for her beloved daughter, and
was now apprehensive that further misfortune might descend on her. Her
parents had done everything they possibly could to have their daughter cured.
Medicines from doctors, spells from the priest, blood sacrifices for demons
and offerings to the Gods in holy places like Dharmasthala, Thirupathi and
Sibbulugudde. Nothing had worked.
Gowramma stroked her daughter’s forehead and cheeks, tidied the
dishevelled hair and asked softly, ‘How do you feel now?’ She would do so
many times every day to control her own grief.
‘I feel much better now,’ Seethe said as she did every time and looked at
the tearful eyes of her mother.
But neither mother nor daughter believed in the reply. Each pretended to
believe to console the other.
Gowramma felt her daughter’s forehead again. The fever seemed to be
high.
She went into her bedroom, took out a silver two-anna piece, washed it and
walked once around the bed. She tied it up in a piece of cloth and hung it
from the bamboo pole. She had promised Thirupathi Thimmappa with folded
hands that she would offer him a silver trident if Seethe got well soon. Seeing
the numerous offerings tied to the bamboo pole, the mother felt comforted.
Detached, her daughter watched everything that she did.
Gowramma then asked again, ‘How do you feel now?’ Seethe sighed. ‘It
feels as if the fever has left me.’
Gowramma touched her daughter’s forehead again. ‘You are right. It is
much cooler now.’ Seethe felt so too.
Then Gowramma described to her daughter with great emotion how once
when her husband was very sick and no medicine could cure him, she had
prayed to Thirupathi Thimmappa and the fever had gone and he was well
again.
Even after all this, Lakshmi still hadn’t appeared. Gowramma brought the
pot of coconut oil and the wooden comb. Laying them before her she called,
‘Lakshmi,’ firmly.
Lakshmi answered as before, calmly, in her sing-song voice. Gowramma
grew angry. ‘Are you coming or not, you loud-mouth?’ There was anger in
her voice as she went to the window and looked out.
Lakshmi was making mud pies in the hot sun and spreading them out. Near
her, where the black shadow of the roof lay, was a small oven which she had
constructed herself. On top of it was a crooked pot which belonged to the
same class of handicraft as the oven. Both were shyly curled up like one’s
mistakes come into the open. The girl’s face was sweaty and red. Her hands
were covered in red mud and prints of mud on the skirt showed up clearly.
Lakshmi’s shadow lay in a misshapen lump by her foot like spilt black ink.
‘Ayyo, what can one do with her? Do you have to play with mud and under
the sun? The skirt is done for! I had washed it just today. May your face catch
fire! Come here!’ The girl heard her mother’s screams and looked up with a
red face bathed in sweat, smiled and spoke in her sing-song voice, ‘I’m.
making rotti.’ ‘I see. Are you making them for your paramour? Will you
come inside or not? It’s ages since I smacked you. Insolent girl!’ Lakshmi
abandoned her game with reluctance, went in, dipped her muddy hands in the
clean water stored in the bathroom and entered the room where her sister lay.
As soon as she saw her mother sitting with the oil and comb in front of her,
Lakshmi stood as far away as possible leaning against the wall, her face
showing displeasure.
Having her hair combed was a matter of great distress to her. She was very
upset especially when she had to forsake her splendid game with mud in order
to engage in as worthless a pursuit as combing one’s hair. ‘Come here!’ Avva
called but the daughter didn’t budge an inch from where she stood. Tears
were already welling up in her eyes.
‘Come here, I’ll comb your hair.’
‘No, I won’t,’ said Lakshmi almost crying.
‘We have some visitors coming here. Comb your hair and wear some
flowers.’ said the mother enticing her with lies. The daughter saw through
this. ‘No, I won’t. I know it’s all lies!’ she said, making faces with her smiles
now instead of tears.
‘Will you come or not? I’ll hit you otherwise!’
‘M . . . m . . . m . . .’ Lakshmi snivelled but didn’t move.
Gowramma now angry, went over to her all of a sudden, thumped her on
the back, dragged her along and sat her down. Lakshmi had to surrender even
as she wailed aloud and shed copious tears.
‘A little lenience and the dog licks the serving spoon! You don’t listen to
me when I speak gently, do you?’ said Gowramma as she launched into the
business of combing her hair.
She undid the hair that had been plaited the day before, now dishevelled
and full of knots and started disentangling them. Lakshmi felt great pain a
couple of times and cried even more.
‘Will you keep quiet or not?’ Lakshmi struggled to free her locks from her
mother’s fingers, moaning all the while.
Gowramma thumped the girl’s back yet again as Lakshmi cried aloud.
‘Why do you beat her, Avva?’ said Seethe in a weak voice. Gowramma
was already saddened by her much-loved little daughter’s weeping. As soon
as Seethe spoke with compassion, her motherly love burst its banks and
overflowed. She pulled Lakshmi into her embrace, pressed her cheeks and
lips to her own cheeks, pressed their foreheads together gently and savoured
the smell of her body and mouth. ‘Don’t cry, Chinna! My baby! May my
hands catch fire . . .! I’ll kiss you. Don’t cry. May my hands fall off. Tell me,
shouldn’t you come when you are called? You make a fuss and get beaten.
No, I was wrong! Don’t cry, Chinna! May my hands be eaten by white ants!’
She kept cursing herself, consoled her daughter in many ways, held her and
caressed her.
Lakshmi kept whimpering even after she had stopped crying. It was a dry
whimper, like stale decorations, devoid of both essence and emotion. As her
mother combed her hair, other thoughts would come to her mind and she
would forget to cry. But when the memory recurred suddenly, she would
promptly start whimpering again.
Gowramma had almost finished when Kala called out, ‘Amma, Amma!’ in
a terrified voice from the kitchen.
‘What is it?’ asked Gowramma, startled, still holding on to Lakshmi’s plait.
‘A tiger got Krishnappa Gowda, it seems.’
‘What!’ said Gowramma and felt as if boiling water had been poured over
her. The plait slipped from her hand.
Kala went on with a deep sigh. ‘Singappa Gowda has sent people . . . They
had set up guns last night. Krishnappa went looking for the wounded tiger . . .
The tiger caught him.’
‘Narayana!’ Gowramma started weeping and looked at Seethe. Seethe’s
body was no longer under her control. She was sitting up in bed. Her chest
heaved and fell. It wasn’t possible to say whether she was sobbing or
laughing. Even though tears flowed from her eyes, there was no sound from
her.
It could be said that the genius of the most capable psychologist would
have found it difficult to enter the complexity of the myriad emotions in her
mind and solve the mystery.
Seethe felt like an exile who been released into the pure air of home amidst
the sky, sunshine, forests, rivers, streams, ponds and green fields after having
been imprisoned and been almost dead in the dark cave of a jail in foreign
lands.
 36
Does Sorrow Differentiate Between the Rich and the
Poor?

B Y THE TIME Hoovayya woke up the next morning, the sun had already
settled down above the forests on the hills. Having been washed clean by the
heavy downpour of the previous evening, the green of the forest, the golden
sunshine and the blue sky were enough to lift his spirits.
‘Oh, so late!’ he muttered to himself under his breath and turned. Ramayya
was still sleeping soundly, the blanket over his head.
Hoovayya recalled the frightening events of the previous day: Krishnappa’s
death, his parents’ tears, Jackie’s grief and the cremation of the body and that
tiger! He shivered a little.
He didn’t wake Ramayya up. He had his bath and breakfast and went out to
stroll around Kanubailu. He had answered briefly when Subbamma,
Puttamma and his mother had asked about the tragedy while he was in the
kitchen. But the event took over his mind like fog in the valley as the sun
climbed up. He wasn’t drawn to the morning’s beauty, the birds’ chirping, the
cool breeze, the pleasant warmth and the dewdrops which twinkled on the
grass, trees and the bamboo clumps swaying like green fans.
He made an effort once or twice to turn his mind towards nature’s beauty
but it returned inexorably to Krishnappa’s body mauled by the tiger.
Krishnappa had been younger than him. Just the other day, he had been his
playmate and was his schoolmate too. Krishnappa’s marriage had been settled
as well. What a tragedy!
Suddenly there was a halt in the flow of his thoughts. Seethe’s wedding had
been fixed and now Krishnappa was dead. What would happen to her? He sat
down on the root of a huge pipal tree. Unable to think any more, he stared at
it. It was a giant tree. Having spread freely in all the four directions, it had set
up its own family. Its tiny pendant roots reminded one of a sage’s beard as he
sat in meditation, its huge branches stretching out boldly in every direction,
the physique of a body builder trained in a gymnasium, and the giant pendant
roots which had entered the soil, rows of pillars in a huge temple. Though its
foliage of thick leaves overhead was like an umbrella, the sun’s rays managed
to penetrate it here and there and reach the ground as so many sticks. Green
fountains shone from the tender leaves as the young sun touched them. One
could also see red ants’ nests built with mud and leaves, the size of a jackfruit
but looking like the stone of one. One could also see some big, red ants
crawling over leaves and branches. Birds flew around among them to the
patter of water drops from the tree. It was as if the past had met the present in
the tree, a mixture of an old man’s dignity and a boy’s joy. Hoovayya felt as
if the tree had a personality of its own. That might have been the reason why
the villagers of the place said that there were superhuman creatures living in
it.
‘What’s this, Odeya? You are sitting here!’
Hoovayya turned to look. It was pot-bellied Soma with a blanket over his
body, a winnowing fan in his hands and a grin on his face.
‘What’s that in your hand?’
‘It’s nothing, Odeya. I have lost all taste for rice and so came to gather
some ants.’ Hoovayya knew the meaning of the winnowing fan and the salt in
it. Soma would plunder the nests of the ants and their eggs to prepare some
chutney. ‘Were you down with fever?’
‘Not fever, Odeya. It has been like this ever since Jackie, the son of a
whore, thrashed me with a stick.’ Soma shifted the blanket a little to exhibit
his oversized belly and his ribs which looked like so many basins and his
spindly legs which ran unvaryingly from waist to feet.
‘Poor fellow! He too is on his deathbed in a hospital in Theerthahalli.’
‘Good! He deserves it, Odeya. What thuggery! It was he that killed your dog,
Tiger, wasn’t it? I had prayed to the spirit and it struck him in the form of a
tiger! It’s just as well he is gone, the son of a widow! How insolent! The son
of a slut.’
Soma had finished with his anger at Jackie. He climbed the pipal tree with
his winnowing fan, reached the branch on which the ants had built their nest,
held the fan below it and started to cut the branch. The ants fell into the fan.
Along with them fell white eggs the size of wheat grains. As the ants scattered
in confusion, Soma shook the fan from left to right and back and forth. There
was a dry rustle as the salt moved around. The salt made the ants throw up
bile and fall down, immobile. Even then some of them bit Soma. ‘Ay, ayyay,
ayyayyo!’ he screamed, scratched his body here and there and finally threw
down the blanket.
‘Take care! Don’t fall!’ Hoovayya couldn’t help laughing at Soma’s
theatrics.
‘No . . . Ay . . . ayyay, ayyayyo . . .!’ Soma still shouting came down with
his catch. There were lakhs of red ants in the fan and many more small white
eggs. Most of the ants were still alive, struggling.
Somayya tossed the blanket onto his shoulder and turned to Hoovayya.
’The world is a better place now that Jackie has left it! But . . . Krishnappa
Gowda! What a fate! It seems his wedding had been fixed and it was due to
take place after the full moon!’

‘Forget it. You have nothing to do with it. Go home,’ said Hoovayya. Soma
swaggered away and disappeared among the trees. Thoughts of Seethe
returned to Hoovayya’s mind. The desire to call on the sick girl grew strong
in him.
He walked home fast and changed. Standing in front of the mirror, he
combed his hair. He went into the kitchen to tell his mother that he was going
to Mutthalli and left.
He shooed off the dogs that followed him and took the footpath through the
garden. A great change had taken place in his heart and once again, a fountain
of enthusiasm leaped up. Desire which had been stilled by the elders’ decision
to have Krishnappa wed Seethe, was sprouting again. The beauty of late
morning—the green foliage, the sunshine, the chirping of the birds and the
cool breeze—made him feel slightly inebriated. He ran his hand over his hair
now and then and felt his cheeks. He felt that his face had taken on a new
sheen. He bent down to look into a puddle where the previous day’s rainwater
stood deep like a mirror. He had guessed right.
He was pleased and walked faster towards Mutthalli.
He had left the footpath to join the government road and gone a little way
when he heard the frantic ringing of a bicycle bell from the direction of
Koppa. ‘Where could he have come from?’ he asked himself as he turned to
look and give way. The bicycle raced down the steep gradient full of potholes
and almost brushed him as it sped past hissing. ‘What a mad fellow! He goes
so fast on a road full of potholes. He is sure to lose some teeth or knock down
someone.’ Even as he thought so, the cycle fell into a water-hole at the bend
of the road, leaped up a couple of times into the air like a horse, hit the
roadside bank and overturned with a clang. The capricious cyclist hit the
paved road face down like a flat piece of stone thrown in a children’s game.
By the time Hoovayya rushed up to help, the man had got up cleaning his wet
mud-covered shirt and dhoti. He had scratches on his forehead, nose and chin
and blood was oozing through the mud on his cuts. Hoovayya was all concern
as he asked, ‘Are you hurt?’
The man ran his hand over his dishevelled hair and said, ‘No, nothing
serious. What sort of road is this? I haven’t seen a worse stretch between
Theerthahalli and Koppa!’ He lifted the bicycle and examined it.
‘You seem to have some cuts on your face.’
‘Nothing to worry about. It isn’t serious,’ the show-off said and rang the
bell. ‘Is the cycle all right?’ said Hoovayya.
‘Fine. No doubt about it. It’s a BSA cycle. Dependable model. The
mudguard is slightly bent. That’s all.’
‘This road is particularly bad, too many turns. Be careful when you ride.’
‘No need for that. I’m an expert cyclist, you see. My average speed is
twenty-five to thirty miles per hour. It was because of this rotten road . . . I
have to go, I have work.’ The man mounted his bicycle and sped off, the same
as before.
Hoovayya picked up the man’s fountain pen. His shouts to stop the rider
were in vain. Modern technology, English, restlessness, excitement and
speed! The progress-oriented world which he had left behind long ago seemed
to have come a long way into backward Malenadu to show itself off for a
second. The bicycle and the rider became symbols of an ever-changing and
ever-progressing world. Hoovayya’s mind escaped the constricted life in
Kanooru and Mutthalli through a window to fly into the vast stretches of the
world beyond. The cycle which would normally draw no attention to itself in
a crowded city appeared to be an honoured guest here in the wild. After all,
the cyclist was a messenger sent in the vanguard of the assault of the
changing, aggressive and civilized world on Malenadu.
Hoovayya went on, looking at the Swan pen and reading the English
writing on it. When he ran into Nanja, he forgot everything else but Seethe
and walked with eagerness in his step.
‘What news?’ he asked from a distance.
Nanja’s face was blanched and his voice full of grief as if he had news
which shouldn’t be conveyed. ‘What shall I say, Odeya? What shouldn’t have
happened has come to pass!’ Crying, he added, ‘Who could have imagined
such a thing?’ and sobbed.
Hoovayya felt as if boiling water had been poured over him. Freezing water
raced through his veins and was instantaneously replaced by a current of fire.
His body perspired and his lips trembled. His breath came in quick gasps and
his mind was confused. He felt that his legs were giving way, no longer able
to support the weight of his body.
‘What’s it? What . . .? How is Seethe?’ He asked in an urgent, anxious
voice. Nanja didn’t reply but cried aloud as he took out a letter after searching
for a while inside his blanket.
Hoovayya’s hand trembled as he snatched at it and started to read. He was
calmer once he had read the letter. He looked at Nanja and asked, ‘Why are
you crying, Nanja? Why?’ There was anger in his tone. In the letter
Chinnayya had expressed his grief at Krishnappa’s death, and his satisfaction
that Seethe was on the road to recovery and urged Hoovayya to visit
Mutthalli.
‘What shall I say, Odeya? Whoever could have dreamt that Seethe’s
wedding would have come to such a sad end . . .?’ Nanja sobbed some more
and added, ‘My child Rangi died last evening, Odeya . . .’ He sat down on the
road. His cries were heart-rending.
‘What was the matter with the girl?’
Nanja’s voice was shaking as he said, ’They said it was a demon up to
some mischief . . . Ayyo! Why did God have to do this to me? May his temple
crumble to dust.’ Hoovayya did everything he could to console him and
helped him up.
They reached Mutthalli and Nanja, on seeing his hut, rushed madly into it,
crying. Hoovayya walked on, looking at the work that Shyamayya Gowda had
already begun for his daughter’s wedding, and entered the house through the
main door.
 37
Should the One To Marry ask for a Bride?

‘A KKAYYA, I HEARD that Rangi is dead,’ Lakshmi said displaying on her

face all the seriousness and grief that she could. Seethe didn’t respond as she
already knew and her mind was busy grappling with another matter. She lay
on her sickbed looking at the sky which seemed to have been carved into so
many slices by the bars on the window.
The state of her mind in the wake of the news of Krishnappa’s death caused
much concern but she got better gradually as time passed. Most surprising
was the improvement one could see in her health. The fever that had racked
her relentlessly despite everything that was done had disappeared by evening.
Gowramma who had taken a vow in the name of Thirupathi Thimmappa was
in tears, overjoyed that her devotion had paid off. Seethe too believed that it
was her mother’s devotion that had cured her.
Lakshmi couldn’t bear her sister’s silence even when she had brought news
of such great import. ‘Where did Rangi go after she died?’ she asked. One of
her fingers peeping out of a hole in the bottom of a pocket in her dress and
dancing like a gecko’s chopped-off tail was proof enough of the fact that the
seriousness of her question had found no place in her mind.
‘She is dead and gone! That’s all there is to it!’ Seethe replied.
‘She is dead and gone, isn’t she?’ Lakshmi tried to act as if she understood
everything, though there was a small doubt still lingering in her mind. ‘But
where did she go after her death?’ she asked.
‘To Swarga.’
How could the little girl know that her sister would be pained when she
spoke of such things?
‘Where is Swarga, Akkayya?’
‘You reach it once you go beyond the sky, stars and everything else.’
Lakshmi couldn’t understand how Rangi, who couldn’t even move about
on all fours, could go all that far.
‘How did she manage to go that far?’
 Seethe tried hard to explain to her sister in her own way how the Devathe
come down to carry away the dead ones to Heaven which was a place of great
beauty and happiness.
Lakshmi was happy with her sister’s description of Heaven. Why did
Rangi’s parents have to wail, beating their chests, if Rangi had gone to such a
place?
‘Shall we too go there?’
‘Thoo! Don’t talk of such inauspicious things!’
Lakshmi was surprised that her sister told her off for her desire to go to
such a lovely place.
Reason surrendered itself to traditional belief, and thinking to the Vedas, as
Lakshmi said nothing for some time. ‘When is Rangi coming back again?’
she asked, broaching another topic.
‘She’ll never come back,’ said Seethe, a little irritated. Lakshmi’s
innocence took a staggering blow from her sister’s answer. This place which
wouldn’t allow one to return to earth seemed more terrifying than a tiger’s
maw. The finger that was playing around in the hole in her pocket became
still. She stared at Seethe’s face with great suspicion. She stayed that way for
a few minutes, got up slowly and slipped out of the room.
Seethe couldn’t lie down for a long time with the joy of having escaped the
misfortune of marrying Krishnappa and sadness about Hoovayya not having
come to visit her when she was sick . . .
Lying with the shawl pulled up to cover her chest, she was looking out of
the window at the sky beyond, when she saw Hoovayya coming towards her
with her brother. She pulled her shawl up to her neck and closed her eyes. But
for the anger and sadness on her face, one would think she was asleep.
Many emotions were awakened in Seethe’s heart as soon as she saw
Hoovayya; the first and most important was joy. She had been longing to see
him for days. Now on seeing her idol what else could she feel? But there is
some pride in everyone, isn’t there? So Seethe decided not to reveal the joy
she felt on looking at her beloved because of a sense of self-esteem and fear.
Then came anger and unhappiness, one chasing the other, for her beloved
hadn’t come to visit her all these days. Then there was the rise of a slight
feeling of vengeance because she had lost the opportunity to witness his pain
as he looked at her racked with fever. As a result of the clamour of such
feelings tears flowed out of her closed eyes.
 Hoovayya and Chinnayya who sat beside the bed didn’t speak for a minute
or two. The silence in the room lay heavy like an ill omen. Hoovayya’s heart
was too full of emotions like love, sympathy for Seethe, anger at himself and
censure, to speak. He swallowed a couple of times, coughed and tried to get a
hold on himself. Nevertheless his eyes were full of tears and his vision
blurred.
‘How are you now, Seethe?’ Chinnayya started the conversation and put
his hand on his sister’s forehead.
Seethe didn’t open her eyes. Her tears flowed faster than before. Both
Hoovayya and Chinnayya interpreted it wrongly. They believed that she was
crying over the tragedy that had overtaken Krishnappa.
‘Why do you have to cry, Avva? What happened has happened. What can
anyone do? You only receive whatever is written on your forehead . . . ‘ said
Chinnayya in a sympathetic voice wanting to console her. Seethe lost control
and started to sob. Her weeping held no remorse over Krishnappa’s terrible,
untimely death. There was only distress that her tears were given an
interpretation that she didn’t like, that did her no good.
Hoovayya sat speechless, motionless, with his head slightly bent. Tears
flowed from his eyes.
Chinnayya took hold of Seethe’s hand. ‘No, no. Don’t cry like that! The
fever may come back again. Your Hoovayya Bhava has come. Open your
eyes.’
Seethe kept sobbing, opened her eyes once and seeing Hoovayya crying,
closed her eyes again. She felt a little better, seeing her beloved
commiserating with her.
‘What has this turned into?’ thought Chinnayya. ‘Hoovayya, let’s go to the
fields,’ he said and took a reluctant Hoovayya with him. ‘The more we talk,
the more she will cry! The fever might come back,’ he whispered and crossed
the threshold.
However neither Seethe nor Hoovayya spoke a word. But in Hoovayya’s
mind a mistaken feeling was growing stronger, that Seethe was crying for
Krishnappa and that she had loved him wholeheartedly as she did even now.
With this feeling growing stronger, his mind was in turmoil with despair
and a strange excitement. Leaving Mutthalli was now as appealing as arriving
there had been earlier. As they left by the main door to wander through the
fields, Hoovayya suddenly announced that he was going home. Chinnayya
was startled at the sudden decision.
 ‘Why? Why now? It’s almost lunchtime!’ he said.
‘That’s all right. I shall reach home in another half-hour or so.’
‘What’s the hurry? You have just arrived. Appayya hasn’t yet come back
from Seethemane either. He may probably arrive in the afternoon. See him
and then leave.’
Hoovayya thought for a while without even batting his eyelids. Would
Shyamayya Gowda talk to him about Seethe? Moreover, it wouldn’t be right
to leave without saying anything to Seethe. It would be better to find out how
she felt. Eventually he decided not to be hasty but wait and see what would
happen. He did what Chinnayya suggested and went with him towards the
fields.
After lunch he went to talk to Seethe accompanied by Lakshmi who hung
on to Hoovayya’s left hand, pulling him hard and chattering away like a rattle.
Akkayya and Bhavayya were soon engrossed in serious conversation.
Totally ignored, Lakshmi felt insulted and impatient, got up and went to a
place where she would get not only a warmer, welcome, but also respect and
attention. She went to Kala.
As they conversed, Seethe spoke freely of her dreams, her anguish and
despair at waiting for Hoovayya Bhava in vain during her sickness. She spoke
with simplicity, concealing nothing. But Hoovayya wasn’t able to open his
heart up completely though he was aware of the depth of her love for him. He
made a few excuses for his not having visited her and went on to discuss other
matters. Neither said a word about Krishnappa.
When Hoovayya left the room where Seethe lay, his mind was busy with
another thought: Shyamayya Gowda would have certainly said yes if he had
asked for Seethe’s hand before Singappa Gowda had for his son. Moreover,
there would have been no place for doubt or agony as there was now.
Anyhow the possibility of Seethe’s falling into someone else’s hands had
been averted by Vidhi. Even now if he didn’t act with care Shyamayya
Gowda might agree to have her married to someone else, which would be a
disaster. There was no doubt that both his and Seethe’s lives would then
become hell. That was why he decided he would talk to Shyamayya Gowda
about his desire and get his consent.
Once he had made up his mind, Hoovayya was totally absorbed in thinking
of ways to broach the topic. How should he start? How should he conclude?
Even when someone spoke directly to him, he would barely respond using the
pretext of being absorbed in his reading, and would persist with his
daydreams. Some people even thought that the rumour that he was prone to
fainting fits was true and people usually fell quiet. Even Chinnappa had his
suspicions.
Around four o’ clock that afternoon Puttanna who had taken Jackie to the
hospital in Theertahalli came to Mutthalli with a downcast face. Seeing him
Hoovayya roused himself from his daydreams and asked him how Jackie was.
Chinnayya, Gowramma, Lakshmi, Kala and everyone else gathered around
Puttanna and listened anxiously to what he had to report.
Puttanna talked for half an hour about everything that had happened.
Wiping away tears that could not be held back, he said that there was wind
and rain on their way. It had rained very heavily. Jackie had already started
talking strangely about the tiger, Krishnappa and the hunt. In between, he
would cry out in heart-rending anguish: “Krishnappa Gowdare, please for
heaven’s sake, don’t go! The tiger is wounded.” He would cry out with all his
strength and try to get up and run away. He cursed Puttanna violently when he
tried to stop him. Anyhow, with great difficulty they had driven the bullock
cart over the sandbanks of the Thunga, pleaded with the boatman, laid Jackie
down in the boat, taken him across the river to the hospital in cloth merchant
Ramayya’s cart . . . Soon after reaching there, Jackie lost consciousness. The
doctor put medicine on his wounds and gave him an injection. A very good
doctor he was, too. He gave Jackie place to stay in the hospital. Puttanna
didn’t sleep all night. Jackie kept losing and regaining consciousness. Now
and then, he would turn over and shout something indistinct about the tiger
hunt . . . Twice or thrice, he almost died but came back to life. The agony!
The commotion! Rama, Rama! Puttanna wouldn’t wish it on his enemy . . .!
Jackie had died early that morning. Then the police came and took down
some statements. Then his people, Kilistaru and everyone else got together
and carried him to their place of worship . . . Having had nothing to eat all
this time Puttanna went to a hotel for coffee and something to eat . . . Poor
bastard! Short-tempered but what a good man! Jackie had given his life for
the man that gave him food . . .
When Puttanna finished, everyone heaved a deep sigh. Gowramma told
Puttanna to have a wash and come in to eat. Telling Kala to get the things
ready, she went into Seethe’s room.
As Hoovayya expected, Shyamayya Gowda came back from Seethemane
in the evening. He was shattered by the tragic events that had taken place.
Looking at him was like looking into a deep abandoned well. Hoovayya felt a
little discouraged seeing the state the Gowda was in. It didn’t seem right to
tell him about his decision. The moment wasn’t right.
Once when he found a chance, Shyamayya Gowda broached the topic of
the division of the Kanooru property between Hoovayya and Chandrayya
Gowda and suggested that it should be avoided somehow. The reason was
that though the Kanooru family was as prosperous as the Mutthalli family, it
was in debt to Shyamayya Gowda because of the ‘benighted durbar’ of
Chandrayya Gowda. That was why Shyamayya Gowda spoke of what was
good for the family and for himself.
Hoovayya explained with his reasons that it was impossible not to divide
the property. He talked of some of the happenings at home after he had
returned from Mysore.
‘Do what you will,’ said Shyamayya Gowda wearily and kept quiet.
After this, Hoovayya felt hesitant in asking for Seethe’s hand in marriage.
Not only that, it seemed unwise to raise the topic the very next day after the
son-in-law-to-be had died a tragic death. But soon after his mind was afire
again. The thought of the terrible folly it would be if Seethe was promised to
someone else burnt strongly in him making him afraid that it would push him
into an indiscretion. He decided that no matter what happened, he would
speak out his mind. But when? Just when he would leave Mutthalli for
Kanooru because he could leave immediately. He could escape easily from
embarrassment! Thinking thus, he rehearsed what he would say and the
manner of saying it.
Just around dusk, Hoovayya went to Shyamayya Gowda with excitement.
‘I’m leaving, Mava.’
‘It’s dark!’
‘That doesn’t matter. There is moonlight. Puttanna will also be with me.’
‘It doesn’t matter whether there is moonlight or not on the forest path you
will have to take to reach home. Why don’t you stay for the night and leave
tomorrow morning?’
Hoovayya who wanted to get back to Kanooru said suddenly, ‘I’ll go to
Seethemane, stay there for the night and leave tomorrow morning. The road is
open. It won’t be difficult.’
‘It’s farther away than your own home!’
‘I’ll take the short cut.’
‘Isn’t that also a forest path?’
 ‘That’s all right. Puttanna will be there with me. Moreover, I want to look
up Singappa Kakkayya.’
‘In that case, you better leave otherwise it’ll get late.’ Hoovayya didn’t let
drop even a faint hint of what he intended to say but took leave of Shyamayya
Gowda, Seethe, Gowramma, Chinnayya and the others.
He left for Seethemane with Puttanna. The evening was already getting
dark. Silence enveloped the world, having shooed away noise. The moon
radiant in the sky rained down moonbeams.
 38
Soma Steals a Chicken from Halepaikada Thimma to
Clear his Debt with the Owner of the Toddy Shop

A S THE HORRIBLE news of Krishnappa’s death spread around the villages,

many were disgusted with the thought of hunting. Even those for whom a
walk into the forest at dawn, gun in hand, was a routine cut down on their
visits out of fear. Parents would describe vividly the ghastly way in which
Krishnappa had died to their children as would wives to their husbands,
forbidding them from going on a hunt. It was the same news and the same
description wherever one went. Women as they cooked or pounded rice or
gathered faggots into piles, talked sorrowfully about the tragedy which had
befallen Krishnappa’s parents. Elderly men blamed Krishnappa’s obsession
with hunting for his death and claimed that they knew all the while that he
would come to harm some day. No one who valued his life would ever go
looking for a wounded tiger they said, and commiserated with Singappa
Gowda for the bereavement he had to suffer at his age. Hot-blooded young
men were not all that critical. They derived aesthetic delight in talking
colourfully about Krishnappa’s daring, Jackie’s loyalty to his master, the skill
that had gone into the act of setting up the guns and the tiger’s leap. They
wouldn’t forget to mention that Krishnappa would have been a bridegroom
had he lived and that his bride would have earned great merit by marrying
him. Boys mouths hung open as they listened to them all, mixed up elements
from different versions according to their fancy and built their own myth
around Krishnappa’s death.
Even as the news which was initially like freshly spilt blood lost its sheen
in due course of time, another piece of news spread like wild fire and engaged
the villagers’ minds. The rumour was of Chandrayya Gowda and Hoovayya
Gowda having fallen out with each other, about Hoovayya not returning to
Mysore, his decision to give up his studies and about the Kanooru property
being divided. Hoovayya would stay back to supervise work on his share of
the land as Nagamma Heggadithi would be all alone! A great family which
had been the pride of the land for ages was about to break up! It was also
rumoured that Mutthalli Shyamayya Gowda, Balooru Singayya Gowda,
Nelluhalli Peddegowda, Baidooru Basavegowda and others tried their best as
arbiters to see that such a thing wouldn’t come to pass. Chandrayya Gowda
wouldn’t hear of it, it was said. He was adamant about the division on the
grounds that he couldn’t get on with Hoovayya and insisted that the process
of dividing the property should be finished before the rains set in! It would be
either the next week or the week after, that the partition would take place and
a deed be drawn.
Some were more distressed by these rumours than they were by
Krishnappa’s death. It was as if a minor revolution was about to unfold in
Kanooru and the villages around. All those that tilled lands on contract for
Chandrayya Gowda, his farmhands and those who had taken loans from him
were more anxious than merchants who come to know that the bank which
held their accounts had collapsed! To whose share would the farmers on
contract and the farmhands go? Anything could happen! They would perhaps
lose all their money. Had they known that such a thing would happen, they
wouldn’t have bothered to lend money to anyone. Having decided against
engaging themselves in the money-lending business at any time during their
future rebirths, they set about collecting their dues before the partitioning of
the Kanooru property became a reality.
The owner of the toddy shop was the first one to get busy in this regard.
There were a number of people in Kanooru and the villages around who owed
him money. Among them were the pot-bellied Soma, Belara Baira, his wife
Sesi and his son Ganga, Belara Sidda, cartman Ninga and a number of
Rangappa Shetty’s workers from the Ghats.
One evening just as it was getting dark the owner of the toddy shop came to
Soma’s hut. Having come to know of this from the others Soma stayed away,
hiding himself till late in the night. Cursing him freely in the presence of the
others in the lodgings the owner of the toddy shop left saying that he would
come back the next day. When Soma got the news of his departure he felt
greatly relieved and returned to the hut. He hadn’t even had time to sit down
on the mat when the owner of the toddy shop who had hidden himself among
the bushes expecting Soma’s return barged in, on the pretext that he had left
his nut-cracker behind. Pretending to look for it, he turned to Soma and said,
‘Where were you all this while, I was fed up waiting for you! Will you repay
the loan or not? Tell me!’ When he sat down on the mat, Soma knew that he
was in the presence of a greater strategist than himself. Feeling foolish he
said, ‘You have waited all this long. Just wait for a couple of days more.
Believe me, I’ll pay you back.’
‘Let all that be! Haven’t I heard all this before? No, I can’t wait any longer.
Moreover it seems the Gowda’s house is to be divided.’
‘What has that got to do with my clearing the loan?’
‘Never mind! I want my money back. Now!’
They argued for a long time at the end of which Soma promised to clear his
account the following day. The owner of the toddy shop then left.
Soma got up at about three or three-thirty in the morning, opened the door
of the hut noiselessly and went out. Walking stealthily in the moonlight he
came to the thatched hut of Halepaikada Thimma. Thimma’s dog barked as he
approached but wagged its tail on recognizing him. Soma went to the chicken
coop without making any noise, unlatched its door, put his arm in and pulled
out a cock estimating it to be a big one by the measure of his hands. Though
the hens cackled the noise wasn’t loud enough wake up anyone sleeping
soundly. Soma didn’t even bother to shut the door of the coop as he left with
the cock warm under his arm. The pressure of his hand on its neck was strong
enough to allow it to breathe but not to crow as he headed straight for the
toddy shop.
The owner who made his money through such shady deals didn’t press
Soma for repayment of the loan the next day.
In the morning Halepaikada Thimma raised a ruckus when he discovered
that someone had stolen his cock and left the door of the coop open. Soma too
came with the others and consoled Thimma by saying that no one had stolen
his cock. Producing a variety of arguments they managed to convince him
that it was the handiwork of a jungle-cat. Thimma’s wife mourned the loss of
her prized cock and cursed the cat till she could curse no more.
Belara Baira too pacified the owner of the toddy shop by promising to tap
toddy on the sly and sell it to him. His wife Sesi who reared a couple of hens
pledged their chicks to him as her share saying that she would bring them up
and hand them over when they were big enough. It was only the boy Ganga
who managed to dodge the owner. He had an understanding with him about
the matter of his loan not being revealed to his father. He had often stolen
vegetables like brinjals, raw bananas, pumpkin and thingalavare from others’
backyards and vegetable patches and paid back what he owed. He had also
stolen implements like the odd knife or axe from the Gowda’s house and
shifted them to the toddy shop. His fondness for toddy had trained him into an
expert thief at a young age.
When the owner of the toddy shop realized that the boy was dodging him,
he spoke to Baira about it. The news hit him like a thunderbolt. He had never
dreamt that his son would go one step further than himself and run an account
with the owner of the toddy shop in his own name. He caught hold of the boy,
brought him over to the toddy shop and thrashed him in the presence of the
owner. He had hoped that the owner would be mollified by such an act on his
part. He was wrong. The owner insisted on the repayment of the loan. Baira
was furious and said, ‘Whoever asked you to give loans to children and little
boys? Don’t ask me to clear the loan. Do anything you like and get him to pay
you back!’
The owner of the shop brought pressure to bear on Ganga. The boy took
him to a forest near Kanooru and showed him a spot which had been recently
covered with fresh earth. When they dug it up, they found a cache of a few
knives, a couple of brass pots, a pickaxe, a hoe and a few crowbars.
‘Who hid these things here?’ the owner of the toddy shop asked.
‘Ninga the cartman.’
‘How did you come to know about it?’
‘I had set up a trap to catch wild fowl. I came to take a look at it and found
Ningayya digging the earth. I hid myself and saw what he was doing.’
‘Does he know that you saw him do it?’
‘No.’
‘You better keep quiet then. Don’t mention it to anyone. I will give you as
much toddy as you want.’
‘I swear on God that I won’t mention it to anyone!’ said Ganga supremely
pleased.
The owner of the toddy shop carried some of the things while Ganga
carried the others. A feast of toddy and dried fish was laid out for Ganga that
day.
It was indeed true that the cartman Ninga had hidden those implements
there. But they were not stolen; they were his own. He had bought them when
his wife was alive and had set up a household with her. He had given up
farming after she had died and had taken up the work of driving the Gowda’s
cart. He had kept all his things in a corner of the attic and taken care of them.
Afraid that his belongings too would come to be shared at the time of
partition of the property he had hidden them at that spot.
 While the workers and farmhands were planning various strategies on
hearing about the division of the property, the members of the family too
were busy safeguarding not only their own possessions but also those that
were common to all of them. Subbamma and Nagamma laid claim to many
pots and pans saying that they were gifted to them at the time of their
marriage and kept them in their rooms. Puttamma and Vasu followed them in
‘owning’ some of the household things. Chandrayya Gowda and the overseer
held a secret parley and sold off some valuable gold jewels and heads of cattle
at a throwaway price on the understanding that they would buy them back at
the same price after the formal division of the property.
The Gowda’s mind was planning his strategy, preoccupied as it was with
thoughts of claiming some of the fertile land and orchards as self-earned
property and managing somehow to get the sturdy ones in his work force to
be part of his share.
Thanks to all the excitement of those days Subbamma was spared a little of
the trouble that had until then been her daily lot.
 39
Wordsworth and Matthew Arnold

A DAY BEFORE THE house was divided, Hoovayya sat upstairs in the Kanooru
house around eight o’ clock in the morning with an English newspaper before
him. A little distance away Ramayya sat with a book. Though they appeared
to be reading, their minds were full of doubts and thoughts about the property
division the next day and their life thereafter. The tears that filled Ramayya’s
eyes now and then revealed the pain in his heart. His face looked dejected and
weighed down with sadness. Their simple life so far and the beloved golden
dream that he had built with such great hope was breaking up. The household
that had held together until then was going to split into two the next day. The
fire that had burnt in one kitchen since the day the house was built would burn
in two kitchens thereafter. He had sat with Hoovayya and eaten in the familiar
dining room in the proximity of the Kadegolu ever since he was born. From
then on he would have to eat without Annayya. All their interesting
conversation during mealtimes would come to an end. If a relative were to
come to someone’s house and is looked upon as a stranger, how awkward it
would seem! If lunch was late in one house, how could the others go and have
a meal in the other one? In one bathroom there would be two fires to heat
their water, one verandah would become two, and lights would burn in both.
Ramayya’s grief became intense as he thought of all these one by one. He was
tearful again. He didn’t know what to do. He looked up slowly and glanced at
Hoovayya. He appeared to be absorbed in his reading.
‘Annayya, is there anything special today in the newspaper?’ he asked.
Hoovayya too was merely looking at the newspaper and his heart was not in
it. When he picked it up, he absorbed a few items desultorily, particularly the
hardships of Indians who attempted to gain freedom, the revolutionary
speeches of national leaders, the tyrannical behaviour of the British, the
atrocities in South Africa against the Indians, arrests of leaders— his soul was
in pain as he read. In a corner of Malenadu, surrounded by mountain ranges
that kissed the sky, in Kannoru which was like another world, the newspaper
became a magic window and displayed before his inner eye sublime events
and momentous transactions in the wide world outside. Hoovayya
experienced shame, sorrow, disgust, anger and desire at the same time. Into
what mire was his ambitious ideal in life sticked! What great work the world
outside was engaged in! Caught in the mean problems of the family, his soul
was rejecting the imitation of the larger world. The ship of golden dreams he
had built on reading about the lives of great people had crashed against an
unknown sandbar and was about to be wrecked! ‘Oh, Lord of the Universe,’
he prayed, ‘Grant me a strong heart and a steady mind to escape from this.’
Engrossed in such thoughts he hadn’t heard clearly what Ramayya had
said. ‘What did you say?’ he asked.
‘I just asked you if there was anything special in the newspaper,’ Ramayya
replied as he came near Hoovayya and sat before him.
After they read the paper, they commented, interpreted, praised and
condemned what it contained.
As they talked Hoovayya sighed and switched to English. ’The world isn’t
as idealistic as we presume, Ramu. It’s very difficult, almost impossible, to
make our dreams come true. Particularly those of our youth. In the end, with
the ongoing compromises that are made between truth and falsehood, the
difference between the two ceases to be obvious.’ Ramayya too broke into
English and they talked for quite a while. In the parade of their dialogue,
Indians, people from the West and collections of great Oriental and Western
books could be seen regularly and in a jumble.
When the talk turned to how unfulfilled desires make even the most
enthusiastic young men lose spirit and live very ordinary lives and become
faceless, Ramayya said, ‘How well Wordsworth has spoken about the future
in “The Ode to Immortality”! When our teacher broke his head in class trying
to teach us, I had never empathized with what it meant. I am now beginning
to understand it:
“Heaven lies about us in our infancy!
Shades of the prison-house begin to close
Upon the growing Boy,
But he beholds the light, and whence it flows,
He sees it in his joy;
The youth, who daily farther from the east
Must travel, still is Nature’s Priest,
And by the vision splendid
On his way attended;
 At length the Man perceives it die away
And fade into the light of common day.”
‘Wordsworth has of course expressed it well. But it is Matthew Arnold who
makes the tragic picture even more stirring in “Rugby Chapel”. I can still see
the picture, I’m thrilled when I remember it! Do you know the words?’
‘A little . . .’
‘My “Golden Treasury” is on the table. Bring it . . .’
Ramayya feeling curious got up quickly and fetched the book, worn with
constant use. Hoovayya would read poems, parts of plays and prose sections
that he admired in a spirited manner. Ramayya would never have enough of
listening to him. Hoovayya turned over the pages, found the poem and started
reading from the fifty-eighth line:
“What is the course of the life of mortal men on the earth . . . ? Most men
eddy about here and there, eat and drink, chatter and love and hate, gather and
squander, are raised aloft, are hurl’d in the dust, striving blindly, achieving
nothing; and then they die, perish!
‘“. . . We have chosen our path—path to clear-purposed goal, path of
advance! . . . but it leads a long, steep journey, through sunk gorges, o’er
mountains in snow! Cheerful, with friends, we set forth—then, on the height
comes the storm!
“. . . Alas, havoc is made in our train! Friends who set forth at our side
falter, are lost in the storm! We, we only, are left! With frowning foreheads,
with lips sternly compress’d, we strain on, on.”’
Hoovayya stopped reading, sighed deeply and sat looking at the forest and
sky before him. His eyes were filled with tears and his face was flushed.
Ramayya believing him to be in one of his frequent trances, sat with his hands
pressed against his cheeks, looking down at the floor.
From below came the laughter of many people as if the real world was
mocking the strength of the feelings and idealism of the two upstairs.
When Hoovayya turned to him after a little while, Ramayya asked,
‘Annayya, can’t this division of property be avoided?’
‘How can it be? Will Chikkayya agree?’
‘Shall I ask him?’
‘You must be mad! You’ll be shouted at!’
They sat quietly again. A kingfisher called out from the fields. A kamalli
bird sang as it flew past. For some mysterious reason the chickens were
restless and making a noise at the back. Puttamma climbed the stairs noisily
and came up. ‘Annayya, lunch is ready. Come and eat.’
‘So soon! What’s the time?’ asked Ramayya in surprise.
‘It’s struck eleven,’ answered Puttamma.
‘Why are they laughing downstairs?’
‘Appayya it seems had said that Vasu’s short hair must be cut and a tuft
should be left on top. That’s why, on seeing the barber Vasu had run away
and was hiding in the chicken coop!’
‘Chicken coop?’
‘That’s what I said. He did hide in the chicken coop. The overseer,
Puttanna, Appayya and I—we all got together—and looked and looked. Then
he was found in the end. They have dragged him away and are cutting his
hair. He is crying so much! Without a break!’
‘Enough! As if you have scored a great victory! His short hair hurt your
eyes, did it? All of you had to gang up!’
Puttamma was a little pained.
‘What could I do, Annayya? Appayya said . . .’ ’That’s enough!’ Ramayya
said before she could finish.
Puttamma went down the stairs in a huff. She was angry.
 40
Arbitration on Dividing the Kanooru Lands

IT WAS THE day when the Kanooru house was to be divided. The day on
which the family stream would divide itself into two. Though the event was
just an ordinary one in the eyes of the outside world, it was a difficult time for
the inmates of the house and their relatives, with each one’s heart lost in its
own ripples of thoughts and feelings. While Hoovayya and Ramayya were
distressed, Chandrayya Gowda and Nagamma were elated.
Subbamma too was anxious though she didn’t seem to know why.
Puttamma and Vasu were bewildered and a medley of sadness, elation and
fear assailed their minds. Puttanna was worried about his future, while the
overseer Rangappa Shetty was strangely excited by the victory he had won.
He was proud that Chandrayya Gowda looked upon him as his confidant. The
workers felt helpless and had resigned themselves to whatever might happen.
In any case, there was a bustle about the house since the morning.
A stranger would have thought that a special festival was to take place in
the house on that day. There was a palpable air of expectation all around. The
zari-turbaned Gowdas, Heggades and other leaders were seated on the
jamakhana spread on the verandah. Resting their backs on the bolsters and
chewing on the betel leaves and nuts laid out on a plate they had the air of
ambassadors on an important mission as they talked casually. The assembly
on the verandah was so impressive that Belara Baira who had come in
through the main door talking loudly took one look at it, bit his tongue in
contrition, retreated to the yard and regaled his mates with a description of the
magnificent scene inside. Sorely tempted they came to the door one by one
and peeped through the crack in it.
‘Bairanna, who is that one leaning against the pillar in front?’ asked Sidda.
‘Are you a stranger here to ask such a question? Isn’t he Basavegowda
from Baidooru?’ Baira grinned, wanting to show that he knew every one of
the landed gentry in that area. It was Halepaikada Thimma’s turn to peep.
‘What are you saying! The one sitting against the wall is Baidooru
Basavegowda? The one against the pillar is Singegowda from Balooru!’ It
was a blow to Baira the know-all’s claim.
Baira took another look. ‘Nonsense! Don’t I know Baidooru
Basavegowda?’ he countered.
Thimma wouldn’t agree. They started to argue.
‘Wait, why do you have to shout like this? Here comes the overseer. We
shall ask him. He knows everything,’ said Sidda.
Rangappa Shetty identified the turbaned gentry who had come there to
arbitrate on the matter of dividing the property.
‘The one against the pillar is Nelluhalli Peddegowda . . . Sitting next to him
and leaning against the wall is Muddooru Bharmegowda . . . The one sitting
on this side of him, the short and lean one, is Entooru Sheshegowda . . .’
‘Is he the one who was charged with having abducted a girl?’ Baira
intervened.
‘Don’t be impertinent and poke your nose into such things!’ admonished
the overseer and continued, ‘Balooru Singegowda is the one in the black-
striped jacket . . . The one with the twirled-up moustache is Nagappa Heggade
from Megralli . . . The one on whom you see the chain for his pocket watch is
Baidooru Basavegowda . . .’
The overseer spat out the juice in his betel-filled mouth in a drizzle and
went in. The workers continued to linger in the yard, peeping now and then at
the rare gathering and talking about what they saw. All of them were
overwhelmed by the sight of so many zari turbans, coloured clothes and silk
dhotis with borders. They felt like rustics at the first durbar in Mysore!
While the workers were absorbed in what they could see, discussions went
on briskly on the verandah. Their talk had not crossed the borders of rural life
as they knew it. Land holdings, farming, the disease that affected the areca
palms, the going rate for betel nuts in the market and the matter of workers
from beyond the Ghats—these were the topics on which everyone was
holding forth from his own point of view. Chandrayya Gowda with a shawl
around him was sitting by the cupboard, either taking a pinch of snuff or
offering it to others like a good host.
Suddenly there was the sound of footsteps on the ladder leading to the attic.
Everyone fell silent as they looked up with respect on their faces. Shyamayya
Gowda of Mutthalli came down and invited the assembly to go upstairs and
everyone followed him.
 There in one section of the neatly spread carpet with black and red stripes
sat Seethemane Singappa Gowda talking to Hoovayya. Their shadows were
etched clearly on the carpet and looked black in the nine o’ clock sunshine.
As soon as their relatives appeared, both of them got up to greet them. When
everyone was seated in his appointed place the day’s work began.
Though there was no formal appointment as such Mutthalli Shyamayya
Gowda presided over the day’s proceedings on the strength of his status,
wealth and personality and the meeting began.
Everything went smoothly in the initial stages. Statements of accounts were
examined and maps of the dry and wet lands the house possessed were
studied. As Hoovayya’s father and Chandrayya Gowda were siblings it was
decided that the entire property of the family should be divided evenly.
Though Seethemane Singappa Gowda put up a case for Hoovayya getting a
larger share of the property as Hoovayya’s father was older than Chandrayya
Gowda his petition was dismissed after some discussion.
Chandrayya Gowda raised an objection when the question of sharing the
lands came up.
‘It should only be the hereditary property of the family that’s divided. Not
everything. I say no to giving a share of the self-earned property. The
Bavimakki lands—both wet fields and orchards—are mine. It is by the sweat
of my brow that I own them now. The same is true of the orchard in
Chikkooru.’
Both Balooru Singegowda and Nelluhalli Peddegowda supported his claim.
It was only Singappa Gowda that was stoutly opposed to it.
Hoovayya too refuted Chandrayya Gowda’s claim. ‘It isn’t right to divide
the property on the basis of some items being hereditary and some others
being self-earned. Whatever the head of a family earns is part of its wealth.
Suppose there is a loss in one of the deals, will the head accept personal
responsibility for it? Isn’t he going to debit it to the house account? Both
gains and losses are parts of what the family owns. Would it have been
possible for the Gowda to acquire any new property, without the security,
support, wealth, position and leisure which the hereditary property provided
him with? The new acquisitions are nothing more than the interest that
accrued from the hereditary property. It is on these grounds that I question
what Chikkayya said.’
Everyone including Chandrayya Gowda fell silent on hearing Hoovayya’s
argument. It would have found general favour if everyone there had been
impartial. But the reality was different. With the exception of Mutthalli
Shyamayya Gowda, the others were secretly either on Hoovayya’s side or
Chandrayya Gowda’s. Just as Balooru Singegowda and Nelluhalli
Peddegowda were on Chandrayya Gowda’s side, Seethemane Singappa
Gowda had come there to support Hoovayya. In a way there was no need at
all for any argument as the decisions they were expected to make had already
been arrived at. Their words expressed only their bias, and not a conclusion
they had come to after thinking about the matter impartially.
What started initially as a serious discussion gradually turned into a heated
shouting contest. The workers beyond the main door were flabbergasted and
full of fear. Halepaikada Thimma wanted to extol his master, Chandrayya
Gowda. ‘Eh, Baira, did you see how our Gowda argued? I told you before,
didn’t I? He takes to task all the turbaned Gowdas without caring about what
they think! It’s no simple matter, remember, this business of dividing the
family’s property! ‘ He cocked his ears like one at a music concert and
listened to the hullabaloo upstairs with great pleasure.
Baira’s voice betrayed his anxiety as he said, ‘You are right, Thimma! It
looks as if there will be a fight!’ His eyes were wide open as he too listened
intently.
Listening to the heated exchanges, Vasu, Puttamma, Nagamma, Puttanna
and the overseer were upset as they stood on the verandah. Vasu’s eyes were
full of tears though one couldn’t say whether it was out of fear or grief or his
inability to understand why the elders were fighting in that manner. Puttanna
unable to remain uninvolved went up the ladder quietly and peeped at the
show upstairs. The overseer too went up a few rungs of the ladder and took a
look. Even the dogs started barking at the rumpus upstairs.
Quite suddenly Puttanna climbed down fast. He had forgotten that the
overseer was close behind him. His body collided with the other’s face and
the overseer fell down. Utterly shaken he got up as Seethemane Singappa
Gowda came down the ladder. Hoovayya followed him and the two went
through the main door towards the orchard.
After having confabulated secretly for a few minutes they returned to the
house and went upstairs.
Chandrayya Gowda won his case when Hoovayya withdrew his objection.
Whatever the Gowda claimed as his self-earned property stayed with him.
They adjourned for lunch after deciding that it was only the hereditary
property that would be divided.
 The business of dividing the lands was taken up in the afternoon. A few of
the decisions were wrong. While some were inevitable, machination lay
behind some others. Chandrayya Gowda knew which of his lands were fertile
and yielded rich crops while Hoovayya was hopelessly uninformed about
such matters. The other reason behind the unfair decisions was the fact that
most of the ones who had assembled there were also unfamiliar with the
nature of the lands in Kanooru. Seethemane Singappa Gowda did his best to
make sure that Hoovayya wasn’t cheated out of his dues. Caught between
Singappa Gowda and Hoovayya on one side and Chandrayya Gowda on the
other, Mutthalli Shyamayya Gowda took a neutral stance. He was a mild-
natured man and quailed at inviting on himself the wrath and enmity of an
excitable character like Chandrayya Gowda who would stop at nothing once
aroused.
Thus most of the fertile lands went into the share of the haughty
moustache-twirling and red-eyed Chandrayya Gowda. Though Nagamma sent
for Hoovayya three or four times asking him to insist on getting some of the
fertile lands she knew about, her advice didn’t yield any results.
Chandrayya Gowda took the drinking ones among his guests to Kanubailu
that evening. He asked Ramayya, Vasu and the overseer to accompany him so
that they could wait on his guests. Ramayya said he wasn’t feeling well and
so wouldn’t go with him. Chandrayya Gowda was furious with his son. ‘The
fact that you know how to read and write has gone to your head . . . Having
loafed about on the city roads with your dhoti sweeping the ground, you have
turned into a lazy lout . . . Let me see for how long you carry on like this . . .!’
the Gowda was unsparing in his abuse.
Ramayya didn’t say anything. He thought it was mean and shameful for
him to be serving toddy and fried meat pieces to a set of drunkards. He went
out of the main door on the eastern side of the house towards the orchard.
When all the guests had gone out of the western door towards Kanubailu
under the leadership of Chandrayya Gowda, Singappa Gowda who had stayed
back upstairs took Hoovayya to task. ‘What sort of a fellow are you agreeing
to everything he said?’
‘Forget it, Kakkayya. Real happiness is not in that land, but here!’
Hoovayya said, pointing to his heart.
‘True, true . . . But . . .’
‘But what?’
‘In matters of business, you see . . .’
 There was a sound of someone coming up the ladder. It was Nagamma.
‘Is everything over, Singappa?’
Singappa Gowda fixed his eyes on the ground as he said, ‘Well, it’s all
over . . . Your son nodded his head like an ox to everything they said . . .’
Starting with this, he gave her an account of everything that had happened.
There were tears in Nagamma’s eyes as she sighed and spoke in a voice
heavy with grief. ‘What can one do? It’s my bad luck! Things would have
been different if my husband were alive . . . This boy is like an ox! He is like
a sanyasi, saying he doesn’t want anything!’ With concern and love in her
eyes she looked at her son.
Hoovayya interrupted, ‘It’s not like that, Avva. Kakkayya says he has a
debt of ten to fifteen thousand rupees. Most of it according to him was
because of the expense he incurred in order to educate me . . . What can one
do? I know he got a bigger share of the lands, but remember that he has
agreed to pay back the entire loan. Isn’t it good that we don’t have to worry
about it?’ He tried to console his mother by pointing out the positive aspects
of the affair.
Nagamma was not mollified as she said with some force, ‘Who’s the one
that said that all that money was spent on your education? Look at the zari
sarees he has bought for his wife and daughter! And the jewels—rings, gold
and pearl necklaces, waist bands and bangles—he had all of them made to
order! No wonder that he is in debt, he fills his cases with such jewels . . .!’
She was prepared to go on when Hoovayya intervened.
‘Avva, forget about it. Leave him his evil deeds. It’s enough for us if we
have food and clothes! There aren’t many in the world who have amassed
gold and been happy,’ Hoovayya said with steel in his voice.
Nagamma felt that she could count a real treasure in her son. ‘I don’t
understand these things,’ she said and turned to Singappa Gowda. ‘Will you
please watch out when it comes to sharing the moveable property tomorrow?’
Ninga had come up to light the lamp and she asked him, ‘Is there enough oil
for the lamp?’
Ninga replied in a lazy, sing-song voice, ‘There is oil, Avva . . . I’m
looking for a nail to hang up the lamp . . . There was one here somewhere, the
cursed nail!’ He started groping for one on the beams.
Nagamma went down and so did Ninga after hanging the lighted lamp from
a nail.
‘Read something for me,’ Singappa Gowda said.
 Hoovayya picked up King Lear and explained the lines as he read them.
Singappa Gowda listened to him with great interest.
The session had gone on for quite some time when Singappa Gowda
exclaimed in surprise, ‘someone is out there shouting!’ He knit his brows and
narrowed his eves as he cocked his ears. Hoovayya stopped reading and
waited.
Both heard someone shouting loudly.
‘Isn’t it Chandrayya Gowda?’ Singappa Gowda asked.
‘Yes! I think it’s his voice!’ Hoovayya got up, worried.
Singappa got to his feet briskly. Both of them climbed down the ladder and
rushed to the verandah. Ramayya, Puttanna, Nagamma and Subbamma had
already gathered there, whispering to one another.
‘Puttanna, who was it that called?’ asked Singappa Gowda.
‘I think it’s our Gowda’s voice!’ said Puttanna.
Ramayya, Hoovayya, Singappa Gowda, Puttanna and the barking dogs set
off towards Kanubailu.
They hadn’t covered a few yards when Vasu who was behind the overseer
rushed past him and said, gasping for breath, ‘Nelluhalli Peddamava . . .
drunk . . . fell down . . . His skull was smashed!’
Hearing his words about the skull being smashed, Singappa Gowda
exclaimed, ‘What happened? What?’ The overseer intervened. ‘No, nothing
like that! The drink went to his head . . . He stumbled on a stone . . . Falling
down, he hurt his forehead . . . We need some oil to apply to the wound . . .
Why should he drink so much when he can’t stand it?’ He rushed into the
house to get some oil.
The rest went up the hill and reached Nelluhalli Peddegowda’s
Kurukshetra.
The Gowda wasn’t hurt all that badly. There was of course a serious
enough wound on his forehead. And his inebriated condition. The stink of his
vomit all over his clothes made everyone pinch his nostrils shut. His
companions held him up and slowly walked him down the hill. It was obvious
that not one of them had control over his head or legs.
If one were to compare something exalted to a petty thing, one may say that
the toddy smell around all of them was like the ring around the moon!
 41
The Sharing of the Moveable Property and Vasu’s
Strange Fainting Fit

T HE NEXT MORNING Chandrayya Gowda went to the cowshed with the others
to apportion the cattle. In the verandah lay Nelluhalli Peddegowda, wrapped
tightly in a blanket. Beside his bed were a cup spittoon, a small pot for
coconut oil, a brass spittoon, and a balige stick to lean on when he had to.
Though Vasu had been left there to look after them he wasn’t to be found. He
found it tedious to sit by and watch a boring man, and so would wander here
and there and then go back to his task. Subbamma came a couple of times to
talk to her father. But she had to cook for quite a few people that day and had
no time to stay with him to nurse him.
Though the previous night’s inebriation from the toddy and liquor had
come down, the hurt and bodily pain he had sustained from tripping and
falling had not lessened. He ran a fever too because of the pain. He would
retch foul smelling vomit frequently. However hard he tried Vasu couldn’t
stand it. Disgusted with Mava (his father used to call him that), he wondered
when he would be rid of the pest. He was furious that he had to sit by this
wretched man inhaling the stench of vomit while on that lovely morning
exciting things were happening outside. He went upstairs.
As he passed by the large mirror there he suddenly caught sight of his
reflection and stopped. His vision blurred as he looked at it. His heart was
filled with agony. It looked repulsive enough to make him a stranger to his
own reflection. If only the barber hadn’t come! How good his hair had
looked! Now? He looked like a shorn peacock. Unable to look in the mirror
he sat in a corner and began sobbing quietly. Anyone who had seen him
would have been heartbroken. But no one did. They were all busy, occupied
in sharing out the cattle and other such useful tasks.
‘Vasayya, Vasayyya,’ Nanja’s son Putta called.
Vasu didn’t reply until he was called twice or thrice. Then wiping away his
tears, quickly getting rid of the mucus by rubbing his nose on his shirt sleeve
to clean it, he shouted as he climbed down the ladder swiftly saying, ‘What’s
the matter with you? Why do you shout loud enough to lose your voice?’
Putta standing at the foot of the ladder looked up and stepped back at
Vasu’s speed. ‘It looks like the puppy is gone. I put some ground pepper into
its eyes. It’s screaming! Can’t stand it,’ he said.
Vasu forgot all his sorrows and thoughts of the puppy’s welfare filled his
heart. ‘May your house be in ruins. Why did you put chillies in its eyes?’ he
said with anxiety and anger.
‘Not chillies. Pepper!’
‘What nonsense! Who told you that?’
‘Ganga told me. He said that the wound would heal if ground pepper was
put on it.’
‘May he die!’ said Vasu running to the backyard across the verandah. Putta
too rushed behind him.
The puppy, one of its eyes pecked out by the hen, lay dying, screaming
with intolerable pain. Pus oozed from the pierced eye. It was emaciated, mere
skin and bones.
Getting some milk from his aunt, Vasu tried to pour it into its mouth. But
all the milk ran out from the sides. He held the mouth up so that it wouldn’t
spill out. The puppy died in his hands.
‘Vasu, the puppy is dead,’ exclaimed Puttanna who had come up and stood
behind then, watching.
Vasu got angry. ‘May your mouth he filled with . . .! Don’t talk rubbish,’
he said, trying to put the puppy on its feet. But the dead body rolled over.
Vasu couldn’t understand how the dog had died despite his presence.
With tears pouring down his face he cursed Putta. You killed it!’
Both boys got together and buried their much-loved puppy with tender
care, covered it well with mud so that foxes and other animals couldn’t get at
it, laid thorny twigs and weighed them down with a stone.

***

In the afternoon, the living quarters and the pots and pans were divided. Every
minute of the proceedings disgusted Hoovayya.
Old brooms, black earthen pots, winnowing fans, sieves, slings, ladles,
pestles, crowbars, baskets, copper and brass pots, the jomale irike or hanging
plaited coir holders, and even bases for vessels, happala, sandige and pickles,
mats and things to spread on the floor, containers: looking at all these piled all
around the katte in the courtyard, Hoovayya felt sad, as though the inner
secrets of his family had been made public before strangers. It was difficult
for him to even lift his head. Ramayya never even dared to appear anywhere
around.
When the cattle were being divided in the morning Hoovayya had
protested. But when trivial things which had assumed a sanctity by belonging
to the interior of the home were shared out he said nothing. He felt that the
souls of their pitrus would have been disgusted.
Shyamayya Gowda and Singappa Gowda started dividing the things,
sometimes accepting the suggestions of others. Puttanna, the overseer, Ninga
and the other ‘touch workers’: the workers belonging to the caste that could
touch household things, were heaping up the goods in two piles. The
Halepaika like Thimma or the Belas like Baira were of low caste and couldn’t
touch the things that were used inside the house. After an hour or so, the pile
in the courtyard that had been one earlier, stood divided.
There was a little argument about which part should go to whom.
Hoovayya declined to be part of it. It was Seethemane Singappa Gowda who
spoke on his behalf.
Eventually Mutthalli Shyamayya Gowda suggested a way out. ‘Let’s call a
young boy and ask him to touch one part. That can be Chandrayya Gowda’s.
The rest will go to Hoovayya.’
The suggestion was accepted. Chandrayya Gowda called Ninga’s son
Thimma. But he hid himself, afraid of what might follow after having killed
the dog. He refused to come no matter how many times he was called. He
wasn’t to be found anywhere. Ultimately Vasu was called at Hoovayya’s
suggestion. He refused to come at first. Chandrayya Gowda opened his eyes
wide and roared at him. Vasu started to cry. In the end Hoovayya himself had
to console him and bring him.
That day ever since the morning Vasu had felt out of sorts. Anxiety dwelt
in his heart. His mind had been in turmoil ever since the day Chandrayya
Gowda had forcibly cut off his hair and left only a horse-shoe-shaped tuft
behind. In addition the previous evening he had gone to Kanubailu on his
father’s orders and had succumbed to the inducement of relatives drinking
toddy and brandy and ended up doing likewise against Hoovayya’s good
advice. He did say that he wasn’t going to drink but had to give in when the
others including Peddegowda cajoled and coerced him. He was also bothered
about what Hoovannayya and Annayya would think if the news reached them.
Moreover he had been imprisoned by having to look after Peddegowda and as
luck would have it, the puppy too had died, resulting in greater inner turmoil.
Another significant occurrence was the division of property being carried on
at home which appeared to his simple mind inauspicious, unwelcome and an
indication of something evil which was bound to happen. As a result a
shapeless hazy fear had arisen in his heart.
It was in this state of mind that Vasu stepped into the courtyard as
Hoovayya had suggested, like someone standing on the dais for the first time
to address a gathering. He was already feeling hot realizing that everyone’s
eyes were on him and what he had to do was of great importance. His
breathing quickened and he perspired, feeling all mixed up. Things went
blank and his feet tottered. He thought that someone said, ‘Don’t be scared.
Go. Touch one.’
Making a great effort Vasu went up, touched the ear on a kadayi in one
pile, fell on the brass pots and rolled over, clanging.
‘The boy has fallen! The boy has fallen! Ayyo! Hold him, Puttanna, hold
him. Water, water! Bring that fan over here.’ Everyone rushed towards Vasu
shouting.
Hoovayya picked him up gently, brought him to the verandah and laid him
down on a bed. The boy was unconscious.
They sprinkled some water on his head and fanned him. Nagamma and
Chandrayya Gowda prayed separately to demons and gods. All of a sudden
everyone’s thoughts turned to life, death and God, overlooking the ongoing
division of property, pots and fights. Singappa Gowda who had himself lost a
son a few days ago in a terrible manner couldn’t say a thing but sat leaning
against a wall.
Much later, Vasu regained consciousness.
‘Hoovannayya, I want something to drink,’ he said.
Puttamma ran in and brought him some fruit juice.
That very evening Peddegowda was transported back to Nelluhalli bundled
into a cart. Except for Mutthalli Shyamayya Gowda and Seethemane
Singappa Gowda all the other relatives went back to their respective homes.
Shyamayya Gowda stayed back so that he could arrive at some decision
with Chandrayya Gowda regarding the loan he had offered him.
Singappa Gowda stayed back to have a discussion with Hoovayya. When
he was with Hoovayya, his own sorrows appeared insignificant and he was
filled with an unearthly joy.
 42
A Mean Mind

T HUS A FAMILY which had functioned as a single unit for ages was divided.
Some were unhappy as a result though there were some others who secretly
rejoiced at the turn of events. When a powerful family falls does it not give a
chance to others who have been aspiring to power? Many had their eyes
trained on Chandrayya Gowda who was both dictatorial and arrogant in his
ways. They were the ones who were pleased that the Kanooru house stood
divided. There are always some who are happier at others’ fall than at their
own success.
It was only in name that the house was divided into two as most of the
property went into Chandrayya Gowda’s share. Claiming that he had acquired
some of the land and demanding some more as adjustment towards the money
he had had to borrow, he took it all as his rightful share. He had his own
strategy to acquire the larger share even when moveable property like jewels
were to be divided. It was the same when the workers had to be shared.
Barring Baira and his family—Sesi, his wife and Ganga, his son—the rest of
the Belas went as Chandrayya Gowda’s share.
Even Baira would have perhaps gone with Chandrayya Gowda. But the
memory of the Gowda having beaten him up for the wound on the bullock’s
leg, his cruel behaviour when Baira collected his wages against the Gowda’s
order and the fact that Hoovayya had brought him his rice hidden in an
untouchable’s blanket to the hut and the gentle manner in which he chided
Baira even as he was beating his wife had made him feel worshipful of
Hoovayya. That was why he insisted on not going with the others. The
Gowda let him go swearing to teach him a lesson.
Smoke rose from two fires in the kitchen ever since the house was divided.
It was the same in the bathroom with two cauldrons for heating the water.
Two lamps burned in the verandah, one at the eastern end and the other at the
western end. Wherever it was feasible, Chandrayya Gowda had a bamboo
partition put up between his share and Hoovayya’s share of the house. When
Hoovayya pointed out that such an act would make the house look ugly and
that visitors to the house would be disgusted, Chandrayya Gowda drawled out
his answer, ‘Why do you object when it is better that we stay away from each
other? You have your share and I have mine. And that is good for us both.’
He said many a thing in the same ironical tone and had his way with the
partitions.
He ordered the overseer to have a fence erected between his share and
Hoovayya’s in the areca nut plantation. He instructed his workers to refuse to
do anything for Hoovayya. It went so far that Ninga was told off when out of
habit and forgetting the Gowda’s order, he went to Hoovayya’s side of the
verandah to sweep the floor. And the matter reached the Gowda’s ears. Ninga
promised never to repeat such a crime and went to Hoovayya’s side of the
verandah to spread some garbage on it. On another occasion, when one of
Nagamma’s chickens had come into Chandrayya Gowda’s quadrangle and
dirtied the ground, the Gowda had the shit thrown on to Hoovayya’s side,
instead of having Putta clean it.
Hadn’t they taken their share of the dogs as they had of the cattle? But how
could the dumb creatures grasp the meaning of the division which had come
about as a result of man’s stupidity? They kept wandering through the house
just as they pleased and slept wherever they wanted. The servants didn’t want
to engage themselves in the mean act of driving them away. The Gowda
however would shout and drive away Hoovayya’s dogs, even when they were
sleeping peacefully, from his side of the quadrangle whenever an opportunity
came his way.
As usual Ninga took with him a bowl of curd and rice in the afternoon to
feed the dogs and called them. The dogs were hungry and all of them came
running and stood looking at Ninga and the bowl. Ninga’s efforts to feed
Chandrayya Gowda’s dogs first failed and so he fed them all in a burst of
generosity.
Having watched Ninga’s doings Halepaikada Thimma took his report to the
Gowda who sent for Ninga. ‘The food you have eaten seems to have gone to
your head. How dare you feed the dogs of the other house, as if the food had
come from your grandfather’s property?’ the Gowda screamed.
Ninga was all humility as he said, ‘What could I do, Ayya, if all of them
rushed in and one took the share of another?’ trying to absolve himself.
‘What were you doing when one took the rice from another? Minding the
ass, were you? Wasn’t the firewood there to beat them with?’ The Gowda
taught Ninga the way to drive away Hoovayya’s dogs.
 Even when he heard that Hoovayya had fed the Gowda’s dogs, he flew into
a rage and made it clear that he wanted an end to such acts.
And not just the matter of the dogs, chicken and workers. Having watched
the food being cooked separately, Vasu had gone to Nagamma. ‘Doddamma,
why is cooking going on in two places?’ he asked.
Nagamma smiled at the boy’s innocence. There was fondness in her voice
when she said, ‘Don’t you know? The reason for this is the division which
took place yesterday . . .’
Vasu hadn’t imagined that the significance of the division of property
would go that far. He found the adults’ behaviour strange. Two kitchens
instead of one! Two fires instead of one in the bathroom! Many areas in the
house had been partitioned by putting up bamboo frames! He wasn’t old
enough to grasp die ways of broken hearts which had ended in the division of
property. That was why he insisted on eating with Hoovayya in Doddamma’s
kitchen.
‘Maraya, no. Appayya will take you to task if you do it!’ exclaimed
Puttamma, but Vasu wouldn’t listen.
It was as much love for Vasu as her desire to prick Chandrayya Gowda’s
heart in vengeance that made Nagamma decide to serve him and Hoovayya
together in the kitchen.
Vasu enjoyed himself eating with Hoovayya and talking to him.
Just then Chandrayya Gowda came in along with Ramayya to eat and asked
for Vasu.
Knowing that there would be unpleasantness if she let out the truth,
Puttamma said, ‘No one knows. He hasn’t as yet come in to eat.’
‘Puttamma!’ called the Gowda.
‘Yes, Appayya,’ answered Puttamma through the crack in the door.
‘Go find your brother. Ask him to come here,’ the Gowda ordered.
Puttamma went to the verandah as if she was looking for Vasu and came
back. ‘No sign of him anywhere,’ she said and looked at Ramayya
meaningfully.
The Gowda became suspicious and called out for Vasu.
Vasu who was eating his dinner with Hoovayya answered from the other
kitchen, ‘Yes?’
‘What are you doing there? Aren’t you coming to eat?’ the Gowda shouted.
Vasu answered in all innocence, ‘I am eating here with Hoovannayya.’
 The Gowda’s eyes turned red. He looked briefly at Subbamma, Ramayya
and Puttamma and called out, ‘Don’t make me angry. Come here!’
No one spoke. Vasu too was scared and looked alternately at Hoovayya and
Subbamma. The house fell silent.
‘Get him, Puttamma. Drag him in here,’ thundered the Gowda.
Puttamma didn’t say anything. She didn’t move either. ‘Are you getting
him or not?’
Puttamma was in tears as she went towards the verandah.
Ramayya who hadn’t said anything till then intervened. ‘He is having his
dinner, it seems. How can you ask anyone to drag him here?’
‘Wait and see. I’ll make him throw up whatever he has eaten there!’ the
Gowda threatened and started to eat in a rage.
As the days went by Chandrayya Gowda’s mind turned uncharitable,
sinking into darkness. Hoovayya who had hoped that the Gowda would take a
liberal stand after the division of property was disgusted with his ways. He
felt somewhat angry as he watched the hatred and jealousy that the Gowda
exhibited in even the smallest of matters. Nagamma condemned the apathy
that Hoovayya showed and told him that there would be no peace unless he
learnt to protest. Hoovayya decided that like any householder with a family to
look after, he too would hiss and spread his hood but not bite and see how
things turned out.
He told Ramayya of his decision lest he was misunderstood. Ramayya
approved of his plan of action.
He also took into confidence Puttanna who had been prevailed upon to stay
with them by both Hoovayya and Nagamma.
Thus a conspiratorial coterie was formed in the house in order to mend the
Gowda’s ways.
 43
The Magical Powers of the Coconut

A FTER THE HOUSE was divided Ninga too like the others started taking home
the things he had buried in the forest. In a couple of places things were as he
had left them. He didn’t bother much about the metal things getting rusted or
the wooden objects being eaten away by termites. Moreover the monsoon had
already set in and he patiently accepted the fact that his late wife’s expensive
saree kept in a cane box would get soaked and turn into a mouldy heap. But
his heart missed a beat when he approached the hole which the toddy seller
had emptied with the help of Ganga. He felt as if the sky had come down over
his head. ‘Ayyo, ayyo,’ he cried cursing and slapping his forehead. With
grief, anger and frustration, he gnashed his teeth, ‘Ayyo, which bastards have
done this? May your house be ruined and your wives become widows! May
your mouths be filled with mud!’ he shouted and cursed all the way home
with the forest resounding. Hearing him, the overseer and his labourers from
the Ghats who had been erecting fences thought that something disastrous had
happened and came up running abandoning whatever they were doing. A
snake bite? Did he fall off a tree? Possessed by demons? Did a branch from a
tree fall on him? Ninga on seeing them running towards him, each with his
own misgivings, started to beat his head with greater vigour and wailed as he
cursed.
It took half an hour for the others to find out the truth. Every word that
Ninga spoke was accompanied by ten swear words.
‘Let us look around. Why do you have to shout like this?’
‘I shall tell the Gowda. Let us see. Where can the thief go?’
‘Someone in the village might have kept it. They will give it back.’
Thus each one said something to keep Ninga quiet. In spite of this Ninga
didn’t stop his wailing. He seemed to think that it was only by doing so that
all that he had lost would come back and fall at his feet.
Toddy thief Soma standing at a distance, his pot belly shining smooth
because of the coconut oil on it, wearing only a triangular loin cloth black
with dirt hanging down to his knee, a spathe cap on his head and a machete in
hand, came forward and said, ‘Ningayya, listen to me. Why do you shout like
this? Does it mean that truth has perished? Offer a coconut to Bhootharaya
and let everyone touch it. Then you watch. Wherever your things are, they
will appear right away.’
Everyone agreed to Soma’s suggestion. The overseer and his workers went
back to fix the fence. Ninga went home to do the needful according to Soma’s
proposal.
He narrated in a heart-rending manner the story of his great loss to
everyone he met. Raining reprimands on the thieves he said, ‘I’ll make them
touch the coconut and make them surrender all that they have stolen. I shall
find out whether our Bhootharaya still has his power or not.’ He kept
babbling, looking for a coconut with the right characteristics and shape. The
coconut should possess three things—a tuft, eyes and water. If the water had
dried up and the coconut was desiccated, or if one of the eyes was spoilt or
the tuft missing, then the coconut would not qualify to be charmed.
Washing the coconut in clean water, worshipping it with vibhuthi,
kumkuma, oil, hibiscus and the blood from the comb on a cock’s head,
holding it in his hand and turning round and round in all four directions, he
bowed respectfully with great devotion. A little tunefully, Ninga uttered
simple sentences and horrific imprecations, all in one breath, and offered it to
Bhootharaya. ‘Swamy, you know right and wrong. You must take pity on this
poor man and prove your power. You must find my things and make the
thieves vomit blood. As for the vow—I’m a poor man—I can’t give more.
Look at my devotion and reveal your power. For the next vow, I shall give
you an extra chicken . . . Choo! Mahakali, Mari, Durgi! May the thieves lose
their eyes and bellies and may there be mud in their mouth! May they vomit
blood and perish!’
Then thinking about who should touch the coconut, he decided through
some logic that none belonging to his household would have stolen the things.
The overseer and his workers from the Ghats, the Belas, Halepaikada Thimma
and the other families would touch the coconut. His suspicions didn’t fasten
on the owner of the toddy shop as he lived far away.
Packing his gun with bullets and gunpowder like a hunter and holding the
well-oiled vibhuthi adorned kumkuma marked coconut, he looked like the
fierce Rudra with his necklace of beads.
First he went to where the Ghat workers were and made them all touch the
coconut. Then he went to the fields and the Belas who were busy ploughing
and trimming the bunds touched it after a little hesitation. Being innocent they
had nothing to fear. He then went to the huts of the Halepaikas where the
Belas lived. Ninga told his story in great detail to all the women workers.
When Ninga said the boys should touch the coconut as well, some mothers
protested. ‘Why should our boys touch it? Do they come to steal your things?’
they asked. But Ninga insisted. After an altercation, their consent was given.
Ganga who stood listening amidst the boys was terrified and tried to slip
away. But Ninga wouldn’t let anyone go. The boys touched the coconut
fearfully one by one. When Ninga came to Ganga, he started shivering and
crying.
Sesi who knew nothing of her son’s secret came up to establish the purity
of her family. ‘How does it matter? Touch it. Didn’t we all do it? There would
have been a problem if you had stolen. Don’t be afraid. Touch it,’ she said
cajoling him.
The boy looked at his mother and the others gathered there. ‘I won’t!
Please,’ he whined and started weeping loudly.
All the people there tried to put courage into him, consoled him and egged
him on to touch the coconut. But Ganga still trembling, stared with fear at the
kumkuma-coated coconut and began to scream disjointedly.
‘Please, Avva! I can’t! Can’t! Ningayya, please don’t make me touch it. I
shall fall at your feet!’
Ninga felt disgusted.
He looked at Sesi. ‘Never mind! Poor thing! Anyhow it looks as if
suspicion will fall on you,’ he said and moved away.
Sesi felt insulted and became angry with her son. He had blackened the
family’s name in front of so many people!
She thumped him on the back and pulled him over. ‘Ningayya, show me
the coconut. I’ll make him touch it,’ said Sesi.
Ninga held out the coconut. Sesi pulled at Ganga’s right hand forcibly
though he was yelling and squirming, saying, ‘No, no. Please, don’t.’
Unmindful of his pleas, she made him touch it, The boy screamed suddenly as
if he had touched red hot iron and fell unconscious in his mother’s arms.
Those standing around were bewildered. They brought some cold water,
sprinkled it on his face, fanned him, picked him up gently and put him down
inside the hut on a blanket.
Ninga himself was now scared of the magical powers of his coconut and
went home in dread of Bhootharaya’s truth.
 A little later a Bela lad came to Baira who was working in the field with
Hoovayya and Puttanna. He said Ganga had been felled by something
unknown, ran a high fever and was delirious. Sesi had sent word that Baira
should come at once. Baira stopped work immediately and tearfully told
Hoovayya what had happened. Hoovayya was alarmed too. He sent Puttanna
with Baira to find out what had happened and worked alone in the muddy
field which was water-logged after the rains.
In the distant field Chandrayya Gowda was having the work done by his
larger work force and oxen. Ramayya’s white clothes could also be seen
among them. He was not involved in the work but sat on a blanket spread at
the edge of the field, his mind eager to be with Hoovayya but restrained by
fear of his: father.
The earth had been washed and cleaned, bathed over and over again, by
rain. The sky was covered with clouds and there was no sign of any sunshine.
The air was clear over the fields. Green grass had spread over the land like a
carpet. All around the bright green of the forest ranges embraced the high
mountains which rose like the walls of a fort and looked lovely. The unruly
birds searching for worms in the black manure left in heaps here and there
warbled out a variety of calls. With their long necks lifted high, white cranes
sat around as if in meditation. Although Hoovayya was absorbed in what he
was doing he remembered sitting in the gallery of a lecture hall listening to
his teacher and smiled thinking of what he was doing now.
Within half an hour Putttanna came hurriedly and asked Hoovayya to come
to the Bela living quarters. Both left for Baira’s home. On the way Puttanna
gave a concise account of what had happened.
As they neared the house Baira seeing them from afar started beating his
chest and weeping aloud. ‘Ayyo, ayyo! They have killed my child! Killed
him!’
Hoovayya told him sharply to keep quiet and went inside. Sesi sat there by
the blanket beating her chest and forehead, crying, ‘Ayyo, my son!’
On the blanket lay Ganga cross-eyed as if he was unconscious. He was
breathing though. Hoovayya knew without question that it was the fear of the
demon that had struck the boy.
After reassuring the parents, Hoovayya told Puttanna to apologize to
Bhootharaya on his behalf, as they desired. Giving as much medical aid as he
could, he had a wet cloth put on the boy’s head aware that he had high fever.
A little later Ganga gained consciousness and rolled his eyes without
focusing.
‘Ganga, Ganga! Who’s this? Look here, here,’ said Puttanna in a gentle
voice pointing to Hoovayya.
Ganga started trembling and screamed, holding Sesi tight. ‘No, please! I
was wrong. It wasn’t me. It was liquor shop Chikkanna. Ayyo, Avva, free me,
free me! I’m dying, dying!’ He lost consciousness again and blood oozed out
of the sides of his mouth.
Hoovayya turned to Puttanna. ‘What was that? He mentioned liquor shop
Chikkanna,’ he said.
‘I don’t know, I can’t understand anything. He has been saying the same
thing. It would be better if Chikkanna could come here for us to find out
why,’ said Baira crying.
‘All right. We shall send for him and enquire, don’t gather around here
making a lot of noise. Keep him warm in bed. I shall go home and send some
medicine for his fever. Baira when he wakes up tell him that the deity’s
prasada has been sent and that there is nothing to fear. Console him and give
him the flowers and vibhuthi sent by me. You must make him believe it
firmly. Did you listen to what I said?’
‘Yes, Ayya.’
Hoovayya went home and sent vibhuthi and prasada as he had promised.
But nothing came of it. The boy was mortally afraid of the devil which
Ninga’s coconut had invoked in him.
Hoovayya admonished Ninga strongly. ‘I never knew this would happen,
Ayya,’ Ninga pleaded with tears in his eyes.
But Chandrayya Gowda took Hoovayya to task on behalf of his workers
and said whatever came to his lips.
‘Who are you to question a worker who belongs to me? What right do you
have to scold him? He made them touch the coconut because he had lost his
things. Why did your cowardly boy touch the coconut anyway?’
Even Ninga felt disgusted about the way Chandrayya Gowda was talking
on his behalf. Hoovayya got angry too and retorted sharply. He even said that
he too would use the power of the demon against Chandrayya Gowda.
The Gowda who was scared of the demon became furious arid shouted,
‘Your grandfather should come back here for you to be able to touch even a
hair on my body! You just wait and see what our Bhootharaya will do to you
for having kept back the goat meant for him. What happened to Ganga was
nothing else but Bhootharaya hitting back! It should have been your lot.
Because of you, that poor mite’s life is in danger. Who cares for what you say
when the fault is yours and you shout at others?’ He went on spewing venom.
At midnight when everyone was fast asleep in the Kanooru house Baira
came there beating his hands over his mouth and chest. All those who were
sleeping inside woke up startled.
As soon as Puttanna opened the main door, Baira rushed in crying in a
blood-curdling manner, ‘Ayyo, Ningayya, what did my son do to you? Ayyo,
I’m ruined. Ayya, Hoovayya, save my son!’ he kept screaming.
Hoovayya took his hand and walked to where the Belas lived. Puttanna and
Ramayya went along too. What they saw was the body of Ganga lying
covered in a blanket in the dim red light of a castor oil lamp amidst the
weeping neighbours gathered around.
 44
Hoovayya’s Departure from the House in Kanooru

T HE RAINS HAD begun again. Clouds had appeared suddenly at the start of the
monsoon to cover the entire sky and accompanied by the fearsome
companions of lightning, thunder and high wind, poured heavily for a while
only to disappear equally suddenly revealing the blue sky and the clear rays of
the sun. They had now come back to fill the sky. There was no sign of the sun
for days on end and a steady drizzle fell all through the day and night. It was
as if the land with its plains, forests and hills was dozing behind a thin, pale
curtain of rain. Brooks which had dried up during the summer had come alive
and gurgled as they flowed. The entire land lay under water and all the roads
were slushy. Water could be heard lisping as it flowed into the pits and
furrows in the fields. What had been a dry and naked stretch of land just a
couple of months ago was now shining with wheat saplings and dammed
water. The forests and hills all around and the gentle green of the saplings
covering the width of the valleys among the hills were pleasing to the eye and
brought joy to the mind and peace to the soul.
Everyone had shaken off their summer lethargy and was busy at work.
Though some were inclined to quarrel with the others and tell tales, they had
no time for such things. They would break their fast on ganji in the morning,
work hard till noon or an hour later with breaks for eating jackfruit and get
down soon after their lunch to work again on the fields till evening. They
would work even when the rain fell incessantly, covering their heads under
hoods made out of wool or leaves. Tired, they would eat their dinner as soon
as they reached home and fall asleep. Thus as they had very little leisure and
worked till they were weary, they were not naturally tempted by the lure of
darkness. It was possible to conclude that the nation’s life during the rainy
season was better than what it was during summer.
Even those who could afford to take it easy were as busy as the others.
Adventures like weeding the field, stemming the flow of water in the brooks
with a dam of twigs, taking with them light-givers like lanterns and torches
when it rained heavily to catch the fish that would swim up, were always
there to fill their leisure.
Rangappa Shetty the overseer and his labourers were on their annual visit
to the valley below the Ghats to offer worship to their personal gods and
demons, visit their relatives and attend to their domestic duties. They hadn’t
come back. Chandrayya Gowda was spending his days waiting for their return
while getting the Belas to do some of the work. It was not just the pending
work at home that made his waiting for their return so intense. His separation
from Gange was a contending reason too.
Hoovayya was absorbed in his work on the fields that had come to him as
his share. He took the help of Nagamma, Baira and Sesi. There were also the
occasional workers that Singappa Gowda sent to help him. He was himself
surprised by the progress he was making in his work.
Though Nagamma was no longer young she would go to the field to help
with the weeding and planting. It was her love for her son which had given
her the necessary strength and enthusiasm. Hoovayya didn’t want her to exert
herself when it was cold or raining but she wouldn’t listen to him. He felt
close to tears whenever he saw her with a hood over her head engaged in
planting side by side with Sesi. The tears in his eyes were born of both his
sorrow that she was at work and his pride that he had such a mother.
Nagamma would occasionally think of Subbamma and Puttamma staying
warmly at home and feel sorry for herself. She would get over it soon in her
pleasure of being with her son.
It was amazing that Puttanna who was reputed to be bone lazy at doing
things like ploughing and planting was working so hard in Hoovayya’s
company. Hoovayya would goad the people around him to work hard by
telling them stories, reciting poems and cracking jokes. Ramayya who used to
work silently along with Chandrayya Gowda’s workers felt envious as he
listened to the laughter of Hoovayya and his workers which rose above the
sound of the falling rain. At such times Chandrayya Gowda invariably made
some ungenerous remarks abut Hoovayya or Nagamma.
He was obsessed with a desire to create occasions when he could place
hurdles in Hoovayya’s way.
It had started with the very day the property had been divided. He would
find fault with them for the flimsiest of reasons. It might be a cow that had
strayed into his field or one of Hoovayya’s dogs mauling one of his or his
chicken shitting on the Gowda’s verandah. He would charge Hoovayya’s
workers with having stolen some firewood and accuse Baira of the theft of
some of his betel leaves. He would create a rumpus saying that Nagamma had
purposely driven smoke into his dining room and stolen vegetables from his
backyard. Hoovayya retaliated a few times only to find out that the Gowda’s
enmity and meanness increased as a result. It made him feel despondent.
And it was not merely the Gowda’s behaviour towards Hoovayya and his
mother, he had turned against his own family because they didn’t hate them
as he did.
If he saw Vasu going into the other house, he would be severely
reprimanded and have his ear lobes twisted. Once he saw the boy hiding
behind a door eating something Nagamma had made for him. Not only did the
Gowda snatch it from his hand and throw it away, but also put his finger into
the boy’s mouth to take out what was in it. Then he thumped him on his back
and warned him against such misbehaviour by resorting to siddegumma.
Siddegumma is a kind of punishment which brings on one the pain of
death. Burning coal is put into a measure with dry chillies and held tightly
against one’s nose which is pinched shut, thereby forcing one to breathe the
smoke through the mouth and it rushes into the lungs.
Once the Gowda caught Puttamma chatting with Nagamma in the other
house. He called her and accused her of being a slut looking for her paramour.
On another occasion when Subbamma served him some kocchali fish for the
mid-day meal, he was suspicious and asked her where it came from.
Subbamma said that Ninga had brought the fish in the morning. The Gowda
knew that she was lying as he had inspected the basket which Ninga had
brought in with his catch from the fields in the morning. His eyes turned a
fiery red as he demanded to know the truth from his wife. His red eyes were
enough to scare anyone. Shaking with fear, Subbamma told him the truth. The
Gowda flew into a rage, threw away the leaf from which he was eating, beat
his wife black and blue and ordered her to leave his house and go back to her
parents place. Subbamma sat outside the house all day without a morsel of
food in her. Nagamma took the crying girl forcibly at night and gave her some
rice to eat. Her tears fell fast into the rice as she ate and Subbamma spent the
night there. The Gowda turned into a demon when he came to know about it.
The demon of suspicion had taken over the soul of the aged Gowda when
he married the young Subbamma. He read in his own way the fondness which
his wife had for Hoovayya. His suspicions about their relationship had played
an important role in his determination to have the property divided. It had
taken many forms once the house had been divided. He even looked upon his
own son with a degree of mistrust as he watched his wife closely.
When he came to know that Subbamma had spent a night in the other
house, Chandrayya Gowda’s imagination turned his apprehensions to facts.
He announced that he wouldn’t take his wife back. One can’t imagine what
would have happened if Peddegowda from Nelluhalli and Shyamayya Gowda
had not intervened and pacified the Gowda by saying that Subbamma was
wholly loyal to him.
Though Hoovayya could face anything that came his way he was not
prepared for this. He knew that some day he would be held responsible for a
great tragedy and so decided to leave the ancestral home for good. He told his
mother in detail about the fears he had. She agreed to his proposal even
though it wasn’t easy for her. They decided to leave the house after the rains.
Chandrayya Gowda was thrilled when he heard about it. More irritations
followed in his eagerness to see them go.
As luck would have it, one evening Nagamma went to collect some
honagone from the edges of their field. There was an incessant drizzle then
and it was dark with clouds in the sky.
Among the herd of cattle grazing on the plain stretch to the north of the
field were Chandrayya Gowda’s bullocks. One can’t say what Laccha thought
Nagamma was as she bent down and straightened up with the hood covering
her head. The bullock lifted up its tail, stamped on the ground, bellowed
fiercely and rushed at her with its palm-frond-covered horns.
Belara Sidda, the cowherd, ran towards her crying out, ‘Ayyo, Amma,
ayyo!’
Nagamma lifted her head and saw Laccha rush menacingly at her jumping
from one bund of the rice field to the other. She let out a cry and ran with the
hood still on her head. She fell down in the field before she had gone any
distance. The hood covered her form like a basket. Seeing a hood instead of a
human being, Laccha gored it. A hole sprang in it and as the horn ran through
the hole, the hood flapped in the air. The bullock tried to butt again.
Meanwhile Hoovayya who was hunting for horasalu birds among the trees
fencing the field used up all his strength to rush at the animal. Laccha looked
up at him and gave chase.
After running a fair distance Hoovayya thought of turning his gun on it. It
was Chandrayya Gowda’s bullock. Moreover killing cattle was a sacrilege.
All sorts of thoughts rushed into his brain leaving him confused. He turned
and saw the animal only a few metres away rushing at him determinedly. He
would be killed if he stopped and there was no tree nearby. Hoovayya turned
around suddenly, stopped and shot the creature. The bullock almost fell on
him. Blood gushed out of the wound on its forehead.
Hoovayya nursed his unconscious mother, brought her round and had her
taken home with the help of Puttanna, Ramayya and Vasu who had rushed to
the spot on hearing all the noise. His nerves had been shattered by the incident
and so. he too went to bed to rest for a while.
Even though he was told all the details of the incident Chandrayya Gowda
raised his voice sky-high. He went about shouting, accusing Hoovayya of
having killed the bullock out of jealousy. He threatened to file a suit against
Hoovayya or shoot his cattle or have him killed using black magic. However
nothing of the sort transpired. He sold Laccha’s partner Nandi to Hoovayya
and got back the money he had paid for the pair!
Chinnayya from Mutthalli and Singappa Gowda from Seethemane came
visiting Nagamma. Chinnayya had not come at all to Kanooru ever since the
property had been divided. He knew that one or the other would be upset if he
stayed for dinner or even sat on the verandah.
Chandrayya Gowda gave Chinnayya the usual welcome and ignored
Singappa Gowda. The result was that Chinnayya sat on Chandrayya Gowda’s
verandah while the latter took his place on Hoovayya’s.
Chinnayya got up after a little while on the pretext of having to talk to
Singappa Gowda and sat down on Hoovayya’s verandah. Ramayya, Vasu and
Puttanna joined him there and they chatted. Chandrayya Gowda had to
content himself sitting alone in front of the almirah. He was upset that
everyone was ignoring him.
Dinner that evening was slightly delayed as Puttamma and Subbamma
prepared a feast in honour of Chinnayya’s arrival from Mutthalli. Nothing
special was prepared in Hoovayya’s house as Nagamma was not well. As a
result dinner in Hoovayya’s house was ready by eight o’ clock.
Puttanna called them in for their dinner and they looked at one another.
‘Get up, Chinnayya, let’s finish the ritual of eating,’ Singappa Gowda said
as he threw the pack of cards on the carpet and got up. Chinnayya got up too.
‘A feast has been prepared in our house,’ Ramayya whispered in
Hoovayya’s ear.
‘I know, but what can we do? It’s all so embarrassing. Singappa Kakkayya
won’t eat with you. Chinnayya has got up to join him. How can we now ask
him to stay behind and go in?’ Hoovayya whispered back.
Chinnayya went into Hoovayya’s house with Singappa Gowda.
Puttamma cried when she heard about it and sent across to the other house
some of the dishes she had prepared.
It was on the whole an inconsequential thing but in Chandrayya Gowda’s
eyes it was a great conspiracy.
When the visitors left the house the next day, he took Ramayya severely to
task for having sent Chinnayya to the other house to eat.
Such incidents occurred very frequently. Hoovayya who had thought of
spending the rainy season in the Kanooru house had to rethink his decision to
stay there. It was barely two months since the division of property but he
decided to leave the house for good.
The thatched house where Kelakanooru Annayya Gowda used to live and
the fields nearby had come to Hoovayya as his share. No one looked after it.
It leaked copiously and there was rubbish strewn all over the property. It was
a virtual pigsty with the cattle having used the house as their shed.
Hoovayya. had the house cleaned and re-thatched. He had the well cleaned
too. When the entire house had been repaired Hoovayya fixed a date for them
to shift to the house. It was raining heavily on that day but Hoovayya had his
belongings piled up in the cart that Singappa Gowda had sent. Everyone
except Chandrayya Gowda shed tears at his departure, as he left the ancestral
house with Nagamma.
Puttanna too left with Diamond, Roji and Kotwala, trailed by a puppy who
was called by different names by those around. He was relieved that they
were going far away from the irritations that Chandrayya Gowda meted out to
them. He had his gun with him as he walked in the direction of Kelakanooru.
 45
The Snake’s Egg

E IGHT DAYS WENT by. The thatched house in lower Kanooru where Annayya
Gowda and Obayya used to live became the residence of Hoovayya,
Nagamma and Puttanna, thereby gaining respectability. With Puttanna’s
incessant toil and Hoovayya’s good taste it became an attractive small
cottage.
It had gained a new look because it had been re-thatched using the haystack
in the barn and the edge of the roof had been cut uniformly. The walls which
had been previously smeared with cow dung and looked like a pockmarked
face now flaunted a pleasant new radiance after having been smoothed down,
coated with red mud and painted over with white clay. Beams which had been
covered for many years in black soot with cobwebs hanging down and the
wooden attic were clean too though black still. Spiders’ webs and nests of
banje worms had disappeared and the interior of the house appeared larger.
The dirt and rubbish that used to be lying around the house all the time had
vanished and it was clean.
But the most extraordinary thing was something that the house had not
even dreamt of before: pictures and books. On the very second day after
Hoovayya’s leaving Kanooru, Chinnayya who had gone to Theerthahalli had
loaded Hoovayya’s things from Mysore in his bullock cart and sent them
down as soon as they arrived. Hoovayya felt as if he had acquired a treasure
of peace, enthusiasm, joy and knowledge. Hundreds of pictures decorated the
walls. He arranged for a table and some chairs in the verandah and a
bookshelf nearby and stacked the books in them neatly. Anyhow within a
week the thatched house in lower Kanooru could taunt the tiled house of
Kanooru in everything except size and power.
In the beginning the sorrow of leaving the old house of his father was
greater than the joy of entering a new house. But when his very soul, his
collection of books, reached him his new thatched house appeared as serene
as a hermitage. In addition, with the absence of Chandrayya Gowda’s
harassment peace dwelt in his mind. Regardless of the continuous rain
Ramayya had taken to coming to lower Kanooru on the pretext of taking a
walk in the evenings to stay with his brother for an hour or two and would
then go back. Ramayya had played an important part in deciding where the
pictures were to be hung, where the tables and chairs were to be and where
the bookshelf should go and in acting on their decisions. He had even
arranged to leave some of his own good furniture, pictures and books with
Hoovayya. Lower Kanooru became to him a reading room, a hermitage and a
club all in one. At times it seemed to him that Hoovayya’s arrival at lower
Kanooru after the partition of the house was good fortune in disguise. He had
decided that he would tolerate any amount of flak from his father to be able to
visit lower Kanooru every day.
On the eighth day after moving to lower Kanooru Hoovayya went
personally to Kanooru and invited Chandrayya Gowda and the others to his
home. He sent Puttanna off to Seethemane, Mutthalli and a couple of other
houses to ask them to come.
That morning around eight o’ clock Ramayya, Puttanna and Vasu arrived.
Vasu came leaping, jumping and chattering like a deer freed from a cage, sat
leaning against Nagamma, asked a hundred questions and made her tearful
with joy. He got up and went to every corner of the room to look at the
pictures and the books over and over again and was totally happy.
When Hoovayya asked Puttamma why Subbamma hadn’t come, she told
him the story. Subbamma had been very eager to come. But Chandrayya
Gowda had unleashed his tongue at her and made her stay back.
Seethemane Singappa Gowda came around nine o’ clock. As soon as he
came he saw the decorated house, and laughing heartily, made the others
laugh too. ‘Oh, Hoovayya! It looks as if you are getting married!’
At ten o’ clock the Mutthalli cart came to the courtyard. Chinnayya, Seethe
and Lakshmi holding her hand (it would be wrong to say just Lakshmi!) got
down. The whole family was there to welcome them.
‘Hoovayya, just as I said! The bride’s people have arrived too!’ said
Singappa Gowda.
All those gathered there burst into laughter. Seethe who had dressed up as a
bride would be, turned red as if the auspicious coloured okuli water had been
thrown at her, and inclined her head. Hoovayya was laughing with the others,
and his face was red too but he didn’t look down. Using the pretext of turning
around to speak to people he was admiring Seethe’s beauty as she looked like
the personification of spring’s loveliness.
 Ramayya thinking that Singappa had him marked as the target of
amusement felt greatly pleased too and looked at Seethe now and then.
The feelings and desires of Chinnayya and Puttamma were also in
procession along the route of love.
With a torch improvised from cloth soaked in oil wound round a stick and
set alight, Nagamma did arathi to Lakshmi, following the custom when
children visited relatives. She threw live coals into the okuli, raising up a
sizzle. Taking the soot from the wick of the torch, she smeared it on
Lakshmi’s forehead to ward off the evil eye. After that, everyone went in.
Diamond, Roji and Kotwala who were watching this auspicious rite with
wagging tails carried on with their game of love which had been interrupted
when the carts arrived in the courtyard.
Lakshmi started making a great fuss about wanting to go back to her
mother with the same enthusiasm with which she had accompanied her sister
despite Seethe being firmly against it. No amount of consoling or titbits
would stop her from piping up. Seethe was angry with her sister and couldn’t
control her tears.
The more her big sister exhibited her anger, the more Lakshmi cried.
Somehow or the other, they managed to keep her back untill lunch and Seethe
told Nanja to take her back in the afternoon.
Nanja had hoped that he would travel back alone and have a good time in
the liquor shop. But since he had the responsibility of taking Lakshmi back,
he was frustrated that his plans had gone awry. ‘Why Seethamma, let her stay
with you for a couple of days,’ he suggested.
Seethe was very angry. ‘No need at all for that! You just take her back or
else I may have to say something unpleasant,’ she said. Nanja assented
without a murmur.
But when Her Highness Lakshmidevi was being helped into the cart or
rather the chariot, she began to demand that her sister accompany her. Seethe
felt as if a fish hook was stuck in her throat. Hers was the predicament of a
fish—pain if she rebelled and death if she surrendered! She didn’t know
whether to cry, laugh or slap Lakshmi. She had come to Hoovayya Bhava’s
house that very morning and how could she leave the same afternoon? Would
a hungry bee fly away as soon as it had rested on a flower if it were told that it
had drunk enough nectar? Seethe gnashed her teeth and stared at her sister
with red eyes. If Hoovayya, Singappa Gowda, Ramayya and the others
weren’t there it was possible that she would have slapped Lakshmi and made
her behave.
She drew her sister close and pleaded with her so gently that no one else
could hear, ‘Please, I shall fall at your feet! Please do me a favour!’ But
Lakshmi wasn’t grown up enough to know that one should protect those that
sought protection. She never stopped looking miserable. ‘No, I won’t. You
must come,’ she cried and carried on as before.
Anger flared up in Seethe’s heart and she pinched the inside of Lakshmi’s
thigh hard so that no one could see her. Immediately the situation turned
explosive. Lakshmi screamed as if she had been bitten by a snake and started
sobbing aloud. By then Nagamma, Puttanna and the others came to her,
consoled her and made her agree after quite a while to go back to Mutthalli
with Puttanna.
Nanja got the cart ready. Puttanna got on it with Lakshmi and they moved
off.
Hoovayya called out from behind. ‘Leave her behind and come back
quickly.’
‘Yes, I will,’ shouted back Puttanna in reply.
As the cart went out of sight Seethe felt relieved that the pest had been got
rid of at last.
Even though it wasn’t five o’ clock yet clouds had gathered and it was
raining relentlessly. By half-past-six or seven darkness had enveloped earth
and sky.
After showing them his belongings and books Hoovayya went around
explaining the pictures hung on the walls.
‘This is Buddhadeva. He was the son of King Shuddhodana. When he was
born, the astrologers had foretold his future. He would renounce the world
and become a sanyasi. So the king made sure that the trials and tribulations of
the world were kept away from the prince. But one day as the prince went
round the capital in his chariot he saw a sick man, a handicapped person, an
old man, a corpse and a sanyasi and he learnt everything about them from his
charioteer. After that he felt no attraction for the pleasures of the palace.
Realizing that man’s life was transient and full of sorrow, he decided to find a
way to seek release from it all. The king had got him married to a beautiful
girl hoping that he wouldn’t leave home. The Buddha was happy with her for
some time. But his heart was gradually moving away from family bliss. As
time went by, one night he decided to go away for prayer and meditation,
leaving his kingdom, his parents, the palace and its luxuries. The same night
his wife gave birth to a child . . .’
‘Boy or girl?’ asked Puttamma.
Hoovayya and Ramayya laughed. The question didn’t appear funny to
anyone else. Instead they all seemed to be expecting an answer.
‘Boy,’ continued Hoovayya and gave them a detailed and interesting
account of all the incidents that occurred on the great night of Siddhartha’s
abdication. Everyone listened breathlessly.
The peaceful image of Buddhadeva in meditation with the silence and
dignity of centuries imprinted upon it was on the wall of the thatched house in
lower Kanooru, in a corner of a forest in Malenadu.
‘With the help of the charioteer, he got on to his favourite horse and rode
far away, reluctantly leaving his wife and infant son,’ said Hoovayya
poetically and everyone was moved.
‘No! He shouldn’t have done that!’ Vasu blurted out.
Even the Buddha who was being faulted wouldn’t have been without some
sympathy for what Vasu said.
Hoovayya continued the story. Siddhartha became Buddhadeva. His wife
and relatives were his disciples with people all over the world becoming his
followers.
Then he explained in great detail what the picture of the crucifixion of
Jesus Christ and the one of Satyavan and Savithri meant.
Seethe had come so close to Hoovayya as she listened that she wasn’t even
aware that she was touching him. Listening to the emotional words of her
beloved, her heart had become a garden of paradise. Her mind was a charmed
box of fancies. She was lost in a golden dream. She would become
Hoovayya’s disciple as the Buddha’s wife had become his. Just as Savithri
was prepared to go to the Kingdom of Death with her husband, she was ready
to go with Hoovayya.
On seeing Seethe who was now so close to Hoovayya, touching him now
and then, Ramayya’s attention wasn’t held by Hoovayya’s explanation of the
pictures. A fear which had been a distant suspicion for many days now
assumed concrete form. A sentiment which he had not harboured hitherto
towards Hoovayya crept into his mind. Jealousy would perhaps be too big a
name for a feeling that was so newly born though it must be said that it wasn’t
without a touch of enmity to it.
 The next morning Singappa Gowda went back to Seethemane. Ramayya
took Chinnayya, Seethe and Puttamma to Kanooru according to his father’s
instructions. While leaving, however hard Seethe tried to conceal her feelings,
her eyes filled with tears betraying her heart.
Vasu just refused to leave no matter what anyone said. He was determined
to stay with Hoovayya and he did.
Hoovayya went with them on their way, crossed the fields near the stream,
stood talking there for a while and came back reluctantly after it started
raining. As he said goodbye he looked at Seethe. She was however standing
still, looking at him all the while. At that moment for both of them the world
must have seemed an inferno of separation indeed.
Ramayya who used to come everyday without fail to lower Kanooru didn’t
put in an appearance there at all as long as Seethe was in Kanooru. Vasu was
sitting atop a tree on a hilltop in the gentle red rays of the sun lost in singing
like a bird freed from a cage.
 46
Chandrayya Gowda Ensnared by the Fortnight of the
Waning Moon

A S SOON AS RAMAYYA came home with Chinnayya, Seethe and Puttamma,

Chandrayya Gowda asked him about Vasu. When he was told that Vasu was
staying behind at Hoovayya’s house for a couple of days his face contorted
with anger for a moment. Recovering his composure almost immediately he
started to converse with the visitors. Ramayya was surprised that his father
was so calm and collected.
It was only two days later that he realized clearly that his father’s
composure was nothing but concealed rage. As Ramayya walked a little
distance to see Chinnayya and Seethe off and came back, a crow cawed
plaintively from the top of a palm tree. The Gowda was terribly upset. ’The
rotten crow. Its cry bodes no good for anyone . . . Ninga, go get my gun!’ he
ordered.
Ninga went in and fetched a gun and some pellets. The crow fell from the
tree with the very first shot and all the dogs rushed towards the bird. It was
Dooly that picked it up and brought it to its master. The Gowda who normally
shooed off the dogs was all praise for Dooly and even petted it fondly. A
psychologist would have probably seen the Gowda’s good humour as nothing
but his anger with his younger son.
He didn’t stop at that. He sent for the overseer who had come back with his
workers that very day. ‘Cut down that tree tomorrow,’ he ordered.
The tree had been there for generations and had yielded coconuts in
abundance. The overseer looked on the old tree with some pity and said, ‘Do
you mean it, Swami? It brings no harm to you. People call it the kalpavriksha
that grants all your wishes. Let it fall down when the time comes. Let’s not
sin by chopping it.’
The Gowda exploded in rage. ‘It’s no concern of yours, remember! Just do
what I ask you to do. It’s now a barren tree and yet you dare to call it
kalpavriksha and kamadhenu. It doesn’t matter whether we let it stay or cut it
down.’
The tree was cut down the following day. The Gowda personally
supervised the operation.
Dooly stayed close to the Gowda ever since he started to pet him and got
special treatment in matters of food. He would take curd rice, meat and bones
from his own plate and feed the dog.
Three or four days later the Gowda tried to give the dog a bath at the same
time that he took his. Not being all that civilized the dog gave him the slip and
ran away as soon as a chombu of water hit him. His master who had just a
loin cloth on him in readiness for his bath chased the dog calling his name.
Dooly would repeatedly stop running, look at the Gowda and would dash
away when he approached him. The Gowda stopped and called out the dog’s
name in anger. The creature ignored his master’s order. The Gowda was
furious and tried to catch him giving chase all over the house, shed and the
threshing area. Seeing their master running naked except for his loin cloth
Putta and Ninga came to his aid. Utterly frightened now the dog kept running
around madly.
The Gowda was breathless with anger and fatigue and ordered Ninga to
fetch the gun. Ninga didn’t have courage enough to oppose his master.
Ramayya who had just then come up protested against the intended killing.
The Gowda pushed his son to the ground and took aim at the dog still
watching his master from a distance, saying, ‘That disobedient animal has no
right to stay alive!’ Poor thing, the dog couldn’t make anything of his
master’s intent. He didn’t move when the Gowda called his name out loudly.
He called out again and the dog flinched and took a couple of steps
backwards. All the others standing around wanted to save the dog somehow
and called asking him to come. The dog was about to approach them when the
Gowda called his name for the third time but a shot had been fired at that very
moment. Dooly rolled about in a murky pool of blood for a while before he
died.
The Gowda turned back in a tearing hurry and went in to have his bath.
He couldn’t get up from his bed after his post-lunch siesta. Ramayya went
into his room to enquire. The Gowda told him that he had fever.
His condition took a turn for the worse by the evening. He blabbered in a
demented manner about cutting down palm trees, barren things being of no
use to anyone, the need to use the gun on any creature who disobeys and his
anguish over Vasu, who he was now sure had left him. His talk had neither
rhyme nor reason. He wouldn’t allow his wife Subbamma to come near him
shouting, ‘Get out, slut! ‘ and would spit at her. Even Ramayya was a stranger
to him. The only ones who had some authority over him were the overseer
Rangappa Shetty and Gange, the latter being the most successful. It looked as
if his near and dear ones had turned into strangers while strangers had become
very dear to him. He trusted Gange but not Subbamma.
Though his fever came down the next day, his demented mind stayed the
same. He flew into a rage when Ramayya told him that he would send for a
doctor from Theerthahalli. ’Tell me, of what use is a doctor? All this is the
work of Bhootharaya at Hoovayya’s bidding. Send for Annayya Gowda from
Kelakanooru. You have all got together to be rid of me, I know.’ His outburst
was followed by copious tears.
He was reminded that Annayya Gowda had left his home and gone away a
few months earlier and that no one knew where he was at that moment. He
groaned and heaved a sigh. ‘Go on, go on! Do whatever you want to,’ he
exclaimed, and covered his face with the blanket.
Ramayya arranged for the overseer to make an offering to Bhootharaya on
his behalf. He hoped that he would win back his father’s trust by this.
He sent for Vasu that afternoon. ‘Who is it?’ asked the Gowda when he
saw his son.
‘It’s me, Vasu, Appayya,’ replied the boy.
‘Someone told me that you had died, ‘ the Gowda said. Gange who was
beside his bed shut him up saying, ‘Don’t be so foul-mouthed!’
The Joisa from the Agrahara came to visit him that evening. He conducted
himself with great authority and pride, more arrogant than an engineer sent
for when a bridge shows signs of collapsing due to heavy floods.
Though the Joisa had no clue about what ailed the Gowda he prescribed all
the medicines he knew one after another. He chanted mantras and also made
the Gowda agree to make many offerings to the spirits.
The Gowda’s condition grew worse. Utterly frustrated Ramayya rushed to
Kelakanooru. Hoovayya who was planning a flower garden in the yard with
the help of Puttanna asked him to send for the government doctor from
Theerthahalli immediately.
‘He flies into a rage at the thought of a government doctor. What can I do?’
moaned Ramayyya.
 ‘Let him. We shouldn’t heed a patient’s words. Stop the Joisa from giving
him any more of his medicines. That quack is of no use.’
‘I wish you could come to visit him . . .”
‘Didn’t you tell me that he thinks I have cast a spell on him? My coming
there may result in his condition becoming worse.’
Anyway Hoovayya did go to Kanooru to offer his support to Ramayya. As
soon as his eyes fell on him, Chandrayya Gowda though feeble shouted at
him and ordered him to leave. After this outburst Hoovayya took care that the
Gowda didn’t see him.
The doctor from Theerthahalli prescribed some medicines and gave the
Gowda an injection. Instructing them about nursing and the patient’s diet, he
ordered that someone should come to fetch the medicines every day, collected
his fee and returned to Theerthahalli.
The Gowda’s physical condition improved in about eight days. There
wasn’t a corresponding improvement in his state of mind though. He shouted
at Subbamma and called her a barren slut. He was mean in his dealings with
everyone at home except Gange who had a soothing effect on him.
He didn’t recover the strength, haughtiness and authority he commanded
earlier. There was on the other hand an increase in his irritability, rage and
meanness. There were frequent bouts of excited behaviour.
Days passed. There was a good yield of areca nuts. Ramayya took the
trouble of picking and choosing the workers who would gather the nuts.
He spent his time supervising the peeling, boiling and spreading of the nuts
out to dry. He went to Kelakanooru whenever there was a break to help
Hoovayya at work or go hunting with him.
Very soon it was the festival of Bhoomi Hunnime.
 47
Giant Puttanna’s Porcupine Hunt in the Forest on the
Eve of Bhoomi Hunnime

B HOOMI HUNNIME COMES a fortnight before Deepavali. In the plentiful green

paddy fields ears of corn are just about to emerge. In a few fields sown earlier
milky white ears of corn will have already appeared. The black clouds which
hide the sun and cover the whole sky start turning white. Though there is a
sporadic drizzle warm sunshine peeps out frequently spreading a golden smile
over the green fields. Without the relentless downpour of the rainy season or
the burning sun of summer or the piercing cold of winter, the weather is
pleasant. Once in a while the sky opens up like washed blue glass with the
sun shining radiantly. Wild animals are happy on that day. So are the hunters.
The speciality of Bhoomi Hunnime is the worship of Kalamashree. The day
before the feast sixty kinds of greens, noolegenasu and roots are brought from
the forests. The special dish called mixed palya has a variety of greens in it. It
is half-a-foot thick and four or five feet long. The noole root is thorny. When
it is peeled after being boiled, it is white, smooth and soft like butter.
Delicacies like anambali, flour from the stone in kesavu and palya from
kocchili fish are also made. In addition if there has been a big hunt the day
before the festival as usual that will also be part of the menu.
But for Kalamashree only the Jain melogara is used. On the day of the feast
they go to the fields before dawn and ritually worship the paddy crop with
flowers, fruits, karpura, sandalwood, gongs, bells and arathi. Along with the
worship of Kalamashree there is also the worship of art, Kalopasane. The
latent purport of the worship is to celebrate the fact that the static world and
vegetation too are life forces in principle and hence worthy of our thanks.
The day before the feast Hoovayya, Ramayya, Vasu, Puttanna, Belara
Baira and Sidda got together and went to the forest to gather roots and greens
and to hunt. To tell the truth they didn’t leave at the same time. They got
together in Kanubailu. Ramayya, Vasu and Belara Sidda had taken the dogs
with them and country guns, a crowbar, matchboxes and such other things
and joined Hoovayya’s group, fully equipped and waiting in Kanubailu. The
reason for doing so was their dread of Chandrayya Gowda.
Luckily for them the warm sunshine lay radiant on the green grass. The sky
was clear except for a few scattered wisps of cloud. The weather was bright
and temperate. Birds were chirping and singing.
From Hoovayya to Baira and Sidda, everyone’s hearts turned light as a
feather and flew bird-like in the beauty of the hills and forests. Which soul
wouldn’t touch the skies when it rose from the chasm of the hundred-fold
valley of this world’s troubles to the clean free heights of hills and forests?
Hoovayya realized this and was happy. Sidda didn’t know it but was happy.
The group of hunters would talk light-heartedly at times, listen quietly at
others, lay plans sometimes in soft whispers, set off dogs which were trailing
them, smelling the ground all around, click fingers and signal, look for noole
creepers here and there, cut greens, get down to examine the wild beasts’
tracks, and go up the hills. They carried on with a sense of light adventure.
Vasu’s legs which didn’t have experience enough of roaming in the forests
were covered with scratches. However like a brave warrior who fought on
with greater gusto the more wounded he was, Vasu went ahead keeping up
with the grown-ups. He was unbearably happy in The midst of the forests and
hills, particularly as he was with Hovannayya. And the freedom he had!
Seeing a place where noole creepers grew close together they started
digging for their roots.
With short hoes Sidda and Baira dug in different places. The others were
sitting chatting on blankets spread next to one another. The dogs came there
and sat all around. Puttanna had taken out betel nuts and leaves from his
pocket and was chewing.
‘No luck today, it seems. Must be because Vasu is here,’ said Hoovayya in
fun.
Puttanna’s mouth was. full with nuts and leaves. Flaring his nostrils and
thrusting his lower lip forward like a hippopotamus, he mumbled, ‘You are
right! We shouldn’t have brought him along.’ Some of the red-coloured spit
fell on his blanket and on him too.
‘Disgusting man!’ Vasu cried out and moved away from him.
Puttanna rubbed away the spittle with his hand.
‘Who said that it is because of me that we have not hunted anything? Don’t
you remember the same day last year? I sat with Puttanna and he killed a wild
pig!’
 ‘Now that he mentions it! I had enough of it with Vasu sitting with me. He
wouldn’t keep quiet, would he? Talk, talk and talk. Poor pig, its time was up
and so it came near me!’
Their conversation was such as to bring them pleasure though the others
weren’t interested in their exchanges. Meanwhile Puttanna got up to help
Baira and Sidda. Ramayya who was lying on his back closed his eyes.
Hoovayya got up with his gun.
‘Puttanna, I’ll just go around for a bit,’ he said.
‘I’m coming too,’ Vasu said.
‘No, you stay here.’
Hoovayya disappeared in the forest with his dogs.
Vasu went to the place where Puttanna, Baira and Sidda were digging.
‘Ohoho! The roots are as tall as I am,’ he exclaimed.
It was over half an hour since Hoovayya had disappeared among the
shrubs. The diggers had pulled out two long roots and were in the process of
digging for two more. Vasu kept climbing trees and getting down. He took
Baira’s machete and started whittling sticks for the game chinni and dandu.
He pulled at the long monkey creepers that hung down from the tree tops and
made chains. Plucking young leaves, he placed them between his thumbs and
tried to call like the jungle fowl and mangatte birds. But it wasn’t possible for
him and the grotesque sounds that he produced belonged to no animal and
even the sweaty diggers doubled up with laughter. Realizing that he had failed
he gave the tender leaves to Puttanna and asked him to produce the calls. The
sound that Puttanna produced was so natural that the jungle fowl at some
distance and the mangatte birds on trees answered back. Vasu felt very happy
but frustrated and jealous as well. In his eyes Puttanna was the ultimate of
every ideal. Puttanna had no father and hence no fear. He could go wherever
he wanted. Night and day were the same to him. He wandered about in the
forest whenever he felt like it. When he used a gun he never missed.
Porcupines, pigs, tigers, snakes and other wild creatures held no fear for him.
He had no responsibilities. No wife, children, land or property. Though he
had nothing, he was independent and happy as if he had everything on earth.
He could call like the mangatte bird. He could summon the jungle fowl in a
voice like their own and shoot them with his gun. As Vasu continued with the
catalogue, Puttanna’s attributes appeared countless. He felt he was a mere
sapling under a big tree. The sense of envy he experienced was that of a child
who could light Up things, but not burn them.
 Vasu rolled up a leaf and blew through it The sound was so sharp that it
tickled the ears of the sleeping Ramayya and woke him up. He got up without
wanting to and sat rubbing his eyes. He hadn’t slept well for a few days
because of his father’s illness and the turmoil in his own mind.
Vasu came to Puttanna again. ‘Let’s see if you can make a pipe with a leaf
and blow,’ he said.
‘Of course I can,’ said Puttanna.
‘Blow then,’ cajoled Vasu.
Puttanna took a leaf, rolled it up and blew. It made a noise like air blown
through a pipe. Vasu felt happy as he had avenged his own failure. ‘Serves
you right! You want to be the best in everything, don’t you? Blow now, blow
the pipe. Did you think it was like shooting a pig?’ Vasu mocked. He blew a
whistle on his leaf-pipe and drew himself up swelling with pride.
Puttanna smiled and made four or five pipes from leaves and tried to blow.
It made Vasu happy every time as no whistling sound came forth from the
pipe. The leaf Puttanna had pulled out, his hands, even the way he rolled up
the leaf and his breath— everything was rough and he couldn’t achieve what
a child’s gentleness could.
‘You don’t become a man just because you can blow a pipe! Even girls do
it. Let me see if you can dig like I can!’ said Puttanna.
Puttanna had spoken in fun. But Vasu went straight to Baira, took up his
hoe and started digging. The rest controlled their laughter and watched.
Within a couple of minutes there were beads of sweat on Vasu’s young face
and tears in his eyes.
Just then there was a sound of barking from the middle of the forest far
away with two gunshots following it immediately. Someone could be heard
calling.
‘Who’s that? Annayya?’ asked Ramayya getting up briskly with a gun in
his hand.
‘I don’t think so. It seemed to come from far away,’ said Puttanna.
‘Anyway, I shall go and take a look,’ said Ramayya disappearing among
the trees in the direction taken by Hoovayya.
Meanwhile giving up the digging unnoticed by the others and not wanting
to notice it himself, Vasu had gone off behind a bush pretending to be
involved in something of great importance!
It wasn’t as if the gunshots heard by Puttanna and the others were inaudible
in Kanooru and Kelakanooru. Those who heard the shots interpreted them
each in his own way.
‘Why were two shots fired one after another?’ Chandrayya Gowda asked
the overseer rubbing his nose after taking a pinch of snuff.
‘Must be a deer. Yesterday our pot-bellied Soma it seems saw a whole herd
of them.’
‘I don’t think it was a deer. Must be a pig. If one calls out after two shots
one after another, it must be a pig.’
‘Is that so? Wasn’t it a shot from a country gun? How can you fire two
shots otherwise?’
‘Maybe our Halepaikada Thimma has ventured into the forest. Who
knows?’
‘Yes, yes. He has a double-barrelled gun. It may be Thimma,’ said the
Gowda expressing his bias for Thimma.
In the thatched house in Kelakanooru Nagamma’s thoughts were quite
different. Ever since Hoovayya and Puttanna left home that day her mother’s
heart had been filled with anxiety. A vague fear had continued to chum in her
mind. The omen-like silence that pervaded the house with no one around had
increased her fear. Likewise loneliness had spurred her imagination and
scared her, conjuring up countless fearful pictures before her mind’s eye.
Baira’s wife Sesi was grinding rice in the woodshed and Nagamma would go
there but come back in a short while with terrifying thoughts in her mind.
Even the sluggish Sesi could sense Nagamma’s anxiety.
‘Why, Amma? Aren’t you well?’
‘Just a little headache,’ said Nagamma mechanically and went to the
verandah folding her hands before each one of the pictures hung up there
praying for her son’s welfare. Let alone the pictures, she was prepared to fold
her hands before anything at all.
Ever since he was born Nagamma had showered great affection on
Hoovayya. Anyone who saw her minding the child would be puzzled. As her
son grew up, she would rejoice at his strong limbs and sturdy form. Out of
love for him she would do things which mothers in a joint family shouldn’t
do. She would put aside ghee, butter, curd, roasted eggs, meat pieces and
other things specially for him to eat. When her beloved son was near her she
wouldn’t pet any other child either. Nor would she let the others come near. A
little later it became apparent that he had superior intelligence and her joy
knew no bounds. When Chandrayya Gowda and her husband fell out and her
husband died later in difficult circumstances Nagamma filled the emptiness in
her world with nothing but her son. For her Hoovayya was the world and the
world was Hoovayya. It was true that her affection had turned to Puttamma
and Vasu when Hoovayya went off to various places for his education. She
loved Vasu a great deal. But her love for him was negligible when compared
to what she felt for Hoovayya.
It was only natural that her excessive love bred much fear. The heavenly
bliss that she experienced when Hoovayya was around would give place to
intense and hellish suffering when he was away from her.
Even when he was quite comfortable in Mysore Nagamma would imagine
all sorts of things like his being sick and calling for her or falling into the
hands of thieves or being taken away by the Pathans or breaking his limbs in a
motor accident or being run over by a train and so on. She would cry secretly
praying to God to save her son. She would ask Vasu at least four times a day
if a letter had come from Hoovayya. Even on the day a letter arrived she
wouldn’t be happy. He had written the letter two or three days ago. He was all
right then. But who knew what might have happened now? Many a time she
would try to escape from her fear because she knew that it was fuelled by no
tangible reason but the more she tried the greater was her fear.
Even on the day when he went to the forest she had called him, run her
fingers over his hair, stroked his cheeks and chin and wished him a safe
return. She had later called Puttanna and advised him to look after her son.
She had propitiated all the Gods through her thoughts and actions.
But as soon as the group of hunters was out of sight the familiar demon of
fear began harassing the heart of the mother. Only motherhood could
comprehend such pain.
Suddenly she remembered Singappa Gowda’s son Krishnappa falling prey
to a tiger and trembled from head to toe. She ran out of the house to call her
son back from the hunt and looked around with the sharpness of an eagle’s
eye. All that she could see were the stretching fields, thick forest, tall hills, the
blue silent sky and the wind blowing over her ear. Nothing else!
‘Hoovayya! Puttanna!’ she shouted. Even the white crane that sat on the
green field didn’t fly away. Nagamma came back and sat visualizing terrible
accidents with her hands on her head. It was as if she was sitting on thorns,
not on a mat. It was quite impossible to put her misgivings, the fearful
pictures and terrifying fancies which raged in her like a doomsday fire, into
words.
 All of a sudden from the middle of the distant forest, two shots were heard
breaking into the day’s silence. Nagamma stood up startled. She was about to
scream but sighed deeply instead.
‘Rama, Rama, save me!’ she prayed. Thousands of terrifying pictures
passed through her mind with the speed of lightning. The tiger jumping on
him! The boar butting! His head split open! Blood flowing! And being shot!
Nagamma couldn’t stand still and ran to the woodshed. There Sesi quieter
than the morning, more peaceful than the woods, was grinding rice singing to
herself very softly. She hadn’t even heard the shots!

* * *

Ramayya who had shouldered his gun and set off in the direction taken by
Hoovayya had pushed and squeezed through the bushes for a little while. The
enveloping darkness of the dense woods even in the midday sun, the silence
nourished only by the noise of the wind blowing through the trees, the
occasional grotesque sounds of the various birds like stones thrown into the
waters of silence—he walked forward under their magical spell like a sleep-
walking dreamer, when he was suddenly startled by what he saw. He stood
rooted to the spot as if he had been sculpted in stone.
At a little distance in an elevated place, among the bushes growing closely
all around, the trees holding up a dense green umbrella, in the darkness and
silence of the forest, at the top of a boulder covered in moss like green velvet,
sat a still cross-legged figure on a black blanket! If anyone else had seen him,
he would wonder whether a sage of ancient times had assumed a motionless
body and come into a kaliyuga forest for his meditation. But he wasn’t
misled. He knew that it was Hoovayya who sat in meditation. In order not to
disturb him he hid quietly behind a bush.
Hoovayya’s gun was propped up against the rock he was sitting on.
The scene was so sublime that even Ramayya’s mind as he sat hidden from
view drifted slowly towards heaven. While the body was rooted to the spot,
the heart was thrilled by the lightning of divine excitement. Tears filled his
eyes. Hoovayya appeared to make the whole region contemplative through his
own meditation. Ramayya sat drowned in the generous, merciful and
exquisite sanctuary of its sway.
Hoovayya sat as if he had been carved. One had to assume that he was still
breathing. His soul appeared to have pervaded the entire universe, consumed
and crossed it to an infinity which was beyond both words and imagination.
That meditation wasn’t hampered by measures of depth and width. Hoovayya
was the wind, the trees, plants and creepers; he was both the murmur of the
forest and also the silence. He was the distant sky and the earth nearby. No,
not merely that. Hoovayya felt that even his existence had become formless.
Even as one looked Hoovayya sighed as if he had come from somewhere
far away and looked around with a smile. His face was radiant. His eyes were
sparkling.
All of a sudden in the peaceful silence of the forest the sweet and serious
strains of chanting rose and brimmed over filling the forest and the sky.
Ramayya listened with breathless happiness with his hair on end. The great
mantras from the Vedas and Upanishads were reverberating melodiously in
the forests of the Sahyadri.
In a little while, hearing Puttanna’s call, Ramayya got up and left the spot
quietly.
When Puttanna asked him if he had found Hoovayya, Ramayya said no and
told him to call aloud. Puttanna started calling as a hunter would.
Hoovayya heard Puttanna, got up and came to him. Answering his
question, Hoovayya said that all the dogs rushed away as soon as they heard
the shots. He had sat down to wait for them and had come back hearing the
call. Perhaps someone else had come to hunt and fired the shots. He pointed
out the direction from which the sound of the shots had come. As Hoovayya
delivered his long lecture, Ramayya who knew the truth was laughing within
himself.
Puttanna called the dogs but none came. Together they picked up the
implements and the roots they had dug up and walked in the direction of the
shots they had heard.
‘Kruoo, Diamond! Kruoo, Kotwala! Kruoo, Ruby, Kruoo, Roji!’
While the adults called out over and over again, Vasu called out in a shrill
high voice, all in one breath.
After quite a distance, in the middle of the forest in the densest, coldest and
most silent valley, someone called out. Putttanna responded with a shout.
‘It must be our Halepaikada Thimma. He must have spotted a porcupine’s
hideout. Excellent, isn’t it?’ Puttanna exclaimed and started walking briskly.
Curious and enthusiastic, the others followed him.
They found that Diamond, Kotwala, Ruby and the others had joined forces
with Thimma’s two mongrels and were scratching away the red earth at the
mouth of a porcupine’s hole. Halepaikada Thimma sat nearby chewing betel
leaves and nuts with the double-barrelled gun beside him.
‘What’s happening?’ asked Puttanna.
‘The dogs chased a porcupine. I fired two shots but neither hit it. They have
chased him into the hole. Your dogs also came at the same time. So I just sat
waiting for you,’ said Thimma, getting up on seeing Hoovayya and Ramayya
approaching.
The hideout where a porcupine lives is a tunnel-like hole in the earth. Some
tunnels are very long. These are the real hideouts of the porcupine and
nothing can be done if a porcupine settles into them. Some others are a few
yards long. It is possible to force the porcupine out by laboriously digging up
the earth or smoking them out of the hideout. Some others are much shorter
and have an opening at either end. The porcupine is known to enter the hole
through one opening and make its escape easily through the other. It is not
always the porcupine that digs these tunnels. It could be a pig too. The
porcupine takes over the tunnel from the pig and establishes its empire in it.
A few small-bodied dogs too enter the tunnels and fight bravely with the
porcupine. It is however a dangerous adventure and there are occasions when
dogs enter the tunnel but do not come back.
Puttanna cut down a long creeper stem, sat before the hole which was about
a foot-and-a-half in diameter, pushed the stick in and moved it around to
ascertain if the animal had wandered very far in. Soon he felt the stick
touching its quills. He told the others of the good news and decided to start a
fire with sticks at the mouth of the tunnel to smoke the animal out. Even Ruby
had been brave enough to enter the tunnel a couple of times and had savoured
the quills of the porcupine by falling over them and now was in no mood for
the same adventure. It just managed to do what was needed to let its master
know that the animal was there.
Baira, Sidda and Halepaikada Thimma supplied wood, sticks and things
from trees and whatever else they found around to start the fire. Hoovayya,
Ramayya and Vasu bent over Puttanna who was sitting at the mouth of the
tunnel. All around, forests and hill ranges covered with vegetation spread
endlessly. Though it was midday, the darkness of the shadows of the forest
was dense and the atmosphere was cold.
‘How far is the porcupine from the mouth?’ asked Vasu.
‘It is perhaps three or four yards away,’ said Puttanna, moving the stick
once again in the tunnel. ‘Can you hear the sound of the quills?’ he asked.
 All the three put their ears to the hole and listened intently. In the stillness
of the forest the rattle of quills could be heard very clearly.
Suddenly Puttanna was startled, dropped the stick, grasped the blanket and
held it down firmly at the mouth of the tunnel. ‘Look, the porcupine might
have started to come out. Move back,’ he said.
Hoovayya and Ramayya stood a little away, ready with their guns. The
dogs jumped about excitedly.
All of a sudden, the porcupine’s head appeared at the mouth of the tunnel.
Puttanna the giant didn’t flinch and without fear or hesitation threw the
blanket he had already folded many times over the animal’s neck and held it
down firmly. If the animal’s body had emerged outside the hole he wouldn’t
have been spared punishment by the quills. But the body remained inside and
only the clattering of quills against one another could be heard. With no quills
on it, the porcupine’s head was the only defenseless part of its body.
With the speed of lightning Puttanna held the porcupine’s head down with
his left hand, pulled out the dagger from the gun-bag with his right, and
started chopping at the animal’s head.
For those who watched it was like waiting on thorns. No one could bring
himself to say a thing. All held their breath fearing that the porcupine would
attack Puttanna. But in a couple of minutes it went cold. From its shattered
skull, white bits of its brain and blood poured out, looking ghastly. Even then
Puttanna’s monstrous wrath wasn’t spent. He was chopping off the animal’s
eyes, ears, forehead, muzzle and mouth as if he was slashing at grass.
Hoovayya felt like closing his eyes. The same Puttanna who used to do many
kindly deeds, the gentle Puttanna who would perform surgery on a dog’s paw
infected by a thorn and care for it later, was now worked up and engaged in
an immense, terrifying, ghastly massacre. It felt as if a saw had been at work
on Hoovayya’s chest. He decided as he had many times before that he had
had enough of the accursed hunt. ‘From now on, there will be no stepping
into the woods with guns to kill,’ he said to himself.
Only after the animal’s head had been fragmented and life had left the body
did Puttanna’s rage abate. He sighed deeply, pulled the porcupine out from
the hole with a triumphant air and threw it out. All the dogs surrounded the
carcass and started tearing at it.
When Hoovayya reached home safely, Nagamma who had been tortured by
anxiety and fear felt as if life had returned to her. The great flame of the arathi
offered by her heart’s gratitude and devotion streaked across the skies and
reached beyond.
 48
Subbamma’s Flight from Kanooru in the Dead of
Night to Escape Chandrayya Gowda’s Sword

T HE FESTIVAL OF Bhoomi Hunnime had passed and so had Deepavali. Even

the harvesting of areca had gone some way.
As usual there was the adventure of a big hunt on the occasion of
Deepavali. Three wild pigs, a deer, a couple of birka and a porcupine were
killed and everyone was in a festive mood.
What is worth recounting is Hoovayya’s killing of a deer. His resolve not
to kill any animal had gone by the board on that occasion. He was certainly
not for killing a meek and gentle creature like a deer. He had his gun with him
and it was meant to kill in self-defence if a wild animal like a boar, tiger or
cheetah were to come his way. But the sound of dogs barking, the hunters
shouting and the different but encouraging sounds from a variety of guns as
the hunt progressed, made him forget himself and shoot at a deer as the
frightened animal flashed by in front of him. He didn’t have either the
detachment or time to think about what he was doing at that moment.
The animal had come into Hoovayya’s range after passing across
Ramayya’s and the latter had already taken a shot at it. Though it was finally
felled by Hoovayya’s shot, a couple of Ramayya’s had hit the animal’s
posterior. A little blood had flowed too from the wounds on the deer’s body.
Hoovayya’s shot was not the first one to hit the deer though he maintained
that it was felled by his shot. What started as a light-hearted argument turned
out to be a heated one later. The two had even given up talking to each other
for a week. As a result the bonhomie that characterized their relation did not
return.
Though it was the first occasion when the two had publicly fallen out with
each other, there had been the suggestion of a secret turmoil in their minds for
quite some time. Was Seethe the probable reason?
The harvesting of areca nuts was well under way. Operations like removing
the tops and tails, peeling them with curved knives, boiling them in cauldrons
containing coloured water and drying them by spreading them out on bamboo
mats in the sun went on briskly from dawn to dusk in the Kanooru house.
It was eight o’ clock in the night. A rhythmic and pleasant sound came
from all over the house as many hands peeled the nuts with curved knives on
the verandahs and the yard. More tops had been removed from the nuts than
usual and the Gowda had ordered that the peeling should be completed before
morning. The Belas, Halepaikas, the workers from the Ghats and all the
servants in the house had been enlisted for the task. Having eaten their supper
in a hurry they had reported for the work on hand.
The nuts were simmering in a large cauldron in one corner of the yard. The
cauldron looked grotesque covered as it was with soot and residual colours on
its sides. In another area of the yard was laid a bamboo mat to smoke-dry the
nuts boiled during the night. The fire in the stove blazed fiercely as Thimma
stood away from it warming himself and scratching his thighs even as he
stirred the boiling nuts with a huge wooden ladle. The dogs too were there at
a fair distance from the fire sleeping happily in the spreading warmth.
Here and there kerosene lamps burned to help the workers carry on. As
their flames danced, the shadows of the workers peeling the nuts also put up a
macabre dance on the walls foreboding an event both mysterious and evil. It
looked as if there was a ball on in which ghosts took the floor.
In one corner of the verandah were the overseer Rangappa Shetty, Gange,
Soma and at some distance Halepaikada Thimma forming a group of their
own, chatting and laughing. Occasionally, the guffaws of the group were loud
enough to drown the noise of the entire assemblage, even as its members sat
firmly on the board of the curved knives peeling the nuts. Their minds were
occupied with their exchanges while their hands carried on peeling
mechanically but efficiently. It was obvious that they were all a little high
thanks to Halepaikada Thimma.
Suddenly they stopped working. With brows raised and with their eyes and
mouth open they listened to the Gowda’s enraged words and Subbamma’s
protests punctuating them.
‘There they are at each other again! No happiness to him from the
Heggadithi!’ remarked Gange looking in the direction of the overseer.
‘Why do you blame her? It’s the Gowda’s fault. He has lost his mind!’ The
overseer stood up as he made his comment.
The Gowda’s behaviour towards Subbamma had no rhyme or reason and
had gradually turned cruel. Added to his enfeebled body was the increasing
suspicion in his mind. He felt that Subbamma couldn’t stand him, let alone
love him. In addition he was convinced that she was unfaithful to him thereby
allowing the worm of suspicion to build its nest in his heart and brain. Trivial
reasons and sometimes imagined ones were enough to make him shout and
beat her.
As a matter of fact, Subbamma was disgusted with her husband. But that
feeling wasn’t prompted by some other man’s love for her. It was true that the
overseer had great compassion for her. What could have prompted that in
him? Subbamma wasn’t clever enough to see through his ploy. Her attitude
towards the overseer was that of a grateful person towards one who had stood
by her in times of trouble, nothing more. She had grown thin having suffered
untold indignities at the hands of her husband and having to live a life full of
irritations. Her emaciated looks were another source of the Gowda’s anger.
His was a sick mind in which imagination danced like a devil.
Once while eating his dinner it occurred to him that his wife wanted to kill
him and had put poison into one of the dishes. ‘What have you put into the
palya? Come on. Out with it!’ he shouted and shook her pulling her by her
plait.
‘Just spices! What else?’ Subbamma replied in anger.
‘You are lying, aren’t you, slut? Come on, confess! Haven’t you put some
poison into it because your lover suggested it?’ He thumped her back as he
shouted.
Subbamma cried, all the while maintaining that she was innocent. Ramayya
and the overseer joined all the others in pleading on her behalf but the Gowda
wouldn’t listen. He forced Subbamma to eat the dish in his presence and
waited in vain for her death.
Another time, there had been some dry grass sticking to her back and head.
The Gowda gritted his teeth as his eyes turned blood red. ‘How did the grass
come to stick to your back?’ he shouted. ‘Tell me, who was sleeping with you
in the hay and where?’ Subbamma told him that she had carried, the dry grass
on her back as she went to feed the cattle. Unconvinced, the Gowda had hit
and kicked her.
Everyone including Ramayya who slept upstairs had on many a night
listened to the sound of shouting, slapping and crying from the Gowda’s
bedroom.
What drove Subbamma finally to protest was the Gowda’s offer of her
sarees and jewels as a gift to Gange. Subbamma who was born into an
impoverished family and had grown up among all its privations into an
unrefined woman, could stand the blows and insults heaped on her but not her
sarees and jewels being gifted to someone else. She answered back.
That night while the nuts were being peeled, the Gowda had asked
Subbamma for the key to her metal box. She refused to give it to him. The
Gowda knit his brows in anger and fell On her wanting to seize the key. He
failed.
He let go his grip on her and shouted, ‘I’m going to chop you into pieces
tonight. You can call me a bastard if I fail!’ He ran his hand along the wooden
shelf on the wall for his sword. Subbamma thought that her end was near. She
ran out screaming into the verandah.
Before the overseer who had got up could find out what the matter was,
there came the Gowda sword in hand, chasing Subbamma in a mad rage.
‘He will kill me, Seragarare! I shall die!’ shouted Subbamma as she ran out
of the house through the open door with the speed of lightning. The Gowda
was at her back. The workers jumped up and ran into the house. Ramayya
who was in bed upstairs with fever and cold was so frightened that he came
down at a run.
It was a still, silent night in Malenadu. The dull light from the half-moon
among the clouds had been like a magical veil spawning the deep sleep of the
forests and hills. The sound of dogs barking and men shouting churned the
silence of the night all of a sudden.
Chandrayya Gowda who chased his wife couldn’t see her. She had
disappeared among the thick shadows cast by trees here and there. The
Gowda, mad with rage and breathing heavily, was like a wounded tiger
looking for the hunter hiding up a tree. Suddenly he thought he saw the figure
of someone sitting in the shadows and rushing at it, brought down his sword.
There was no cry. The sword had lodged itself firmly and the Gowda’s efforts
to pull it out were in vain. His sword had come down on a log. Still in awe of
demons and Bhootharaya who now crowded his mind, and red-eyed, he gave
out a blood-curdling shout and collapsed.
The workers took him into the house. When they called out for Subbamma,
there was no response. She wasn’t to be seen anywhere.
Everyone except the overseer came back home dejected when they failed to
find her. He continued to look for her near the workers’ huts and Gange’s
place, gently calling out her name.
 Subbamma who was hiding among the bushes grew cold after some time.
She felt scared when the search party gave up and went home. Creepy insects,
maybe ants, crawled all over her. She came out of the bushes slowly and
stood for a while uncertain of her next move. She knew that there was no
sanctuary anywhere in Kanooru and so she headed towards Kelakanooru.
As she crossed a field she heard footsteps behind her and knew that
someone was following her. She broke into a run and so did the one who
followed.
After running a short distance she realized that her pursuer would catch up
with her. She changed direction suddenly and kept running till she came to
thick undergrowth by a huge tree where she could hide herself. Within a short
while she saw the overseer come running towards Kelakanooru.
Before even five minutes had passed she heard the sound of someone up on
the tree coughing lightly. Subbamma firmly believed in the existence of
ghosts and demons. (The villagers believed that it had been ‘scientifically’
established that there was no big tree without a ghost nesting in it.) She
looked up when she heard the leaves on a branch overhead rustle and was
petrified when she realized that it was a man coming down the tree. There
was a blanket over his shoulder. The barrel of the gun in his hand looked like
a charcoal drawing on the canvas of the sky. Subbamma felt relieved when
she saw the gun. She knew then that it was a hunter who had hidden himself
on the tree while waiting for wild pigs to come that way. The figure climbed
down the tree trunk slowly then jumped down to the ground and asked,
‘Who’s that?’
Life returned to Subbamma when she recognized Puttanna. She came out
and her voice shook with grief as she said, ‘It’s me, Puttanna. See where I
have ended up!’
Puttanna wouldn’t have been more surprised if lightning had struck him.
‘Is it Subbamma Heggadithi?’
Subbamma’s narration of events was brief. As Puttanna led the way
Subbamma followed him sobbing and wiping away her tears.
Outside the thatched hut in Kelakanooru Hoovayya and the overseer were
talking heatedly by the light of a lantern. The dogs wagging their tails formed
a circle around them hoping there would be a hunting expedition.
‘Where did she go at this hour of the night?’ Hoovayya asked.
‘I don’t know. I saw her in the field and then she vanished. She was
wanting to go to Nelluhalli, I think.’
 ‘So, you were the only one who followed her. What happened to the
others?’
‘They had had enough of looking for her!’
Hoovayya, unconvinced, looked at the overseer’s face intently.
The dogs started to bark. ‘Hatcha!’ Have they gone blind?’ Puttanna
exclaimed and stepped into the circle of light from the lantern.
Subbamma appeared before Hoovayya could give him the news. They all
went in after Puttanna narrated what had happened.
Hoovayya woke up his mother who was sound asleep and gave her an
account of that evening. Subbamma went to sleep in Nagamma’s room.
Hoovayya, Puttanna and the overseer stayed up late talking about
Subbamma’s sorry state.
Subbamma insisted the next morning that she would head towards her
parents’ house. The overseer offered to accompany her. When Hoovayya
called Puttanna and whispered something in his ears the latter said to the
overseer, ‘Come to think of it, I have some work to attend to in Nelluhalli. I
will go along with you.’
The overseer was obviously disappointed. ’There’s no need for me to go
there then. I offered to accompany her thinking that there was no one else
going. You go with her,’ he said and went back to Kanooru, gnashing his
teeth and cursing Hoovayya and Puttanna. He had no compunction
whatsoever as he gave the Gowda an account damaging to both Hoovayya
and Puttanna. He knew how profitable it would be for him if the Gowda could
hate Subbamma and drive her out.
Isn’t it difficult to say in which anthill and when, a baby snake will hatch
out of an egg to raise its hood?
 49
Dark Clouds are Thickening in the Skies of Life

A S SUBBAMMA WALKED towards Nelluhalli with Puttanna as her bodyguard

and disappeared from his sight, Hoovayya stood thoughtful in the front yard
of the house.
The sun had risen over the green hill range in the near distance. Birds sang
in every tree and bush. The gentle breeze blew over the corn fields sending
the mature crop into waves. In the middle of the scenery, on the footpath
across the fields, the workers—men and women—specially employed for
preparing the areca, came walking chatting incessantly like rattles.
Even though he saw and heard, Hoovayya had paid no attention. They were
all dim in the periphery of his consciousness. Was it because his meditation
was so deep?
Suddenly he was pushed from behind. Startled, Hoovayya turned round.
‘Balindra!’ he exclaimed in mock anger. There was a smile on his face as he
caught hold of the goat’s, short horns. ‘Have you had too much to eat? If you
grow headstrong like this, you will be sacrificed again to Bhootharaya!’
But the well-nourished giant black goat behaved like a human, perhaps to
exhibit his devotion to his master or out of gratitude to him for having saved
his life or out of the sheer happiness of bubbling youth or because of the love
natural to any domesticated animal. Rubbing his body against Hoovayya, he
looked up, with his two-inch long beard and dangling dewlap, watching his
master’s face with unblinking eyes full of life. Hoovayya bent down, took his
head in his arms and spoke to him for fun. The strong smell of the goat
assailed him.
Ever since Hoovayya saved the sacrificial goat, it had become his. No one
had courage enough to own it for fear of being the target of the demon’s
anger, having let the sacrificial animal go. The workers too were reluctant to
do anything for the animal: the shepherd didn’t agree to let it join the other
sheep. The man who would feed the cattle greens refused as well. The goat
wasn’t afraid of dogs because it was naturally strong and had quite
nonchalandy joined the pack of dogs with Hoovayya. The dogs however were
scared of it. The fools had then started the rumour that they were scared
because Bhootharaya himself lived in the goat. They believed that the demon
in the goat was invisible to human eyes, but could be seen by dogs. Thus, like
a bull dedicated to God, the goat did as it pleased, was a little wicked too, and
became fearsome to the weak-hearted and enjoyed total freedom.
The feeling that the goat was the cause of all the hardships, disasters,
fights, diseases and everything else that befell the people became quite
common. The division of the house, Vasu’s fainting, Chandrayya Gowda
losing his grip over himself, his beating Subbamma and chastising her—it
was all the goat’s doing.
Many a time had Chandrayya Gowda, the overseer, Gange, Halepaikada
Thimma and Ninga argued forcefully that the place would know no happiness
unless the goat was sacrificed. Nagamma too had argued likewise with her
son. But Hoovayya refused to heed the warning and continued to be a happy
companion to the goat. Once the house was divided and the goat and
Hoovayya both went off to Kelakanooru, his feelings became stronger.
Among the Belas and the workers from the Ghats the belief that the demon
was living in the goat and was subservient to Hoovayya grew very strong.
This benefited Hoovayya though he was unaware of it.
Chandrayya Gowda had secretly sent word through the overseer and Ninga
to all the labourers except Baira and Sesi, that no one should help Hoovayya
in any way. In the beginning because everyone was party to the conspiracy,
Hoovayya found it difficult to get anything done at all. But when the rumour
of Hoovayya being a superhuman spread among them, they started working
for him secretly when called, fearing for their lives.
There were many reasons behind Hoovayya’s superhuman status. He was
frequently lost in emotional trances; he spent a lot of time alone unlike the
others: he read big books in languages no one understood; he refuted the
ignorant superstitions of ordinary men and lived healthily though he didn’t
worship the gods and demons traditionally as they did; and the episode of the
goat only confirmed this status. Hoovayya heard of it too. But he was forced
to keep quiet when his efforts at correcting it only made the belief firmer than
before.
He would talk to the goat about all these comic goings-on. ‘Do you have
this demon in you? Where? In your eyes or beard?’
Though he talked to the goat in jest, the workers who had come to peel the
areca nuts stood amazed and watched from a distance with fear and devotion
at the familiar way in which he talked to the goat, and spoke to one another in
whispers.
Nagamma who saw everything from the kitchen window felt upset and
came out. ‘What are you all doing standing there instead of attending to your
work? Go, get on with the peeling!’ She admonished Hoovayya too. ‘You
deserve what they are saying about you. Somehow you have got a hold on
that disagreeable animal. Will you let it go and come in or not?’ she said,
picking up a stick from the ground and chasing the goat away.
Hoovayya looked at his mother and smiled. ‘God only knows when you’ll
all get rid of this delusion of the demon!’
Balindra kept looking back as he went to the forest to graze, with his short
tail dancing, springing and bleating in joy.
Once Balindra was out of sight, Hoovayya recalled his earlier plans and
told his mother that he would go to Mutthalli and be back the same evening.
‘On your way back, go to Seethemane and look up Singappa Kakkayya. I
had told him about something. Find out what happened to it,’ said Nagamma
and looked at her son meaningfully.
‘Can’t you tell me what it is?’
‘Why should you be bothered about that? You just ask him and come
back,’ said Nagamma with a smile. She crept away as if afraid of being
caught in a web of questions if she stayed there any longer.
At Mutthalli Hoovayya told Shyamayya Gowda and Chinnayya all that had
happened in Kanooru the previous night in as much detail as he was aware of.
If they didn’t come to Kanooru immediately and set everything right by
talking to Chandrayya Gowda, there would be some disaster or the other, he
warned.
‘I had told him long ago that he shouldn’t marry at his age. But he didn’t
listen to me,’ grumbled Shyamayya Gowda. He called Nanja and told him to
get the cart ready to go to Kanooru soon after lunch.
Gowramma called Hoovayya as he came to the front yard after lunch. She
listened to everything with a sigh and looked with pity at Seethe standing
nearby.
Neither Seethe nor Hoovayya could sense the secret regret and a sort of
repentance hidden in her look. How could they be aware of the talk and
hostile fights that went on in secret among Chandrayya Gowda, Shyamayya
Gowda and Gowramma regarding the marriage of their children?
But Hoovayya would find out before the evening was over!
 Shyamayya Gowda and Hoovayya left in the cart. The Gowda talked about
Nagamma’s well-being, Hoovayya’s work, the crops in the fields, harvesting
areca, etc. Hoovayya gave monosyllabic answers, thinking about something
else. A thought that had been waiting for a chance to be expressed before it
was too late was now stretching itself awake.
Twice or thrice he tried to raise the topic but like a river coming down from
the mountain to dry up in the sands of the desert, anything that came from his
heart would be destroyed by the time it reached his throat. If Nanja hadn’t
been there, he would have surely asked! It was an extremely difficult thing to
ask for the hand of the Gowda’s daughter. It was impossible when there was
someone else around. Then he decided he would speak up after they had
traversed another furlong.
If anyone had asked why they should traverse that distance before he came
out with the question, he would have had no plausible answer.
The distance was traversed. Hoovayya remained silent. As soon as the next
milestone was sighted, he wouldn’t hesitate, he decided! As the cart moved
on, his heart started to thump. The milestone was almost there! Almost there!
How should he start?
‘I have been meaning to ask you a question for a very long time . . .’
No, that wasn’t good enough.
‘Mava, is Seethe well now?’
He had just come from seeing her. If he asked, he would be admitting that
he was not sane, thereby corroborating what people were already saying.
That damned Venkappa Joisa was the cause of all these disasters. He was
the one who had matched the horoscopes and got his uncle married.
No, no! That wasn’t the right way to begin. All these people had great
respect for the Joisa. They trusted him implicitly in a worshipful way.
The cartwheel went over a stone with a jolt and came down with a thud.
Hoovayya felt as if he had been shaken awake. He waited for the next
milestone to appear since he couldn’t think of anything else. The cart
travelled on but there was no sign of any milestone. Was that a sign? The
milestone which had lost the whiteness of chalk and turned saffron, thumped
and kicked by Nanja and the other gentlemen on their way home, intoxicated
from the toddy shop, the milestone which was there all the time—where had
it disappeared? Had some drunken worker uprooted it? Hoovayya was
startled. The crossroads where the road branched off to Seethemane was right
in front of him. Then he realized that they must have passed the milestone as
he sat thinking.
‘Mava! I’m leaving, I have to go to Seethemane! Nanja, stop the cart,’ said
Hoovayya jumping onto the road from the back even before the cart stopped.
‘Do you have any work there?’ asked Shyamayya Gowda, adjusting the
bolster he was leaning on.
‘Avva wanted some information from Singappa Kakkayya.’
‘That’s fine, go ahead,’ said Shyamayya Gowda and the cart started off.
Hoovayya walked on.
Shyamayya Gowda himself could have told him the answer he sought from
Singappa Gowda. Shyamayya Gowda knew very well what Nagamma had
wanted to find out, but he pretended not to have known anything because it
concerned Seethe and Hoovayya.
When Hoovayya reached Seethemane, Singappa Gowda welcomed him
with great joy and offered him snacks and coffee, though Hoovayya kept
saying no. Singappa Gowda was a naturally jolly person. He could be as
unprincipled in wreaking vengeance against his enemies as he could be
simple in showing his fondness for those he loved. If anyone met him, it
would have been impossible to say that his son who had been about to be
married had been tragically killed by a tiger.
After a little while, Hoovayya spoke of what his mother had said and
looked at Singappa Gowda’s face, hoping for an answer. He was astonished
to see on his face anger, depression and frustration competing among
themselves.
Singappa Gowda began to speak.
A few days ago, Nagamma had talked to the Gowda about Seethe marrying
her son and asked him to mention it to Shyamayya Gowda. Singappa
Gowda’s thoughts too ran along the same lines and so he had gone to
Mutthani, all eagerness to make matters sail smoothly.
‘Yes. I could have acted according to your wishes. But I have already
promised Chandrayya Gowda. Moreover, it is easier for us if we can give a
bride and bring one back. You tell us what we should do. We don’t mind
whom we have to go to, to make such an arrangement. It is fine if there is a
bride for a groom and a groom for a bride.’
Chandrayya Gowda and Singappa Gowda were already at loggerheads. So
Singappa Gowda made up his mind not to let Chandrayya Gowda have
Seethe. Moreover he felt that he had greater right over a girl who had been
promised to his son. He had no hatred towards Ramayya on whose behalf
Chandrayya Gowda had asked for Seethe. On the other hand, he had great
affection for him. But he sharpened his claws to oppose his father.
‘So what? Is it like giving your word just because you have talked about it?
Have you signed a contract? You must have the horoscopes read . . . Must
seek God’s approval . . . It isn’t enough to say that there is a boy for a girl. It’s
the duty of the parents to seek a suitable boy for their girl. How can you
compare Ramayya and Hoovayya? Hoovayya is better educated and he is
good-looking. He is made for Seethe,’ he declared, and described the cracks
and the rot in Chandrayya Gowda’s family.
Shyamayya Gowda listened to everything. ‘It’s all very well for you to say
all this. But Hoovayya seems to have become a recluse of sorts. What if it
turns out that I have given my daughter in marriage to a mendicant? Moreover
it seems he has fainting fits quite often . . . Anyway, I shall talk to
Venkappayya Joisa, check the horoscopes and then tell you,’ he said.
Singappa Gowda advised Seethe’s mother Gowramma in a conspiratorial
manner not to let her daughter get married to Chandrayya Gowda’s son. There
was a heated discussion between Gowramma and Shyamayya Gowda and
eventually the husband had his way.
Singappa Gowda even went to Venkappa Joisa, offered him the customary
money and gifts and suggested that he should report that the horoscopes of
Ramayya and Seethe were incompatible. He arranged to send Hoovayya’s
horoscope to the Joisa through Shyamayya Gowda and was at peace. He had
no qualms about using the horoscope to win his battle against Chandrayya
Gowda.
But Venkappayya Joisa was greatly incensed with Hoovayya as he had
campaigned against the Joisa’s priesthood and his profiteering from it. He
seethed in anger like a serpent which had spotted a mongoose. And so the
Joisa was unwilling to go along with Singappa Gowda’s wishes though he
accepted the Gowda’s gifts with pleasure. Instead he went secretly to
Chandrayya Gowda and told him what had happened. The Gowda erupted,
spewing lava and won him over completely by gifting him twice as much as
Singappa Gowda had given.
He told his son about the conspiracy that Nagamma, Hoovayya and
Singappa Gowda had hatched against Seethe’s marriage with him, even
though it had Shyamayya Gowda’s blessings. He poured poison into
Ramayya’s ears, saying, ‘What a fool you are, boy! There you are with
Hoovayya’s name always on your lips! And this is what they have clubbed
together to do to you!’ Ramayya drank up the poison as if it was ambrosia and
stopped going to see Hoovayya. The affection he had for Hoovayya before
was replaced by a certain indifference in his dealings with his brother which
were now both formal and to the point.
In spite of all his efforts, Singappa Gowda failed in his mission. The Joisa
informed Shyamayya Gowda that the horoscopes of Seethe and Hoovayya
were hopelessly incompatible and that on the other hand, the horoscopes of
Seethe and Ramayya were perfectly matched. The object of getting her
daughter married was to secure her well-being, and so Gowramma went along
with her husband’s decision in the matter of Seethe’s marriage.
Hoovayya was agitated as he listened to the sad tale. Feeling despondent
and crushed, he made his way to Kelakanooru as darkness descended on the
evening.
 50
A Love Letter Set on Fire

W HEN NAGAMMA CAME to know from Hoovayya all that Singappa Gowda
had narrated, her disappointment turned into anger. Unable to strike back, her
anger took on the guise of indifference.
‘Never mind. We don’t want that girl, do we? Let them preserve her in hay
into ripeness! There is no dearth of girls for you. If we were to say yes, there
are many who will be ready to prostrate at our feet and offer their girls in
marriage . . . Some have already brought up the matter with me . . . There is
Rangamma, the daughter of Attigadde Hiriyanna Gowda . . . There’s nothing
wrong with her, is there? What if she stammers a little! Round face, fair
complexion, eyes, nose and mouth— she has them all . . . And there is
Danamma, the daughter of Thammanna Gowda of Nuggimane. Nothing
wrong with her . . . She may be dark. So what? She is sturdy and willing to do
hard work, I am sure . . . Or Duggamma, the daughter of Sampagehalli
Puttayya Gowda . . . People say that she has a squint. And so what? She is
said to be slightly deaf. . . Come to think of it, even Seethe is somewhat hard
of hearing . . . Duggamma may have buck teeth, but that hasn’t taken
anything away from her good looks! Forget about it. I didn’t give birth to you
so that they could offer their girl to you, did I? They seem to think that her
complexion is pure gold! I know girls whose complexion is much richer than
hers and who are there, waiting . . .!
It was as if Nagamma was thinking aloud without bothering about whether
Hoovayya was listening to her words or not. Hoovayya would have found his
mother’s soliloquy amusing if his heart had not been filled with pain. But now
every word from his mother was a spear which pierced him deeply. All that
Nagamma desired was a bride for him. Any girl would do—if it wasn’t this
one, that girl would do! Any girl! What Hoovayya needed wasn’t any girl, but
a girl he loved. And that girl was Seethe—not Rangamma, the daughter of
Attigadde Hiriyanna Gowda, or Danamma, the daughter of Nuggimane
Thammanna Gowda. Or Duggamma, the daughter of Sampagehalli Puttayya
Gowda! None of them could take Seethe’s place.
 Hoovayya desired to turn his mother’s thoughts away from Seethe. He also
wanted to escape from his own pain and so he asked, ‘Avva, where’s
Puttanna? Hasn’t he come back?’
‘He came back ages ago. He must have been in high spirits surveying the
road he took! It has been a long time since he had any drink . . . Must have
consumed a lot since he could lay his hands on it. Must be in some corner
with a blanket over his head . . .”
‘He had promised me that he would give up drinking . . .’
‘Even the high and mighty who had taken God’s name and signed the
prohibition document have gone back to drinking, haven’t they? Why should
we blame that poor soul? He drank because the drink was there!’
Hoovayya felt very sad. His heart was filled not with anger but with
compassion. How weak was man in controlling himself! Circumstances could
make a Mahatma of an evil fellow and a Mahatma could turn into an evil one!
Puttanna was genuine in wanting to rise above his bad habits. But he would
yield to temptation when he was away from Hoovayya and find himself
ensnared as soon as circumstances cast a net of temptation about him. He had
gone with Subbamma to Nelluhalli that morning, got drunk at sunset, come
back home tottering and had collapsed in one corner of the verandah.
Hoovayya took a lantern with him as he searched for Puttanna in the dark.
And there he was lying in a dirty corner in disarray under a blanket. Heaving
a sigh, Hoovayya stood there looking at Puttanna.
Puttanna’s head looked ugly with its dishevelled hair. There were signs of
tiredness on his ruddy face. The stench of his sweat combined with that of
toddy was unbearable. The foaming saliva at the corner of his mouth looked
disgusting and the snot from his nose looked white, caught in his black
moustache. The shadow of Puttanna’s body which rolled in the red light of
the lantern only seemed to show up Hoovayya’s unsteadiness.
Softly, he called, ‘Puttanna, Puttanna!’
Puttanna didn’t stir. He lay there like a corpse. He could have been taken to
be dead but for the sound of his breathing.
Hoovayya bent down and shook him as he called, ‘Puttanna, Puttanna!’
Puttanna opened his eyes, stared at the lantern and closed his eyes. They
were bloodshot.
When Hoovayya shook him again, he didn’t open his eyes but mumbled,
‘Look . . . Don’t bother me . . . Get lost!’ and spat on Hoovayya’s face.
 Hoovayya recoiled and wiped off the spit. Giving up his attempt he went to
the bathroom, washed his face and sat down on a chair in his room.
He felt that he was striking out in a certain direction while the whole world
took the opposite one. He couldn’t decide whether he should turn towards the
world or force it to turn to him. The first option would be easy and his
passage smooth. Thorns don’t prick one’s feet on a path taken by many.
If Puttanna who was his constant companion, knew everything about his
words and deeds, listened to his advice on many an occasion, honestly desired
to change his ways, and despite having given his word, failed so pathetically
and repeatedly, how could he, Hoovayya, hope to reform those who were his
enemies, kept their distance from him and had no desire whatsoever to change
for the better? Hoovayya felt dejected.
Another thought stole into his mind. There seemed to be no harmony
between his dream-world and the real one and no possibility of his dream
becoming a reality. A man with his dream-world wrapped around him was
like a creature carrying his home on his body. Living in the world of human
beings was like swimming while bearing an enormous weight: much effort
with nothing to show at the end. His thinking convinced him that if he was to
marry Seethe at all, he had to give up his civility and shyness and proceed to
achieve his objective. It was his desire, not logic, which dictated his thinking
at that moment.
He heard the dogs bark loudly from the crop-filled fields. In the silence of
the night the surrounding forests and hills echoed their barking. Hoovayya
wondered whether wild pigs had come that way, picked up his gun and went
out. The forests and hills were mere shapes. Hoovayya’s wisdom, gained
from experience, told him that proceeding further would not only be futile but
also dangerous. He turned back.
Outside the window a star bathed in a bluish light dazzled as it rose above
the top of a hill in the distance. Hoovayya stopped thinking and sat looking at
it.
Nagamma called him for his dinner.
‘Has Puttanna got up? Or is he still lying there?’
Nagamma said in reply to her son’s question, ‘Come on! He won’t get up
tonight. We must be thankful if he is up tomorrow. You come along. It’s late.’
She bent down to gather a couple of betel-nuts which she had stepped on,
threw them onto the nearest heap and went in.
 Finishing his dinner, Hoovayya came back to his room and raised the
burning wick in the lantern. A bright light overflowed to fill the room. He had
decided while eating that he would write a letter to Seethe. He picked up his
pen.
He had thought of many strategies to fulfil his desire as he ate his dinner.
None of them was satisfactory except for one: to write secretly to Seethe.
Hoovayya wrote with a measure of urgency. He poured out his great love
for her which was pure and undying. He reminded her of her scribble on the
wall which declared that she would marry Hoovayya Bhava come what may,
and described the happiness which would be theirs in marriage as they shared
a single soul. He wrote to say that Seethe should decide to commit suicide if
her parents were to try to have her marry someone else. He promised not to
look at any other girl as he filled the letter with horrific suggestions. The
desire to write so that Seethe would understand him slipped his mind as he
wrote furiously.
There would have definitely been a disaster if Seethe had received the letter
—she totally trusted Hoovayya’s words.
Hoovayya went over his love letter three or four times. Each time he read
it, the letter seemed to be more and more meaningless. After reading it for the
last time, he held it up to the lantern’s flame. The letter charred into ash.
The house was silent, everyone sleeping. The night world outside seemed
to be sleeping too. Hoovayya felt hot and went out for a breath of cool air.
 51
Soma in the Manure Pit!

A FTER HOOVAYVA GOT off the cart and went to Seethemane, Shyamayya
Gowda leaned against the cushion in the cart and started thinking. He
appeared to have been caught in a dilemma on account of Seethe: the
authoritative voice of Chandrayya Gowda on one side, the imploring voice of
Nagamma on the other. There was no impediment to his giving his daughter
to Hoovayya if his word hadn’t been given to Chandrayya Gowda some time
ago. But Shyamayya Gowda was scared of Chandrayya Gowda’s cruel nature
despite the fact that the latter had borrowed money from him and was less
prosperous than himself. That was why he had agreed to let his daughter
marry his son, though all the three—his wife Gowramma, son Chinnayya and
the bride-to-be Seethe—and his own heart were on Hoovayya’s side. In
addition Venkappayya Joisa had reinforced Chandrayya Gowda’s desire in
the name of God, Dharma, the scriptures, omens and Fate against Hoovayya.
‘What does it matter who it is? It’s enough if there is a boy for a girl. In
what way is Ramayya inferior to Hoovayya? Property, house, education, good
looks—he has everything. He is not disdainful of the house and lands like
Hoovayya. He doesn’t suffer from fainting fits either. And he has a bigger
house and more property. Things will be done without incurring Bhavayya’s
wrath. It will be like giving away a bride and bringing back one.’ That was
the decision he had arrived at by the time the cart stopped in the forecourt of
Kanooru, setting his heart and mind at rest. But there was an important reason
hidden in his mind though he wasn’t fully aware of it. He had to get back his
thousands of rupees from Chandrayya Gowda. Shyamayya Gowda lived an
easy life, a good man believing in God. Going to court, running around,
getting tired—he didn’t approve of any of these things. That was why he
desired to get the money back by somehow being in the good books of
Chandrayya Gowda. He was hesitant and afraid of doing anything that would
offend him. He was reminded of the Kannada proverb, ‘The lender is a
monkey and the borrower, a strong man,’ and so he, the monkey got off the
cart and went to the strong one lying sick in a dark room in Kanooru. The
house appeared deserted though there were people in it. Ramayya wasn’t well
and was sleeping upstairs while the inexperienced Puttamma was cooking
with the help of cartman Ninga.
Shyamayya Gowda had come to Kanooru with the sole intention of
advising Chandrayya Gowda about Subbamma, but he did not have the
courage to broach the topic. The two talked a lot of other things while freely
consuming the frothing toddy brought to them by Halepaikada Thimma.
As if in consequence of all the drinking, Chandrayya Gowda appeared to be
possessed by a spirit. He roared and threatened everyone menacingly. All the
servants gathered around believing that a demon had possessed the Gowda.
Chandrayya Gowda was in such a state that even Ramayya who didn’t believe
in such things as spirits and demons was inclined to do so on this occasion.
Being separated from Hoovayya, Ramayya’s state of mind was weakening
like a magnetized compass held away for a long time from the magnet.
Standing with folded hands before Chandrayya Gowda thus possessed,
Shyamayya Gowda addressed him as he would address God. ‘Who are you?
Why are you here? Please let us know what we need to do and we will do it,’
he said.
Rangappa Shetty the overseer waited anxiously for an answer, hands
folded. Gange, Soma, Halepaikada Thimma, Belara Sidda, Ninga, Puttamma,
Vasu and Ninga’s son Putta were all scared stiff and some trembled visibly
and some within.
Chandrayya Gowda or the spirit that possessed him spoke. There wasn’t
the slightest difference between the wish of the spirit and that of the Gowda.
Psychologists would have decided that Chandrayya Gowda’s desire had
donned the disguise of the spirit.
In the words that came out of the Gowda’s mouth lay irony, vagueness,
instruction and insinuation. Everyone gathered around understood him. But
one man’s understanding wasn’t the same as another’s.
‘Some people are conspiring to see that you don’t give your daughter in
marriage to Ramayya. It will do you no good to fall prey to such a conspiracy.
I shall destroy the household. Give your daughter to Kanooru. I shall be good
to you.’ Shyamayya Gowda decided that was what the words meant. ‘I shall
do as you say,’ he promised as he folded his hands in salutation.
‘You have stolen the food that was reserved for me. I won’t grant you
happiness until you offer it to me as your sacrifice. If you don’t do so
immediately, I shall see that you are unable to go down the Ghats.’ This was
how the overseer, Gange and some others understood it and concluded that
unless they sacrificed Hoovayya’s goat Balindra in Kelakanooru to the demon
come what may, they would all have to die.
Puttamma explained to herself that Appayya was saying that Subbamma
shouldn’t be asked to come back home.
Ninga’s son Putta concluded that Bhootharaya was asking for the bananas
which had been hidden in the garden. He made up his mind to offer them to
the demon, looked at Vasu furtively and put his hands together secretly.
After coming up with these exhortations, the demon present in Chandrayya
Gowda announced that it was thirsty. Ninga ran and brought a pot of water
which had been purified with cow dung. The demon was cross, threw it away
and looked meaningfully at Halepaikada Thimma.
Thimma understood what the demon was asking for and brought toddy in a
bowl. The demon drank it all up, lay on the mattress with its legs stretched out
and became quiet. Everyone scattered assuming that the great event had
ended.
The overseer, Gange, Thimma and Ninga gathered in a corner of the small
courtyard and confabulated a long time about how Hoovayya’s goat Balindra
could be stolen and offered to the demon as sacrifice.
‘It isn’t possible to buy it with money. Hoovayya Gowda will never agree.
If there is some other suggestion, I shall listen,’ said the overseer.
‘If that rogue Puttegowda was here, I would have transported the goat
somehow or the other during the night. He wouldn’t think twice about using
his gun if he gets a whiff of what we are thinking,’ said Thimma.
‘If our Somayya Shetty agrees, we can have a go,’ said Gange.
Everyone laughed at the mention of Soma’s name. Nevertheless Ninga
went to the pot-bellied Ninga’s house and brought him over.
Soma heard the story. ‘I can’t do it,’ he said puffing out his lips and
shaking his head.
‘We’ll give you as much meat as you want. If it’s half a goat then half a
goat it shall be! Please make up your mind. You’ll be doing a favour to quite
a few,’ said Thimma baiting him with the food.
As much meat as he desired! Soma found it difficult to control himself. It
didn’t occur to him to consider whether it was possible or not.
‘Get lost! Who needs your meat? Throw it to the dogs. You seem to think
that I’m prepared to the for meat . . . Anyway, let that be. If we don’t offer the
sacrifice to the demon, the village won’t survive. Favour to a few, did you
say? I shall have a go at it, but you too should help me.’ When meat-greedy
Soma agreed, the rest were elated as if they had scored a victory.
It was decided that the goat would be stolen from Kelakanooru the next
night. Soma would untie the goat from the shed and bring it to the forest.
What would follow would be taken care of by the overseer and the others.
Soma would be offered enough meat as a reward.
The night was done and so was the morning. Night came on again.
Everything was got ready for the adventure. About ten o’ clock, the overseer,
Ninga, Thimma, Sidda and Soma set off to Kelakanooru whispering among
themselves. Some carried knives and others had clubs. Soma carried with him
a long rope made of coconut fibre with a noose at its end.
Soon after they set off, Gange ran up from behind and whispered the word
‘rotti’ in Soma’s ears before pressing into his hand some delicious-smelling
dish.
When the others stayed back at a distance from the Kelakanooru house
among the bushes and a group of trees, Soma alone went forward cautiously
holding the rope and the rotti in his hand.
Though there was a little starlight, the darkness was like a thief’s
conscience. Soma wrapped himself up tightly in the blanket, planned his
moves, crossed the fields and came up to the house. A dog barked. All of a
sudden Soma’s natural cowardice raised its head. When he was with the
others, he had not pictured clearly the difficulty of what he had to do. As soon
as the dog barked all the foolishness and dangers of his extreme bravado
faced him, grinning like so many grotesque figures.
‘Who wants a job like this?’ he asked himself and looked back. All his
companions were hiding safely in the darkness. Soma stopped and began to
think.
Many dogs were now barking. One was Roji and the other was Kotwala.
Soma identified them from the difference in their barking. Meat! Half a goat!
All for himself! Salted, fried! Enough to eat all by himself for two or three
days. As soon as he thought of the heavenly meat, he felt courage rushing up
to his heart and advanced biting his lips. The dogs came forward barking
loudly. Soma called them by their names gently. The dogs knew Soma very
well: probably because of their common greed for meat they were friendly.
The smell of the salted fish in his hand reached their noses like bribes falling
into the hands of officials. They came wagging their tails. Soma broke the
rotti into pieces and dropped them on the ground. He couldn’t resist eating a
few pieces himself.
Once the dogs were under control, Soma advanced cautiously towards
where the goat was expected to be tethered. The goat started to leap about in
fear, seeing the man and the dogs. Soma quickened his pace to complete the
task he had undertaken. He tied the end of the rope he had brought around the
goat’s neck before untying the one that already tethered it. He tied the other
end of the rope around his pot belly assuming it to be his waist. Then he
dragged the animal out even as it struggled.
There ensued a tug-of-war between the goat and Soma. The goat kept
pulling towards the house and Soma towards the forest. As the sound of its
hooves and Soma’s breathing grew louder, the dogs around naturally took the
side of the man, barking and attacking the goat. The strong black goat was
even more aggravated and pulled harder. Soma pulled and pulled and stopped
exhausted, letting the rope go. But as luck would have it, the rope wouldn’t let
him go. He had tied the rope round his waist fearing that the goat might
somehow break free from him. His only thought was to make sure that the
goat wouldn’t escape. It hadn’t struck him what his plight would be if the goat
pulled him away—he had such confidence in his own strength! He had
designed the plan of attack from his point of view and had totally disregarded
the animal’s.
As soon as Soma let go of the rope, Balindra wanting to escape from the
dogs that bothered him and anxious too, gathered all his strength, jumped and
pulled towards the slopes.
Pot-bellied and clumsy, Soma tripped and rolled over. The blanket that
covered him fell off and his naked body hit the ground, falling against a stone.
The dhoti he had around his waist was torn too. The part of his body that had
scraped against the stone felt like a coconut on a grater. The rope that the goat
continued to pull at tightened around his pot belly and he found it difficult to
breathe. The goat dragged Soma by the rope as if he were the tool used to
level the uneven stony ground. There was neither an opportunity nor a
favourable moment for Soma to manage to stand up. When he clung to a
small plant at hand it was merely uprooted. He clutched at another, a thorny
plant. He let go of it at once. Just then he managed to get hold of a bamboo
staff which had been used as a trellis for a creeper on top of a manure pit.
Soma gripped tightly and tried again to get up. The rope of the goat rubbed
against Soma’s pot belly all the while, cutting it in places. He gritted his teeth
and bore the hellish pain and tried to get up. All of a sudden the bamboo staff
weakened by white ants broke with a cracking noise. The zinc sheet against
which it had leaned fell along with it making a big noise. The dogs barked
and the goat bleated. There was greater commotion now than during a theft or
robbery.
As a result of another strong tug from the goat, Soma tumbled into the
manure pit. Balindra tried to go along the bank, but couldn’t. The goat stood
there bleating as it made futile efforts to move. By then the noise of people
from the house could be heard and lights could be seen too.
‘Catch him! Go on! Don’t let go,’ shouted Puttanna as he came gun in
hand, with Hoovayya and Seethemane Singappa Gowda behind him.
Singappa Gowda who had come to Kelakanooru that afternoon had stayed
on. Hoovayya and he had conversed till ten in the night and had kept up their
talk even after the lights were out. Hoovayya hadn’t fallen asleep yet when
the dogs barked for the first time. It had not seemed unusual as they barked
every night. A bullock or cow might have entered the fields. Or it might be a
pig. Or the dogs might have smelt the presence of a kurka, a tamed cheetah
used for hunting deer. He turned over in bed. The barking died down
completely. In a short while there seemed to be some noise near the cowshed
and he listened. There came the sound of footsteps and of a scuffle! Had a
tiger attacked the cows? Or was it the sound of bulls locking horns? As he
wondered, the dogs barked simultaneously as if they had stopped a pig on the
run. He thought he heard the goat bleat loudly.
‘Kakkayya, Kakkayya,’ he called aloud and shook Singappa Gowda who
was sleeping next to him.
The Gowda was startled. ‘What is it? What?’
‘A tiger must have come to the cowshed. Puttanna, take your gun, take
your gun! There is a tiger in the shed.’
Hoovayya lit a lantern and opened the door by the time Puttanna got up.
Meanwhile Nagamma had woken up and rushed to the courtyard. ‘Wait!
Wait! Don’t go ahead! Let Puttanna come,’ she said and called Puttanna.
All this time there were the successive sounds of the trellis breaking, the
zinc sheet falling, the dogs barking madly and the goat bleating. No one
doubted that there was a scuffle between a bullock and a tiger. No one dreamt
of the possibility of there being a thief. Which thief would come there,
anyway?
 Nowhere was there any sign of a bullock or a tiger. No one could imagine
what the matter was. They were all surprised till eventually, in the dim light
of the lantern, Puttanna saw from a distance the goat standing over the
manure pit. ‘Look! The goat has got scared and broken its tether.’ He went up
and tried to shoo it back to the shed. The goat tried but couldn’t take a step
forward.
‘What’s the problem?’ he asked and shooed it again. It didn’t budge. He
came up and holding the rope round its neck, pulled it hard thinking it had got
caught in a plant. From the manure pit which stank like a mire of cow dung
mixed with stagnant rainwater came a splash as if a log was being pulled
along. Puttanna’s blood curdled when he saw in the light of Hoovayya’s
lantern a human figure in the manure pit. He took the lantern from Hoovayya
and looked down. It was Soma soaked in dung and mire. Luckily for him, his
head appeared to have struck against the hard ground and got stuck by the
bank! Otherwise he would have choked and died.
‘There is no peace from this bastard!’ said Puttanna as he lifted Soma’s
body to the bank and undid the rope tied around his pot belly. The goat ran to
the cowshed, bleating.
Soma was unconscious. His face was bloody having scraped against the
hard ground over and over again. Cow dung and slush had stuck to his body
and neither the wounds nor the blood was visible.
Singappa Gowda held the lantern and the gun as Hoovayya and Puttanna
carried Soma to the bathroom, fanned him and gave him first aid. He opened
his eyes but they appeared vacant.
They washed him as well as possible, anointed his wounds with coconut
oil, changed his clothing, brought him in and laid him down on a bed. He had
been breathing loudly till then but now he started moaning in a terrible way.
No one slept that night in Kelakanooru. As Singappa Gowda suggested,
Puttanna went to the toddy shop in the dead of night, startled everyone awake,
brought back some brandy and made Soma drink it. Hoovayya, Singappa
Gowda and Nagamma nursed him through the night.
Not one of those hiding in the distance cared to appear. They quietly took
to their heels. The next day an angry Soma gave away the secret. Even as he
lay in bed, he folded his hands and spoke tearfully. ‘Ayya! Here I am, like
this, because I listened to them, the bastards! They sent me and hid
themselves at a safe distance, the sons of bitches!’ he cried out.
 When Soma narrated what had happened, he implicated Chandrayya
Gowda and Ramayya in the conspiracy. It wasn’t the spirit that had spoken
through Chandrayya Gowda, he said. It was the Gowda himself. He also
mentioned that Ramayya too had been present.
That was all that Singappa Gowda needed. He went around broadcasting
the story of Chandrayya Gowda’s theft of a goat to all and sundry. He didn’t
bother about the difference between having something done by others and
doing it oneself. What he wanted was notoriety for Chandrayya Gowda, not
the dissemination of truth.
He was an adept, used to reading the Bharatha and Ramayana. No wonder
the story of the night spread like wildfire—Singappa Gowda had spiced up
his narration!
 52
That Cur of an Overseer

S UBBAMMA’S GRIEF WAS intense after having survived the sword in the hands
of her inebriated husband followed by the night spent in Kelakanooru and the
trip back home to Nelluhalli in the morning with Puttanna. She who had made
a grand entrance into Kanooru as a bride, flaunted her exalted status and
behaved haughtily, had now come back home utterly poor and defeated.
Having left behind all her jewels in Kanooru, she had fled the place in the
clothes she wore and followed Puttanna, sobbing and wiping her tears. Her
body seemed to have shrunk as she entered her father’s thatched house. She
didn’t leave her dark room even once during the next seven or eight days. Her
heart was broken. She had not bargained for her rainbow-coloured dreams to
be shattered so soon and fall from the blue skies into the mire below.
Given time any wound tends to heal, blunting even intense pain.
Subbamma accounted for her time in sobbing without a break. Her parents
and neighbours came to her again and again to console her. Some tried to
reassure her that everything would soon turn out for the better. Her father,
Peddegowda, went to his son-in-law on her behalf. He was humiliated by
Chandrayya Gowda and Subbamma gave up all hope of ever going back to
Kanooru after that.
Her poor mother gave her one of her old worn-out sarees to wear.
Subbamma’s attempt to regain possession of her sarees from Kanooru
through a servant failed. After a few days Putamma sent one of her own
sarees to Nelluhalli through a servant taking care not to let her father know.
For how long could she stay there and be a burden to an impoverished
family? She started working the way she had before marriage. Sweeping and
washing the floor, cooking, washing clothes, gathering the cow dung onto a
mud plate and carrying it to the manure pit, fetching firewood and if time
allowed, grazing the cattle—she did her share of work. As time passed, she
felt that the hardship of working as a servant in Nelluhalli was more pleasing
than her life as the mistress of the house in Kanooru.
 She felt as if a scorpion had biten her when occasionally she felt that she
was a barren woman. Chandrayya Gowda had often accused her of barrenness
whenever he flew at her. The feeling that she was indeed a condemned
woman incapable of bearing a child had struck roots in her.
The harvesting of crops was going on briskly in Nelluhalli. Subbamma
worked along her parents from morning till evening. Even though the dinner
was nothing out of the ordinary, she was happy as there was plenty of sour
toddy to drink and picklejuice to go with it. She slept well, as if drugged, after
drinking toddy at night at the end of a hard day’s work, thus saving her from
feeling despondent with her lot.
One evening when she came back home from the field, she found the
overseer sitting there with a broad smile on his face. Creaking new slippers
decorated with a cockscomb-like flower on the top strap, the dhoti worn as
men from the Kannada district did, a jacket with black stripes, a red
handkerchief over his shoulder, a blue turban with a curve in front on his
head, kumkuma mark on his forehead, studs in his ears and buck teeth
coloured with betel juice pushing against his upper lip— and that was the
overseer Subbamma saw. As soon as he saw her, he grinned and asked her,
‘How are you, Amma?’ There was affection in his voice.
Subbamma recalled all that had happened to her in Kanooru when she saw
the overseer. Anger and grief filled her as she said, ‘Can’t you see? I’m still
alive!’ and walked in without lifting her head.
When the overseer said that Chandrayya Gowda had sent him to bring back
Subbamma the very same day, scowls ran riot in the tired face of
Peddegowda. He wanted to say whatever occurred to him in anger and
contempt as he remembered the insults Chandrayya Gowda had heaped on
him. He held back having known all through his life that a poor man’s rage
would put his own jaw at risk. He restrained himself as he realized in his
wisdom and generosity that his daughter’s well-being might be jeopardised by
his anger.
‘The Gowda wanted to send a cart. Unfortunately, the bullock was bought
only recently. The animal hasn’t been broken in yet,’ the overseer added as if
he wanted to clear any doubt they might have harboured.
In the first flush of marriage, the Gowda had always provided her with a
carriage for her trips, as if he was afraid that his new wife’s flower-like feet
might wilt even if she took a few steps. His extreme concern for her was the
talk of the town then. That was why the overseer had to explain why a cart
hadn’t been sent now.
Peddegowda said he would send his daughter the next morning as it was
already late in the evening. The overseer said, as if he was warning them,
‘No, No! You can’t do that. (He was known to relapse into the dialect of the
Shetty community below the Ghats whenever he grew emotional.) He has
said so today. It has nothing to do with me whether you send her or not. I’m
leaving. People say the Gowda has lost his head. The way his mind works
today may change by tomorrow. Do as you please. I don’t care. Anyway, I’m
leaving.’ He got up and took in his hand the silver capped walking stick
which was leaning against a wall.
‘You may go. I’ll bring her over in the morning.’
The overseer was nonplussed. He sat down again and thought for a long
while.
The sound of hens crowing, dogs barking, cattle calling as they returned to
the shed, the strange mixture of sounds from the cowherds and the cackle of
children in the field outside— the overseer didn’t hear any of these. He was
exercised over the fact that his plans had gone awry.
As a matter of fact, the Gowda hadn’t really asked the overseer to fetch
Subbamma. The overseer had sought permission from his master to travel to
Koppa and got it. His mind had been assailed by impure thoughts for a long
time. He had come to Nelluhalli in response to his base instincts. His strategy
was as follows: He would take Subbamma away from the house that evening,
have her wander all over on the forest tracks and use her for his sexual
gratification when it was dark.
Having interpreted Subbamma’s simplicity to be her way of flirting, he was
sure that his strategy would work. The loafer that he was, his intention was to
have her on the way, and if he failed for any reason he would take her to
Gange ‘s hut or some other secret place as he was sure that the Gowda
wouldn’t let her into his house, pump her with drinks which she liked anyway
and, fulfil his desire while she lay inebriated.
Wasn’t Subbamma lucky! Peddegowda’s words had shattered the evil
dream that the overseer had nurtured. He thought for a while, sighed and said,
You are right! Why shouldn’t I stay the night here and take her with me in the
morning? Why should you trouble yourself? It’s harvesting time and you have
a lot of work, I know. Let me spend the night here and leave in the morning. I
know that the Gowda will take me to task. Can’t help it! The important thing
is to see that Subbamma’s suffering ends. I have even taken a vow for this!’
He expressed great concern and eagerness for the welfare of Peddegowda’s
daughter.
Peddegowda was a simpleton who couldn’t see through the overseer’s
cunning. ‘If through the efforts of all of you, my daughter’s marriage is . . .’
he said but couldn’t continue as his throat choked and his eyes filled with
tears.
That night he told Subbamma all that the overseer had said. But the girl
was adamant about not going back to her husband and started crying. Both
Peddegowda and his wife tried to advise her on the matter in many ways.
Peddegowda said, ‘Let the harvesting of crops wait! I shall go with you, fall
at your husband’s feet and get him to take you back. Please say yes!’ and
started crying. Subbamma had to agree though she felt no enthusiasm.
The overseer’s heart jumped in fright when he heard the next morning that
Peddegowda would also go with them. He tried his best to stop him but failed.
The three of them passed through plains, fields and forests on their way to
Kanooru. On the way, the overseer went into great detail to establish that the
story about the theft of a sheep which Singappa Gowda was spreading had no
basis in fact. Falsehood took on the guise of truth in his narration. He
attributed the problems in the Kanooru house, Subbamma’s travails and
Chandrayya Gowda’s abnormal behaviour to the fact that Hoovayya had
stolen the spirit’s sacrificial goat and kept it at home. His narration of events
was so convincing that the superstitious beliefs of the dim-witted listeners
grew a hundredfold.
When the house in Kanooru was still half a mile away, the overseer said to
Puttegowda, ‘Do one thing. The Gowda is so unpredictable that he may not be
the same as yesterday. You go first and find out what his state of mind is like.
Let the Heggadithi stay here till you come back.’ He turned to Subbamma and
said, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll stay with you as a guard.’
The only thing that Subbamma’s father intensely wished for was her
welfare. ‘Let Chandrayya Gowda be in a good mood, God!’ he prayed as he
took the road to Kanooru and disappeared. The overseer took Subbamma to
the shade of a basiri tree with sparse growth at its base. When Subbamma sat
down, he took his place close by and faced her.
It wasn’t noon yet though it was very hot. All around them were forest
ranges standing tall with their heads held high. Even the plains were green
like the forests with a growth of shrubs. Though they could not see the crops
in the field from where they sat, they could hear faintly the labourers at work.
The overseer looked at Subbamma like a hungry dog at a festive spread of
food and waited for a pretext to talk to her. There was neither conviction nor
relevance in what he was saying. Subbamma paid no attention to what he was
saying as she sat there with her hand on her cheek, worrying and wondering
about the outcome of her father’s mission. Subbamma looked like an easily
accessible divine dream to the overseer.
In spite of Subbamma’s protests, her mother had decked her up. She had
combed her daughter’s hair, plaited it with some flowers, put a kumkuma
mark on her forehead, fixed studs on her nose and ears and dressed her up in
the dark blue saree which Puttamma had sent earlier. Subbamma was the very
picture of a girl leaving her home for her husband’s. The overseer looked at
her body with immense delight like an art critic at a painting, taking in every
detail. Round face, soft cheeks, eyes which could easily charm one’s mind,
eyebrows, forehead, the parting of the black curls of hair, a rounded chin as if
made for kissing, the tight blouse round her arms, gold bangles, armbands, a
flower-shaped stud on the nose, ear-rings, anklets and breasts which stood
out! The overseer went mad as his eyes feasted on her loveliness. He
imagined kissing every part of her body repeatedly. He wasn’t satisfied with
merely this. He couldn’t restrain himself any longer. Let anything happen!
Fine if Subbamma cooperated and kept mum. Otherwise, there was always his
place below the Ghats to which he could flee. He thought along these lines
before he decided to find out how Subbamma felt and so he moved forward a
little so that his leg touched hers. Startled, Subbamma moved back. One
doesn’t know what would have happened next if Soma the pot-bellied one
hadn’t appeared on the scene with a bundle of hay he was carrying to make
cattlefeed. Subbamma coughed on seeing him.
‘Why are you sitting here, Amma?’ he asked as he stopped close to her.
The overseer who had recoiled immediately when he saw Soma was greatly
disappointed. He said something to Soma in Tulu. Soma responded in the
same language as well. It was obvious that both his words and the expression
on his face were far from friendly.
Subbamma asked him what the matter was. Soma flung the bundle of hay
on the ground and told her what had happened.
He narrated the story of the overseer having conspired with some others
wanting to abduct the goat, Balindra. He told Subbamma about how they had
dangled a cut of meat before his eyes and sent him on the errand while they
stayed behind, hiding. He also told her about how once the secret was out
they had spread the rumour of his being a thief while none of them had had
anything to do with it.
Soma had been severely injured that night and had had to stay under the
care of Hoovayya for a few days. When he recovered, he went to Kanooru to
fetch his belongings to Kelakanooru. He was adamant about not staying in
Kanooru, or working under the overseer. The overseer tried many a trick to
bring him back. He even tried to have him kidnapped and forcibly brought
back to Kanooru. The overseer’s minions had to beat a hasty retreat when
Soma threatened them with his sickle. He stayed on in Kelakanooru as a
farmhand declaring that he would never desert a master like Hoovayya. After
having tried all his tricks, the overseer claimed that Soma owed him money.
Soma said he owed nothing to the overseer as his labour till then had been
more than equal to the advance he had received. Soma claimed that, as a
matter of fact, the overseer owed him some money.
Once Subbamma realized what the two were arguing about in Tulu, she
understood the changes in Soma’s attire.
Soma used to go about in a loincloth, exposing his middle and wearing an
areca spathe-cap on his head. The utmost he was prepared to concede was a
narrow dhoti round his middle. He was now wearing an old but nice jacket
and a dhoti which came down to his ankles. An old Hasana-cap had taken the
place of the usual spathe cap. It was as if proximity to Hoovayya had had a
sudden civilizing effect on Soma. The overseer’s blood boiled when Soma
talked to him with his head held high, instead of cringing before him as he
used to a few months ago, calling him master. But he didn’t have courage
enough to attack Soma with the sickle shining in his hand.
Soma took some betel leaves, nuts, lime and tobacco from Subbamma and
went on his way with the bundle of hay. Knowing full well the overseer’s
mean nature, he hid himself among some bushes to watch them from a
distance.
The overseer got up and on the pretext of spitting out the betel juice, looked
around. Knowing that Soma was hiding there, he addressed Subbamma. ‘I
don’t know why Peddegowda hasn’t come back yet. Come, let’s go to
Gange’s quarters. No one will bother you there.’ It came to him suddenly that
there was no love lost between Subbamma and Gange. ‘Gange isn’t any more
in her tent. She stays now in the Gowda’s house. Didn’t he insist that Gange
should stay there in the house?’ he said and laughingly added, looking into
Subbamma’s eyes, ‘All his love is for Gange while you give him all your
devotion.’
Subbamma kept quiet though she had heard every word of his ironic
remark. Her eyes were riveted on the figure of her father who was
approaching them on the trail among the distant trees. Her heart was beating
fast with trepidation as she wondered about the outcome of his visit to the
Gowda.
She knew when she saw the tears rolling down Peddegowda’s sad face.
Peddegowda didn’t say anything to the overseer. But his voice was heavy
when he spoke to Subbamma. ‘Get up, let’s go home,’ he said and started
walking towards Nelluhalli. He was impervious to the fact that it was a hot
afternoon and that he was both hungry and tired after all that walking.
The overseer tried to say something. Peddegowda and his daughter walked
away and soon disappeared from his sight.
The overseer was heartbroken. Turning frequently in the direction of
Soma’s hiding place, he proceeded towards Kanooru.
After they had gone some distance, Subbamma noticed that her father was
exhausted. She said to him, ‘Let us stop at Kelakanooru and have something
to eat.’ But Peddegowda didn’t agree. Both on the occasion when there had
been a division of property and later, he had been loyal to his son-in-law and
unfair to Nagamma and Hoovayya. He was guilt-stricken and so was
unwilling to have lunch in Kelakanooru. He didn’t want his grief and
humiliation to be made known to the people there.
On their way home, he told his daughter about what had happened in the
Kanooru house and cried. Subbamma sobbed without restraint when she
heard his tale.
Chandrayya Gowda was short and ruthless. ‘I didn’t send the overseer to
you and I don’t want your daughter to step into this house.’ He had followed
this up with some unbearably harsh words about Subbamma.
Peddegowda had pleaded on his daughter’s behalf with tears in his eyes
and fallen at the Gowda’s feet. The Gowda had kicked him, lifted him up by
the scruff of his neck and thrown him out of the house. He had spat on
Ramayya’s face when he tried to calm him down.
Hungry and thirsty under the hot sun, they walked to Nelluhalli. It was
three in the afternoon when they reached home utterly exhausted.
 53
Alas, Fate!

N EWS SPREAD THAT the wedding had been fixed for spring despite efforts by
Seethemane Singappa Gowda to stop the marriage between Chandrayya
Gowda’s son and Shyamayya Gowda’s daughter. All the schemes that
Singappa Gowda had executed had been more or less civilized. As soon as it
was known that the wedding had been fixed, his choleric temperament started
out along uncivilized paths. He bit his lips and made up his mind to stop the
marriage by demoniac means, if necessary. He would see to it that
Venkappayya Joisa who had studied the horoscope, deliberated with God,
fixed the time for the wedding and had worked against him and for
Chandrayya Gowda in every manner possible, would be thrashed with
slippers. Chandrayya Gowda would be blown away by bullets, Shyamayya
Gowda would be a victim to black magic. A mob would disrupt the
proceedings on the day of the wedding and stop it, and prevent the
bridegroom’s people from reaching the bride’s house. Though his thoughts
ran along such lines he uttered not a word. Many a time he would feel bad
about Jackie and wish he were alive.
After the untimely death of his son, his mind had taken to unfrequented
paths and Chandrayya Gowda’s mischief was mostly to be held responsible.
Hoovayya who had secretly come to know of Singappa Kakkayya’s
bravado, came to Seethemane and advised him against it. Since he respected
Hoovayya, Singappa Gowda listened to everything patiently but with
difficulty.
‘Kakkayya, don’t make up your mind to engage in any such bad act for my
sake. When the parents of the bride and groom are willing to have them
marry, outsiders have no right to stop them. It isn’t just that either. People are
already talking about us. If you do something cruel or have it done, we shall
have to be responsible for it and endure many difficulties. No one can change
what has been ordained by Fate. Hadn’t Krishnappa’s wedding been fixed?
What happened in the end? Do think about it. Whatever is fated to happen
will happen. Making an effort to escape from the net is one of the ways to fall
into it. Of course I accept that I wanted to marry Seethe. I may even admit
that it was one of the reasons for my giving up my studies . . . I had built such
dreams and rejected my earlier high ideals . . . Now those dreams have burst
like bubbles and I feel as if I have woken up. Sometime ago, I had talked to
you so many times about my not getting caught in the web of marriage. I had
told you that I would acquire knowledge, remove all ignorance from the
people of my country and fulfil my life by serving the people and reach God.’
Hoovayya stopped talking and sat quietly looking skyward. His face was
turning red and there were tears in his eyes. Singappa Gowda felt the same
emotions coursing through him as well. He didn’t speak either. It appeared
that Hoovayya had taken him along to the peak of a high mountain with a
divinely fragrant atmosphere through some magical power. From that height,
Kanooru, Mutthalli, Seethemane, and Kelakanooru appeared mean and flat!
Singappa Gowda was amazed at his own greatness.
Hoovayya continued speaking:
‘Unknown to myself, I have thought night and day about all these things. I
had started participating in the activities of common people. Fights,
misunderstanding, envy and jealousy started dwelling in my heart too,
wearing different disguises . . . It was yesterday at dawn that the darkness in
my heart was cleared to a great extent.’
Hoovayya described what he had felt when he had gone to the top of
Kanubailu the previous day and watched the beautiful breaking of dawn.
‘Kakkayya, promise me. You must help me in my new life. You have
studied the Ramayana and Mahabharatha well. You know something about
the Bhagavadgeetha too. If you make up your mind, you can establish heaven
not only in your heart but also all over the land.’
There was enthusiasm in Hoovayya’s voice. There was earnestness in the
shine of his eyes.
‘All right,’ said Singappa Gowda, ‘I shall do what I can without deceit.’
His soul felt as if he was setting out on a pilgrimage or for a dip in the Ganga!

* * *

The colourful butterfly is flitting around in search of nectar. At dawn, the

plants are filled with the gaiety of spring. There are clusters and clusters of
flowers crowding the land. The cup at the heart of each flower is filled with
nectar. Every flower invites the beautiful butterfly to the nectar in its heart.
The butterfly’s mind flashes here and there like mercury. Dewdrops caught in
spiders’ webs woven on the branches are shining bits of trembling silver. In
some drops sparkle the colours of the rainbow. But oh, all of a sudden, a
flitting butterfly is caught in a spider’s web and is struggling to escape! All
the shining dewdrops in the web are sliding down! The repulsive, horrifying
spider all the while in hiding, is rushing towards the butterfly. Realizing this,
the butterfly is struggling to escape with all its might! . . . Seethe was like the
butterfly.
As soon as Seethe heard that Puttamma was to be married to her brother
and she was going to be wedded to Ramayya, she was shattered. Ramayya
who had received her love like any other relative appeared to be a great
enemy, like the spider to the butterfly. She who could find no succour
wherever she turned, put aside her natural shyness and begged her brother and
sister. With tears in their eyes, they both pointed towards Shyamayya Gowda.
She took courage and pleaded with her father. Shyamayya Gowda gave her
plenty of advice and told her that it didn’t become girls to act like harridans.
‘The horoscopes are here. No less a priest than Venkappa Joisa has said
that everything is all right. God’s gracious gift has been granted to us. The
boy is handsome too. Property, houses, wealth—he has everything. The
whole land trembles at Chandrayya Gowda’s words . . . Promises shouldn’t be
broken. Didn’t the cow in the story keep its promise to the tiger knowing full
well that its life was at stake? If I listen to you, my honour will be lost. The
family shouldn’t be humiliated because of you. A wife should look upon her
husband as God . . .’
Shyamayya Gowda hadn’t yet finished his lecture when Seethe broke away
and ran to her room sobbing. She cried hopelessly and decided at last to write
a letter to Hoovayya in secret. If he too ignored her, she would kill herself.
She bolted the door from inside and started to write.

‘Hoovayya Bhava, please. I shall fall at your feet. They are getting me married off within a
week. I shall wait for three days. What shall I do? Please write. Or come personally and
speak to me. If you do neither, I shall jump into a tank and kill myself.

Seethe.’
That was the first letter Seethe had ever written in her life. It was
revolutionary in the tradition of letter writing in matters of the date, place,
address, etc. There was a full stop wherever the pencil stopped. At other
places, it was stained with tears. There was no dearth of mistakes either.
 She tried to send the letter through Kala, but he had no time. Everyone was
busy with the approaching wedding. Finally she called Nanja in secret and
gave him the letter saying that he should go to Kelakanooru and give it to
Hoovayya Bhava. She warned him not to give it to anyone else and gave him
an eight anna piece as reward.
With that money Nanja on his way to Kelakanooru drank his fill in the
toddy shop. He had neither the desire nor the strength to go further. ‘Here, our
Amma has given this. Give it to Sannayya!’ he said in his inebriation as he
gave Seethe’s letter to Belara Sidda, Chandrayya Gowda’s bonded labourer,
who was also at the toddy shop.
Sidda gave it after two days to Putta, son of Chandrayya Gowda’s cart-
man, Ninga. ‘This has to be given to the young master,’ he said giving the
letter to his father who in turn gave it to Ramayya. Alas! Fate!
Three days went by. It was a time of long-drawn agony, of expectation and
despair for Seethe. She had hoped for Hoovayya or his letter to arrive and
save her from her suffering. She would come to the front yard many times to
look. Scared that there might be a calamity if she spoke to the others about
what she had done, she had given strict orders to her innocent sister Lakshmi
that she should be informed if anyone came. Lakshmi would come to her
sister and give her reports about people’s arrivals regardless of who they
were, servants, relatives or those who had returned after having arrived earlier
and gone out on some work. It seemed laughable to Seethe at first but towards
the end, each one of her sister’s reports cut into her like a taunt and she
stopped Lakshmi from doing her duty. Even then, Lakshmi would come to
her as if by force of habit and announce wrongly the names of unwanted
arrivals. The next evening when the decorations for the wedding pandal were
put up with great enthusiasm, Lakshmi who had slipped through the crowd
came to her sister. ‘Cart-man Ninganna has come from Kanooru. It seems he
has brought a letter for Annayya from Ramayya Bhava.’
The expression of sorrow and despair on Seethe’s face was so alarming that
even Lakshmi’s innocent heart was troubled.
She put her arms round her sister’s neck and started caressing her without
knowing why. ‘Akkayya, I shall wear a saree on your wedding day. May I?’
She didn’t know that her sister’s heart had turned into a volcano.
Seethe didn’t speak. As she fondled her sister, she kept sobbing. Lakshmi
cried too. Knowing nothing, she must have thought that marriage was a
frightening business. Otherwise her sister wouldn’t weep so.
 It was certain enough that Seethe’s mind was at that time planning a most
horrendous exercise.
As Lakshmi had informed Seethe, Kanooru Chandrayya Gowda’s cart-man
Ninga had given Chinnayya a secret letter from Ramayya. When Chinnayya
read it, his body started trembling and his breathing became quickened. When
he tried to talk, he choked and his tongue seemed to have lost all strength. In
order to hide his agitation, he went upstairs.
It was midnight by the time the neighbours and servants who had come to
help their master for the impending wedding had their dinner and went to bed.
The evening’s excitement had died down and the house was filled with the
silence of sleep.
Only two people hadn’t fallen asleep. Seethe and her brother Chinnayya.
 54
Suicide

T HERE ARE SOME whose passion is to sculpt an image after their heart by
melting the world in the fire of their ambition and pouring it into the mould of
their wish. They would have the world shape itself to their wishes instead of
adapting themselves to it. If their desire is not fulfilled, they would somehow
like to flee the harsh reality of the world. Their attempt may take many forms.
It may range from creating a pleasing work of art to daydreaming,
abnormality, insanity, fainting fits, renunciation of the world and suicide.
While art and renunciation may hold the world together, daydreams, insanity,
fainting fits and suicide may destroy it altogether. Anyway, though the world
may eventually honour a soul who looks for an ideal world, it is also true that
it torments them in the beginning. And so, those who yearn for a flower-bed
of ideals must first be prepared to pass through a fence of barbed wire. There
is however no guarantee that their readiness to do so will ensure a flower-bed
for them in the end. Quite a few adventurers the on the way. Seethe and
Hoovayya were members of a group who dared to build such dreams.
There are others whose desires and wishes are also intense. But their
wishes do not collide with the real world and so they are spared any
bloodshed. They bend when the cruel world bends, lift up their heads when
the world does so, manage to make their way through the world’s narrow
passages and trim their desires and wishes to suit the world around. They do
not have to suffer the intense heartache that the builders of dreams
experience. Nor do they know the matchless and divine joy which comes with
the realization of ideals. They may not have the nobility that the adventurous
dreamers have about them but are definitely happier. Chinnayya and
Puttamma belonged to such a group.
Ramayya ranked in the middle possessing some qualities from each of
these two groups. Their attitude changes according to the situation they find
themselves in. That is what makes it difficult to trust them. Like the beam of a
balance with unequal weights, their soul soars to the sky one moment and
falls to the earth the very next moment. They are not evil. Nor are they living
an artificial life. They deserve our compassion, not our anger or contempt.
One may consider their indecision a weakness. They are certainly not evil or
deserving to be consigned to hell, though they harm themselves and harm
others too.
Once Ramayya lost Hoovayya’s company, his father’s behaviour no longer
appeared to be either evil or strange to him. Blinded by his love for Seethe, he
enjoyed listening to anything said against Hoovayya and trusted it implicitly.
His narcissism made him uncharitable enough to think that Hoovayya’s
behaviour was merely hypocrisy. All those incidents which had appeared in
the past to highlight his brother’s nobility seemed now to be nothing more
than mere cunning on his part. What does one make of a man who employs
all kinds of mean tricks to steal a girl, the girl who was to be his bride? And
that when the proposal had everyone’s blessings as Ramayya believed? How
could one reconcile such meanness with the nobility that Hoovayya was
supposed to possess? As Ramayya was convinced that his father was
innocent, he participated wholeheartedly in his father’s undertakings and
supported him.
That was why Ramayya became cruel when Seethe’s letter to Hoovayya
fell into his hands. He didn’t find fault with Seethe on that score. It was a
conspiracy hatched by Hoovayya and his companions, he was sure.
Otherwise, how else could a simple-hearted girl like Seethe be adventurous
enough to write a love letter? Hoovayya and his friends had got together to
corrupt her mind!
Ramayya had no doubt whatsoever about Seethe being in love with him.
Every event he recalled confirmed her love for him. It wasn’t surprising that
her simple friendship for him seemed to his love-besotted eyes to be a passion
she nursed for him. He decided that he had to protect Seethe from the
conspiracy and make her his bride. That was his paramount duty, he
convinced himself, and so he wrote a secret letter to Chinnayya asking him to
keep an eye on Seethe. He didn’t mention Seethe’s letter to anyone and hoped
that he too would soon forget its existence.
Chinnayya was frightened when Ninga brought Ramayya’s secret letter to
him. The unclear writing and the vague warning didn’t help either and left
him feeling confused. He took hold of himself and didn’t raise the matter with
anyone. Raising a rumpus about it would be a matter of shame. As the
responsibility of guarding his sister rested wholly on him, he was all eyes as
he watched her words and actions.
 He knew that his sister was in love with Hoovayya and greatly desired to
marry him. He also knew that she intensely disliked the idea of marrying
Ramayya. He had tried his best to support her but not having courage enough
to stand up to forces greater than himself, had eventually resigned himself to
accepting whatever Fate willed. Both his own likes and dislikes were
involved in these negotiations about the marriage and he worried about the
possibility of his wish not being fulfilled in his efforts to ward off what he
disliked. The reason was that he had a soft corner in his heart for Puttamma
just as she had one for Chinnayya and wanted to marry him.
Using the pretext of working himself and getting others to work till
everyone was in bed, he loitered around keeping a watch over his sister.
When everyone slept, he made a bed for himself close to the room where
Seethe slept. As Ramayya had only warned him without telling him of the
form the problem might take or of the seriousness of the danger ahead,
Chinnayya broke into a sweat imagining all kinds of danger. He lay there
listening to every sound that punctuated the silent night.
The air in his room was heavy as Chinnayya chain-smoked. So was his
mind with anxiety. It seemed as if it had neither an objective nor direction. It
was like a dry leaf caught in a storm beaten hither and thither at the mercy of
the wind. What was the danger that Seethe would face? Was there a
conspiracy hatched by Hoovayya and Singappa Mava? . . . Was there a plan
to abduct Seethe? No, it was a silly thought! Had Venkappayya spoken of the
handiwork of ghosts and spirits? . . . Was Seethe trying to ran away from an
unwanted liaison? Chinnayya laughed uproariously as the absurdity of this
thought hit him! Was Seethe planning to commit suicide? Death by hanging!
Death by drowning in the well or tank! Or death by poisoning herself! No!
Impossible. Seethe wasn’t the type to do such a thing! Didn’t he know her?
His mind began to wander. He thought of the pandal for the wedding, the
fence at the rear of the house, the clothes which he had to get stitched for the
occasion, the need for his early return after hunting the wild fowl at dawn so
that the workers would be ready for work. Something was wrong with the
right barrel of his gun—eh, what was that? A bedbug on his back? Or an ant .
. .? Oh!
He still had the cigarette between his lips as he sat up and ran both hands
over the sheet covering him, though he could see nothing in the dark. He then
turned over in his bed.
 Obviously Ramayya has nothing better to do! Imagines all sorts of things
and gets scared. Such love for the girl even before the wedding!
It was past midnight and Chinnayya lay there listening intently. In the
silence of the night, he could hear the rhythmic breathing of the workers who
slept on the upper and lower verandahs and in the yard and their intermittent
snoring in between. After putting out the cigarette, Chinnayya lay on his back
fighting hard to keep awake though at last he closed his eyes. Within a short
while, his mind turned foggy. Just as he was about to cross the threshold of
consciousness, there came a terrifying scream which tore the silence of the
night into shreds. Chinnayya’s blood curdled as he realized that it was Seethe.
He leapt out of his bed like gunpowder when touched to fire and rushed into
Seethe’s room calling out her name in dread.
It was a traumatic shock to Seethe’s tender mind when there was no
response to her three-day old letter. The world seemed empty’ and
threatening. Was there anything left when the only one her simple, childlike
mind had looked upon as God and worshipped with all her heart and soul,
rejected her? Her own mother, father, brother and all her relatives appeared to
have turned into cruel enemies. How could she escape from such a horrible
situation? It didn’t look as if the daring of the girls in the fiction she had read
was possible for her. Where could she go, anyway? And how? She was ready
to elope with Hoovayya and go to any place on earth if he had only said yes!
She would have willingly faced any vicissitudes which might have come her
way. She would have followed her lover casting her inhibitions and thoughts
of honour to the winds! What could she do now that Hoovayya had betrayed
her? She would get so upset whenever she thought of marrying Ramayya that
she felt like fainting. Her limbs would go numb in despair while her eyes and
her mind clouded over. No one around her was even aware of the storm that
raged in her little heart.
Not being able to run away to somewhere else, Seethe had to work out a
strategy to seek her escape into herself. It wasn’t her conscious mind but her
subconscious that lighted on it.
When neither Hoovayya nor his envoy turned up even when it grew dark
that day, Seethe decided to commit suicide as she had indicated in her letter.
How horrible life must have seemed to her, if the girl who was scared of
death was made to think of it as the only way out? No longer did death appear
horrible, once she resolved to commit suicide. It seemed benign, like a trusted
friend who would take her away from life’s troubles and despair.
 She would go to the tank once everyone had gone to sleep and do what
Ramakka did. She hadn’t forgotten how Kala’s mother, Ramakka, had
committed suicide by drowning in the tank. That was many years ago, when
Seethe was a little girl who couldn’t have understood Ramakka’s motive.
Pleading that she had a headache, Seethe had her dinner before the others
and went to bed. Lakshmi shared the bed with her saying that she too had a
headache. Seethe’s attempts to have her sleep in another bed failed.
Seethe kept awake, waiting for the shouts, calls, laughter and banter of
those who were engaged in chores like erecting the pandal, and the noise at
dinner and the exchanges of betel leaves and nuts to subside. Though her
mother Gowramma had so much work that she didn’t even find the time to
scratch her head, she had managed to come to the room and rub some
amritanjana on Seethe’s forehead. When she came again before retiring for
the night and called, Seethe had pretended to be fast asleep. Relieved that her
daughter was better, Gowramma had gone to her room. Sleep had come to her
as soon as she lay down.
Seethe was in bed, her eyes open as she looked at the darkness around.
Tears rolled down her cheeks as she recalled recent events. She thought of the
tank, the darkness and the snakes in the water! She was scared to death at the
mere sight of a water-snake . . . Her heart skipped many a beat and often . . .
Death seemed to be a frightening thing. ‘Let me see. Hoovayya Bhava may
come tomorrow,’ she told herself in vain hope. She pictured to herself her
forced marriage with Ramayya. She held on firmly to the legs of death as she
slipped and fell into the well of life, very much like one holding desperately
onto a plant while slipping into the water of the well! . . . She sat up as her
inner eye felt Lakshmi sleeping soundly next to her. She would wait for a
while, she decided for no apparent reason, and lay down again. The silk-soft
hair on Lakshmi’s head brushed against Seethe’s cheek and she remembered
the countless times she had oiled, combed and parted it. That contact with her
sister’s smooth and lovely hair was much stronger an argument than a
thousand precepts against committing suicide.
The clock in the verandah struck as Seethe lay in the dark making up her
mind to leave the house. It was with great curiosity and interest that she
counted the strokes. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten,
eleven, twelve! How she wished that the clock would keep striking till
morning! When it stopped, she thought that even the clock seemed to have no
compassion for her. Someone sleeping outside coughed. That was enough of
an excuse for Seethe to feel relieved and decide to set out a little later when
everyone would be fast asleep. She lay down staring at the darkness.
Not even half an hour had passed when Seethe got up. There was total
silence all around. It seemed as if the world was in deep sleep in order to
provide her with an opportunity. Even the doors didn’t creak and the sleeping
dogs didn’t bother to raise their heads. Seethe walked briskly towards the
tank. Neither thorns nor stones troubled her.
How short was her walk to the tank!
Seethe was amazed at her own adventure. She hadn’t known that she
possessed such courage, strength and will-power. It seemed as if her soul’s
strength had come to display itself in its entirety before death.
The moment for her to throw herself into the water had come! But she drew
back.
She remembered the prayer that Hoovayya Bhava had taught her. Seethe
lifted her head in the darkness towards the star-studded sky and prayed. What
was she praying for? Her prayer was to stop the impending marriage
somehow and for her to be married to Hoovayya Bhava. Surely, her prayer
made no sense when she was about to jump into the water!
Seeing Krishnappa running towards her when she had finished praying, she
threw herself into the water shattering the stillness. She felt as if something
under the water hit her hard on the chest. Could it be Krishnappa? It could be
the ploughs which had been left in the water to soak. She felt a searing pain
and screamed.
It was that scream which had made Chinnayya come rushing to her bed. He
lighted a lamp and saw Seethe lying still and unconscious. Lakshmi’s hand
was on her chest. As for Lakshmi . . . she had wet herself in her dreamworld
outside the cowshed under the ratnigandhi tree!
 55
Hoovayya goes to Mutthalli

A LL THE PEOPLE who were sleeping got up at once and came running from
all directions. Each one thought of some disaster or the other. But not one of
their guesses had anything to do with the reality.
After her head and face had been sprinkled with water and some fanning,
Seethe opened her eyes. But her world wasn’t the same. At first, it didn’t
appear as if she could recognize even familiar faces like her father or mother
or brother. She didn’t answer any questions. She just stared and sobbed.
Tearful and sighing, Gowramma talked to her daughter in a variety of ways
and promised offerings to all the demons and gods she knew. Shyamayya
Gowda participated fully in his wife’s endeavours. Venkappa Joisa from the
Agrahara would be called the very next day and asked to tell Seethe’s fortune.
Men would be sent to Kanooru and Siddharamatha for prasada. The family’s
spirits and gods would be offered fruits and blood-sacrifices. Offerings would
be made at Dharmasthala, Thirupathi, Sibbalugude and other temples near
and far. Shyamayya Gowda uttered everything aloud so that all those who had
gathered could hear. His main intention was to scare away the spirit that had
possessed Seethe.
Seethe started talking at dawn the next day. Since she spoke as herself at
times, and like someone else at others, those already steeped in superstition
became even more terrified. They started to voice their explanations any way
they liked.
One conjecture appealed to everyone’s heart. It was that Seethemane
Singappa Gowda’s son Krishnappa who didn’t live long enough had
possessed Seethe as a spirit! A few of the words coming out of Seethe’s
mouth strengthened their theory.
Venkappa Joisa came to Mutthalli in the grand manner of a king’s army on
its way to quell a rebellion. In a way that astounded the people who had
assembled, he checked the omens and other signs, shook his head and taking
Shyamayya Gowda aside, whispered into his ear, gave him vibhuthi,
kumkuma and coconuts that had been charmed, took all the gifts proffered to
him and went back to the Agrahara. Everyone felt comforted as if they had
completed a great task.
As directed by the Joisa, they put the vibhuthi and kumkuma on Seethe’s
forehead and tied the sanctified coconut on the bamboo pole that ran
overhead.
Shyamayya Gowda told very many people, one at a time, what the Joisa
had confided in him, insisting every time that it should be kept a secret!
He had a pretext for what he did. Others had already guessed what the Joisa
said after checking the omens and signs. What was the point of keeping a
secret which everyone knew anyway? Hence they continued to tell the others
that the Joisa had said that Krishnappa’s spirit had possessed Seethe. Such
matters were like feasts to the rural folk. The news spread from mouth to
mouth and ear to ear.
When Chandrayya Gowda heard from Ninga that the spirit of his sworn
enemy’s son who had met with an untimely death, had taken possession of
Seethe, he was aflame with anger. Should the dead son come to plague him as
well as the father? He decided to wreak vengeance by torturing Krishnappa’s
ghost. He would teach it a lesson if it dared to possess his daughter-in-law
after she came to Kanooru! He would subject it to untold suffering and thus
settle his score with the father!
Various methods of punishment flashed through his mind one after another:
making it eat dung, scalding and burning it, starving it and giving it a lump of
cumin and chilly powder to eat, throwing some chilly powder in its eyes if it
failed to eat this, putting some crystals, hair, asafoetida, dry chillies and so on
into the fire and directing the burning smoke towards its nose, asking
Venkappayya to cast a spell, imprisoning it and trying out all manner of
torture through spells . . .!
Reflecting on the torment Krishnappa’s soul would be subjected to,
Chandrayya Gowda felt as joyous as he would if Singappa Gowda was caught
in his clutches and made to undergo all these tortures.
Singappa Gowda’s effort was in vain! Who would care two hoots about his
son’s soul? Forget Krishnappa. Even if his great-grandfather’s spirit arrived
on the scene, he would see that the wedding was not called off. Chandrayya
Gowda took a vow and warned Shyamayya Gowda that the wedding that had
been fixed would not be cancelled, no matter what happened!
Hoovayya was perturbed too, hearing of Seethe being possessed by a spirit.
Since he had a little knowledge of psychology, he knew the secret of Seethe’s
sickness. He remembered the same thing happening when her marriage was
fixed with Krishnappa. He realized immediately that it was her subconscious
that had disguised her disgust and pain as Krishnappa’s spirit. In order to
ensure that no disaster would occur, he went to Mutthalli much against his
will.
But he was received in Mutthalli with total indifference. He also noticed an
aversion towards him in the conversation that took place. There was a kind of
obvious fear in people’s attitudes and intentions. The situation was such that
Hoovayya felt that he shouldn’t have gone there at all.
He found out the reason later from Chinnayya. In accordance with
Chandrayya Gowda’s instructions, Venkappayya Joisa had spread the rumour
that Hoovayya himself was responsible for Krishnappa’s spirit possessing
Seethe. The spirit of Kanooru house had entered the goat Balindra as a result
of the knowledge that Hoovayya possessed about spells and was working
under his control!
Without taking people’s indifference or disgust to heart, Hoovayya decided
to see Seethe before going back. Shyamayya Gowda engaged in supervising
the wedding preparations didn’t even glance at him as he said that there was
no need for him to see Seethe. She wasn’t well in her mind. But Hoovayya
forsook civility and made Shyamayya Gowda accede to his request through
sheer stubbornness. Scared about what else he might do with his charms and
spells, Shyamayya Gowda accompanied him to Seethe’s room, praying to
Rama all the while. Gowramma sitting beside Seethe’s bed with Lakshmi,
moved away a little, wiping her tears.
The atmosphere in the room was enough to make even sane people feel as
if they were possessed. All the windows were shut so that no spirits from
outside would enter the room. Along with them, light and air too were kept
out. Garlic and all manner of pungent-smelling things had been burnt to
smoke out the spirits inside, almost suffocating those who came in. Slippers,
brooms, charmed coconuts and other objects were strung across the windows
and door. Hoovayya was alarmed looking at them. Sorrow welled up within
him. He sighed and became tearful when he thought of the punishment that
Seethe would be subjected to in the future, many times harsher than what she
bore at the moment. He thought anxiously of means to save her. He would do
anything to achieve that end.
Seethe seemed to take some time to recognize Hoovayya. After gazing at
him for a while, she recognized him suddenly and sat up. There was a flash of
happiness among the dark clouds on her face. She tried to move towards
Hoovayya but Gowramma caught hold of her daughter and tried to make her
he down. Hoovayya told her to let Seethe sit on the bed.
‘No, she won’t sit still,’ said Shyamayya Gowda. ‘She was about to fall on
you.’
Seethe laughed suddenly at her father’s words. The interpretation seemed
so ridiculous. But her laughter sounded hideous to Gowramma and
Shyamayya Gowda, since it was Krishnappa laughing from inside her.
‘No, Avva, I shall sit quietly. Don’t make me lie down,’ said Seethe to her
mother who was trying to make her lie down. Her face and voice were so
natural that her parents were surprised. It was the voice of their Seethe. What
was it? Had Seethe woken up from a prolonged dream? Gowramma surmised
that it was because of Hoovayya’s arrival and started joyfully giving a
detailed account of her daughter’s illness from the very beginning. Since he
had already heard about it, Hoovayya didn’t pay much attention to her but
kept gazing at Seethe.
She was emaciated and looked pale, Her looks too had been lost to a certain
extent. In the red light of the castor oil lamp, burning though it was daytime,
she looked pathetic like innocence caught between ignorance and superstition.
Her eyes seemed to reflect a cry from her heart, ‘Please save me somehow!’
Seethe started talking to Hoovayya. She spoke so well that the belief
Shyamayya Gowda had in Hoovayya’s magical spells grew stronger. She
enquired about Nagamma’s welfare and about Puttanna’s latest hunting
expedition and mentioned each dog by its name. ‘Why didn’t you bring
Attemma with you? Give her my regards,’ she said. Eventually, she even said
that she too would come to Kelakanooru and asked him to take her there.
Hoovayya gave a suitable reply to each of her questions but faltered at the
last one, not knowing what to say. ‘Of course you can go there! Get better
first,’ said Gowramma.
‘What’s wrong with me now? I’m fine!’ said Seethe turning towards her
mother.
At that moment, her words rang true to Gowramma.
Not a single word or a single action of Seethe’s appeared to show that she
had a distant memory in her of the wedding fixed for her. The whole affair
seemed to have been erased from her mind.
As she continued, she said to her mother, ‘Avva, why have you closed all
the windows? What a stench!’ as if she was experiencing it for the first time.
Getting up, she opened a window wide. All of a sudden, air and light rushed
in and the oil lamp went out and the grey smoke emanating from it went
crookedly up in the air, and floated out. The unpleasant smell of the burnt
wick spread over the room.
Observing the change in their daughter, the parents felt very happy.
Hoovayya’s arrival was like a miracle. The Gowda was a little afraid as well,
his belief in Hoovayya’s magical powers having increased.
Seeing the light entering the room, the house-flies which had gone out
afraid of the dark came in one by one. One of them buzzed around, fell into
the gruel and started to struggle. Seethe took it out with her fingers and
dropped it on the floor. The fly with its wet wings stuck to its body started to
crawl forward. A wet line followed its course on the floor. In a minute, the fly
wiped its head with its legs, shook its wings and flew away. It might sound
strange but everyone, including Shyamayya Gowda, watched the goings-on
with wonder. Probably everyone had surmised the state of Seethe’s mind by
her actions.
As soon as Hoovayya left the room with Shyamayya Gowda, Seethe
giggled. Was it because she felt she could pull the wool over their eyes?
Whatever it was, it sounded so awful to Gowramma that she got up quickly
and noisily shut all the windows which Seethe had opened. Seethe said
nothing. After Hoovayya left her, the darkness appeared gratifying.
Even Hoovayya’s advice to Chinnayya about Seethe’s care before leaving
for Mutthalli didn’t bear fruit. After he left, Shyamayya Gowda saw Seethe
reverting to her usual sick state. ‘Did you see that? This is nothing but his
charms and spells. How well she spoke to him! He left and it has started
again. Surely, the Joisa was right!’
‘The words of our Joisa are never false. When he sits on the wooden seat
and says something with rice grains in his hand, even the Lord Almighty
won’t be able to change it,’ said one of those present, engaged in winding
coloured cloth on the mantapa, voicing his support of Shyamayya Gowda.
 56
The Calving of Kowli

IT WAS EVENING by the time Hoovayya reached Kelakanooru. From Mutthalli

he had gone to Seethemane, had lunch and narrated to Singappa Gowda the
events that took place in Mutthalli and had even sat on a board which
arbitrated a worker’s case. Singappa Gowda was planning to attach the house
of a farmer who owed him some money. The farmer had approached
Hoovayya a few days earlier about the matter, knowing that it was only his
words that carried weight with Singappa Gowda. That was the reason why
Hoovayya had gone to Seethemane and arbitrated on the matter by pacifying
the Gowda and counselling the farmer. The thought of the help he had been
able to render the poor farmer had brought him a sense of great moral
gratification.
He took off his shirt in his room, combed his hair standing in front of the
mirror, went into the living room and pulled out a chair and sat down. He felt
at peace when he looked at the portraits of great souls on the walls and the
books stored on the shelves and the table. A smile rolled over his face like a
wave. His mother Nagamma who had brought him a cup of coffee and stood
there talking seemed to be dearer and worthier of worship than at any time
before. Convinced that the course of his life would be pure, smooth and
heavenly in her divine presence, his mind was at rest.
‘Why are you standing there, Avva? Do sit down on the chair!’
She broke into laughter at his words. ‘Oho! You want me to sit on the chair
and demonstrate my authority, do you? Drink your coffee, it’ll get cold,’ she
said as she removed a speck of dust floating on the coffee with her finger,
inspected it and threw it away.
‘Ayya, ayya!’ Baira called two or three times from outside.
Nagamma, annoyed that Baira was being a nuisance while her son was
having his coffee, went out herself to ask what the matter was. She couldn’t
make head or tail of what Baira poured out all in one breath. ‘Wait, I’ll send
him,’ she said and went in.
 Hoovayya came out after drinking his coffee. ‘I can’t manage to look after
the fencing anymore. Ayya, what can I do if they keep pulling down the fence
and let the cattle in?’ Baira asked.
‘Who would do such a thing? Maybe you don’t know how to erect fences.’
‘What can I say, if that’s what you think, Ayya? Come and see for yourself
. . . I’m told that the Gowda himself was in charge the other day as his
workers pulled down the fence and let in the cattle.’
‘Are you out of your senses? You mustn’t carry tales against anyone on the
strength of idle gossip . . .! Tell me, did you see it yourself?’
‘No . . . I didn’t . . .’
‘You better keep quiet then!’
Suddenly Baira changed the topic. It looked as if he had come there not to
talk about the fence but to raise another matter.
‘Ayya, I’ll set up house here.’
‘Haven’t I said no? If you are here, who will look after the farm? Your
grandfather?’
As they stood talking, Puttanna came with the dogs. There was something
in the blanket gathered in at the corners on Puttanna’s left shoulder. ‘Where
had you gone?’ Hoovayya asked, when he noticed it.
‘I went out with the gun.’
‘That’s obvious, isn’t it? I wanted to know where you had gone.’
‘Went along the track.’
‘Did you see anything?’
‘Of course I did!’
‘Any luck with the gun?’
‘No . . .’
‘What’s there in the bag then?’
‘Nothing . . . What can there be in the bag?’
‘Come here. Let me see!’
Puttanna chuckled and went into the house quickly.
Baira grinned and said, ‘Maybe he has brought something for the
Heggadithi!’
Hoovayya suddenly grasped what Baira had said. It seemed as if a dark
shadow had passed over his face as he went into his room.
Puttanna came there to light the lamp when it grew dark.
‘How many times should I tell you, Puttanna?’ Hoovayya asked.
‘What have I done . . .?’
 ‘Aren’t you ashamed? Even Soma, the meat-stealing drunkard, has given
up drinking! And you!’
‘I haven’t had any toddy! I swear I . . .’
‘What was it you carried in your bag then?’
‘It wasn’t for me! I brought a bottle as Nagamma had asked for it . . .’
‘Toddy?’
‘Yes, toddy!’
‘If it’s bad for you, how can it be good for my mother?’
‘She had asked for it many times . . .’
Hoovayya didn’t say anything after that. After Puttanna had lighted the
lamp and gone, he thought about his mother’s foibles. Nagamma was an ideal
mother except for two matters on which she wouldn’t budge. One was her
superstitious faith in the existence of ghosts and the other was her weakness
for toddy. She didn’t drink every day as a matter of routine. Wanting to please
her son, she had exercised restraint on herself and drank once a fortnight or
month.
It was a habit which had stayed with her since childhood and ‘would leave
her only when she crossed over to the other side’. But when Hoovayya
thought some more about it and remembered his own agony and defeats in his
battle against the habit of snuff, he sympathized with his mother and felt
happy as he thought that her occasional surrender to toddy was indeed a great
victory! Ever since his visit to Seethe the other day, he was in a jolly mood
about most things. It was the same when thoughts of Seethe came to him
again. He was amazed to find himself contented at Seethe’s plight instead of
feeling sorry. How could his conscious self grasp what only his subconscious
could glean about the maze in Seethe’s subconscious? That was why his inner
contentment seemed amazing and illogical to his conscious mind.
Soma who was sitting a little away from Hoovayya and Puttanna while
they had dinner, was holding forth about his work and adventures that day.
Everyone was in stitches. What tickled them was not the content but the style
of his narrative. The most important adventure Soma had had that day was
Kowli who gave birth to a calf among the hills and his managing to bring the
mother and child to the shed.
Kowli didn’t have horns but she had plenty of courage. She was a strong,
good-looking animal. Her hide was resplendent with splotches of red and
white and was a feast to the eyes. Her tail was like a bunch of flowers, with its
end a fan coloured white as chalk. Her udders matched her looks and even in
terms of strict utility she was the best as she yielded the most milk. She was a
favourite with Nagamma even while she was in Kanooru. An additional
reason was that she was a descendent of a line of cows which had originally
come to Kanooru as Nagamma’s dowry. Everyone, including Hoovayya, was
eagerly awaiting the event of Kowli’s giving birth after a long pregnancy.
Hoovayya was pleased to hear from Soma about it. That was why he
frequently prodded Soma with questions so that he would talk some more
about it. Kowli had chased him when he went near her to pick up the calf and
he had had to go up a tree to save himself. He had climbed down only when
Kowli had gone to the calf, crying ‘Amba,’ and had rushed up the tree again
when he heard the sound of a dry branch falling to the ground, thinking it was
Kowli chasing him again! The ones at dinner had to hold their sides as they
laughed loudly at Soma’s narration.
When Hoovayya expressed his desire after dinner to see Kowli and the calf,
Soma was all enthusiasm as he led him and Puttanna to the shed with a lamp
in his hand. It was as if he himself had had the calf!
As they walked along the edge of the manure pit, Hoovayya recalled
Soma’s adventure of a few months earlier and asked in good humour, ‘It was
here, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, Ayya! The sons of bitches had almost killed me here!’
Balindra who was lying down in his appointed place in the shed stopped
chewing the cud on seeing the men and the lamp and got up to stare at them.
He demonstrated that he had recognized them by chewing the cud again.
‘These dogs are like the kite’s tail! They follow us everywhere. Hacha!
Will you get lost or not? You . . .’ Puttanna exclaimed. As he bent down as if
to pick up stones, the dogs fell over one another as they retreated.
All three of them went into the shed. Their noses were assailed by the
warm and pungent smell of cow dung, urine, hay, the cows’ bodies and their
breath. Their feet squished into dung and urine as they proceeded. Some of
the sleeping cattle stood up to look at them with wide-open eyes. One could
hear their heavy breathing in fear, the clatter of their hooves as they moved on
the paved stones and the clash of their horns as they hit the pillars. Hoovayya
thought of the happiness of the farmers’ lives as he heard these noises. What a
sight it was to watch the cattle’s eyes, ears and horns! How fascinating their
shadows as they moved on the wall! The bell round a cow’s neck is ringing!
And so is a small bell round a calf’s!
‘Soma, who cleaned the shed today?’
 ‘Sesi, I think.’
‘Do you put in enough effort about it?’
‘When I clean the shed, it is as if someone has licked the floor clean!’
‘Puttanna, I want you to take more interest in the matter of the shed.’
Hoovayya went to where Kowli was and added, ‘Our lives depend upon the
cattle, remember!’
Kowli was sniffing the body of her calf, licking its new smooth hair-
covered hide. She opened her eyes wide at the visitors. Soma took fright at
her stare and warned, ‘Ayya, you better not go near!’
‘I don’t understand how a fellow so easily frightened could summon
enough courage to think of stealing things!’ said Hoovayya as he took a
couple of steps forward. Kowli started to shake her famed head without horns.
‘I think you have frightened her! How can I make you see sense?’ said
Hoovayya as he looked at Soma.
‘What could I do? Her nature is like that! It’s only Amma . . .’ As Kowli
sneezed suddenly, Soma jumped back afraid. Hoovayya and Puttanna
couldn’t hold their laughter as Kowli looked at them, puzzled.
They returned after they had their fill of the calf from a distance, as
beautiful as its mother in the light of the lamp. As the light grew dim, Kowli
who was staring at it all the while felt relieved and once it was dark again she
went back to licking her calf with love.
 57
Nagamma’s Frustration—Chandrayya Gowda’s
Envy

T HE LONG-AWAITED spring arrived. The auspicious days for the wedding in

Mutthalli and Kanooru drew near too. It was arranged that Chinnayya’s
wedding would precede Ramayya’s by two days.
Around four o’clock in the morning, a small pandal was built on the cart
track going to Kanooru, passing by Kelakanooru in the cool, dark shade that
surged and flowed from the green mass of the honge trees that grew on either
side. It was decorated with mango and jackfruit leaves and banana plants. On
the floor were spread mats of jungle reeds and grass. There was a big drum
with some sweet lemon drink with the chattering Soma and Puttanna in
attendance. They were both wearing their best clothes which to them
expressed the ultimate in good taste.
At a little distance Hoovayya sat in his simple everyday clothes, talking to
Nagamma. Nagamma had a new valli around her according to the custom in
Malenadu. Apart from that there was nothing special about her. She had
sparkling cups with her to lovingly serve ghee and milk to the bridegroom as
part of the custom. A few bees buzzed around having caught the fragrance of
flowers, fruits, milk and ghee. Birds sang at the honge, jackfruit, basiri,
banyan and pepul trees that grew thickly all around and in the crisp-looking
bushes of kedage.
Hearing the dogs barking in their house a little distance away, Hoovayya
asked Soma if all the dogs had been tied up.
‘Yes, I have tied them up. But I couldn’t catch the new puppy with the
short tail. I grew tired looking for it!’
Hoovayya started talking to his mother, not paying any attention to what
Soma said. It was impossible to say whether he had asked the question as a
conscious act. Mother and son were deeply engrossed in conversation about
Kanooru and Mutthalli.
 It was customary to go personally to invite close relatives at their homes in
order to show respect to them, in addition to sending invitations. An invitation
and a personal visit had indeed represented Mutthalli. But from Kanooru,
there was only an invitation. Nagamma was very upset and sad about it. She
had shed tears that no one had come to ask her to attend Puttamma’s wedding
when the girl was like her own daughter.
Hoovayya tried to console her. ‘You are all so enamoured of old customs!
When an invitation has been sent, where is the need to come and invite you
personally?’
‘Is it like an invitation if something black is scribbled on paper? It might be
enough for someone like you who can read and write. What about people like
me who cannot read or write?’
‘Even if there was a personal invitation, would you have gone?’
‘I wouldn’t have gone. Still . . .’
‘Listen, it sounds as if the bridegroom’s party is arriving!’ said Soma,
drawing himself to his full height and listening intently. Puttanna started
arranging the cups in the big basket.
From the distant woods could be heard the sound of pipes, horns and drums
as well as fireworks. Nagamma and Hoovayya stood up and looked out in the
direction of the noises of the bridegroom’s party. The green hills of Malenadu
were glittering in the sunshine.
There were quite a few events of the past in Hoovayya’s mind when he
asked Nagamma about her attending the wedding. Though Hoovayya had left
the Kanooru house, the portion of the house that belonged to him was still in
his custody. Hoovayya had sent word that it could be used during the wedding
ceremony and if needed, he would open up the rooms that had been kept
locked.
Chandrayya Gowda had decided by some logic or the other that Hoovayya
had done so just to humiliate him. ’Tell him that we don’t want an inch of
what is his. I shall have a pandal built. I still have a few servants and things
that God has given me. If I lose everything and become bankrupt, I shall ask
him for help. Then he can offer me help,’ he had replied.
Until then, Nagamma used to say that they would have to attend the
wedding for the sake of Puttamma at least. In reality, she loved Puttamma as
much as she loved Vasu. That love pulled her towards the wedding. But after
receiving Chandrayya Gowda’s pungent reply, she had changed her mind and
decided not to attend. But a week earlier when Chandrayya Gowda and
Ramayya had gone to the market at Theerthahalli in a new decorated bullock
cart to bring clothes and other necessities for the wedding, Puttamma had
come to Kelakanooru in the evening. She had come with Vasu without the
overseer’s or anyone else’s knowledge. Hoovayya, Puttanna and Soma had
gone to the forest in search of honey and Nagamma was alone in the house.
Baira’s wife Sesi who was outside sweeping the yard saw just the two of them
and exhibited her white teeth in her dark face and exclaimed in great wonder,
‘Amma, Ayya! What a surprise!’
Nagamma was so overjoyed at seeing them that she began to stutter. She
quickly started making rotti, eggs and a side dish with vegetables. ‘No,
Doddamma,’ pleaded Puttamma. ‘Appa will kill me if he comes to know of
this!’ But it was of no avail. Eventually, in spite of protests, she began helping
her aunt to roast the rottis. Vasu too started helping them, suddenly turning
serious as if he was aware of everything that was going on.
Puttamma asked her aunt to come to her wedding. Nagamma told her all
that had happened between Chandrayya Gowda and themselves. ‘I won’t
come home, Avva. I shall catch a glimpse of your party as it leaves for your
husband’s home and feel happy. Doesn’t the cart travel on the road at the
corner of our fields?’
It wasn’t dark yet. Nagamma had stuffed Vasu’s pockets with snacks and
was standing in the courtyard to send him and Puttamma off. Puttamma
pulled Nagamma’s saree all of a sudden. ‘See, the overseer is coming! Vasu,
come inside!’ she said and rushed back in pulling Vasu along with her. In
accordance with Ramayya’s orders, the overseer Rangappa Shetty had come
with some senants to fetch Ramayya’s pictures and books that had been left
with Hoovayya. But Nagamma told him that Hoovayya wasn’t at home and
that he should come back the next day.
After the overseer had gone back with the servants, Puttamma and Vasu
walked back to Kanooru stealthily in the dark, taking along Sesi.
Nagamma had told her son all that had happened and made him erect a
pandal on the cart track in the corner of the field in order to show cordiality
towards the travelling marriage party. The main intention was really not that,
though it appeared to be so to the onlookers. It was set up so that Nagamma
could bless the bride and make her happy as she left with her husband in the
palanquin.
As they stood watch, the noise of the marriage party drew near. The calls of
the palanquin bearers too could be heard. Finally, the bridal procession came
in sight.
It stopped for rest near the pandal. The noise of the band stopped and there
was some commotion with the men talking to one another. Salutations and
inquiries about mutual welfare were thick in the air. The tinkling of the
women’s jewellery in tune with their voices, the smell of new clothes from
their sarees of various textures, blouses and other kinds of apparel, a medley
of faces of different contours and complexions, ranging from black to pink,
appeared quite dramatic to Soma, who was not looking at anyone in
particular. He looked at the whole group instead. But he felt that everyone
there was looking at him and speaking about him. The reason was that he was
wearing clothes he had never worn before and with great elegance. When
people spoke to him with respect and called him ‘Shettare,’ he felt overjoyed
as if his life’s goal had been fulfilled.
After everyone sat down in the shade, the drinks were served. Hoovayya
spoke to Chinnayya Gowda and Shyamayya Gowda. But neither they nor he
said anything about Seethe. Nagamma talked to Gowramma about domestic
matters. No one spoke about the wedding as if they had come to an
understanding earlier. Since most of those present there knew about the
relationship between Kelakanooru and Kanooru, no one tried to open the
wound. They were trying gently not to meet one another’s eyes. Chinnayya
Gowda particularly looked only at the blue vein on Hoovayya’s forehead and
never at his eyes when he spoke to him. His heart was beating with anxiety
lest Hoovayya should ask about Seethe’s welfare. Her health wasn’t good
enough for Chinnayya to look Hoovayya in the eye and lie about it.
Shyamayya Gowda was urging the palanquin bearers to finish their drinks
and get moving as if he wanted to leave the place as soon as he could.
In a short while, shots were fired in the air, the band started to play, the
bearers picked up the palanquin and walked on chanting their refrain. The
householders too got up and followed. The family went on towards Kanooru
eagerly. They disappeared as Nagamma, Puttanna and Soma watched and
only the refrain could be heard. Hoovayya didn’t even hear the refrain. In the
tears of his mind, it was only the sorrowful picture of Seethe that trembled.
‘Have you seen Rangamma, Attigadde Hiriyanna Gowda’s elder daughter?
Good-looking girl! Stammers a little, they say. So what? Round-faced, fair—
everything is all right, her eyes, nose, mouth and ears!’ said Nagamma loudly
to Puttanna so that Hoovayya could hear too.
 The inelegant Puttanna, not bright enough to fathom her intentions, looked
at Nagamma and Soma by turns and went on talking as he worked. ‘Who? Is
that the one with a snub-nose? Eh, Soma, give me that glass tumbler . . .
Amma, we’ll need more fruit juice tomorrow, I think. What we had today was
just enough . . . . Leave that mat there. Pick up this carpet first. You are a
dunce from the Kannada district! A cap made with an areca sheet will do for
you! You don’t deserve one from Hasan, do you . . .?’

* * *

The day after, from two o’ clock in the afternoon, Nagamma and the others
with more supplies than before, waited under the pandal, expecting the bridal
party on its return to Mutthalli from Kanooru. Nagamma particularly was
filled with happiness, excitement and longing. There was a lightness in her
speech as well as her movements.
Around three o’clock, the sound of gunpowder bursts, pipes, horns and
drums was heard and Nagamma stood up and looked out, thinking that the
bridal party was setting out. It was likely that the picture of Puttamma, fully
decked up, sitting in the palanquin in front of her husband, head bent,
showing off the bunch of white flowers she wore in her hair, blushing and
tearful, must have been before her mind’s eye.
From above, a dry leaf from the honge tree fell dancing in the blowing
wind, and was caught in the clump of white hair on her head.
They waited for a long time. The rising noise of the marriage party died
down and soon there was silence. Nagamma was greatly perturbed. The
others were also surprised that the group which had left from a distance not
far away hadn’t yet arrived. There was a different apprehension in each mind.
But none of them voiced his inauspicious thoughts. Nagamma was scared that
Jakkini or some other spirit might have possessed Puttamma. Hoovayya
suspected that someone might have been hurt as the fireworks were let off.
Soma thought that dinner might have been late but didn’t tell anyone.
Puttanna kept up his guessing and then walked off swiftly to Kanooru to find
out for himself.
Half an hour later, he’ came back slowly weighed down with sadness and
told the others that the party had taken another route. Nagamma started to sob.
Chandrayya Gowda had come to know of the pandal and the other
arrangements that had been made. Possessed by an unspeakable envy and a
cruel desire to hurt Nagamma and Hoovayya, he had told the bridal party to
go to Mutthalli taking another route. As soon as she heard of it, Puttamma
sobbed her heart out. But no one paid any attention to her since it was
traditional for the bride to cry when she left her mother’s home.
Nagamma went back to her thatched house crying all the while. Hoovayya
had the cauldrons and glasses filled with cool juice emptied on the road and
had the other things carried back home. For many days after, people who
walked that way wouldn’t proceed without stopping to stare at the countless
black and red ants, house-flies, golden flies and bees swarming around.
 58
Ramayya Is Married

O N THE THIRD evening of Chinnayya’s marriage, the bridegroom’s party

came in procession from Kanooru to Mutthalli. Chandrayya Gowda was there
at its head wearing a zari turban and sporting a moustache, heavy on his face
which had become more and more emaciated recently. He wore a new black-
striped jacket, a zari valli, a dhoti with a coloured border and slippers with
engraved flowers from Hunchanakatte. He looked cunning and cruel as he
was greeted at the door by Shyammayya Gowda. Somewhat short and dumpy
with a pronounced paunch, he had a full face looking like a ripe pumpkin
which carried a thin moustache. His forehead was covered with stripes of
nama and he wore clothes which became the head of a household. He looked
as if he was not feeling too comfortable with his simplicity and innocence.
His making friends with fools made him look subdued as he welcomed the
bridegroom’s party.
There were hundreds of guests at the wedding. The noise of the gathering
was louder and steadier than that of bursting cannon balls, fireworks, horns,
trumpet and nagaswara. Different types of light shone brightly from the
standing and hanging lamps, lanterns and oil lamps which were all over the
yard under a vast pandal and near the wedding mantapa. Guests engaged in
conversation sat in different rows according to their status under the pandal
which looked resplendent with festoons of young leaves and buntings of
coloured cloth. The main topic among the guests was the rumour that the
bride had been possessed by a spirit.
As the auspicious moment for tying the marital knot came later than ten o’
clock in the night, Chandrayya Gowda ordered in a brusque voice that dinner
should be served before the event. Though Shyammayya Gowda was the head
of the household, he would not do anything without first consulting his
brother-in-law from Kanooru. That was how the latter had taken over the
management of things in Mutthalli. Though Singappa Gowda had come to the
wedding in deference to his relationship with Shyammayya Gowda,
Gowramma and Chinnayya, he played no role in the whole affair, sat down
like an unknown! guest and spent his time talking to his relatives. There is no
need to reiterate that the topics he dealt with in his conversation were
Chandrayya Gowda’s attempts to steal a goat and his driving out his wife.
Like bees flying out, buzzing when smoked out of the hive, the whole
gathering got up and besieged a field nearby as soon as dinner was
announced.
Shyammayya Gowda had made separate arrangements for entertaining the
important people on the guest list—Chandrayya Gowda from Kanooru,
Singegowda from Balooru, Basavegowda from Baidooru, Sheshegowda from
Entooru, Hiriyanna Gowda from Attigadde, Thammanna Gowda from
Nuggimane, Sampage Puttayya Gowda and some others. Pitchers of toddy
from the bagani, cauldrons of rice-beer and bottles of sarai were there waiting
for them. Many a sheep too had been killed for the occasion.
Seated in front of an hourglass and occasionally chanting Sanskrit mantras
in a sing-song voice which the Shudra crowd could not understand was
Venkappayya Joisa, who announced that the auspicious moment had come.
Having studied the horoscopes of the bride and groom and then having
declared their compatibility, he had in his boundless generosity arrived there
as the priest for the occasion to ensure that the wedding took place without a
hitch. There was a bustle among the people who had been appointed to bring
the bride and groom to the wedding man tapa when the Joisa gave the order.
As soon as they knew the moment had come, hundreds of eyes shook off their
sleep and focused on the mantapa. Those who were awake woke up their
sleeping neighbours.
In all that excitement, no one noticed Soma who came to Singappa Gowda
and whispered something in his ears. Soma had told Hoovayya that morning
that he would be going to see the wedding. He had left Kelakanooru and gone
straight to Seethemane and had come with Singappa Gowda to Mutthalli in
the evening. It may seem surprising that Soma, who knew full well the histon
behind the wedding which had been fixed against the wishes of his dear
master, had gone there to witness it. Everything is sure to fall into place once
Singappa Gowda’s plan, which he had worked out with Soma’s cooperation,
is made known.
Mention has already been made of Hoovayya meeting Singappa Gowda
and preaching some of his ethical ideals to him and asking for help. Though
the Gowda had retracted from his earlier threats to do this or that, beat them
with slippers and shoot them dead, his rage hadn’t died down in spite of his
earnest efforts. It is true that he had given up his cruel thoughts like shooting
Chandrayya Gowda dead. But he had secretly decided to try to stop the
wedding, if possible, on that very day. He had full cooperation in his attempt
from the simple-minded and daring Soma. No sooner had Singappa Gowda
preached to Soma that such an attempt would help his master to achieve his
objective, than the latter agreed wholeheartedly to go along with it, out of a
sense of heroic loyalty to Hoovayya. The latter had questioned him on
noticing his frequent visits to Seethemane. ‘Singappa Gowda is talking of
getting some workers from the Kannada district,’ said Soma glibly, a lie that
he had been coached to speak by the Gowda. His enthusiasm for the plan
grew to be stronger than the Gowda’s when Chandrayya Gowda had changed
the route of the procession on the occasion of Chinnayya’s marriage. It was
about their plan that Soma was whispering with Singappa Gowda under the
pandal.
It was while the preparations for the tying of the marital knot were going
on briskly that Soma went out of the house after having finished talking to
Singappa Gowda. The Gowda joined the others as if nothing unusual had
taken place.
People led the bridegroom in. Ramayya looked like a picture-book groom
with his necklace and basinga, the band round his head. Hoovayya would
have found it difficult to recognize him if he had seen him at that moment.
Ramayya had lost a lot of weight. It seemed as if along with the loss of his
vitality, a measure of sadness and tiredness had been etched on his face.
Bones stood out from his sunken cheeks. What was most surprising, however,
was his dress! There wasn’t a touch of modernity about it. It looked as if his
father had had his way even in that matter. Under the turban, the new disease
of a crop had been afflicted with the old disease, a tuft! National attire like
khadi and the Gandhi cap had disappeared into thin air, leaving no sign
behind. Even Singappa Gowda, who had under Hoovayya’s influence become
an ardent nationalist and wore khadi, was disgusted. Ramayya, on the whole,
was an object deserving of pity.
They carried the bride to the wedding mantapa. It was not just because of
the custom but because it was necessary. They had made of Seethe a bride.
But she hadn’t turned into one. Nor was the bride Seethe. She had lost
consciousness and the people around were saying that she had been
possessed. Those who were sitting next to Singappa Gowda were stealthily
glancing at him. Wasn’t the spirit that had possessed Seethe that of his ill-
fated son?
It was as if a bejewelled cadaver had been carried there when they held
Seethe up next to Ramayya. Fear stirred in his heart suddenly when he saw
the state the girl was in. As a matter of fact, it wasn’t all that sudden. He had
been assailed by it for a long time but he had suppressed it. As soon as an
opportunity rose, the fear in him had broken out of the anthill and raised its
hood. His body trembled and broke out in sweat. His eyes glazed as his brain
seemed to grow confused. He was scared that he would collapse. A sudden
thirst gripped him and he asked those next to him for a drink of water. They
brought him some juice. The juice from his father-in-law’s house could at
best slake the body’s thirst, but not his soul’s! He remembered Seethe’s letter
to Hoovayya which had fallen into his hands. Pictures of Hoovayya’s
meditative, benign nature and the nobility of his friendship were uppermost in
his mind. The memory of Krishnappa’s death came to him and he was
frightened. The idea of marriage suddenly became abhorrent. He felt as if he
was participating in a cruel ritual. Everyone including the mantra-chanting
Joisa, his loud-mouthed father, Seethe’s parents who stood there ready to give
away the bride, the milling crowd of men and women around who cut off the
air, and everything else like the mantapa, the pandal, the lights and the noise
seemed utterly disgusting and Ramayya was filled with hatred. He felt that he
had been trampled in a stampede of difficulties and suffering. He was sure
that he was being crushed and that he would choke to death. Hoovayya’s
memory came to him like a breeze as he floundered choking in water. The
thought of Hoovayya being there had not occurred to him before, but now he
looked around. People, people and more people! Surely Hoovayya wouldn’t
be among them! Instead of Hoovayya what he saw was a roaring fire outside
the house rising to the sky!
‘Fire! Fire!’ shouted the crowd as they surged forward in terror.
Shyammayya Gowda who was ready to give away the bride tried to rush
towards the fire. (Wasn’t it more urgent to save the house than to give away
the bride?) How could he remember at that moment that the pallu of his dhoti
had been tied to the seragu of his wife’s saree? If there weren’t people around,
Gowramma was in danger of falling down. Someone untied the knot.
Forgetting his paunch, Shyammayya Gowda rushed out, calling his guests and
servants to follow him. Chandrayya Gowda instructed the Joisa to go ahead
with the ceremony and rushed out calling for the overseer out of habit. He
didn’t know that the overseer had already reached the spot.
One of the stacks of dry grass on the threshing floor which was close to the
house had caught fire. Growing more and more fierce every moment, it raged
demonically, red flames glowing in the dark and leaping up to lick the sky
before swallowing it. They lit up even the distant trees so that they cast
dancing shadows. Bits of burning grass were flying about in the wind that
began to blow. It was a strange and compelling sight, as people called one
another, shouted, rushed about and cried.
The more adventurous among them filled pots with the water that had been
stored in cauldrons and other huge containers and tried to put out the fire. Yet
others drew water from the well and filled up the containers. Some others,
armed with leafy branches, stood there to stop the fire from spreading to the
neighbouring stacks of grass. Some chopped off the banana plants to throw
them at the fire. But the flames, now swaying in a primordial dance, were not
willing to yield an inch. The flames from the first stack stretched their red,
long tongues to lick the stack beside it. The efforts of the people were
frustrated when it caught fire and spread to another a little later.
Shyammayya Gowda folded his hands in prayer and beat his chest. ‘Save
my household. Please. Everything is gone, oh God!’ His prayers were
addressed in turn to the people around, the Fire-God and the spirits and
demons. Seeing the Gowda’s plight, people were moved to redouble their
efforts to ensure that the fire didn’t spread to the remaining stacks of grass,
even as they perspired freely in the unbearable heat.
Some thought of the possible danger to the cattle in the shed and rushed
into the shed to cut the halters round their necks and set them free. This added
to the pandemonium as the cattle rushed into the crowd.
Meanwhile, inside the house, Venkappa Joisa was moving briskly in order
to ensure that nothing came in the way of the auspicious act of tying the knot.
He rushed through his mantras which he had heavily edited. Handing over the
sanctified thali to Ramayya, he asked him to tie it round Seethe’s neck.
Ramayya desired nothing less at that terrible moment. It had appeared to him
that the wedding mantapa had been built on a funeral pyre. Venkappa Joisa,
he thought, was the headman of a gang of spirits. There were no men around
as they had all rushed to the scene of fire outside. There were a few women
standing by, not knowing what else they could be doing. Seethe’s bejewelled
body was propped up by a few hands.
 ‘Come on, tie the knot!’ shouted the Joisa. He couldn’t help shouting in all
that hubbub.
Like one in a trance, incapable of thinking but acting obediently to the
dictates of a hypnotist, Ramayya was about to raise his hands to tie the thali
round Seethe’s neck. It was at that moment that there was a loud explosion
outside leaving the house shaking. Blood curdled as people screamed. The
sanctified thali in Ramayya’s hands trembled and slipped out of his hands.
Suddenly, Ramayya broke down like a child and sobbed. The Joisa, still
chanting his mantras, was furious. He picked up the thali that lay on the
ground, touched Ramayya’s hands with it and tied it himself round Seethe’s
neck!
It was a moot question whether Venkappayya had sanctified the wedding or
not as some men brought the burnt body of Shyammayya Gowda into the
house.
 59
The Beauty of Sunrise on the Mountain Top

O N THE NIGHT of the wedding and the raging fire in Mutthalli, Hoovayya’s
mind was anguished. None of his efforts at seeking peace with Chandrayya
Gowda had been successful. The thought that Seethe’s wedding—the
annihilation of her life—was taking place in Mutthalli had shaken him badly.
He tried to sleep, but found it impossible. He was tired with turning over in
bed. Suddenly, he felt like going to Mutthalli that very moment. Why? How
could he show his face there? And to whom? Wasn’t it shameful? All that
was true, of course! But he did want to go.
Even as he was deciding that he would go, he was surprised by the deep
sleep which seemed to overcome him. It felt as if some power was holding
him back by force in the guise of sleep. Helpless, he lay down and slept.
All of a sudden, he sat up startled on hearing a hue and cry. All sleep left
him and he was fully awake. He could see the bawling crowd of people and
the terrifying scene of the haystacks blazing in the darkness. ‘Mutthalli!’ He
exclaimed loudly. Everything was clear. It certainly wasn’t a dream. For a
minute or two, it was as if a window had been opened in a magical tunnel
which had been drilled through time and space to connect Kelakanooru with
Mutthalli.
By the time he stood up, the scene had disappeared and the room was in
total darkness. Stunned by the wonder, he sat on the bed again and pondered
over what he had seen. It didn’t appear real! It definitely wasn’t a dream! He
couldn’t give it any other name either. He had never had such an experience
before. The previous year, on his way from Mysore, the cart had tumbled over
and he had had to rest in Mutthalli. He had dreamt of meeting his mother on
the banks of Kukkanahalli tank and her forehead had been injured and
bandaged. He was amazed when his mother came to Mutthalli the next day
and she had indeed hurt her forehead. Such dreams corroborated later by real
happenings had occurred quite frequently. But he had considered them to be
nothing more than coincidences and hadn’t bothered much about them. The
experience he had that night was however very strange.
 The great shrine of Hoovayya’s soul had opened new windows and doors.
But his wakeful mind had not taken cognisance of it. It would do so later.
Every time a new window or door opened, there would be a sense of wonder.
Hoovayya lay in bed until dawn. Waiting eagerly for dawn to break, he
woke much before the clock struck five and gave a list, to Puttanna of the
duties for the labourers. He went for his morning journey into the hills and
forests carrying a gun, not to hunt, but feeling that it would be safer to do so
when moving about in the wilderness. The dogs followed him. In a bush
nearby, a handa bird was whistling. In the east, the line of the horizon above
the hills and forests wasn’t distinct in the sky. Breathing with relish the cold
air at the hour of dawn, Hoovayya and the dogs went into the woods.
What change was taking place in Hoovayya? What were the reasons? Were
they occurring all of a sudden? Or were they evolving gradually to emerge?
Man’s subconscious is deep and vast like the sea. It can be said that what
happens there is invisible. As a result of what goes on inside the sea, islands
emerge and sink suddenly. Water invades the land or the earth seemingly
pushes through the water and it draws back. The banks collapse and land is
washed away. Or, the strange, grotesque, terrifying creatures which live at the
bottom of the sea with all its priceless gems, jump out to fall on the bank. To
those that stand apart and watch, these occurrences look like accidental
happenings, upheavals or marvels. But for the scientists who know the depths
of both earth and sea, these occurrences are neither marvels nor accidents.
Nor are they upheavals. They are the peaks of some natural events that took
place as nature evolved at various times and in different lands. Similarly,
many invisible events took place within the mysterious recesses of
Hoovayya’s subconscious. When they came to light, he was himself wonder-
struck.
The disappointment he had felt with regard to Seethe was indeed very
painful. He had drawn sustenance from his nearness to great people’s world
of ideas, the culture of learning, self-control, his intense desire for perpetual
progress, his capacity for suffering, the knowledge of great literature, prayer
and meditation. But for such support his personality would have ended up
grotesque, like a shattered idol. His soul, instead of becoming whole,
meaningful and happy, would have cracked, broken into fragments and
become meaningless and sorrowful. If one looked at Seethe trapped in the
jaws of despair, without any of the help and opportunity that Hoovayya had,
springing cracks day by day and turning ugly after having been torn apart, the
words and feelings expressed about Hoovayya take on some significance.
Even Ramayya’s disjointed mind becomes a meaningful entity in a grotesque
way. It wasn’t just disappointment in his case but also greed, fickleness and
weak-mindedness.
Of late, Hoovayya was getting more and more immersed in the fulfilment
of his own self. In addition to the devotion with which he attended to
domestic duties, he was enhancing his culture of learning, refining his
sensibilities and working towards achieving self-fulfilment with great
earnestness. Just the other day, in the cart that had taken areca nuts to
Shimoga, a box full of new books had come to him. Since the previous
month, every night, he had started reading aloud the Ramayana,
Mahabharatha and other literary works to Nagamma, Puttanna and Soma and
offering a simple commentary as he read the text. People from Kanooru and
the nearby villages also came to listen. Singappa Gowda and his family had
come along a couple of times just to listen to the story. Quite a few would
have liked to come but stayed away because of their doubts about Hoovayya’s
religious beliefs. When he learnt about Hoovayya’s new vocation, Venkappa
Joisa was reported to have said, ‘All those who listen to a cow-killer talking
about hallowed epics are sure to end up in hell!’ Though Chandrayya Gowda
had laid down a strict rule that none of his people should go to Kelakanooru,
the labourers from the overseer’s Kannada district and some of the Belas
would steal down without his knowledge and go back elated after listening to
Hoovayya’s narration. Hoovayya would bring in ideas regarding the
upliftment of society and add a few words of humour so that everyone would
understand. Thus Hoovayya’s soul though disappointed in love, had started
on an adventurous journey along various paths of action. His disappointment
gradually turned into the camphor that nurtured the great fragrant flame of his
soul’s mangalarathi.
The forests in the spring season; mountain ranges; dawn; the pleasant
atmosphere and the deep silence of the forest about to break into a choral
song of a thousand birds like stars bursting out of the sky. Amidst these,
Hoovayya would think of his experience of the night before and become
thoughtful. Then he would suddenly break out of it and savour the beauty of
nature, breathing deeply, filling his lungs to go briskly up the hill. The forest
would slowly emerge from darkness. The sky would gradually get lighter. All
the stars of ordinary brilliance would go into hiding and only those that
belonged to the first order—the Saptamhi Mandala, Swathi and Chitra—and
some from the second order would be shining still.
The kajana bird sang sweetly enough to pluck at the heartstrings of the
forest. Hundreds and thousands of bees drinking nectar from the flowers on
the trees hummed in unison. The common call of the town cockerels along
with the calls of wild fowl could be heard. Hoovayya’s heart was moved by
joy. New energy ran through his heart like lightning. It was as if the fire of
spring’s madness had touched his soul. Scared of his impoverishment when
the richness of dawn and sunrise would vanish, he walked quickly to the rock
dais at the summit of the hill and stood there panting, gazing blissfully
around.
Miles and miles away, broad and infinite with the scenery rising toward the
east where the hills and forests, each greater than the other, seemed to end,
jagged lines of the horizon slowly appeared against the sky which was
radiantly yellow as if turmeric powder had been thrown on it. Accepting
gratefully the eternal invitation of this overwhelming spectacle, Hoovayya’s
soul spread its wings to take flight. He felt that his countenance had itself
become the east. He left the gun behind and sat down unblinking and with his
legs crossed on the rocks.
A procession of colours beggaring all description set out in pageantry.
Hoovayya’s eyes filled with tears when God’s beauty, hitherto realized only
as feelings, appeared to be taking shape. His heart melted and his body
trembled. As he watched, the yellow light turned into kumkuma and little
clouds shone flaming gold. Darkness hid itself and light spilled over from the
sky to the earth and flowed forth. The water in a tank, invisible until then,
shone like molten silver. In the smoky mist lying lightly around, the nearby
forests and hills appeared a soft and gentle blue.
As Hoovayya looked, the sun’s red disc peeped over the horizon making
his heart jump. It rose higher and higher and became radiant. Long shadows
appeared under the trees nearby. The shadows were much clearer against the
backdrop of mist than they were on the ground. The birds sang maddened
with joy. God, the embodiment of pure bliss, had also become the
embodiment of beauty to flood Hoovayya’s heart.
Hoovayya’s eyes closed by themselves slowly and he was lost in
meditation. It was merely an indescribable and all-encompassing emotion
beyond the confines of thought. The ‘I’ which seemed to be the basis of all
meaning first rolled away from his consciousness and vanished finally. Was
he experiencing bliss or was he bliss himself? What? How? Who knew?
Anyhow, when Hoovayya opened his eyes, his heart aflame still from its
immersion in the fiery waters of his trance, the sun had left the horizon far
behind. He felt as if the whole world was replete with peace, beauty and
happiness, friendliness and love. There was a smile on his face. His legs were
stiff. He stood up and stretched and saw the dogs sitting quietly as if they had
been under the spell of the unfolding grandeur. He patted them gratefully on
the head, hoisted the gun on his shoulder and started walking down towards
home. The kajana bird had stopped singing but the kutura, pikalara, uruli,
kamalli and parrots had got together an orchestra in the forests. In the midst of
the forest, a couple of cuckoos were calling to each other. Hoovayya saw a
patch of earth blackened as if ink had been spilt there and instantly
remembered the fiery scene he had witnessed, not in his dream but as reality.
Why were there no bursts of gunpowder from Mutthalli in celebration of
the wedding, he wondered. When he thought of Seethe becoming another
man’s bride and wife, he didn’t feel anguished like the day before. Who could
erase what had been wiled by Fate? Meanwhile, he walked into a spider’s
web which had been woven across, his path from plant to plant. Wherever the
gossamer web touched his face, it went cold and Hoovayya exclaimed with
the force of habit, ‘May everything happen for the best,’ as he wiped his face
clean. He later laughed at his superstitious behaviour.
Hoovayya had hardly entered the courtyard when Soma came from inside
the house in a hurry and reported the fire and the disaster the night before, the
danger that Shyamayya Gowda was in, the flying sparks that touched off the
bag in which the gunpowder had been stored and the death of two people. He
described everything over and over again. Nagamma, Puttanna and the
labourers, gripped by fear, listened all over again a second time.
Saying nothing, Hoovayya went to his room and wondered whether he
should go to Mutthalli or not. His mind was divided. It was true that one
should show some concern when relatives were in trouble, but . . .
Hoovayya came out and asked Soma if the bride had been given away
formally.
‘Some say she was! Some say she wasn’t!’ Soma looked at the sky and
raised his hands towards it. ‘God knows!’ he said exhibiting Singappa
Gowda’s tutoring in a manner that would make him proud.
 Hoovayya went in, tore a piece of paper and wrote ‘do’ on one side and
‘don’t’ on the other. He threw it up anxiously and waited for it to come down
dancing in the wind. It fell on the ground with the ‘don’t’ side up.
He didn’t go to Mutthalli.
 60
The Magical Power of the Mind

T HE MORNING AFTER the heart-rending night of hurt, death, wailing, injustice

and evil in Mutthalli was fear-stricken and intensely sad. Though people had
with great effort saved the house from being burnt, all the haystacks on the
threshing floor and the sheds for the carts and the firewood had been
consumed by the fire and turned into a black mess. The sight was one of
despair, like a battlefield where many men had died. The bodies of two of
Shyamayya Gowda’s workers, who had been charred to death when the
gunpowder exploded, had scattered and driven away the wedding guests like
a stone hurled at a flock of crows. What actually drove them away was the
news of the police coming there to investigate and write a report. Chandrayya
Gowda found it difficult to hold back some of the big-turbaned Gowdas who
could act as witnesses and also stand by him in that hour of need. The reason
behind Shyamayya Gowda’s tears was not the pain from the burns he had
suffered. It was the anticipation of all the problems, anguish and cruelty that a
visit by the police would bring in its wake. Seeing him in this condition,
Singappa Gowda tried to reassure him by saying that all of them were with
him and that there was no reason to be scared. His attempt was in vain.
Chandrayya Gowda, on the other hand, was the type to get excited when such
events took place. His mouth would water and he would smack his lips as if
his adventurous spirit had licked at a pickle. Twirling his big moustache he
said, ‘Why should you fear anything, Bhava? There has been no murder! This
is a minor case. Remember that it is possible to get out of the clutches of the
police even when a murder has taken place.’ (In Chandrayya Gowda’s eyes,
the burnt haystacks and the sheds, the death of two workers in the fire and the
fact that the master of the household was close to death from the burns,
amounted to nothing more than a minor case!) He continued after a pinch of
snuff. ‘Don’t I know them, the inspector and the constables? Just grease their
palms and keep them happy! Everything will work out fine.’ He looked at the
Gowdas who had stayed behind out of a sense of obligation though they
would have loved to be away. He was elated at having got an opportunity to
exhibit the power he wielded.
The police arrived from Theerthahalli along with a doctor who would
certainly not stand out in a crowd. He seemed however, to be out of place
amidst the police with their khaki uniforms, leather belts, shining brass
buttons, turbans carrying their numbers, boots which sounded like animal
hooves and the batons stuck in their belts. His mild-mannered approach
contrasted with that of the police who seemed uncouth, cruel and eager to put
fear into the villagers’ hearts. He was like deva among rakshasas. Or as
Singappa Gowda knew from his reading of the Jaimini Bharatha, ‘a cuckoo in
the company of crows!’
Even the cadavers were bored as the seemingly interminable investigation
dragged on! Some of those questioned felt that they would have been better
off dead. Chandrayya Gowda whose nature was almost identical with that of
the police knew their ways and thinking. He took many silent steps to keep
them pleased and managed to see that no charges were levelled against him.
The police had their ‘Bakrid’ festival that day in Mutthalli. Countless
chickens—some of them egg-laying ones—wheat, ghee, milk and sugar were
so generously supplied that even the Kamadhenu and Kalpavriksha were put
to shame. As the dead ones were from Shyamayya Gowda’s labour force and
as all the possible trouble-makers had been taken on as members of the
committee which investigated the event, there were no attempts to lodge any
complaint and muddy the waters.
As a result of the unusual circumstances, there were no processions taken
out with the bride and the groom. Ramayya was unhappy thinking that he was
at the heart of all the troubles that had visited them. He held himself
responsible for the demise of the two workers and for the death of another
being, unknown to the police. He returned to Kanooru the very next day and
thought about what he had to do in the days ahead.
The motive behind Ramayya’s thoughts wasn’t his desire to reform
himself. All that his mind secretly desired was to evade any responsibility for
what had transpired. During the wedding ceremony, when excitement raged
like a fire, when there was no scope for logical thinking, his mind had
naturally turned towards Hoovayya, thanks to the long-standing and
mysterious bond that had existed between them. He had made up his mind to
confess to all the sins he had committed and the evil thoughts which he had
harboured against Hoovayya. He would hand over Seethe’s letter to
Hoovayya and have the courage to announce that he hadn’t after all tied the
marriage knot. It didn’t matter if he acted against his father’s wishes. In
saving Seethe from a life of darkness, he would be saving his own soul . . .
But once he reached home after the wedding and thought anew about things,
his mind went astray. Having crossed the river of fire, he felt somewhat
relieved. His mind was like that of a snake which told itself, ‘I have somehow
managed to swallow a frog. It is true that when it got stuck in my throat I
believed in non-violence being the ultimate dharma. As throwing up the frog
is difficult, it is better that I digest it.’ He desired to have Seethe even if not
necessarily her love, and was like a hunter willing to settle for a dead peacock
if not a live one. Of course, it would have been more profitable if the bird
were alive. Wasn’t it also true that he would be losing nothing if the bird were
dead? Though useless as an object of beauty, it would be a dish that he could
eat. It was not love but passion that characterized his feelings for Seethe. She
wouldn’t be his beloved but would be a feast for his famished senses. He was
like a man swept away in a current and fighting for his life, clinging to a
hungry crocodile thinking that it was life-saving flotsam. Afraid that his
conscience might raise its head and spew venom into his heart, he resorted to
the strategy of self-deception in order to crush it. He fell back on rituals,
worship, sacrifice, consultations with spirits, offerings of fruits and coconuts,
wearing sanctified amulets and handing out charity—noisy practices in which
he had had no faith earlier— in order to drown the small voice of conscience.
As a first step, he tied around his arm the same day an amulet which
Venkappayya had sanctified. The faith of the new convert borders on
fanaticism, doesn’t it? It knows no limits when selfishness joins hands-with
it!
Just like Ramayya who charted a new course though it was a cul-de-sac in
order to wriggle out of a situation which troubled his conscience, Seethe too,
in order to save herself, had thrown a veil of amnesia over the event of her
unfortunate marriage. The amnesia took on different forms depending upon
the situation in which Seethe found herself. On occasion Krishnappa’s ghost
would possess her or she would have a fainting fit or she would be totally out
of touch with reality. Thus she had absolutely no conscious awareness of her
wedding. When she was normal, she would interpret events both past and
present which involved either her body or her situation in terms which
weren’t contrary to her conscious self. She would flare up if anyone corrected
her and hurl unbridled abuses. She would even try to attack them physically
giving those around the impression that her sickness was worsening.
On the day after the wedding-when the police and the doctor were carrying
out their investigations, when Chandrayya Gowda, Singappa Gowda,
Ramayya, Chinnayya, the overseer and Vasu were all involved in looking
after them and when Gowramma and her frightened overnight guests crowded
round doors and windows to take a look, Seethe was in her room talking to
Lakshmi. She was talking about how she had woken up to find herself decked
up like a bride. How could she set her mind at rest unless she spoke about it in
detail? By way of explaining her make-up, she told her sister that she had
gone to witness God’s chariot being pulled by devotees.
Lakshmi was initially confused by her sister’s words. ‘You are right! You
got married last night,’ she blurted out, thereby confirming her sister’s words
and added her amentiment in one breath.
‘Not a wedding, girl, but a festival! You can’t understand what I’m saying,
can you?’ She laughed and gave her sister a fond look.
With no hesitation whatsoever, Lakshmi said, ’That’s what I said too!’
Both felt satisfied by this strange logic which even the clever ones could
not understand.
‘Appayya’s body is burnt all over,’ Lakshmi said, sadness clouding her
face.
‘I know. When all of us had gone to the festival, they got together and beat
him up. He would have died if Hoovayya hadn’t come to his rescue!’
Her mind had converted all those who were inimical to her into the
members of a gang.
Besides the logic of the conscious mind are other logical systems, in
countless forms and with countless faces!
Even though Seethe was sick herself, she insisted on nursing her father and
went about it determinedly. Everyone kept quiet, hoping for some respite
from the non-stop wailing around them. Seethe had rightly assessed the
enormity of the danger she had faced, though her explanation of it was
different in conformity with her thinking. Nor did she take notice of anyone
she disliked in Shyamayya Gowda’s room—Chandrayya Gowda and
Ramayya! There was no trace of the coyness expected in a new bride’s face
and manner. Watching her, Chandrayya Gowda was burning inside. He kept
quiet as this was not the right occasion to exhibit his authority.
 Having watched Seethe all these days ignoring him, not glancing at him
even once, and walking away with her head held high after she had served
food and drink to her sick father, Chandrayya Gowda turned to her one day
during his visit to his brother-in-law and said, ‘Get me a drink of cold water,
Seethe.’ On hearing his voice Seethe stared at him, turning only her head like
a snake whose tail had been stepped on and walked away with obvious
contempt on her face. She didn’t care to bring him water. Chandrayya Gowda
bit his tongue and hissed to himself that he would drive out the ghost in her
once she reached his house.
Yet another rumour spread within a week of the wedding: what had started
the fire among the haystacks were not the fireworks but a conspiracy hatched
by Hoovayya and his gang. It was the overseer who first hinted at it to
Chandrayya Gowda a little before the ceremony of tying the marriage knot.
The overseer had watched Soma whispering to Singappa Gowda before
leaving the place. He hadn’t attached much significance to it at that time.
There were many reasons why the overseer now hated him more than ever
before, since the attempt at stealing the goat. One was because Soma went
around during the wedding in clothes which matched his own and was
addressed as Somayya! Once or twice he had reprimanded those who
addressed Soma thus. ‘Why do you call him that instead of calling him just
Soma? These workers from the Kannada district grow horns, don’t they, when
they come up the Ghats?’ forgetting that his words applied to himself too. His
bloodshot eyes had followed Soma wherever he went and that was how he
had seen Soma’s departure after whispering in Singappa Gowda’s ears. After
a couple of days it occurred to him that what he had seen was of some
significance and use to himself. He spoke to Chandrayya Gowda about his
suspicion. The Gowda spread the rumour of Hoovayya’s involvement in the
fire with great vigour. He was getting his own back for having been talked
about as being involved in the theft of a goat. He twirled his moustache as he
boasted that he would counter injustice with injustice.
No one in Mutthalli—Shyamayya Gowda, Chinnayya and Gowramma
included—paid any attention to the overseer’s words. However Chandrayya
Gowda was not prepared to leave it at that. He challenged every one of the
accused to stand in front of God’s idol, blow out the ghee lamps and swear
that he was innocent.
Singappa Gowda taunted him with his own challenge. ‘Let the Kanooru
Gowda swear that it was indeed his son who tied the thali round the bride’s
neck!’
Even that secret was now out!
Just as the overseer had seen Soma whisper in Singappa Gowda’s ears
before leaving, one or two women who were close to the wedding mantapa
had seen the Joisa tying the knot round Seethe’s neck. At first only the
women talked of it among themselves. When Singappa Gowda came to know
of it from his wife, it was as if he had been given a diamond-studded cap to
wear on his head! He bellowed like a bull, ready for a head-on fight with
Chandrayya Gowda. No hope of anything remaining under wraps when a bull
bellows!
Chandrayya Gowda was ready to swear to this and challenged Singappa
Gowda to do likewise. However, Ramayya in his camp and Soma in the other
were scared and started to weep.
When Venkappa Joisa was consulted he said, ‘Chandrayya, leave
everything to me. Don’t get involved in things like swearing.’
Everyone in either camp realized that he was living in a glass house as
well, and stopped throwing stones. But enough damage had been done by the
stones already thrown.
 61
In a Temple in the Agrahara

Chaitra was over and the first week of Vaishaka had passed. There had been
some rain but the heat of the summer had not lessened at all. In the villages
people were already forecasting certain famine. Since such predictions were
customary every year, no one was foolish enough to believe them and grow
worried. The forecast was just a warning to the God of rain and not a
scientific description of climatic features.
After a couple of spells of sparse rain, the earth’s thirst doubled and the
heat increased. Though the hills were always green with thick forests, there
was no grass on the ground for the cattle. The ribcages of the cattle that were
not milch cows could be seen clearly. The stream had dried up. There was
some water in pits here and there. People resorted to draining the small ones
and poisoning the water in the bigger ones for fish. (Some unripe fruits, bark
and leaves from certain trees were crushed and mixed in the water. The black,
poisonous mixture would kill the fish which would float to the surface.) It
wasn’t easy to get water for the cattle. They had to go up the hills for tank
water.
But the Thunga river flowed right next to the Agrahara and there was no
shortage of water either for the animals or the people there. In front of the
temple, on the banks of the river and right by the steps going down to the
water, was a path formed by the cattle as they too went down to drink.
Though Venkappa Joisa had tried hard to stop the cattle by putting up a fence,
the cattle had not surrendered their right. Eventually the Joisa having to
accept defeat, acquired some merit by allowing the cow goddess the right of
way. He didn’t want the sin of stopping her from drinking water on his head!
It was a Saturday. Around ten in the morning, a herd of cows, oxen, calves
and buffaloes arrived in front of the temple in order to go down to drink. The
words ‘going along’ would be as apt as the word ‘arrived.’ It was so because
the herd was moving but yet not moving. And not just the buffaloes, even the
cows moved so slowly chewing the cud as if by force of habit, that they were
a perfect picture of sloth! Apart from the calves’ calls, the bulls’ snorts and
the buffaloes’ whining, nothing else was audible. Along with the smell of the
herd, the red dust was billowing up in clouds that travelled slowly in the still
air. At some places the clouds were so thick that shadows were etched on the
ground while even the shadows of the cattle seemed to fade.
Having got everything ready, Venkappa Joisa stood leaning against a pillar
in front of the temple, waiting for the carts from Kanooru and Mutthalli. After
the herd moved on and went down, he sighed and looked at the forest beyond
the fields in the north. He discerned some black dots moving against the blue
sky above the forest along with a few white ones. As soon as he saw the
vultures around the corpse of a cow he had received as a gift from Kanooru,
he shivered. ‘Alas! It has happened—a cow has been killed!’ he moaned and
looked into the temple. ‘You alone can save us, Appa!’ he exclaimed, and
folded his hands.
The Joisa had gone to Kanooru a week ago and had accepted a cow and its
calf as a gift in return for his having overcome the adversities facing
Chandrayya Gowda, his son and daughter-in-law. (He had himself suggested
the nature of the gift he should be given!) He had returned after telling them
that they could send the cow and its calf to the Agrahara the next day. The
cow didn’t arrive. The Joisa kept quiet thinking it might come the following
day. But it hadn’t arrived until the afternoon and so he decided to go to
Kanooru himself and inquire. The cow would not leave Kanooru, however
hard the workers tried. It just squatted on the ground and refused to get up
even after all their thrashing and pulling. The overseer described these
attempts and that put fear into Venkappayya’s heart.
‘Swami, I was fed up with twisting its tail over and over again! Even when
the tail seemed to be snapping, it wouldn’t get up. I think there’s some evil
spirit at work here,’ said Halepaikada Thimma.
They tried but failed to transport the cow even with the help of the Joisa.
Dragging and beating it, twisting its tail, rubbing its eyes with jeera and
chillies didn’t work. Watching this Venkappayya said, ‘It doesn’t matter!
Don’t beat her to death.’ As he was going back, the Gowda said, ‘I shall put
her in the cart and send her tomorrow. You may go back today.’
The next day a cart without an arch came and stood before Venkappayya’s
house in the Agrahara. They had brought the cow in it, legs trussed up. Its
lovely young calf lay in a corner and was crying in hunger. In the cart were
the overseer, Halepaikada Thimma, Belara Sidda and two other workers from
the Ghats.
Ninga stopped the cart and took the yoke off the bullocks’ necks.
 The Brahmin men, women and children in the small Agrahara gathered,
having come one by one to see the cow and the calf which had been gifted to
the Joisa.
A worker brought the calf down. The overseer untied the cow’s legs so that
it could stretch them. But the legs didn’t come apart. He looked at the cow
with some trepidation. Its stomach had distended and its eyes were crossed. It
was not breathing. The mother of the young calf was dead.
The old Brahmin of the Agrahara, Manju Bhatta, who had seen the cow
with its legs tied up, came running. There was remorse in his voice as he
exclaimed, ‘Stupid sons of bitches, does anyone bring a cow in a cart like
this? Ayyayyo . . .! There has been cow slaughter in our Agahara!’ ‘No,
Ayya. It must have died on the way,’ said Sidda in an attempt to remove the
fear in Bhatta’s heart.
‘You wretch! Don’t speak to me anymore!’ cried Manju Bhatta in anger
and sorrow.
‘I did say that we shouldn’t keep the cow like this with its legs trussed up.
But the overseer wouldn’t listen to me,’ said Thimma looking at the overseer.
Shifting the blame from one to the other, they gave the young calf to the
Joisa, and, threw the carcass of the cow beyond the fields. The overseer went
back to Kanooru spreading the news along the way.
There wasn’t a single soul in the Agrahara that didn’t shed a tear for the
orphaned calf.
It was the memory of all that had happened that made the Joisa turn to the
idol and fold his hands in supplication.
He went into the temple, pulled the burning wick forward in the lamp,
came out again and looked towards the road. Benumbed by the heat of the
day, a repulsive-looking dog limped along over its own shadow on the ground
with its tongue hanging out, stopped in the middle of the road and looked
around. It then scratched the skin behind its left ear with its hind leg, while its
two rows of teeth grated against each other noisily. The dog would have
carried on but for the fact that someone in the neighbouring house threw out a
leaf on which a meal had been served. It moved with alacrity like an inert
lump of gunpowder suddenly coming to life and exploding when touched by a
spark. In the wink of an eye, the dog had disappeared and only the sound of
fighting on the battlefield of meal-leaves could be heard.
After the Joisa grew tired of his waiting and went inside, two carts stopped
before the house. The Joisa not wanting to exhibit his excitement didn’t go
out until Chandrayya Gowda’s familiar voice called him.
‘Why were you so late in coming?’ he asked.
The men folded their hands in respect and the women wearing expensive
sarees were busy straightening out the pleats that had been crumpled in the
cart.
‘We couldn’t help it. It was late when we set out. She gave us a lot of
trouble saying she wouldn’t come,’ said Shyamayya Gowda looking at Seethe
who was among the women.
Venkappayya who was looking at the burn marks on Shyamayya Gowda’s
face turned towards the women and spoke to Seethe. ‘By the grace of Lord
Chandramouleshwara, everything will be fine. Ask them to come in,’ he said.
The temple was quiet. It was a little dark inside. The light of the oil lamps
in the sparkling brass lamp-stands was cool and pleasant in contrast to the
burning desert sun outside. The fragrance of flowers, sandalwood and
camphor was omnipresent like the grace of God.
Shyamayya Gowda took off his turban and jacket, put them away and
stretched his corpulent body slowly flat across the floor in salutation,
Chandrayya Gowda, Chinnayya and Ramayya after him did likewise. The
group of women—Gowramma, Seethe, Lakshmi, Puttamma and two others—
standing at a distance from the men, just folded their hands without
prostrating. Vasu, staring at the idol and its adornments without blinking,
didn’t notice the others prostrating.
‘Did you fall at the God’s feet?’ asked Chandrayya Gowda.
‘What?’ asked Vasu, as if he had just woken up.
‘Did you fall at God’s feet, I asked,’ Chandrayya Gowda whispered and
glared at him.
No one talked aloud in the temple.
Vasu glanced at Ramayya once and did as he was told.
The Joisa asked everyone to sit down and started preparing for the puja. No
one spoke and the temple was absolutely quiet. The priest’s chanting of
mantras made it more so. Apart from Lakshmi and Vasu, everyone else was
immersed in his own thoughts. There was more fear, submission and a desire
to escape from difficulties in that silence than piety.
That was why when a gecko clicked its tongue, everyone looked up,
startled.
Lakshmi was bored sitting among the women and slowly crawled towards
Vasu. He had already asked her to stay quiet, gesticulating with his eyes. Yet
Lakshmi asked him something in a low voice. Vasu leaned towards her, put
his ear close to her lips and listened intently. It was her warm breath rather
than her words that touched his ear and he couldn’t decipher anything.
‘Quiet! Appayya will scold you!’ he warned.
Lakshmi raised herself, squatting on her knees and whispered to him, ‘Will
they give us the bananas?’
Lakshmi felt that Vasu had needlessly grown very tall. Even though she
was kneeling, Vasu’s ears were beyond the reach of her lips!
But Vasu had heard her question.
‘Yes, of course!’ he said. He looked up at his father with fear and sat
looking at the idol.
Lakshmi whispered again. ‘Is God a woman?’
‘No, it’s a man!’
‘No, it’s a woman!’ said Lakshmi, a little angry.
‘How can God ever be a woman?’ Vasu whispered back equally angry.
As soon as the bells for the puja began to ring, everyone stood up, their
clothes rustling. In between the sound of the bells could be heard the tinkling
of jewels and bangles. Vasu got up and so did Lakshmi holding on to him.
When the puja was over and the prasada was being distributed,
Venkapayya stopped chanting and spoke about rituals, God, dharma, marriage
rites, and a good wife’s duties, the husband being her God and so on.
Venkappayya Joisa who had appeared to be ignorant and obsessed with
conventions a year ago now seemed intelligent, scholarly and righteous to
Ramayya. That was because everyone had realized that even when the Joisa
seemed to be looking at the others, his advice was directed at Seethe.
Moreover, the advice was beneficial to Ramayya too! It seemed to argue in
favour of his rights without mentioning his duties!
In the middle of all this something regrettable though funny happened. The
Joisa distributed the panchamrita after the flowers, sandal paste and theertha
had been offered. But he handed out just a little of it like everything else!
Lakshmi who was beside Vasu did exactly what he did. She stuck the flower
in her hair. (Vasu had just then discovered the secret utility of the tuft which
had recently sprouted on Ramannayya’s head.) She smeared the sandalwood
paste on her forehead, drank the theertha noisily and put the panchamrita into
her mouth. Her eyes widened immediately with pleasure. How sweet! There
was nothing better than God’s prasada. Thank heavens it wasn’t too late!
 Lakshmi stretched her arms out at once and anxious that Venkappayya who
was up above might not hear her, lisped loudly, ‘May I have a little more?’
‘Who’s that?’ roared Chandrayya Gowda.
‘This girl . . .’ Gowramma started.
‘Be quiet!’ ordered Chinnayya.
With everyone staring and reprimanding her, Lakshmi was insulted and
distressed. She darted behind Seethe and hid herself clutching her sister
tightly. Seethe so far silent, burst out laughing. As if Seethe had given them a
sign, Vasu too started to laugh, unable to control himself, with the sound of
new cloth being ripped. The situation was truly comical. But none of the
elders laughed. Clenching his teeth Chandrayya Gowda thumped Vasu on the
head and scared him. Vasu kept quiet rubbing his head.
Chandrayya Gowda presumed that the reason for a bride like Seethe to
laugh as she did before God and the gathering of men, and immodestly, could
only be Krishnappa’s ghost. The Joisa whose thoughts ran along similar lines
addressed Krishnappa’s ghost. ‘Don’t touch a woman who is not your . . .
You will end up in hell, if you act like this before Chandramouleshwara. Tell
me what you want. I shall see that you get it. Why do you bother the poor girl
like this? If our gentle words fail to drive you out, we will be forced to take
sterner measures . . .’ he droned on in a tone of authority. He then turned to
Chandrayya Gowda and asked, ‘Don’t you agree, Chandrayya?’
‘If you keep pestering us like this over and over again, we will have to
mete out some very severe punishment,’ Chandrayya Gowda said in support
of Venkappayya and glared at Seethe.
As soon as he finished, Vasu, unable to control his laughter no matter how
hard he tried, burst out laughing. Lakshmi’s lisping for more prasada was still
tickling him.
Chandrayya Gowda was furious. He twisted Vasu’s ears and hit him on the
back. ‘You are a nuisance indeed! Just wait! I shall drive you out to
Theerthahalli for your schooling!’ he said and pushed the boy out of the
temple. Vasu went out crying.
Although the Joisa kept saying ‘No, no,’ he said to himself that boys would
be spoilt if they were not punished.
After the puja everyone went to the priest’s house for lunch as had been
agreed on earlier.
According to convention the Shudra guests were served food on the lower
verandah. The food was delicious. Huggi, payasa, holige and other such
special dishes were served generously to their heart’s content. Even though
Vasu’s eyes were streaming with tears, his mouth didn’t fall behind in
watering. Even as he cried, he ate swiftly. Most of the men had their fill. But
the women who sat with men in the house of the Brahmins could not eat as
well because of their modesty and inhibition. Merely sitting down to a meal
with their men was a military drill for them. Although the wife of Venkappa
Joisa served them with great hospitality, a feeling of being different arose in
Gowramma’s heart. She ate without lifting her head even though she was the
mother of three.
As they sat talking Shyamayya Gowda asked the Joisa why the other
Brahmins in the village hadn’t turned up for the puja.
‘Manju Bhatta has hurt his leg and it is swollen. Singa Joisa had a bout of
diarrhoea and is very weak . . .’ he replied, but didn’t disclose the truth. After
the news that Venkappayya Joisa had tied the thali round the neck of a Shudra
girl at the wedding in Mutthalli, the Brahmins of the Agrahara had distanced
themselves from him. Quite a few had been envious of him for a very long
time because he seldom gave the others a chance to perform as priests, fixing
auspicious times, reading their future, driving away spirits, tying sanctified
amulets to ward off evil and such other religious rites. After he had tied the
thali round a Shudra girl’s neck and had been responsible for the death of a
cow given to him as a gift, he had been ostracized. Although he had told them
that he had merely picked up the thali from the floor and had had the
bridegroom tie it, it was fruitless. Ramabhatta was the leader of the
opposition: seizing the opportunity’ which came his way, he was trying to
build a new Shudra clientele by developing a familiarity with Singappa
Gowda.
Venkappayya was hesitant about revealing all this since there were many
people present. The other reason was Seethe’s proximity. What if she were to
tell the truth! Her insanity was pregnant with meaning for him.
He began to talk instead about setting off on a pilgrimage. He had already
suggested a journey to Dharmasthala in order to free the Mutthalli and
Kanooru families from the evil power of Saturn. Shyamayya Gowda and
Chandrayya Gowda had welcomed his suggestion.
When would they go? Who would go? What should be done in each holy
place? They talked about this after lunch as they chewed on betel leaves until
they left.
 Since it was necessary to return before the rains started, it was decided for
the time being that only Shyamayya Gowda and Gowramma would go from
Mutthalli and Chandrayya Gowda, Ramayya and Seethe (She now belonged
to the Kanooru family, of course!) from Kanooru.
After giving the Joisa money for the services rendered, Chandrayya Gowda
called Vasu as he was getting into the cart. Forgetting the artificial differences
between Brahmins and Shudras, Vasu had been frolicking with the Joisa’s
children under the jackfruit tree with the playfulness natural to childhood. He
picked Lakshmi up and came away quickly in response to his father’s call.
The Joisa’s children also came with him and stood near the cart, watching.
Looking at Lakshmi’s dress covered in dust, Seethe shook it out and asked,
‘What’s this? You are covered in dust!’
Vasu who had climbed the cart suddenly remembered something. Mutthalli
Nanja had already got the bullocks ready and was eager to jump on to the
driver’s seat.
‘Little Joisa, sir, please come here!’ Vasu called the boy who was as old as
himself. He whispered something in his ear so that the men in the Kanooru
cart couldn’t hear.
The little Bhatta ran to the foot of the jackfruit tree, came back and gave
Vasu a small, smooth black stone. It was something that the boy had found in
the sand by the river and kept with him for many days. It was a token of his
friendship for Vasu.
 62
In an Arena of Cockfights

Two weeks had passed since the carts from Kanooru and Mutthalli had left
on pilgrimage to Dharmasthala. There had been one or two rains and so the
weather was cool. Water, stagnant till then, had begun to flow. Blades of
grass could be seen sprouting on the ground. The farmers had already
ploughed the fields, sown seeds and erected fences around them. Rangappa
Shetty, the overseer in Kanooru, had done a good job, getting the labourers to
do everything according to the instructions Chandrayya Gowda gave before
setting out on the pilgrimage. The overseer deluded himself by believing that
he was the master of the house in Kanooru as Chandrayya Gowda, Ramayya
and even Vasu were away and so took great interest in getting the work done
without a hitch.
Not that he had given up his interest in a life of pleasure. Ever since the
Gowda had left on his pilgrimage, Gange had joined hands with the overseer
in converting the house in Kanooru into a garden of debauchery! There was a
feast every day with a dish for which a chicken was killed. Five or six
coconuts, sometimes more, were used to prepare the chicken dish as was the
practice in the Kannada district. Halepaikada Thimma and some of the
important workers under the overseer would partake of such feasts. Thimma
did all that he could to provide toddy for the evenings. Supplies of illicit
liquor came from other toddy shops as well. The overseer in addition to
selling wheat and areca nuts to the shop owners from Kerala on the sly for his
indulgence, collected cash from the others. On many a night, the inebriated
gathering would lose itself in playing on the drums, storytelling, yakshagana
and card games.
Hoovayya contacted Mutthalli on hearing about all these goings-on from
Soma. When Chinnayya (Chinnayya and Puttamma hadn’t gone on
pilgrimage) came to his father-in-law’s place and inquired, the overseer was
ready with his lies and denied the whole thing. Saying that he was going back
home, Chinnayya went to stay in Kelakanooru and came back to Kanooru,
accompanied by Hoovayya, Puttanna and Soma. What he saw there was
utterly disgusting. Let alone the men, even Gange was in a state that no eye
could stand. Not one of the people there was sober. Some couldn’t even
recognize the visitors. A couple of them started giggling at the sight of
Chinnayya and Hoovayya for no apparent reason. When one of them walking
unsteadily tried to hug Hoovayya, Soma pushed him away and he fell down
with a strange cry. The half-naked and red-eyed overseer was past caring for
either Chinnayya or Hoovayya and was ready to pounce on them. Hoovayya
pacified Chinnayya and pulled him back. When the overseer fell at
Chinnayya’s feet the next morning and asked for forgiveness, Chinnayya
warned him against repeating such indiscretions and went back to Mutthalli.
But the overseer did not put an end to his pleasurable activities. Even
though he did desire to curtail his indulgence in them, Gange didn’t let him.
Of late she wasn’t what she had been earlier just a woman of sinful ways. She
had changed into a rakshasi in whose heart burnt a fire of unquenchable desire
. . .
It was a Saturday, towards evening, a fortnight after the Gowda had left on
his pilgrimage. A small-sized field in the middle of the forest and near the
toddy shop was a smiling green, bathed in the recent rain. The forest had cast
a shadow over the field though it was not even four o’ clock. The sunbeams
peeped through the chinks among the trees and fell on the fresh green making
it a lovely sight. Silence reigned over the place except for the calls of one or
two pikalara birds.
The field had been named ’The cockfight arena’. It had been for a long
time the stage for cockfights and gambling. Just as the royalty and the rich in
big cities arrange horse races, overseers bringing workers from below the
Ghats would customarily set up cockfights. The field was close to the toddy
shop and also a secret rendezvous by virtue of being in the thick of the forest;
it was easy to make one’s escape if ever the black-capped police raided the
place. In short, it was an ideal place to set up cockfights.
People came in ones and twos at about four o’ clock and engaged
themselves in small talk. The owner of the toddy shop set up as always a bar
on an elevated patch under a tree. Toddy, arrack and rice-beer were available
there along with channa, puris, jaggery, tobacco, betel leaves, beedis,
matches, bananas, boiled eggs, fish, spiced pieces of meat and packs of cards
— things that both gamblers and visitors were likely to need. He would charm
his customers with his sweet talk, smile and make inquiries about their crops
and the well-being of their kith and kin, dogs and fowl. He sat there patiently
waiting like a fisherman who had cast his net.
Within about half an hour, the field was no longer silent but resounded with
human voices. The overseer’s man came from Mutthalli with a cap fashioned
from an areca palm on his head, extended burn-marks on his uncovered
stomach from all the branding with turmeric he had suffered in childhood, his
dhoti tied round his waist in a triangle, his sanctified silver thread and a strip
of a blanket round his leg. He had the air of a man who knew his status in that
company as he came there talking loudly and accompanied by a couple of
men carrying the cocks for the fight. There was a wound on his fleshy, hair-
covered calf over which was smeared a black ointment made by grinding
coal. He went straight to the place where the cocks had been tied to the
bushes and stopped in front of each bird, assessing it. He was a deft hand at
pairing cocks and his judgement carried weight. That was why all those who
had brought their cocks, with some among them obviously better dressed than
him, followed him along with their men, wanting perhaps to keep him in good
humour. He had the air of one who cast pearls before swine as he expressed
his invaluable opinion. Some of the cocks had won many fights and so bore
the names of mythological heroes like Abhimanyu, Kama and Arjuna. The
overseer’s man moved along, running his hand over the birds, praising and
encouraging them as they stood there, handsome and haughty, looking at their
human interviewers with a strange air of self-assurance.
Within the next half-hour the crowd had grown to nearly two hundred and
there were twenty or thirty pairs of cocks. Around half the men had come
there specifically to gamble at cards. There were many who had not brought
their own cocks but had come there to bet on the birds they fancied as
winners, very much like punters at a horse race.
The cockfights had not yet started even though there were so many people
and it was after five o’ clock. Everyone was waiting for someone’s arrival.
Though the overseers in Mutthalli and Seethemane were there, the cockfights
couldn’t take off in the absence of their counterpart from Kanooru, Rangappa
Shetty. He was not only the overseer of his workers but also the leader of the
other overseers.
The man from Mutthalli said to his overseer, ‘Why are we wasting time
like this? Come on, Ayya, let’s start the fights!’
But the Mutthalli overseer didn’t dare to start the fight without the Kanooru
overseer.
 The business at the toddy shop was shooting up like a delirious fever.
The field was full of people, their voices and smells—of betel leaf and nuts,
of beedi smoke, roasted dry fish and of toddy. And the noise! Of cocks
crowing, wings flapping and men swearing obscenely.
‘He is here! He has come!’
‘Walks in like a king!’
‘No wonder! He has seized Chandrayya Gowda’s throne!’
‘It’s what Fate has willed!’
The entire assembly turned to one direction even as various comments were
voiced. Rangappa Shetty the overseer walked in briskly as if he was
apologizing for being late.
But there was no sign of hurry on his buck-toothed face. Instead were
etched on it an air of self-satisfaction, haughtiness and pride about being such
an important person. Not bad at all, so many people had waited so long for his
arrival—he was pleased with the thought of his station in life! A red piece of
cloth wound round his head, shining big studs in his ears, flowers in his hair,
an ordinary thin moustache though he twirled it now and then, shaven, sunken
cheeks, a weak chin which spoke of his not being either a resolute man or a
man of action, a black jacket, a dhoti which didn’t reach down to his ankle, an
anklet round one leg, slippers which made a creaking noise announcing his
presence and a silver walking stick in his hand—everything spoke
unambiguously of an uncultured man trying to imitate the ways of the
cultured ones. Yet everyone there thought of him as an ideal.
He arrived with his followers behind him—his man for the cockfights,
bonded workers and freelance ones like Halepaikada Thimma. Thimma
carried a small-sized fighting cock under his arm. There were a couple of big
cocks carried by the workers. As the overseer’s group walked on among the
trees, the blood-red combs of the cocks caught the rays of the evening sun and
looked redder than the overseer’s headgear.
Though the overseer was usually cheerful on the days of the cockfights, he
seemed to be particularly so on that day. Like a woman, he had abundant hair
on his head. There was on his flat and newly-shaven face a shine as in the
eyes of a dog wagging its tail seeing his master come with a pot of palav for
him. It was a reflection of the thoughts of debauchery in his head.
The cockfight was one of Rangappa Shetty’s passions, though he had come
there that day much against his will. The reason was that his favourite fish
was nibbling at the bait he had thrown into the water. The cork that was
fastened to the bait’s noose was dancing on the surface of the water. He just
had to pull the fishing rod and there, on the bank, would be the fish! He had
given up angling at that precise moment and come to the cockfight. His
distracted mind was wanting to go back. However once he came to the field
and savoured the excitement, people’s praise, condemnation and laughter,
saw the flock of cocks, the subservience of the overseers from Mutthalli and
Seethemane, the victory and gains that would be his in the future and smelt
the toddy, the thought of Subbamma, who had come with her mother from
Nelluhalli that afternoon, slipped out of his mind for a moment.
‘What are we waiting for? Shouldn’t we be starting?’ Mutthalli’s man
asked and Rangappa Shetty replied, ‘Let’s get on with it, man. Shall we?’ He
ran his hand over his moustache, giving them the signal to start.
Experts like the man from Mutthalli started pairing the cocks. Tulu words
fell like relentless rain as they argued. ‘This white cock is no match for that
red one as its leg is longer.’ ‘That cock and this one of a different colour can’t
be matched according to the almanac.’ (There were Shudra astrologers in the
crowd who would look at the almanac when the cocks were let into the pit
and decide whether the moment was auspicious or inauspicious. They would
also forecast when the cock of a particular colour would defeat the other of a
different colour.) ‘This one has won four fights! And that one has come out of
the pen only today!’ It was the signal for arguments and differences of
opinion to begin. Everyone was interested in matching his cock against
another so that his bird would win. The reason lay in the rule that the owner
of the winning cock would get the loser, if it ran away or died in the fight.
That was why every gambler there was eager to spare himself the humiliation
of his cock’s defeat and loss and enjoy the glory and profit that would be his,
if his cock were to win. Besides the price of a cock would promptly go up if it
won a couple of fights. That was why professional gamblers kept cocks and
trained them to fight. There was also the possibility of an owner ending up
winning thirty or forty birds, thanks to his fighter-cock! They would also win
titles such as Arjuna, Kama and Abimanyu. How proud would be the owner
of a bird with such a tide, and that, when side bets amounting to hundreds of
rupees were placed on it!
The cocks were paired as soon as possible. The owners started fastening
blades to the bird’s legs, blades which were two inches long, a quarter inch
wide, sharper than the razor used for shaving, and bright.
 The fights started in seven or eight pits. The owners and onlookers stood in
a circle round each pit and side bets were taken.
There was a large crowd round the pit over which the overseer from
Kanooru presided. The attraction was the large bets he would place on the
birds. Moreover, only cocks of proven valour would fight in that pit.
Two men who had fastened blades to their cocks’ legs got into the pit, each
holding his bird tight against his chest with both hands. There was obvious
belligerence in their eyes as each one looked at the other’s face. One was
cross-eyed with a thin face from which a dust-red moustache hung right down
to the chin. The other one had a dark pock-marked face with a sparse
moustache. His eyes were red and glazed from drink. They were indeed a
well-matched pair in looks and the filthy state of their bodies. They were alike
in temperament too, being quick to anger, ferocious and cunning. Each one
had a sanctified but disgustingly dirty amulet on his arm in order to ensure
victory for himself.
They moved towards each other till their bodies almost touched. The
striped black-and-red cock held by the cross-eyed man and the pure white
cock held by the man with a pock-marked face looked at each other. The
comb of the white bird was more eye-catching than that of the red one
because of the contrast in colour. The red cock pecked once at the head of the
white one. Some of the crowd let out shouts of victory and started forecasting
the result. The white bird tried to peck too. Before it could, the two gamblers
stepped back and stood still facing each other. It was a custom to provoke the
birds before they were let into the pit.
The two men kept thrusting and pulling back the birds, rubbed down their
feathers and spoke words of encouragement while waiting. One of the crowd
bent forward a little, looked at the two anna silver piece in his hand and
shouted, ’Two annas on the red cock! Any takers?’
Another one tossed a four anna piece in the air. Catching it he announced,
‘Four annas on the white one!’
Only five or six men placed side bets. The others waited for the turn of the
titled birds, not wanting to waste any money on unknown ones.
The fight was on. As soon as the two men rocked the birds to and fro and
released them after rubbing them down, the cocks stared belligerently at each
other, pecked at the ground for appearance’s sake, moved closer and closer
every moment, challenging each other like wrestlers in the ring demonstrating
their holds, the scattered feathers on their necks standing on end, brought their
faces close before lifting them up to fight with their eyes, and suddenly, in the
wink of an eye, jumped at each other’s chests kicking, catching the crowd by
surprise. Before the red cock could jump again after three kicks, the man with
the pock-marked face tugged at the feathers of the white cock and picked it
up. Before the cross-eyed man could pick up his red cock, it flew up in a rage
aiming a kick at the white cock in its owner’s arms. The man lifted his bird up
high and saved it from injury. The blade on the leg of the red cock however
grazed his hand which started to bleed. Meanwhile the cross-eyed man had
gathered up his cock. The man with the pock-marked face was furious. Before
they could trade blows, Rangappa Shetty ordered them to let go of their birds.
As before, the birds met. Within a minute or so, the feathers on the white
cock’s chest were red with blood. ‘Catch it, catch it,’ some people in the
crowd shouted even as the man with the pock-marked face picked up his bird
and examined the injury. He had to search closely before he discovered the
wound, an inch deep from the red cock’s blade. Blood was spurting out of its
mouth. The owner clearly realized that his cock was dying. Having resigned
himself to whatever might happen, he gave it water to drink and sprinkled
some more on its body before letting it in once more. The bird flew into the
fray as if it was unaware of the injury on its neck. However within a minute or
two, it collapsed as blood rushed out of its mouth. The owner picked it up and
found two or three wounds on its chest. The blade had penetrated the flesh to
a depth of more’ than an inch each time. The cock had indeed put up a valiant
fight. It hadn’t run away! That’s why one of our proverbs talks of a cock’s
courage!
The cross-eyed fellow, drunk with joy, picked up the dead cock and flung it
in front of his victorious one. The red cock too had been hurt and it started
swaying as if it was about to collapse. Even as the owner picked it up to
examine it, it died in his arms. The cross-eyed man who had exulted in his
cock’s victory, looked at it with sad eyes. Someone from the crowd at his
back asked, ‘Was the bird so badly hurt, Kuduka?’ in Tulu.
Kuduka who was a Billava lifted up his crossed eyes and turned around to
find out who it was that had spoken. Though Soma dressed in clothes that the
workers from the Ghats normally wore was inquiring about the red cock’s
welfare, his eyes were looking at the dead white bird with hope.
 63
The Devil of Temptation Overcomes Soma

T HE DEVIL OF temptation appeared before Soma as he was on his way from

Seethemane to Kelakanooru with a letter and fifty rupees given to him by
Singappa Gowda in accordance with the letter written by Hoovayya. He knew
there would be a cockfight on Saturday evenings. Because he belonged to the
Kannada district, he was naturally interested in cockfights. But Hoovayya
hated such things. So Soma had checked himself with great effort though he
was drawn to it. But his mind wasn’t strong enough to resist the temptation
when an opportunity presented itself.
Hoovayya wanted to send the letter to Singappa Gowda in which he had
asked for money for the upkeep of his land through Puttanna. But Soma had
offered his services and gone to Seethemane. On his way there, he had no
intention of going to the cockfight. Or he might not have been aware of it. But
on the way back the desire dormant so far raised its head slowly.
‘What’s wrong with merely taking a look and coming back? It’s so near
that it won’t need even as much time as one needs to chew some betel. Who
will know that I had gone to the cockfight? I am not taking a cock for the
fight. I am not going to gamble, either. Where do I have the money to indulge
in gambling?’ he asked himself. He suddenly remembered the money he had
in his pocket. But that belonged to the master. It was the same whether he had
the money or not, Soma argued even as he quickened his steps towards the
cockpit arena. As he moved on with mounting interest and excitement, he
broke into a run. When he approached the arena, he stopped, patted down his
clothes, looked at them admiringly and went ahead.
By the time he reached the place, the cockfights had already started in four
or five pits. People who were staring at the fighting cocks didn’t pay much
attention to either Soma or his clothes. Just as well, thought Soma, and started
wandering around among the crowds without stopping anywhere. His
inclination and interest in being a mere spectator had already been erased
from his fickle mind.
 The pits were attractive, each in its own way. In one, the cock had got
scared and run away soon after the fight began. It hid in the bushes and was
the cause of smiles and applause from those who had placed bets on the other
cock, regret and censure from those who had lost, and the owner’s
humiliation and anger. Elsewhere, a furious battle had taken place between
two cocks and one had had its stomach slashed. But its owner and those who
had backed it, sewed up the wound, gave it some water and put it back in the
pit. Within a couple of minutes, it had killed its opponent and saved its own
life. Somewhere else, there were arguments among the spectators and a fight
was about to ensue. At another place, the cock had been given toddy instead
of water and consequently, it had ignored its opponent and rushed at the
crowd. The people around might have looked like so many cocks to that bird.
A few were hurt by the blade fastened to its leg.
Thus though there was excitement and joy elsewhere, Soma wasn’t happy.
His assumption that everyone would look at him had proved baseless. He was
hurt, realizing that he didn’t count for much. If those people had known that
he had fifty rupees— not one, not two but fifty—would they have ignored
him like that? If he wagered a couple of rupees on a cock or bought a cock
himself and stepped into the pit, would they have conspired to reduce him to
nothing? Never mind! It wasn’t the right time. He would wait for another
fight. Building castles in the air, he came to the pit where Rangappa Shetty
presided. As soon as he saw him, he stiffened involuntarily. Without moving
forward, he stood at the back and watched the overseer’s pomp and show with
contempt. If the overseer had placed bets on any bird, no matter what, he too
would bet against him, thought Soma, gnashing his teeth. Luckily for him, the
overseer didn’t take any side bets.
Regardless of this, Soma imagined the white cock was the overseer’s and
his, the red one and waited with anxiety for the outcome of the fight. When
the white cock fell dead, he was happy as if he had himself killed the
overseer. That was why he went to the man who had won and made inquiries
about the state of the cock and expressed his sympathy. As he looked at the
dead white cock, there rose in him a greed for meat, very strong before but
not nearly so now, along with the arrogance of victory.
His mind started nagging at him. He too should buy a fighting cock, let it
into the pit, and win at least once. He felt the bundle the rupees made in his
pocket. His inner eye saw Hoovayya. Wouldn’t he be betraying his master
who had transformed his barbarity into a civilized state and thus saved him, a
master who wished no evil towards others but wanted to save everyone, and
who took medicine to the dilapidated huts of the poverty-stricken, the lowest
of the low? Wasn’t he being treacherous towards his master, a God-like man?
Even as such thoughts passed through his mind, a consoling thought surfaced
and won in the end.
Buying a fighting cock would mean spending a couple of rupees. With that
he could even get another bird by beating it and he would give Hoovayya four
rupees instead of two . . . He will make a little noise and scold him! Let him!
He is the master after all . . .! He hadn’t tried to take any side bets or drink
toddy or gamble at cards. If his master insisted on getting back the two
rupees, he could be told to take it from his salary.
These thoughts, fears and consolations flashed across Soma’s mind at once.
Taking his eyes off the white cock lying dead on the ground, and looking
up, Soma saw the dead cock in Kuduka’s hands. ‘Where was it hurt?’ he
asked coming nearer.
The cross-eyed man didn’t look at Soma, threw his red cock next to the
white one, sat on a blanket and started chewing some betel leaves.
Meanwhile from a pit nearby the sound of people shouting and fighting
rose to a peak from the normal plateau of noise. Soma saw people from the
other pits rushing there and so did he.
Two of the spectators who had taken side bets had had words and were
now exchanging blows. The reason was that the loser had no money to give.
The winner insisted on getting the money straight away and the loser said he
would bet again, win and pay back. A fight had ensued. The loser got angry
(he said the winner had approached him with threatening gestures), put his
hand on the other’s chest and pushed him back. The winner was furious and
had punched him on the nose resulting in profuse bleeding. Wiping his
bloodied nose with a dirty rag which had turned red, the loser had whipped
out a knife from his pocket and there was pandemonium with the onlookers
snatching the knife from the man and separating the two fighters.
As people dispersed to other areas talking about the fight, for and against
one of the two men, and in various ways, Soma started looking for a fighting
cock which he could buy. Inquiries and search proved fruitless. Eventually he
went to the toddy seller to ask him.
‘Somayya Shettare, you have forgotten us totally now,’ the man started
instead of giving him a direct answer.
 ‘My man, I’m fed up looking for a cock . . . Don’t you have one? I shall
give you money! Cash!’ Soma said and the shopkeeper gave him a coconut
shell full of frothing toddy in reply.
Soma shook his head and informed him that he had given up drinking.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ the shopkeeper said, ‘Just this once doesn’t matter, does
it? This isn’t a drink that will make you tipsy. It has just now come from the
tree! Fresh, sweet!’ He went on pushing the coconut shell into Soma’s face.
The aroma of toddy rushed into his nostrils. Submitting to the shopkeeper’s
coercive hospitality and with a couple of others aiding and abetting him,
Soma partook of the intoxicating commodity which he had given up for many
days under the influence of Hoovayya’s association. The toddy was delicious!
The toddy seller sent a servant home and had a cock brought which he
claimed was a fighter. There was enough proof of its having been reared with
a rope tied to its leg. Its red comb had been sheared at its base. The
shopkeeper explained that it was done to exorcize an evil spirit that used to
possess it. The cock’s feathers had all dropped off. The bird was big enough
to look at but it was mere’ fat.
Soma couldn’t recognize the cock. If he could, he would have realized that
it was the same one he had stolen from Halepaikada Thimma’s quarters a few
months ago! He had stolen it in darkness and given it away in secret. He had
been anxious all the while and so hadn’t even had a good look at it. Even if he
had, it would have been impossible to recognize it for its comb and feathers
had been shorn. It had been reared tied up in the dark so that no one could see
it and had as a result accumulated rolls of repulsive fat.
Anyhow the shopkeeper sold the ‘fatso’ which was good enough only to be
eaten to Soma for three rupees along with the lie that it was a fighting cock.
The toddy that he had given him at the beginning had not been inactive. It had
worked on his behalf in Soma’s mind.
Soma went behind a bush and sat on his haunches as if he wanted to
urinate. He took out a five rupee note from the bundle and asked the toddy
seller if he had the change.
The shopkeeper stared at Soma with a pregnant look, gave Soma the
change and lowered three rupees into the till.
Soma presumed that the toddy he was given again was free and drank it.
Tucking the cock under his arm, he entered the arena in a proud manner. The
whole area appeared more vivacious and lovelier than before with its
enthusiastic crowd and hubbub. Soma sang to himself, whistling in between
and pushed ahead in the crowd. ‘There’s a wall round the house, a cock in the
pit and a stick with a silver handle!’ he sang.
Those with experience in cockfights started laughing at Soma’s cock.
‘Where on earth did you find this cock? In which pen?’ they ridiculed him.
Some conferred the title Kumbhakarna on the cock. Soma, undaunted by their
ridicule, asked the overseer’s man to fix a rival for his cock. The man took a
look at Soma’s obese cock and gave vent to the laughter bubbling up within
him through various other pretexts, called Halepaikada Thimma and chose his
bird to fight Soma’s cock. Thimma’s bird was very thin. It wasn’t half as
heavy as its rival. Soma was overjoyed on seeing it. His big-bodied hero of a
cock would fell Thimma’s emaciated bird in no time at all! The chicken dish
that night would be delightful!
Well! Soma bought a knife and tied it to his rooster’s leg with great
enthusiasm. Then he shouted loudly that too much time wasted once the knife
was tied on would leave the cock’s legs stiff. He hurried Thimma and got his
rooster ready.
When Soma put his cock down for inspection, the people who had gathered
roared with laughter. The cock, sans comb, sans feathers, was obese and
repulsive. The fat bird had no experience of having a knife tied to its leg and
found it impossible to walk around properly and swayed and limped around
here and there.
Both cocks were let into the pit. Soma’s cock, never having dreamt of a
fight since the day it was born, started pecking about for food. Soma was
furious looking at the crowd foul mouthing it and laughing. Seeing that no
one was taking side bets on his cock, he shouted angrily, ‘Eight annas! My
side bet!’
The overseer replied, ‘Twelve annas on the other one!’
‘One rupee on my bird!’ Soma shouted.
‘That’s fine!’ said the overseer.
Soma encouraged his cock and let it into the pit. The rooster, possibly
because of its enforced celibacy, presumed that its opponent was a hen,
clucked a few times, lifted its wings a little and went forward in a lascivious
manner. The crowd shouted loud enough for the hills and forests to echo,
clapped, danced and guffawed. Some found the whole thing disgusting.
Hearing the commotion, people round the other pits came running in hordes
and assembled there as well!
 Kumbhakarna moved forward with its love play. Soma thought it too was a
form of a battle and stood there, a stranger to any feeling of shame. Thimma’s
cock didn’t throw even a paisa into Kumbhakarna’s amorous begging bowl.
Instead, it aimed a hefty kick at its rival. Kumbhakarna rolled over twice on
the ground amidst the crowd’s laughter. There was a half-an-inch gash near
its wing and blood started dripped from the wound.
Soma applied some medicine to the wound and let the cock in again. This
time, Kumbhakarna gave battle. But at the third confrontation, the knife on
the leg of Thimma’s cock went into Kumbhakarna’s chest and it fell on its
side with red froth coming out of its mouth.
Soma was furious with frustration. He picked up the cock still struggling on
the ground, attended to the wounds and gave it some toddy to bring its spirit
back. But as soon as it was put down, its neck broke and it collapsed. Thimma
took possession of the cock as per the rule which governed cockfights and the
overseer collected a rupee.
Soma, with a long face, was trying to set off for Kelakanooru, when some
people said that the fight between Karna and Arjuna was about to start. Not
wanting to miss such a wondrous spectacle, Soma followed them to the pit
where the two would fight.
The fight between the two titled birds was terrifyingly beautiful. The side
bets had gone up to ten or twenty rupees. All the spectators watched the fight,
thrilled. Arjuna’s stomach had been split open and the intestines had spilled
out. It had been stitched up, treated with some medicine, given a drink of
water, made well and put back into the pit.
Soma was absorbed in watching the fight as he stood amidst the crowd. He
had forgotten the difficulties and humiliation that he had faced and would be
facing soon. He turned around when he felt someone’s hand on his shoulder.
There was no one there except the toddy seller’s brother-in-law who stood
watching the fighting cocks intently. Soma turned back to watch the cocks.
The fight reached its peak. Halepaikada Thimma came from the rear and
called Soma. The latter shook his head angrily to say that he wouldn’t join
him, imagining that Thimma had not only stolen his cock but had come to
make fun of him. It was already getting dark and he was unable to see the
shades of fury on Thimma’s face.
Thimma approached Soma quickly and dragged him away. Soma had to go
with him though he resisted and remonstrated all the way Both went into the
toddy shop under the tree. There, Thimma pointed to the corpse of
Kumbhakarna lying in the red light of the lanterns. ‘Whose cock is it?’ he
asked in a terrifying manner.
Soma said he had bought it from the toddy seller.
‘Why do you ask me? Ask him yourself,’ said Soma looking at-the toddy
seller. He in turn blurted out, ‘You brought it to me in lieu of your debt.’
Instantly, the blunder he had committed raced through Soma’s mind. The
trickster of a shopkeeper had taken the cock that Soma had stolen from
Halepaikada Thimma’s quarters, cut off the comb and feathers, tied it up and
reared it and had sold it back to him! Now that Thimma had been told all this
by the shopkeeper, Soma knew that he had been deceived. What could he do
but insist that it was all a lie!
The toddy seller on one side and Thimma on the other kept shouting louder
and louder as they came nearer and nearer Soma and started to beat him up.
Soma cried out loudly. The overseer from Seethemane rescued him with the
help of his friends. His shirt and dhoti were torn. His headgear had flown off
somewhere. Soma kept sobbing, straightened his clothes and started towards
home all alone in the dark.
He walked on thinking that he would fall at Hoovayya’s feet and beg for
forgiveness and ask him to charge the four rupees he had spent (three for the
cock and one as a side bet) to his account. Sobbing in between, he also
thought of various ways of taking revenge on Halepaikada Thimma and the
shopkeeper.
It grew darker and darker. Countless stars twinkled like points of diamond
needles stabbing the eyes. At one place, Soma felt his pocket and stood still as
if he had been suddenly struck by a devil. The whole bundle of notes he had
carried had vanished from his pocket.
 64
The Combat Between Subbamma and Gange

E VER SINCE SHE heard that her husband had left on a pilgrimage, Subbamma
had planned to take possession of her jewels and take them to Nelluhalli. She
had talked to her parents about it. Peddegowda dismissed her words in
disgust. ‘Let their dead bodies wear the jewels! Why do you want them? We
have enough here to take care of you!’ Her mother, however, supported
Subbamma and was biding her time.
Even as Subbamma thought that her visit to Kanooru without an invitation
would give rise to suspicion, Rangappa Shetty sent word to Subbamma saying
that the Gowda had ordered him to bring her back before he left on his
pilgrimage. She knew what lay behind the overseer’s message. She also knew
that the words attributed to the Gowda were untrue. However, not wanting to
forfeit the opportunity to get her jewels back, she had come to Kanooru with
her mother. Luck was on her side as it was the day of the cockfights. The
overseer and his workers had left in the afternoon along with Halepaikada
Thimma and the other men. The only important person left in the house was
Gange.
Subbamma’s heart burnt with hatred and jealousy on seeing Gange. When
she saw that hussy from the Kannada district dressed as if she was born to the
manor, conducting herself with the authority of a Heggadithi, she knew that it
was the slut Gange who was responsible for all her misery. She was so furious
that she wanted to catch the girl then and there, shake and knock her down
and bite and scratch her. But she was no longer the same as before. She had
given up her impetuosity and learnt new ways to reach her goal in a cool and
calculated manner.
She had learnt her lessons so well that on seeing her diamond earrings on
Gange, she didn’t ask, ‘Whose are they? How did you get them?’ Instead, she
had words of praise for Gange and exclaimed with a smile on her face, ‘How
well my earrings suit you!’ Noticing that the girl was wearing her wedding
saree, Subbamma asked in all innocence, ‘Did the colour run when it was
washed?’ Gange decided that Subbamma was the same dumb creature as
before and went about without any anxiety.
The overseer on seeing Subbamma in the house felt as if he was drunk. The
giraffe in his heart lifted up its neck to the green leaves of Kalpavriksha in
heaven, as he convinced himself that she had come there when her husband
was away because of her love for him. He spread out a carpet for the mother
and daughter to sit on, on their arrival. He asked Gange to fetch water so they
could wash their feet. He went in himself and brought betel leaves and nuts on
a plate for them. Not only did he offer them hospitality in a variety of ways,
but also spoke to them in a consoling and sympathetic way. Even as he felt
happy with the thought that his wish would be fulfilled, he felt somewhat
anxious, not knowing how things would work out.
He was initially hesitant about going to the cockfight that afternoon.
Subbamma helped him make up his mind by speaking words of
encouragement. ‘I urge you to go. Let me see if you can come back with a
couple of cocks! Let’s have a memorable feast tonight with kadubu!’ The
overseer read his own meaning into her words and felt excited at what he
imagined and so went to the cockfight.
Subbamma secretly sent for Ninga’s son Putta and gave him some snacks
to win him over to her side. She asked him to stand outside the window, take
a bundle of things she would pass on to him and hide it in a faraway bush.
She then went into the kitchen and joined the others in eating fish and
drinking toddy. She drank only a little while she urged Gange again and again
to have some more. She had taken the precaution to signal to her mother
asking her to drink only a little. Saying that there they would need to grind
spices for the chicken dish when the overseer came home with his prize birds,
she suggested that Gange should undertake the task while she attended to
cooking the kadubu.
Gange went to the backyard to grind the spices and Subbamma sat in front
of the stove in the kitchen making kadubu.
She asked her mother to get the dough ready, instructed her to say that she
had gone to the toilet if Gange asked for her and went into her bedroom to
attend to her task. Putta, standing wide-eyed outside the window, was elated
as he gathered and hugged ornaments made of gold and silver and some
priceless robes.
Subbamma was quick enough in looking for her belongings and handing
them over to Putta. She couldn’t open some cases as their locks had been
changed. She tried to break them open. Though she had taken the precaution
of bolting the door, the noise of her attempts reached Gange who was
grinding spices in the backyard. Pretending that she needed something from
the kitchen, she came in and asked where Subbamma was. Subbamma’s
mother said that her daughter had gone to the field to relieve herself.
Subbamma wasn’t there even when Gange looked in again. She went straight
to Chandrayya Gowda’s room and pushed at the door. She was, after all, an
expert in carrying on clandestine affairs!
Initially Subbamma absorbed in her attempts to break open the locks,
didn’t hear the knock on the door. When she became aware of it later, she
stopped making any noise, but didn’t open the door.
Gange said nothing as she pushed and pounded on the door. Subbamma
didn’t open it even when Gange started to kick at it. She went to the window
and asked Putta in whispers to make himself scarce immediately. When he
ran away and was out of sight, she put out the lantern in the room and drew
back the bolt on the door. The door opened suddenly.
Though Gange couldn’t see anyone in the darkness, she knew from the
smell of smoke that Subbamma had just then put out the light. ‘Who has
bolted the door?’ she asked.
Subbamma spoke from one of the dark corners. ‘It’s me. What’s it to you if
I am in my own room?’ There was an edge to her voice.
‘Is this why you came here when the Gowda is away?’ Gange asked as she
lit the lamp.
Subbamma was at the threshold wanting to leave the room when Gange
jumped on her like an enraged cat and seized her arm. Subbamma pulled at
Gange’s hair in return. Swear words, shouts and blows followed.
Subbamma’s mother gave up her attempts to separate the two and stood at a
distance cursing Gange.
How could Gange, a hapless nymphomaniac, be the equal of Subbamma in
battle, when the latter was a young woman who had worked hard all through
her life and lived like an ideal housewife? Within a few minutes of hitting and
pulling, Subbamma had knocked her rival down and left Kanooru. Gange was
on the floor groaning with pain, cursing both the overseer and Chandrayya
Gowda freely. The dogs started to bark hearing the noise from the house.
Was Chandrayya Gowda being weighed at that moment against gold and
silver in Dharmasthala, to be given away to Brahmins later? Perhaps!
 Subbamma had decided to proceed straight to Nelluhalli But it was evening
already. Dreading the possibility of having no one to protect her if the
overseer were to arrive, and wanting to look up Nagamma whom she hadn’t
met for a long while, she went to Kelakanooru after collecting the valuables
from Putta. There was also her desire to see Hoovayya.
Nagamma had her satchel of betel leaves and nuts in front of her as she sat
talking to Sesi, the Bela woman, who was filtering some honagane greens.
She warmly welcomed both Subbamma and her mother, gave them water to
wash their feet, asked them to be seated on the mat which she had spread out
and gave them betel leaves and nuts.
During their conversation, the events of the day came up and Subbamma
cried as she spoke of her lot.
It was after dark when Hoovayya and Puttanna came back from the field,
their bodies covered entirely with dust. They had a hot bath and a change of
clothes before they came to the verandah. Nagamma told them about
Subbamma and her mother having come on a visit and also what the girl had
narrated. Hoovayya listened to her narration without enthusiasm or
indifference. He had grown to be more and more reserved of late.
‘Has Soma returned from Seethemane?’ he asked as he stood before the
mirror and combed his hair.
‘No, he hasn’t. He should have been back by this time.’
‘Sorry. What did you say?’
Hoovayya didn’t hear what his mother said in reply. As soon as he had
asked about Soma, his mind had with the speed of lightning recalled many
emotions and pictures relating to Seethe.
His mother repeated what she had said.
‘What is he doing there still?’ Hoovayya said, went into his room and shut
the door.
‘You could have gone instead of Soma,’ Hoovayya’s mother said to
Puttanna.
‘He insisted on delivering the letter himself,’ Puttanna said in his own
defence.
Nagamma suddenly changed the topic. ‘Tell me, Puttanna, has your Gowda
decided not to get married?’
Puttanna smiled. ‘Ask him, not me!’
Nagamma did not say anything in reply and went towards the kitchen
heaving a sigh. She was worried that her son had changed recently as a result
of his decision not to get married.
Even though Hoovayya seemed outwardly calm and grew progressively
silent, the tumult and the fire within him had increased. Though initially he
tried to dismiss his disappointment at losing Seethe lightly, philosophically
and with pride in his self-restraint, it had turned into a worm eating away at
his heart. He was reserved in his dealings with others and would sit alone
wherever he fancied and pray to God to save him from this agony. Sometimes
when he found himself in the midst of nature’s loveliness in the forests and on
the hills, or in the thick of many-coloured flowers and singing birds, or in the
meditative silence of the night, his mind would suddenly be at peace and he
would experience a strange, indescribable happiness. It would be short-lived
though. Countless ants would attack the flying bird as it came down for food.
It was mainly to escape his suffering that he took such an interest in farming
and worked to the point of exhaustion. He would be tired when he reached
home but relatively free of his worries. He spent a long time reading poetry,
philosophical treatises and biographies as it helped his mind take wing to a
higher level of being and soar high in the sky with great souls for company.
Occasionally lights could be seen burning in his room till the wee hours of
morning.
It was an hour since it had grown totally dark. Hoovayya put away the book
he was reading, noting the page with a book-mark and came to the verandah
when he heard Soma’s voice.
Soma’s hair was dishevelled. His clothes were in shreds and stained with
blood. Seeing him wretched and trembling, Hoovayya said, ‘What’s the
matter? What has happened?’ and ran to him.
Soma fell at his master’s feet without saying anything and sobbed. It took a
great effort on Hoovayya’s part to make him talk.
Soma hid nothing, narrating the sorry events even as he sobbed. He had
gone back to the arena on discovering that the bundle of notes was missing.
When he demanded rather aggressively that the shopkeeper and Thimma
return the money they had stolen, they had beaten him up with sticks and
driven him away!
Soma touched Hoovayya’s feet again and again as he swore that he would
pay the money back in the form of labour.
Hoovayya couldn’t say anything, as he applied medicine on Soma’s
wounds. Signalling with a look that Puttanna should take good care of him, he
went into his room.
 65
Was Putta Murdered by the Drunken Overseer?

D AWN HAD BROKEN over the green forests and the fields drenched in the rain
that had fallen all through the night. The pleasantly cool lustrous sunlight
rising from the horizon at the top of the hills shone radiantly like a loving
invitation to Hoovayya as he sat on his bed and looked out of the window.
From the nearby forest the melodious call of the kajana bird could be heard
with the whistle of the madivala bird. All round the house, among the trees
and shrubs, some pikalara birds were orchestrating their calls as a dog barked
sharply in the peace of that early morning.
Someone knocked on the door. Hoovayya got up and opened it.
Subbamma, all set to leave for her parents’ home, came in and gave him a
bundle she had in her hand, asking him to look after it.
‘What’s this?’ asked Hoovayya.
Subbamma said that they were the jewels she had brought from her home.
‘Why are you leaving them with me?’
Subbamma instead of saying that her parents’ house was not safe enough,
said, ‘No particular reason. Let them be here.’ Without giving him a chance to
say anything she said goodbye. There were tears in her eyes and her voice
was about to break.
Hoovayya felt a little agitated too. ‘Very well,’ he said and turned to put
away the bundle of jewellery in a box.
Subbamma walked out quickly and went towards Nelluhalli with her
mother. Hoovayya felt that independence, courage and a spirit of adventure
were springing in her anew.
There was another thing about her that appeared special to him—her
beauty! Her body was strong, as before. But a kind of beauty absent earlier
had seemed to be blooming in her face.
Hoovayya felt greatly ashamed of an indecent thought that came to him as
he sat ruminating on the bed.
‘Disgusting! What a mind!’ he exclaimed aloud, got up quickly, rolled up
the mattress and went into the bathroom.
 It wasn’t the first time that such obscene thoughts had come to him. Many a
time, in the middle of an elevated mood, certain evil thoughts had crept in.
When such a thing happened Hoovayya would break his meditation, catch
them as if they were thieves and push them out. But this time, the obscene
thoughts persisted despite repeated efforts to keep them out. The harder he
tried, the stronger they returned, mocking him. It became possible to escape
from their onslaught only when he developed an indifference towards them.
After his coffee and breakfast, he asked about Soma, sleeping in a corner
under a blanket. As he was about to leave for the fields, Baira from Kanooru
barged in panting and gave him the news that the overseer had killed Putta,
the son of Ninga the cartman, the night before. He stammered all through his
narration of fifteen minutes and the listeners were thunderstruck.
After sending Baira to Seethemane and Mutthalli to inform Singappa
Gowda and Chinnayya and bring them over to Kanooru quickly, Hoovayya
went to Kanooru with Puttanna, carrying a gun.
When they made inquiries in Kanooru, neither Gange nor the overseer
appeared at first. On being called with loud voices, they emerged from
different places as if they knew nothing about the matter. When questioned
about Putta’s whereabouts, they said that he had had his gruel and gone to the
pond to catch crabs. The workers searched all over, but he was not to be
found. Eventually Puttanna and Hoovayya searched the whole house but in
vain.
Hoovayya was furious with the overseer. ‘Will you come out with the truth
sensibly or do we need to get the police from Theerthahalli?’ he stormed.
‘Call them if you want. How would I know?’ replied the devious overseer
aggressively.
Hoovayya asked Gange to come up and questioned her. She blustered
incoherently through trembling lips.
Thinking that the truth would come out if a little force was used, he picked
up a stick and gave her a whack. ‘Will you tell us what happened or not?’
‘How dare you beat other people’s wives?’ cried the overseer, attacking
him. Hoovayya hit him hard on the face with its protruding teeth.
Meanwhile, Puttanna had caught hold of him and pushed him away. Gange
blurted out everything to ward off further blows.
‘The overseer has beaten up Putta and locked him up in that room!’
Taking the key forcibly from the overseer, they brought out Putta’s body
wrapped in a blanket.
 Putta wasn’t dead!
He had been hurt badly and had fainted. Flustered and inebriated, the
overseer had believed that he was dead. Thinking of burying him secretly, he
had wrapped him up in a blanket and left him in the room. Belara Baira who
had come from his hut in Kanooru to steal some chickens had seen everything
and had hurried to Hoovayya thinking that Putta was dead.
Putta was given as much first aid as was possible and soon felt a little
better. But the pot-bellied emaciated boy could say nothing and merely kept
blinking. The flood of tears from his eyes was the only expression of his pain.
After an hour or two, Singappa Gowda and Chinnayya arrived breathless
with Baira. Their fear subsided a little when they learnt that Putta wasn’t
dead.
‘If Putta were to die, we shall all have to be punished for his murder. That’s
why it would be better if we were to report the matter to the police,’
suggested Chinnayya.
As soon as Gange and the overseer heard the words ‘police’ and ‘report’,
they fell tearfully at the feet of Hoovayya, Singappa Gowda and Chinnayya.
‘What we did was wrong. We were not thinking straight!’ they said, pleading
with all sorts of excuses. ‘Don’t hand us over to the police,’ they begged,
hands folded.
At first, Singappa Gowda’s heart was not touched due to the rancour he
nursed against the overseer. Eventually however, he convinced Hoovayya and
Chinnayya that no report should be sent to the police. It was decided that
Gange and the overseer would leave the Kanooru house and live in the
quarters earmarked for the workers from the Ghats. Chinnayya suggested that
Puttanna could stay in Kanooru until the people who had gone to
Dharmasthala returned. But Puttanna didn’t like the idea nor did Hoovayya
agree to it. What if Chandrayya Gowda misunderstood the whole thing? It
was decided that Chinnayya would stay there for the time being.
While these things were being decided upon, Soma came walking from
Kanooru, limping and moaning and wrapped up in a blanket to say that his
bundle of notes had been stolen and that he had been beaten up and dragged
along the ground. He started crying, asking for an investigation into what the
overseer and Halepaikada Thimma had done to him with the help of two
others.
Singappa Gowda sent people out, got the toddy seller and Thimma to come
and conducted an inquiry. Though they confessed and agreed to pay a fine to
Soma, neither of them took responsibility for the theft of the bundle of notes.
‘Then you should take an oath!’ Soma insisted.
None of them agreed to do so. ‘If you didn’t steal, why should you be
scared? If you are afraid to take an oath, you must have stolen it,’ roared
Chinnayya and they agreed.
Wicks dipped in ghee were put into well-washed lamps, lit and placed
around the tulsi plant. The idol was decorated with flowers, smeared with
sandalwood paste and arathi was offered. The overseer, Halepaikada Thimma
and the toddy seller went round the tulsi plant swearing in the name of God
that they hadn’t stolen Thimma’s money and each put out a lamp by blowing.
All the spectators sat still, watching the great deposition with devotion and
awe. The experience seemed to have touched even the dogs there. At that
moment, all those who had gathered there appeared to be in a different world
in the presence of an alien purity!
 66
Obayya’s Story

P UTTA WAS THRILLED at the prospect of meeting his father when he heard that
the party that had gone on pilgrimage had returned to Mutthalli. Being
motherless, it was as if his father had also become his mother. He was pining
to see his father and touch him ever since the night when the overseer had
beaten him up with a stick as he slept, as if he were a bullock. Though
Hoovayya and Chinnayya nursed him with tender care, applied medicine on
his wounds and set him on the road to recovery, the boy wanted to unburden
himself to his father and sob all through his tale. Often, he had thought of his
father, gone to a corner and cried without letting anyone know. That was why
he exulted when he heard that the pilgrims had reached Mutthalli—he would
be meeting his father the next day!
He couldn’t sleep that night, troubled by strange dreams. His father figured
in each of those dreams. One of them dealt with the arrival of his father whom
he embraced warmly and then he narrated the story of the wounds on his
body. His father had cried, consoled him and wiped away his son’s tears! In
another, his father had beaten him in anger and pushed him away before
leaving on a journey and had been washed away in a tide. Frightening dreams
. . . Putta had got up much before dawn broke and waited for the cart to reach
Kanooru.
Many a time he was sure he had heard the sound of the cart and had rushed
out in great expectation, only to be disappointed. He did not give up looking
for his father’s arrival till it turned dark. Afraid to stay out, he had gone into
the house. It was while he sat in a corner and cried that he heard the sound of
the cart. Drawing a deep breath, he had rushed out into the yard where the cart
would stop before the others came out with their lanterns.
The cart halted. The driver unyoked the bullocks. In the dim light of the
soot-covered lantern, nothing and nobody could be seen clearly. People got
down one after another. From their voices, he knew they were Chandrayya
Gowda, Ramayya, Vasu and Putttamma who had come home from Mutthalli.
But Ninga’s voice which he knew so well was nowhere to be heard. The voice
of the driver was unfamiliar. What did it all mean? Where was his father? It
was his father who had driven the cart home. Maybe his throat was sore
because of the change in his drinking water! Anyway, who else could be
driving the Kanooru cart but his father?
Putta was watching from a distance. Except for Rangappa Shetty and some
of his workers who had come there to please the Gowda by welcoming him,
the rest went into the house. ‘Appayya, appayya!’ called the boy tenderly and
moved forward to tug at the end of the cartman’s shirt. The man who had
been unloading the cart stopped, turned back and knit his brows as he looked
at Putta. The boy would have screamed in sheer fright had the light been
bright. What he saw by the dim light was enough to make him step back. The
face was grotesque, full of pockmarks and one of the man’s eyes had gone
blind with albugo.
‘Who is it? Putta? Your father will come later. He didn’t travel today,’ said
the gruff-voiced driver. The news of his father’s non-arrival was as
unpleasant as the driver’s voice.
‘Who can this be? He calls me by name!’ Putta wondered even as he shed
tears and walked back to the verandah.
Chandrayya Gowda sat in the reddish light of the lantern on a mat over a
wooden plank. Resting with a bolster against his back, he was talking to
Ramayya and Vasu as they took out their clothes from a travelling case. He
saw Putta sobbing in the dim light behind him and called him over in an
affectionate voice. Though the Gowda’s voice was full of compassion, Putta
knew his cruel nature from his past experiences of him. He was so scared that
he did not budge but sobbed some more. The Gowda asked his young son to
go to Putta and fetch him. Vasu with great sympathy went to Putta, took his
hands in his own, talked to him softly and brought him over to his father. To
the utter amazement of the overseer, Gange and the others, the Gowda took
Putta’s hand and seated him by his side and talked to him in endearing words
as he ran his hands over his wounds. It seemed as if the Gowda who had left
with a heart of stone had returned with one of butter. Though he told off the
overseer for some of the unwholesome activities he had carried on in his
absence, there was none of the earlier rage. He looked as if he had lost weight
and also the harshness of his nature. Rangappa Shetty felt dejected at the
thought that he couldn’t hope to win his status back by carrying tales against
Subbamma. Gange had never imagined even in her wildest dreams that the
Gowda would turn into such a peaceable man by merely going on a
pilgrimage. She would pitch her femininity against the power of the
pilgrimage to Dharmasthala, she thought, and watch the outcome!
The Gowda didn’t say anything to Putta about his father. He talked to the
boy about this and that and asked Vasu to gift him with a new shirt and dhoti.
Putta was overwhelmed and forgot some of his sorrow.
But he woke up at midnight when everyone else was asleep. The falling
rain was the only sound that disturbed the silence of the night. A nightmare
had woken him up and he sat on his bed and sobbed. Nobody heard him sob
in the rain.
The next morning Putta went to the pockmarked one-eyed and ugly
cartman wanting to find out about his father. Before he opened his mouth, the
cartman asked him, ‘Don’t you know who I am, Putta?’
There was no sign of recognition in his eyes as Putta stared at him.
‘Don’t you know Obayya Gowda, Annayya Gowda’s son from
Kelakanooru?’
‘I do know him,’ Putta said and stared at him again. A vague recognition
seemed to take form in the distant recesses of his mind.
‘I am the same Obayya!’ The man dressed in rags laughed.
‘You are lying!’ Putta said as he smiled.
‘No, I am not lying. Ask Vasayya if you want!’ He turned to Vasu and said,
‘Putta didn’t know me. He wouldn’t believe me when I told him!’
Vasu and the cartman looked at each other as they talked. All that Putta
could gather from them was that Ninga was sick and in the hospital in
Agumbe. Tears came to his eyes when in addition to this, Obayya narrated his
tragic tale. Even Obayya cried as he told his story. Watching tears roll down
his repulsive face, both the gentle-hearted children listened to him, wiping
away their tears.
Kelakanooru Annayya Gowda and his son Obayya had conspired with
Seethemane Singappa Gowda to cheat Chandrayya Gowda of the money they
owed him. They had piled their belongings in Singappa Gowda’s cart wanting
to escape at night, the same night when Chandrayya Gowda had set out with
his men to find the place where Singappa Gowda had hidden the stolen
timber. They had run into Annayya Gowda and Obayya, confiscated their
goods and cattle in lieu of the money they owed and driven them out along
with Obayya’s hapless stepsister. Even then, Annayya Gowda wanted to settle
down in Seethemane as one of Singappa Gowda’s workers. Unfortunately for
him, Singappa Gowda had been plunged into great grief the very next day—
his son, Krishnappa, had been killed. Not having courage enough to talk to
the distraught Singappa Gowda, Annayya, Obayya and the girl had moved on
looking for another sanctuary. Let alone a sanctuary, it proved difficult for
them to merely eke out a living. After a month of wandering around, they
went to Megaravalli and started working for the Heggade who in spite of his
reputation as a miser, employed Annayya Gowda on a wage of one rupee a
month. It was agreed that he would get his rations only on those days when he
worked. Surviving the rainy season proved to be difficult. The Heggade was a
hard taskmaster who made no distinction between the old and the young in
extracting work from them. Their back-breaking toil did not save them from
his tongue at the end of the day. Chandrayya Gowda was no match for the
Heggade when it came to drink!
It was not even a month later that Obayya’s stepsister was laid low with
some sickness. Nothing helped her—neither medicine nor charms. The family
had been given accommodation in a cart shed by the cattle shed which was
perennially damp. Fungus would appear on the stove which was used daily
for the cooking. The smell of cattle urine, dung and slush would assail one’s
nostrils. Needless to say mosquitoes swarmed all over them. ‘It is just fever
they said, in the beginning. They had another name for it at the end. Nothing
helped and the girl died!’
Within a few days of his stepsister’s death, Obayya, unable to stand any
more of the Heggade’s torture, went to Agumbe with his aged father. He took
up work with a rich Brahmin. It was a pleasant life.
‘It’s our luck! Mari, the goddess of destruction, came there. The epidemic
of smallpox spread everywhere. Oh God, how the people suffered!’ Annayya
Gowda had caught it. No place on his body even for a pin, covered as it was
with pustules! The skin had peeled away . . . By the time Obayya returned
from burying his father, he too had caught the disease. He lost consciousness
and didn’t know who nursed him. ‘It seems I went mad when I regained
consciousness.’ He had lost one of his eyes and his face had become ugly!
The cartman who had driven Chandrayya Gowda to Dharmasthala was taken
seriously ill on the return journey . . . They left him in Agumbe and appointed
Obayya as the driver who was pleased to take on the job.
Obayya had tears in his eyes as he narrated his story. So did the children as
they listened.
 67
Ramayya Brings Seethe Back to Kanooru

A MONTH HAD gone by since the pilgrims’ return. The rains had set in
heavily. The land looked washed and the ground had turned green. The tilling
had gone on briskly. The landowners who had a labour force had already
planted the saplings. The sun was a rare sight.
Putta who was pining for his father went to Mutthalli without anyone’s
knowledge and spoke to Seethamma. She told him that it wasn’t true that his
father had been hospitalized in Agumbe. He was vomiting and had diarrhoea
in Someshwara, even before they reached Agumbe and had died. Everyone
had kept his death a secret and she insisted that nobody should come to know
that she had told him about it. She looked after the sobbing orphan boy like a
big sister and tried to console him by giving him things to eat. But Putta had
returned sobbing to Kanooru in the darkness of the evening in the rainy
season.
Repulsive-looking and one-eyed Obayya had taken Ninga’s place as a
wage earner and stayed on in Kanooru.
Gange and the overseer had again abandoned their quarters and moved into
the Kanooru house. Chandrayya Gowda was becoming more and more
emaciated and gentler as the days went by. The main reason for his gentleness
was the fact that he was growing weaker. He was prey to a mysterious
disease, thanks to Gange. It had sapped his former strength, drilled into his
impudence and snapped it. Those who witnessed it said that the Gowda had
become a changed man on his return from Dharmasthala. He had become
saintly and righteous according to them—a rishi.
Ramayya too was cheerful, healthy and active. Besides the trip, there were
two important reasons for the change in him. The first was that Seethe had
changed considerably since they had left. She was joyful and she behaved as
she did before her marriage. Noticing the transformation in her, people’s faith
in the God in Dharmasthala had been enhanced. Ramayya who had derided
pilgrimages, holy places and gods or been indifferent to them earlier, now
thought that it had been sheer foolishness on his part and had resolved never
to do so again. Though everyone had paid one hundred or one hundred-and-
fifty rupees per head as an offering, nobody felt bad about it. Even if they did,
they would not say so fearing God’s wrath!
What better business does God have than making unwilling wives
amenable? Let Him keep on at it. Every atheist will turn into a believer!
The second reason for the change in Ramayya was the debility of his
father. As he became weaker and weaker, the arrogance, cruelty and hardness
that characterized Chandrayya Gowda decreased and Ramayya was forced to
take on an important role. Towards the end, Chandrayya Gowda would
consult his son on everything and did as he advised. Ramayya’s personality
which had been dwarfed earlier, soon developed and now held its own.
Ramayya was anxious to bring Seethe home and did not miss an
opportunity to suggest so to his father indirectly.
That was why a month after his return from Dharmasthala, Ramayya
spruced himself up one morning, got the arched cart yoked, reclined against a
pillow in it, and went to Mutthalli to bring his wife home as the bells round
the bullocks’ necks jingled to announce his arrival.
That day in Mutthalli it seemed as if Ramayya’s heart had reached the
pinnacle of generosity. Not just his relatives, he charmed even the servants,
talking to them with great cheerfulness and compassion. Nanja, Kala and the
others were not sure that even prayer and meditation could bring such a son-
in-law into any family.
But that was a bad day for Seethe. There was an indescribable agony
simmering in her mind as she battled against an onslaught of terrifying
thoughts, though there was no trace of it in her behaviour. Like the rain
clouds concealing lightning and thunder within, but moving with an
unshakeable resolve, Seethe mechanically did all that had to be done like a
virtuous married girl.
The arched cart which had left in the morning returned to Kanooru at five
that evening. In it sat Ramayya, Chinnayya, Seethe, Gowramma and Laksmi
—all quite cramped. As it was the first time that Seethe was going to her
husband’s, her mother, brother and sister also had set out with her.
It was getting dark. The drizzle that had started in the morning would
periodically turn into rain, and kept up all the time. When the cart stopped in
the yard, all the rituals performed on the occasion of a bride entering her
husband’s house for the first time were completed and Seethe was taken in.
No one paid much attention to her tears, which seemed like water running
down from a stone idol’s eyes. Wasn’t it a decorative but inevitable custom
for a bride to cry when she went into her husband’s home, leaving her parents
behind? There was great joy among the people who had gathered there to see
and welcome her.
Earlier when Hoovayya lived in the house, coming there was like a festival
for Seethe. The same house now looked like a tomb, pregnant with ill omens.
The very pillars, beams, façade, the anthill rising from the wall and decorated
with stripes proclaiming its existence in the light of the lamps, and the big
moving shadows of pillars and men appeared terrifying to Seethe like
symbols of the sorrow and shadows of the tragedy that would befall her. An
undefined but colossal fear seized her heart. She broke into a sweat, screamed
and fainted in her mother’s arms, her mouth frothing. They fanned her and
prayed to Bhootharaya. They did everything they knew, including burning
some crystals and holding them to her nose.
Even though Seethe regained consciousness a little later, she wouldn’t let
go of her mother’s saree. She slept the whole night holding on to it. It was the
same the next day too. Both consoling words and admonitions failed.
Chandrayya Gowda became furious. He gnashed his teeth believing they were
the evil pranks of Krishnappa’s ghost. One can’t imagine what would have
happened to Seethe if her mother and brother weren’t there.
Ramayya too was angry when he recalled Seethe’s letter to Hoovayya
before the wedding. Cruel thoughts surfaced in his mind. He called the
overseer, whispered something in his ear, gave him a gun and sent him off to
Kelakanooru.
Venkappa Joisa came from the Agrahara in the afternoon and worked all
the spells he knew but it was of no avail. When he was leaving for the
Agrahara in the evening, he called the Gowda. ‘Look, Chandrayya, somehow
I’m suspicious about the whole thing. If it was really the harassment of
demons or spirits, it wouldn’t have stood up to my spells. Someone must have
talked to the girl or perhaps she is putting up an act. Who knows? That’s why
I’m telling you my plan. Listen!’ he coughed and carried on. ‘Many things
like this happen among us, the Brahmins. I have a lot of experience in such
matters.’ He coughed again. ‘It may seem cruel but it has to be done to get rid
of the sickness. Do as I say and send her people back home somehow. Then
say that the Joisa had asked you to brand her once a day until the devil leaves
her. Everything will be all right in a couple of days,’ he whispered.
 The overseer wandered around on the pretext of stalking birds. His task
however proved to be futile and he came back to Ramayya in the evening.
‘Tomorrow, if not today! Unless it is done . . .’ said Ramayya, frowning.
Chandrayya Gowda talked to Chinnayya and argued that Seethe wouldn’t
get any better if they stayed on. He urged them to leave for Mutthalli that very
night. Chinnayya, not foreseeing any disaster, agree to his father-in-law’s
suggestion.
It was one o’ clock at night. It was pouring. The arched cart from Kanooru
was ready to leave for Mutthalli. Chinnayya carried Lakshmi who was fast
asleep into the cart. Gowramma tried twice to get up and leave. Seethe held
on to her saree tightly even in her sleep. Eventually as the Gowda suggested,
her saree was cut noiselessly with a pair of scissors. Seethe holding on to the
cut length of her mother’s saree continued to sleep soundly.
The bells round the bullocks’ necks had been taken off and the cart moved
silently on to Mutthalli.
Putta who was watching everything unobserved by anyone behind the
façade, went back to his place and lay down. He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t
understand why Seethamma was being made to suffer like this.
It might have been half an hour since the cart had left. Putta heard Seethe
calling ‘Avva, avva!’ loudly from the room she had been bolted in. Putta
wanted to go and tell her all that he had witnessed, but lay down quietly,
afraid of Chandrayya Gowda. Tears rolled down from his eyes as he listened
to Seethe calling, crying and calling, searching for the door in the darkness,
wanting to come out, dashing into the wall and sobbing in great distress. His
heart beat fast. Regardless of what might happen, he got up, emboldened by
the barking of the dogs and felt his way towards where Ramayya slept. ‘Ayya,
ayya,’ he called in panic.
‘What’s happened to you?’ scolded Ramayya who was still awake.
‘Seethamma is crying.’
‘Let her! You just go to sleep.’
Putta couldn’t understand that either. No matter who it was, if someone
cried and called out, how could one do nothing? Particularly if it was
Seethamma from Mutthalli. The guests had left too. Putta couldn’t understand
what was happening. Surprised, he went back and lay down.
Seethe was still calling and crying.
 68
Seethe’s Hell

IT WAS THE morning of the next day. Seethe knew full well what had
transpired during the previous night. She hadn’t thought that her mother and
brother would abandon her and go away. She looked again and again at the
piece of her mother’s saree in her hand, pressed it against her face and chest,
sobbed pitifully and lay down in a corner.
Making a rattling noise as she unbolted the door from outside, Gange came
in and tried to persuade Seethe to wash her face and drink her coffee. Seethe
didn’t even look at her but continued to sob. Gange left her only to come back
again and again and talk soothingly to Seethe. It was obvious to her that
Gange was acting on the instructions of someone standing outside the door.
Not merely the morning coffee, Seethe didn’t leave her corner even at
lunch.
When everyone had eaten, Gange came into the room again. ‘Have your
lunch and comb your hair. They are sending you back to Mutthalli, it seems.’
The only thought in Seethe’s mind was to escape somehow from Kanooru.
Believing Gange’s words, she went into the bathroom for a wash, combed her
hair and got ready to leave for Mutthalli.
‘It seems the cart which took your mother and brother back hasn’t returned
yet They will send you home as soon as it arrives,’ Gange said, replying to
Seethe’s question.
As a matter of fact the cart had come back in the morning. ‘Let Putta go
with me. I’ll walk home,’ Seethe said.
‘No, no! What will your father say?’
‘Please, Gange. I will fall at your feet if you want. Send me back to my
mother. You may take my necklace of round beads! Please!’ Seethe, still in
tears, touched Gange’s feet and held up the gold necklace.
The shining yellow of the necklace would have cast a spell on anyone.
Gange seemed to be succumbing. It was not just the necklace that melted her
heart but also the fact that Seethe had touched her feet. Suddenly she feet a
surge of pity for Seethe. She was clever enough to grasp the significance of
Seethe’s plight when she invoked the image of the handsome and self-assured
Hoovayya. She had known for a long time that demons, spirits, Krishnappa’s
ghost or the devil that had possessed Hoovayya’s goat Balindra had nothing
to do with Seethe’s condition. It was unrequited love, she was sure. No
wonder that it took a woman to read another woman’s heart! That too when it
was someone like Gange, a deft hand at love games!
She wanted to help Seethe but her fear of Chandrayya Gowda was stronger
than her desire for the necklace. She must have thought of something—she
left without saying anything and made her way to the verandah.
Chandrayya Gowda and Ramayya were there listening to the tale that the
gun-wielding overseer whispered into their ears. Ramayya had given strict
instructions to him—he had to shoot Balindra dead. The overseer had tried his
utmost but had failed. The next day, however, he had stalked the goat since
the morning and shot it dead as it was grazing on the Fringes of the forest, a
little away from Kelakanooru. He had left the place without anyone knowing.
Ramayya felt greatly elated at the thought that Seethe would now love him.
He wished that the overseer had come back with a little of the goat’s blood.
He would have smeared it on Seethe’s forehead and exorcized her of Shani.
Gange who returned to Seethe after having talked to Chandrayya Gowda and
Ramayya told her, ‘If the cart is late today, they will send you home early in
the morning.’
Weeping inconsolably, Seethe fell again at Gange’s feet.
It was night and everyone had finished with dinner. Seethe too had
pretended to eat, trusting Gange’s assurance that she would be going home in
the morning.
The rain fell steadily on the thick forests all around the house.
Gange tempted Seethe into a room saying that she would be sleeping with
her that night. Seethe ran out screaming when it dawned on her that it was
Ramayya’s bedroom. Gange held on to her but Seethe, suddenly discovering
in herself a superhuman strength unimaginable in a frail girl, pushed her
stronger opponent aside and ran out of the room. Gange screamed in pain
when she fell against a wall. Ramayya, the overseer, Chandrayya Gowda,
Putta and Obayya rushed in on hearing Gange scream.
Chandrayya Gowda was furious when he came to know what had
happened. An ugly ghost raised its grotesque head in Ramayya’s heart,
gnashing its teeth and baring its claws, symbolic of Ramayya’s frustration on
being denied and the desire for revenge which his heart harboured.
 Chandrayya Gowda bit his lips as he rushed in and gripped Seethe’s hand
tightly. Scared as she was of the ‘Kanooru Mava,’ Seethe shook off his hands.
The Gowda jumped back a yard or two! He charged again, gripping her with
both hands. She shook herself free once again and pushed him away! Where
did the girl get her strength from? Chandrayya Gowda was convinced that it
was the ghost of Krishnappa, his enemy’s son, which had possessed her.
‘What are you looking at? Catch her! Tie her up . . .!’ he thundered.
There was no need for such measures. Seethe cried out, ‘Ayyo! Avva!’ in a
piteous heart-rending voice and collapsed, wilting like a faded flower. It was
as if everything in her had been drained dry. Her cry penetrated the shell of
Ramayya’s self-imposed hardness and shook him a little. He was not drunk
like his father.
‘No! Don’t!’ Ramayya cried. Chandrayya Gowda ignored him and just as
Venkappayya Joisa had advised, ordered the overseer to bring a red-hot iron
rod to brand the girl.
Putta watched everything. He began to cry, not knowing how he could help
Seethamma who had nursed him like a sister. Even as the overseer heated the
iron rod, Putta had a brainwave. Why shouldn’t he run to Kelakanooru and
tell Hoovayya Gowda what had happened?
The young lad came out of the house through the main door. He hesitated
on seeing the downpour and the pitch-dark night. There was also his fear of
ghosts! He was utterly scared and returned to the house.
Chandrayya Gowda’s men had pulled up Seethe’s blouse as she lay
unconscious, exposing Seethe’s bare arms which shone with the colour of a
champak flower. The Gowda branded her with the rod as if he was working
out his vengeance against Krishnappa’s ghost.
Seethe let out a blood-curdling cry. ‘Please, Mava! I will do whatever you
want! Ayyo, ayyo, ayyo!’ she cried out. ‘Will you listen to me or not?’
Chandrayya Gowda roared, a mixture of rage and contempt in his voice and
branded her again. Seethe cried out in sheer agony. The pleading in her voice
had grown a thousandfold and touched everyone’s heart. She jumped up only
to collapse on the ground and it looked as if the Gowda, getting the rod ready
again, wanted to run through the week’s branding, at the rate of one per day,
in just one session.
Ramayya could stand it no more. ‘Do you want to kill her, Appayya?’ He
shouted and stayed the Gowda’s hand with its branding iron. Gripping it with
both his hands, he held it aloft. Not having sufficient strength in his body the
Gowda found himself unable to move his hand at all.
Infuriated, the Gowda threw the branding rod on the floor, went to his room
and shut the door. Ramayya did not stay behind either. He went upstairs after
having given Gange confused instructions. Like a dog’s tail vanishing behind
the dog, the overseer disappeared as soon as the Gowda left the scene. Gange
took Seethe into the room where she had slept with her mother. Wanting to
follow Ramayya’s instructions and nurse her by smearing oil on the burn
wounds, Gange tried to raise her up. Seethe spat on her face and kicked her
out. ‘Get lost,’ Gange said in anger and went away in the direction the Gowda
had taken.
Obayya with his pock-marked face and innocent Putta were still standing
there. While Obayya stood petrified, Putta sobbed and sobbed. The swaying
flame of the lamp was too weak to dispel the darkness around. It continued to
rain.
‘Do you know where they keep the coconut oil?’ Obayya asked Putta.
When the boy nodded his head, Obayya asked him to get some.
The boy went into the kitchen and came back saying, ‘I can’t reach it.’
Obayya went in with him and brought down a small earthen pot filled with oil
and a chicken feather.
It was Putta who dipped the feather in the oil and applied it to the black
burn wounds on Seethe’s left arm. When she winced, unable to stand the pain,
he blew soothingly on the wounds.
Seethe left with Putta and went into the room where she had slept the
previous night. Obayya went back to his usual place.
The lamp in the room was still burning. Seethe was groaning in pain as she
lay down. Putta slept, curled up on a mat some distance from her.
After a little while Seethe shook him awake. He rubbed his eyes as he sat
up and asked, ‘What is it, Amma?’
‘Do you know the way to Kelakanooru?’
‘Yes, Amma.’
‘Hoovayya Bhava and Nagamma—are they still there?’ ‘Yes, Amma.’
‘Can you take me there?’
Putta stared at her, thunderstruck.
‘Don’t be scared. Nothing will happen to you when you are with Hoovayya
Bhava.’
 Putta’s lips trembled. He didn’t say anything. Though he would have dearly
loved to help Seethamma, there was his fear of Chandrayya Gowda’s flaming
eyes to be reckoned with.
‘Do this for me. Take me there, come back and sleep here without letting
anyone know. They will think that I got up in the night and went away alone.
Tell me, are you afraid to come back alone?’
Putta was genuinely afraid of returning alone. However, he said no. A
sense of pride in an adventure with a great objective had blossomed in him.
Covering their heads with a blanket each, they left the house through the
back door. Groping and stumbling, they proceeded towards Kelakanooru in
that pitch-dark night of wind, rain and slush. The pain from the wounds on
Seethe’s arm was intolerable.
The harsh and deafening sound of frogs croaking and insects screeching
was everywhere. Putta stopped now and then, recognizing familiar landmarks
and trees on the way and made sure they were on the right track.
The light in a faraway room led them to the house in Kelakanooru. The two
windows in the room were like two eyes staring at them without blinking.
Before he turned back after showing Seethe the way into the house, Putta
asked her to shoo off any dog that might bark.
Why was a light burning at that late hour of the night in Hoovayya’s room?
 69
A Night Ghastly Yet Sweet

O NE MORNING NAGAMMA sat up in bed and folded her hands in prayer. She
sighed when she saw a green patch on her arm as big as a coin. ‘The devil
sniffs to find out how long one is going to live. My time is approaching,’ she
said with sadness, showing it to Hoovayya.
He couldn’t contain his laughter and said with a smile, ‘Are you mad,
Avva? The devil sniffing indeed! To find out one’s longevity! Who told you
all this? Something goes on inside the body and sores, eczema, boils and such
things appear. And similarly with green patches. How can you be so afraid?’
Nagamma looked straight into his eyes. ‘Who is scared of dying? There’s
nothing more for me to live for. It is just as well that the devil sniffed and
went away,’ she said tearfully.
Hoovayya understood the meaning of his mother’s words. Though he
attached no credence whatsoever to the belief that the green mark was an
indication of the devil’s intentions, her words and tears expressed clearly the
pain in her heart. Watching her son becoming a loner and refusing to marry,
she suffered within and was dejected.
To be born, to grow up in the sweetness of parental love, to marry a comely
girl chosen by them, to work hard, to earn and live comfortably, beget
children, nurture them into adults and then get them married—this was the
course of life and its goal. For common people, once the goal is reached, life
becomes meaningless and empty, without a purpose. Having been the
mistress of a house full of people, exercising authority over a few women of
equal status, bringing up her own and others’ children and desiring to rule
over a daughter-in-law, Nagamma was now worried. It looked as if her son’s
thoughts of renunciation would lead to her funeral pyre. Even though she
appeared to be interested in and concerned about domestic chores and outside
work with the servants as before, there was no enthusiasm left. Like the
wheels turning for a little while even after the engine stops, her life too went
on.
 As far as Nagamma was concerned, the welfare of the whole universe
seemed to depend upon her son’s wedding. Whenever she heard of some
disaster or the other befalling anyone anywhere, she would say, ‘What else do
you expect when people don’t marry when they are old enough?’ When
Hoovayya slipped and fell down, she was supposed to have said that it
wouldn’t have happened if he were married. When Nandi fell into the ditch
and broke its leg, she had said that such things wouldn’t have happened if he
had married. She had even advised him to marry so the bullock’s leg would
get better. If the rains failed or if the corner of the field were washed away in
the rains or the areca plantation was attacked by disease or the owl hooted at
night or the dog barked in a hideous way or prices rose in the market, she
would say that the root cause of everything was his unmarried state. If she had
known about the terrible war that would start in Europe in two or three years,
she would have probably put forward the same explanation as the only valid
one.
It had been a month ago, perhaps at the time of transplanting, that she had
worked in the field from morning to evening in spite of Hoovayya’s and
everyone else’s trying to dissuade her. She had bent and straightened over and
over again in knee-deep water. From that day onwards she took to bed with
bodily pains. Eventually she started a fever but she wouldn’t take any
medicine. She would pledge all manner of things to all the spirits and demons
she knew, getting vibhuthi and charms from that Bhatta or this Joisa or from
Koluru or from the Siddhamatha she knew. Puttanna was fed up with being
kept on his feet all the time. She would never listen to what her son said. It
even seemed as if she was doing all this just to spite him. Once in a while she
would grumble and say that the pranks of the spirit of Balindra were
responsible for her sickness and everything would be all right if it was
sacrificed. Yet her condition gradually grew worse.
Nagamma had a great love for her son but did not possess the intelligence
to comprehend his personality. The tumult in his heart and the complexities of
his mind were beyond the reach of her simple thinking. The bird of his life
had not yet cracked the shell of his dreams and flown out. Uppermost in his
mind was the great dream that he should be educated, wellendowed, acquire
fame, emulate the great personages of the world and sacrifice himself through
selflessness for life’s ultimate fulfilment. It bloomed and made place for
another embellished golden dream—Seethe’s love! That golden dream had
shattered before his very eyes. Hoovayya built another dream and tried to
forget the disappointment he felt. He built an imaginary heaven with enough
room in it for the beauty of the natural world, meditation, study and thinking,
farming and improvement of rural life, and he tried to dwell in it! He tried to
become Vishwamitra and Trishanku at the same time. He garlanded
frustration, adorned it with a gem-studded crown and made it his deity to
worship. But the garland wilted, the crown lost its lustre and the adornments
looked out of place. Instead of the beloved deity, a grinning and horrific
spectre appeared over and over again. For a few days he gathered the villagers
together and lashed out at their superstition, while telling them stories of the
gods. That too grew boring. Then he wandered all over the forests and hills,
gun in hand. Nor did this satisfy him. He tried to pore over the great poetry
and books that he knew. But his mind proved to be fickle. Even prayer and
meditation he discovered, were tainted with desire. The Rahu of Seethe’s love
followed him wherever he went and whatever he did. In between, other
undesirable spirits took to peeping in and winking through the chinks in his
soul. Ever since Subbamma had brought her jewellery from Kanooru and left
them in his care, the disgusting demon of greed raised its head in his heart.
Each time this happened he would spit on its face and drive it away. He felt a
great anguish when he heard that Seethe had recovered when she came back
from Dharmasthala. So Seethe had fallen in love with Ramayya with all her
heart! He longed for her to return to her previous state of mental disturbance.
Harbouring all these dreadful fires within him Hoovayya was like a volcano,
though seemingly peaceful as he carried on with his duties.
That particular day, he had gone to Seethemane to attend the cradle
ceremony of Singappa Gowda’s baby boy. He had accepted the invitation and
gone with Soma having decided to return the same night since his mother was
ill. It was late by the time dinner was served and done with. ‘Why do you
want to go home so late in the night? You may as well start very early
tomorrow, even before the sunrise,’ suggested Singappa Gowda. ‘Avva isn’t
well,’ said Hoovayya and he hadn’t stopped for the night. He returned to
Kelakanooru along with Soma very late in the night. Nagamma was sleeping.
Puttanna said that she hadn’t taken her medicine but had drunk only cold
water as she felt thirsty, despite having been told not to. Hoovayya sighed
dejectedly when he heard what Puttanna had to say. Puttanna said nothing
about Balindra for he didn’t know what had happened.
Everyone else was fast asleep. Hoovayya unrolled the mattress in his room,
sat down on a chair in front of a lamp and thought deeply about something he
had heard in Seethemane. At that very instant, the person he was thinking
about had set off with Putta from Kanooru and was walking along, delirious
with happiness on seeing the light in the windows which were like the room’s
eyes, though in great pain because of the branding.
On rainy nights the dogs sleeping curled up and warm, do not bark for
minor reasons. How cosy the warm heap of ashes was! Hearing their vigorous
barking and amazed at someone chiding them, Hoovayya sprang up and
crossed the threshold. His hair stood on end and his blood ran cold when he
saw in the light that spilled out from the door a human form covered in a
gunny sack running towards him. The figure ran to him and hugged him
stammering, ‘Hoovayya Bhava!’ Hoovayya broke into a sweat and started to
tremble. If there had been no dogs around and if he hadn’t heard his name in a
familiar voice he might have fainted!
The gunny sack slipped away from the figure and fell to the floor.
Hoovayya was astonished when he recognized Seethe. He tried to say
something but couldn’t. Seethe had hugged him tightly as if she would never
let go of the heaven she had regained after it had sunk in unfathomable water.
Despite this, she was not conscious of the outside world. Hoovayya felt
utterly confused. His head reeled as happiness, amazement, pain, tears and
laughter rose dizzily in a primordial dance. He could comprehend nothing. It
was as meaningless as it was sweet! It was impossible for such an
unreasonable combination of elements to appear even in a dream! For both
Hoovayya and Seethe it was a divine blissful moment of pure emotions
beyond the reach of language.
Hoovayya carried Seethe in gently and laid her down on his bed. Loosening
her arms with a great effort, he sat close to her and looked.
Seethe’s breathing was not normal indicating that she was greatly perturbed
even though her eyes were closed and she seemed to be sleeping. Hoovayya
began to cry quietly as he watched her. In the light of the lamp Seethe seemed
to be an unearthly form of a goddess. Her saree was drenched in places. It was
muddy and so were her feet. Though her hair had been combed and braided, it
seemed dishevelled. He was shocked at the sight of the black marks of the
branding. His heart was torn and his innards were wrenched out. The sparkle
of the gold jewellery she wore appeared out of place and meaningless.
He felt like washing the mud off her feet with his tears and erasing the
wounds on her shoulder with his lips. Whatever service he could render
seemed inadequate. But she was in no condition to accept any service.
Perhaps she was in deep sleep.
Hoovayya went quietly to the kitchen to get a little milk for her should she
wake up. No one in the house was aware of what was happening. After all, it
was the sleep of the rainy season.
She didn’t wake up however long he waited by the bedside. Hoovayya
called her sweet name gently and ever so many times but he was not
rewarded. He stopped making the effort, covered her warmly with his shawl,
watched and waited beside her. He did not feel in the least like sleeping. He
kept looking at her face.
He was surprised to see the day breaking. The night had passed so quickly!
How he wished that the sweet night be endless!
 70
A Son’s Promise at His Mother’s Deathbed

O N READING HOOVAYYA’s letter which Baira had brought to him early in the
morning, Chinnayya’s heart was flooded first with sorrow and then with
anger. Hoovayya, having heard Seethe’s account of all that had happened, had
written in detail coloured by his own emotions. As he read the letter, his heart
was smitten by his sister’s suffering. He told his family about Hoovayya’s
letter. Soon, the whole of Mutthalli came to know about it. It was as if the
village had been struck by lightning.
Shyamayya Gowda, Gowramma and Chinnayya got a bullock cart ready
and rushed to Kelakanooru.
Seethe ran high fever, a hundred and three or four degrees, as a
consequence of the previous night’s events. She couldn’t talk for long
stretches because of her exhaustion and fever. Hoovayya was by the bed,
nursing her. When her parents and brother arrived, Seethe didn’t say anything
but shed copious tears. There was eloquence in her silent revilement.
A little later, Obayya arrived. ‘Seethamma is not in the house. She went to
bed last night but had disappeared by morning. Could be the doings of
Bhootharaya! We looked everywhere for her. The Gowda sent me here. He
wants to know if she has come here,’ he said and wept so piteously that even
stones would have shed tears on seeing him. His sorrow had triggered off
memories of the place he had stayed in formerly.
Obayya heard what had happened from Soma and returned to Kanooru. He
gave a detailed account of what had transpired to the tearful Ramayya and his
depressed father. He informed them of the arrival of Shyamayya Gowda and
the others from Mutthalli. It was a weight off their minds when they learnt
that Seethe was alive.
Chandrayya Gowda was unhappy and jealous too. What did his daughter-
in-law mean by running away at night to his enemies’ house, seeking
sanctuary? How shameful! He must get her back immediately or arrange to
have her sent to her parents’ place.
 He couched his wish in words which sounded more like an order and sent
Obayya back. Obayya returned to Kanooru after some time. ‘“We will do
whatever we want with our girl, keep her anywhere we want. Ask your
Gowda to shut up,” they said,’ he reported and added, ‘They are filing a
criminal case against you, they said, and will file a suit for the money you
owe them.’
One can imagine what the boastful Gowda would have done a couple of
years earlier, how he would have twirled his moustache and raised a
hullabaloo! He did nothing of the sort now. ‘There’s no dearth of girls, is
there? Let them pickle her, if they wish! Let me see if I can’t find a girl for
my son!’ he said and turning to the overseer, asked, ‘Have the workers
reported for work?’
‘They are already at work!’ the overseer replied, spitting betel juice into the
yard, and went out.
Seated on a wooden plank, Ramayya had listened to everything. He hadn’t
said a word. A mixture of revulsion, anger and contempt for his father filled
his heart.
As soon as the overseer left, he turned to his father and said, ‘Thanks to
you, our family has been utterly ruined!’
‘It isn’t your grandfather’s property, remember! I destroyed what I built.
Who are you, anyway, to question me about it?’
‘I would have said it was my . . . that was lost, if you had brought ruin only
on yourself! You destroyed me and the one that gave me her hand. Thanks to
you, our property was divided . . . Only God knows how many lives you have
ruined and how many will meet the same Fate in the future because of you! I
think you will rot and suffer before you meet your end!’ Ramayya flung the
cruel words at his father as if they were stones!
Chandrayya Gowda grew even more enraged because he felt that every
word that Ramayya had spoken was true. He didn’t know what he was saying
and roundly cursed his son. He could do little else as his body had very little
strength left.
Ramayya’s heart was in shreds as a result of all these contrary emotions.
He rushed clattering up the stairs with tears in his eyes. He felt like shooting
someone dead with his gun. Himself? His father? Hoovayya? Seethe?
His thoughts of the previous night came back to him. He took out a letter
from the pocket of his shirt hung up on a nail and read it: the letter which
Seethe had written to Hoovayya before the wedding, pleading to be saved
from it. Fate had played a trick and delivered it to Ramayya.
‘I will hand over the letter to Hoovayya. I will tell him that Seethe had
never been in love with me. I will confess to him that I hadn’t really married
the girl. I hadn’t tied the thali round Seethe’s neck. Everything that has
happened is the result of the conspiracy hatched by my father and Venkappa
Joisa. I will bare my heart about what I experienced at the wedding mantapa
and my guilt. I will ask my brother to forgive me and thereby save myself
from this nightmare.’ He rushed down the stairs from the attic with such
thoughts in his head.
Chandrayya Gowda was still there, still venting his anger. Ramayya stood
before his father out of spite and listed all his intentions in setting off to
Kelakanooru and turned towards the main door.
The Gowda was flabbergasted as if lightning had struck him. He wouldn’t
have felt such pain even if someone had pulled out his heart and lungs from
his body. His voice was unrecognizable as he said, ‘Please, my boy, please!
Do me just this one favour and I shall fall at your feet, don’t do it, don’t!’ He
shouted as he ran towards Ramayya, held his hands tightly and pleaded in a
tear-filled voice, ‘Don’t you realize, my son, that I did all this for you? Don’t
slit my neck, please! Don’t set fire to the womb that carried you! Please,
please, let me die in peace. Do whatever you want after that. Everything I
have is yours, isn’t it? Not mine!’ He sat down, utterly exhausted.
Ramayya didn’t cross the threshold. Suddenly he felt a surge of pity for his
father who was wasting away like a waxed wick, forever burning. His pity
turned into tenderness as he pulled his father up from the ground, held his
hands and led him to his bed on the verandah.

* * *

Even if Ramayya had gone to Kelakanooru, he wouldn’t have been able to do

what he had wanted. There would have been neither the stage nor the
occasion to perform his theatrical act of confessing to his misdeeds, then hand
over the letter to Hoovayya, narrate the deceit practised at the wedding and
ask for pardon. He would have seen Hoovayya collapsing with grief as he sat
by his mother’s deathbed.
Nagamma had indulged herself in eating things which didn’t agree with her
the previous day when Hoovayya had gone to Seethemane. Her condition had
taken a turn for the worse as a result. While Hoovayya was tending to Seethe,
Puttanna had come in and whispered something in Hoovayya’s ears. He
rushed to his mother’s side soon after, leaving Shyamayya Gowda,
Gowramma and Chinnayya in charge of Seethe.
Nagamma’s vomiting, nausea, cough and pain had all increased and her
temperature had risen to a dangerous level. Hoovayya administered those
medicines from his dispensary which Nagamma would agree to take. In spite
of this, delirium set in.
‘Do you know that all this is the mischief of Bhootharaya? You cheated
him of that which was his due and kept it back. And so he decided to take me
instead. Enough of your medicines, boy! Nothing will come of drugging me
anymore! It doesn’t matter if I die. May the goat and you be happy! That’s all
I want,’ she groaned as she spoke.
Hoovayya’s heart, which he had steeled till then, melted on that day. His
mother’s life was worth a thousand goats like Balindra. If he had gone against
his mother’s wish in refusing to sacrifice Balindra, it was for a principle he
held dear. There was no other motive behind his adamant stand. The
knowledge he had of psychology suggested to him that her faith might make
his mother get. better if he offered Balindra as a sacrifice to the spirit. He
gave his word forthwith and asked Soma and Baira to attend to the task.
There was indeed a change in his mother’s condition after he gave his
word. She was pleased that she had at last scored a victory which had evaded
her for so long!
There was, however, no trace of Balindra in spite of the intense search that
was mounted. No one had either the patience or the leisure in all that
excitement to find Balindra whose body lay among the bushes close to
Kelakanooru. Only the dogs (which had already made a meal of some of his
parts) knew that Balindra had been killed by the overseer’s bullet. But they
had no way of saying so.
Nagamma came to know by that evening that Balindra was missing. There
was no change in her symptoms to indicate that she felt better, though she was
less delirious than before. Yet even her delirium took a turn for the worse
when she realized that the goat couldn’t be found.
Her condition deteriorated that night as people took turns by her bedside. It
was at about two o’ clock in the morning that Hoovayya woke up to take his
turn. Nagamma grasped his hand as her eyes filled with tears and said, ‘Boy,
my time has come. What will happen to you?’
 Hoovayya said nothing in reply. He sat there, crying.
Nagamma was quiet for a while before she spoke. ‘If only you had given
me word that you would marry, I would have died without any regrets. If your
father were alive, I’m sure your marriage would have taken place by now. I
would have died happily looking at my grandchildren!’ She sobbed as she
spoke.
Hoovayya couldn’t bear it anymore. She was tiring visibly as she wept.
‘All right, mother! I’ll do what you want! Please don’t cry . . .! Don’t! Your
condition will grow worse.’ Hoovayya had no time to think either of the reach
his promise would have or the complexities in keeping it. He had given his
word in a highly charged emotional state. Nevertheless it had acted like a
mantra. One could see a kind of contented peace hovering around his
mother’s face.
It was in the afternoon of the next day that Nagamma died. She was
reported to have closed her eyes happily as she looked at her son with love.
 71
A Bed of Thorns in the Natal Home

T HE HARVEST SKY was clear. The blue had expanded. Here and there the
golden-yellow crop had been cut and looked like a shaved head. Nevertheless
the earth was still green with the forests growing endlessly all around. Though
it was not yet midday, the sun was quite hot. Along the track which went
towards home from the field’s edges, pushing through among the trees, a
village girl brimming with youth was walking slowly carrying a big bundle of
straw. The slowness was not a result of the weight or her tiredness, but of her
worry. As she had covered her head with a length from a black saree to enable
her to carry the load, neither her face nor her head was visible. She could see
only a few yards ahead of her. The straw hung over on all four sides and the
ears of corn at the tip danced noisily.
What could be seen of her form below the neck was very telling. Her body
was strong and ripe as a luscious fruit. The faded blouse she wore appeared to
cling to her arms and held her heavy breasts as if it would give way any
moment, accepting defeat. A thali with black beads hung between her breasts.
She had pulled up her saree worn in the traditional way and tucked in at the
waist. Almost a foot of her strong, muscular legs could be seen naked. On her
arms clutching the bundle of hay could be seen bangles and bracelets,
unmoving and silent. On her bare arms where the sleeves of the blouse ended,
black-blue tattoos could be clearly seen.
Gradually, the young woman’s movements became very slow as her
thoughts ran deeper. She had become the denizen of another world, forgetting
her surroundings.
‘Oho! what’s this, Subbakka, you are walking along so slowly? Can’t you
move faster? It is just like what men say of you.’ The young woman
recognized the strong voice of her sister-in-law and started walking briskly
without looking back, as if she had just been awakened. The woman
following with a load of straw caught up with her quickly. She started talking
about her neighbours in Nelluhalli. But the young woman walked on without
responding. Both bundles of straw rubbed against each other at every step,
making a hissing noise in the wind.
It was kambala, the bullocks’ race in Nelluhalli Peddegowda’s house. As
was customary, the neighbours had also joined in to help the family with the
harvesting. There were over thirty people altogether transporting the
harvested crop from the fields to the barn near the house. Subbamma who had
come to her parents intimidated by her husband’s cruelty had worked like the
others since the morning, bringing hay to the others making stacks in the barn.
Nelluhalli wasn’t a village like Kanooru which had only one big, tiled
house. There were a few poor thatched houses away from one another. So
there was a greater possibility of speaking ill of those who did not belong to
one’s own family. In the same way, there were greater possibilities of
friendship among the villagers too.
A young man from a neighbouring village standing on top of a haystack
recognized Subbamma as she came along with a load of straw. ‘Hey, look!
Our own Heggadithi from Kanooru! She is struggling as she carries the load.
Madam, what’s the matter? You take an hour to bring in one bundle of hay!
Poor people get fat as soon as they marry rich men. Then they need a walking
stick even to take a single step!’ he said mockingly.
How could his uncouth heart realize that with every thrust of his spear-like
words, Subbamma’s heart was pierced through and through and blood gushed
forth? Furthermore, he had known of there being a rumour that she would be
married to him before Chandrayya Gowda, the rich man from Kanooru, asked
for her hand. It had been like putting up a ladder for the frolicsome monkey in
him.
Subbamma carried the hay slowly up the bamboo ladder leaning against the
haystack which grew taller by the minute. She got back onto the ladder
wiping the sweat off her face. As she descended a couple of rungs, a young
man started up, carrying a bundle of hay.
He had seen her coming down but had wilfully started up again after
stopping for a minute with the sole intention of not letting her pass. All the
workers, both men and women, decided that Subbamma was being
impertinent and shouted at her to give way to the man who was going up.
‘What arrogance! She is wilfully getting down even as someone is going
up!’
‘She is still intoxicated at having married a rich man!’
‘She is getting to be so brazen!’
 ‘Wait till someone ditches her! Her pride will fizzle out!’
Subbamma had heard every word that had been said. That was exactly what
the speakers wanted.
She climbed up the ladder again and stood aside on the haystack. After the
man with the bundle climbed up, she went down, shaking off the dust and hay
from her saree. She didn’t stay but returned immediately towards the field
taking the same path by which she had come before. She didn’t even feel like
sitting under the basiri tree to rest awhile like the others. That was because
she knew very well that the ones sitting there were talking about her in a
heartless way.
She went a little distance and started sobbing, overwhelmed by the pain she
had kept in check. She looked around and seeing no one, went across the path
and sat hidden among the great roots of a big jackfruit tree and allowed
herself to roll about on her bed of nails, and rubbed her face against them till
her eyes felt as if they had been pulled out.
When Subbamma came to Kelakanooru in the night, escaping from
Chandrayya Gowda’s chopper of brutality and from there to Nelluhalli, the
neighbours even more than her own family had shown great sympathy
towards her. But unfortunately with familiarity such emotions lost their edge
like a hoe used too frequently. Not merely that; like the edge of the hoe
curling back on itself, contrary feelings come into being in opposition to the
earlier ones. The sympathy shown by the people in Nelluhalli gradually
turned into indifference, contempt and hatred after they came to know that
Chandrayya Gowda had abandoned her. Nelluhalli Subbi had suddenly
become the mistress of Kanooru and even more suddenly had become the
homeless Subbakka.
A young woman who leaves her husband becomes a target for censure very
quickly. People started slandering Subbamma in whispers. Some even went to
the extent of saying that Chandrayya Gowda had driven her out because of
her misbehaviour in Kanooru. Otherwise would such a respectable gentleman
abandon his wedded wife and face such insult? Such uncalled-for evil
hypotheses were sown by people wherever they liked. As if that wasn’t
enough, there were evil eyes battening upon her along with evil tongues. Her
mind too had meandered here and there, scared and swerving, and had almost
slipped to the edge of defeat but clung on with great effort.
Outsiders apart, even her own family was disappointed in her. One of her
sisters-in-law was particularly annoying, her remarks piercing through her
like an arrow in the side. Ever since Subbamma had gone to Kanooru and left
her jewels in safe-keeping with Hoovayya after Chandrayya Gowda left on
the pilgrimage, the harassment had become unbearable. Starting with her
mother, everyone scowled at her. They were burning inside because she
hadn’t brought such invaluable jewels home. It was precisely her fear that
they would be lost to her if she had brought them to her parents’ home that
made her leave them with Hoovayya.
Frustrated, the people at home joined the outsiders and started bothering
her, making her work like a hired labourer. ‘Avva, this is not your husband’s
home! We are poor people. If you just want to relax and eat, go to your
husband’s. Or go to the people you have given all your jewels to,’ they would
taunt her over and over again. Subbamma would be angry listening to them.
She had considered going to Kelakanooru to take refuge in Hoovayya’s place
and live there as Nagamma’s help. But the news of Nagamma’s death had
forestalled her. Not knowing what she should do next, she had done nothing.
She was a woman deserted by her husband and if she lived alone among
unmarried men, it would be like buying a race horse so that calumny could
ride on it!
For Subbamma sobbing under the jackfruit tree, her husband’s home
appeared to be heaven, no matter what. Compared to the deep cuts of slander
which bit into her flesh, the physical blows from her husband seemed gentle.
All the difficulties she had experienced at her husband’s house seemed like
adventures invented merely to drive away boredom. If she had tolerated his
beating, wouldn’t she be in charge of managing the household in Kanooru?
Moreover, it was believed that Chandrayya Gowda had changed for the better
and wasn’t as cruel as before. His mind had changed after his return from
Dharmasthala. He had become very virtuous. The news must be true.
Otherwise if Chandrayya Gowda was the same as before would he not have
dared to get back the jewels she had brought away? Would he not have taken
his revenge instead of doing nothing? He hadn’t even sent a servant asking for
the return of the jewels!
As she pondered, the sweet image of a new, courteous and virtuous
Chandrayya Gowda shone radiantly in her tears. She forgave him the pain and
injustice he had been responsible for. A concern for him bloomed like a
flower in her heart. She imagined that she was the mistress in Kanooru,
commanding everyone’s respect. ‘If only it were to happen! If it were to
happen by God’s grace, I am sure to have all these sheep in Nelluhalli, who
have ridiculed and disgraced me, feel gratified if I were to talk to them! They
will lie at my feet like puppies!’ she thought.
Subbamma who had been sleeping for a while was awakened by her sister-
in-law’s harsh call. Heedless of her abusive words, she went to the field to
bring back some more hay. Her mind seemed to have acquired an armour of
hope.
Even so Subbamma didn’t leave for Kanooru. She couldn’t wholly trust the
image of her husband she had conjured up while she was under the jackfruit
tree. Moreover in her picture of Kanooru she hadn’t included the overseer
with his jutting teeth. She felt disgusted at the very thought of him.
Overriding all this was her own pride. Forget about a cart coming from her
husband, or about someone coming to take her back! Shouldn’t there have
been at least a rumour about him taking her back?
Subbamma waited eternally for such a call, even if it was merely in name.
After a few months during the month of Vaishaka an arched cart came one
evening to Nelluhalli. The cartman was Obayya whom no one could
recognize. The cart stood in front of Peddegowda’s house. The driver of the
cart unyoked the bullocks. The overseer from Kanooru peeped out, threw
down his slippers, walked along the driver’s seat and got off at the edge of the
shaft.
Chandrayya Gowda had been very sick and bedridden for a long time. His
son, Ramayya, had sent the cart as the Gowda had expressed his wish that
Subbamma should go back and look after him. Though she was alarmed
initially at seeing the overseer, she felt reassured at recognizing Obayya. The
next morning, she got into the cart and went to Kanooru. She learnt a lot
about what was happening in the Kanooru house from Obayya. The overseer
sitting at the rear of the cart also butted in at times. But his manner was
distant, dignified and polite. Perhaps there was an air of dignity and authority
on her face born out of her pain. Moreover the overseer’s power had begun to
shrink as the Gowda’s own authority had dwindled considerably.
 72
Baira and Sidda Hunt in Summer for Crabs in a
Waterhole Amid the Forest

‘I SSI!’
Baira cursed the stone he had lifted and rolled, stood up and wiped away
the slush that had splattered over his face and eyes. Bending down again, he
moved his hand around in the muddy water in the hole looking for crabs in
the crevices. Sidda was doing the same some distance from Baira.
It was the height of summer. As they had already drained and scoured all
the waterholes, not missing even the smallest one, Baira and Sidda had
travelled far and up the hill that day to catch crabs hiding in holes under
stones. Their hands and feet were moving mechanically out of habit. The
sound of the stones as they overturned and their chatter went on incessantly in
the otherwise silent forest.
After meandering for a while, their talk had centred around the affairs of
Kanooru, Kelakanooru and Mutthalli. Sidda who was bonded to Chandrayya
Gowda was defending his master, while Baira talked about his master,
Hoovayya. If and when they disagreed on any matter, they didn’t bother to
settle it by arguing. Instead, they would cough or chew betel leaves and nuts
or talk about the crabs they were hunting.
Sidda talked about many things including the fight between Ramayya and
Chandrayya Gowda, the overseer’s conspiracy, Gange’s cunning ways,
Subbamma’s return to Kanooru after being sent for and Chandrayya Gowda’s
health taking a turn for the worse day by day. ‘The forest is close to him now
and the village far away,’ Sidda said and added, ‘I just can’t make any sense
of the affairs that go on in these big houses!’
‘What’s this I hear? It seems they are planning to have Ramegowda marry
again! Is it true? Anyway, that’s the news around the place.’ Baira broke off
the legs of a crab he had caught as if they were twigs paying hardly any
attention to what he was doing. Even those who cut vegetables couldn’t have
been that callous!
 ‘That’s what is disgusting about the whole thing. The Gowda in Mutthalli
refuses to send Seethamma to Kanooru. So our Gowda here threatens to find
another girl for his son. But Ramegowda is most unwilling, it seems. If only
he had said yes, we would have had our fill of meat and kadubu! I don’t know
why these sons of big men say no to marriage. You know what? I would have
said yes not just to one or two marriages but to ten and twirled my moustache!
You know Bairanna that I have been planning to get married for long, don’t
you? The Gowda refuses to give me a loan saying that he has already given
me loans for my three marriages. What did I do wrong? Those sluts, all the
three of them died one after the other! Tell me what I could have done, if they
didn’t make proper offerings to the spirit?’ He went on about his own travails
for a long time.
‘You are right, I think. There’s our Hoovegowda, a God-like being. Even
he killed his own mother by not getting married! Everything about him is fine
except for his present state as a bachelor. You just can’t imagine how he
looked after us when my wife delivered a child the other day! Rice, jaggery,
ghee, coffee, milk and medicines—we had them in plenty which made our
tent a proper house! I felt like wishing that my wife would deliver a child
every day! Don’t laugh! You just don’t know how great he is!’
‘Tell me, why does our Subbamma Heggadithi go to Kelakanooru every
day?’ It was a quizzical look that Sidda gave Baira!
‘It seems she gave her jewels to Hoovayya for safe-keeping. She must have
gone there to get them back. Trust our people to say all sorts of things about
others!’
‘Has the Gowda in Mutthalli decided that he will never send Seethamma to
her husband’s house?’
‘Seethamma refuses to go there, it seems.’
‘What does she intend to do then?’
‘She will stay with her parents. What else?’
‘I just don’t understand how the minds of big people work!’
‘Why would you be living among the Belas if you could understand such
things?’
‘When Seethamma stayed in Kelakanooru for a month . . .’
‘That was when your Gowda branded her!’
‘Hoovayya must have taught her all sorts of things! It seems he used spells
on her. Otherwise, how would Seethamma know that it was the Joisa from the
Agrahara, not Ramayya Gowda, that tied the thali? It seems she was
possessed by a spirit when she was in the wedding mantapa. I have heard that
she had lost consciousness then.’
‘Don’t say such things about our Hoovayya Gowda. Do you know that he
sat day and night by Seethamma’s bed nursing her, even as he was in
mourning for his own mother’s death? That’s how he saved her life! It seems
that Seethamma was supposed to be his bride. Your Gowda is said to have
conspired to get her for his son! Even the Joisa was involved in the
conspiracy . . . Everything is out in the open now!’
‘What I have heard is that Seethamma’s and your Gowda’s horoscopes
didn’t match.’
‘What do you mean they don’t match! What the Joisa says is the law here!
It seems that he is in your Gowda’s camp!’
‘I just can’t make sense of their ways, let me tell you! Such things are
managed so smoothly in our caste!’ Sidda exclaimed and then went on talking
about his own experiences.
They had come a long way down the gradient to an area where the forest
was thick and dark. There was no sign of the sun there, even though it was
blazing outside. It was as if a dark shadow was enjoying its siesta.
There was a spot there where wild pigs came daily to roll about, forming a
small pond of slush. Sidda spotted what looked like a big slush-covered stone
in it. ‘Bairanna, come and have a look! There’s a big stone here. Let’s lift it
up and see if there are any crabs under it,’ he said.
‘Wait, I’m coming. I caught a crab but it broke its leg and escaped,’ Baira
said as he continued to grope for it under the stone.
Meanwhile, Sidda decided to lift the stone. He had barely touched it, when
the stone suddenly turned into a wild pig! Shaking itself vigorously and
grunting, it rushed towards Sidda, as there was no other way to escape. It
carried him over a short distance and dropped him before bolting.
‘Ayyo! Bairanna, I think I’m dying!’ Sidda cried out.
Luckily for him, he wasn’t hurt very badly and there was no danger to his
life. He had been gored by the pig’s tusks and there was a six-inch gash on his
thigh from which the blood poured out.
‘Who would imagine that the damned Shani-like creature would be
sleeping there? What’s wrong with your eyes that you didn’t see it? Cruel
Fate! Follows us wherever we go!’ Baira drawled. Bandaging the wound with
some medicinal leaves, he led Sidda home, walking slowly and resting often,
generously cursing both Shani and the pig!
 73
The Last Dip in the Ganga of Tears

S UBBAMMA WHO HAD gone to her parents, unable to bear the misery her
husband inflicted on her was back with him building golden dreams of the
future. The Kanooru house looked even more dilapidated than before. The sky
seemed to be overcast with clouds of sadness. The dogs too neither barked
nor wagged their tails. Everyone looked shrunk and bowed down under the
weight of their worry.
Subbamma gnashed her teeth mentally when she saw Gange nursing her
husband lying in their room which was dark even during the day because of
the single window in it. Not revealing her emotions, she went near the bed of
the sick man and shrank into the wall. The sick man’s face wasn’t visible in
the darkness.
‘Who is it?’ Chandrayya Gowda asked in a feeble voice.
Subbamma was amazed when she heard the voice. She felt pity even as she
felt somewhat reassured. Such humility, such pain, such supplication and such
regret in that voice! There wasn’t an iota of the familiar arrogance or brutality
in it.
‘It’s me,’ said Subbamma and started to sob.
‘So, you have come. Good!’ said Chandrayya Gowda and kept quiet. In the
darkness Subbamma couldn’t see the tears streaming from her husband’s
eyes.
A little later, he sent Gange away, asking her to get his hot water ready.
He sighed deeply. ‘You have come. Good,’ he said again. ‘Will you hold
me a little so I can sit up?’ he asked.
Subbamma who was waiting for just such a request came quickly towards
the bed, held him up and helped him sit leaning against a bolster. She could
feel how weak his body was as she touched him. She was pained and asked
anxiously, ‘How are you now?’
‘How can I be? Just as I was!’ he said sadly, tears running down his face. ‘I
am atoning for all my sins.’
 In the dim light falling on his face, she could see the tears glistening. She
cried too.
She wept over and over again, looking at her husband, his face unshaven,
his hair dishevelled, and his body grown thin and ungainly. The difference
between her dream and reality was like the gulf between heaven and hell.
The amorous part of her love for him was extinguished like a lamp
buffetted in the wind. Pity welled up in her, like in a mother pitying her child
in trouble or like the healthy feeling sorry for the sick.
From then on Subbamma nursed him day and night sitting by his side.
Chandrayya Gowda however appeared to be happier though his health was
deteriorating.
Subbamma was neutral as far as Gange was concerned. She never broached
the topic or anything else that had happened before with either her husband or
anyone else. Nevertheless, there was a strange change, ever growing stronger,
that appeared in Chandrayya Gowda. He was indifferent to Gange at the
beginning and soon began to reject her as time went on. He ordered her not to
step into the bedroom on some pretext or the other. In addition, he treated
Subbamma like an angel. He lost his heart to her nursing and care, looked
long at her with love and wept with joy every day. Once in a while, he would
babble to her like a child.
‘As soon as I get better, we shall move out. We don’t want any of these
people. Just you and I. Together! Wouldn’t a small tiled house do? You have
seen the hill beyond the field, haven’t you? That place seems good. We must
ask Venkappa Joisa for an auspicious place. Problems will never cease in this
house. Someone must have cast an evil spell on us. If not, would I have
driven you out of the house like that?’
He would say all this, pick up her hand and move it along his face lost in
the growth of hair on it. At such times, he appeared to Subbamma like a babe
in arms with a beard and moustache on its face.
Gange felt otherwise. Subbamma’s conspiracy was the main reason behind
Chandrayya Gowda’s rejection of her, she thought. Anyway, within three or
four months of Subbamma’s return, Gange moved out of the Kanooru house
and went back to her quarters as before. It was also possible that she was
sufficiently fed up with Chandrayya Gowda who seemed to have been sapped
dry!
Chandrayya Gowda also grew strict in his dealings with the overseer. He
might have chased him off too like Gange but for the fact that he used to
supply toddy from Halepaikada Thimma every evening. Thimma who
belonged to a low caste couldn’t step into the house. The Gowda could not go
out because of his illness. Moreover, when his illness began, Ramayya had
brought him medicines from the hospital and even though Chandrayya
Gowda had been told by the doctor not to consume alcohol, he had arranged
to get all the drink he wanted with the help of the overseer without letting
anyone know about it. He kept throwing out the medicines which he found
unpalatable. Somehow, Ramayya found out what his father was up to and
scolded him in no uncertain terms. The discord already sown between father
and son became even stronger as a result.
After the Mutthalli family refused to send Seethe back, Chandrayya Gowda
pestered Ramayya to get married again. There had been quite a few heated
discussions between father and son on the matter. If the Gowda hadn’t been
sick, he would have definitely found a bride for his son. But as Ramayya’s
luck would have it he was bedridden. But he still spoke of his son’s marriage
regardless of the situation or the company. He would beg whoever came to
visit that they should persuade Ramayya to marry again. Whenever an
opportunity arose, he would slander Ramayya right in his face. Certain words
particularly hurt Ramayya deeply. He tortured his son saying that his wife
would be given to another before his very eyes. Though his sister had been
imprisoned by her husband’s people, Ramayya hadn’t said a thing because
she was after all his stepsister. The Gowda called him a coward. (Chinnayya
had forbidden Puttamma to visit her parents’ home after the tragic incident
concerning Seethe.) He even repeatedly called his son a eunuch because he
hadn’t agreed to marry again at least to spite them.
Gradually Ramayya’s visits to his father’s bedroom became fewer and
fewer. Finally he would go there just once a day when no one else was
around. When Chandrayya Gowda became obsessed with Subbamma after
her return, he stopped going to their room altogether and asked about his
welfare from the outside.
The real reason behind this wasn’t indifference on Ramayya’s part. Since
the Gowda wanted no one else’s company but his wife’s, he would shout
without any reason at all at his visitors. Subbamma had become the whole
world to him. Towards the end, he even abandoned the issue of his son’s
marriage which had previously possessed him like an evil spirit. He even gave
up the habit of abusing the Mutthalli family and Hoovayya in any manner
whatsoever. But one thing hurt him deeply: the Mutthalli family’s refusal to
send Puttamma to visit her sick father.
It was said that with tears in his eyes he would ask Vasu who had come
down for the summer holidays, ‘Will you bring your sister here just once? I
do so want to see her!’ Not bothering to ask Ramayya who scowled all the
time, Vasu went to Kelakanooru and told Hoovayya. Hoovayya had gone to
Chinnayya and told him that it was a great sin to prevent an anxious daughter
from going to her sick father who pined for her. But Chinnayya had paid no
attention to Hoovayya’s words and remained obstinate.
Vasu went through his summer holidays and returned to school in
Theerthahalli. Earlier he would have been tearful to leave home but now he
left quite happily. The Kanooru house was a nest of unpleasant events. That
was why he would go to Kelakanooru during the summer to spend his time
with Hoovayya whenever he could.
A troubled Ramayya managed the house mechanically but was
disinterested about it. At times he would even stop worrying about anything
and sit upstairs in a corner for a long time, empty-headed and gloomy.
Venkappayya Joisa and other small-time village doctors continued to visit
Chandrayya Gowda as and when they pleased, try casually to cure his illness
and return contented. Ramayya took no notice of anything.
Months passed and the Gowda’s sickness grew more serious. And the
Gowda clung on to Subbamma like a child holding on to its mother.
Subbamma had to stay with him all the time. If she went out for any reason
and there was the least delay in her returning to him, he would scream like a
child with all the strength he could muster in his weak voice. As time went
on, even his. body began to shrink.
In the middle of the rainy season, the Gowda’s body started to bloat.
Subbamma spoke to her husband like a mother to a child asking him not to
drink toddy. He just wouldn’t listen. Eventually she told Halepaikada
Thimma and the overseer not to bring any toddy home anymore. The Gowda
grew angry and stopped eating and talking to his wife. Subbamma wept and
asked for forgiveness but in vain. Finally, she left everything to providence
and started getting him his toddy. The Gowda started drinking and eating a
little. But he spoke neither to his wife nor to anyone else.
After a couple of days Subbamma fell at his feet and begged him not to get
angry with her but to talk to her. The Gowda tried to say something but
couldn’t. It was then that Subbamma realized that her husband had lost the
power of speech. She sighed and was disconsolate because the last words he
had spoken to her were during an altercation.
The news spread that Chandrayya Gowda’s sickness had become very
serious. Many people came to pay their final respects. But no one came from
Mutthalli. Nor did they send Puttamma, the daughter of the house. It was said
that when she broke down and begged to be allowed to visit her father,
Chinnayya roared that she shouldn’t come back if she went there.
However, Chandrayya Gowda didn’t die—either that day, or the morrow,
or the day after, or the next day and the next. He pushed away time and death
farther and farther.
It must have been a month after the harvesting was completed. One evening
in the Kanooru house, in the room where Chandrayya Gowda lay, mute and
corpse-like, there was no one else except Subbamma sitting against the wall,
head slightly bent and lost in thought. The large house seemed deserted, silent
and dilapidated.
Ninga’s son Putta, who had gone out somewhere, came running into the
room suddenly. ‘Amma,’ he said, ‘Someone is coming arid he has a beard!’
The excitement in his eyes and voice made Subbamma a little curious.
Getting up, she looked out of the window.
She knew immediately that it was Hoovayya. ‘Bring him inside,’ she told
Putta and spread a mat on the floor for him.
After the death of his mother, Hoovayya had become more serious and
silent than before. While Seethe stayed in Kelakanooru, he looked after her
day and night. With her nearness and her need for care, the sorrow at the loss
of his mother had not proved to be devastating. But once Seethe went back to
Mutthalli, his demeanour changed. He would not show his sadness or anxiety
but ruminated over it alone. In the household work and his other
commitments he deliberately pretended to be as he was before. However, his
body grew thinner day by day and his unshaven face with its growing beard
proclaimed his state of mind and the agonizing of his soul.
Hoovayya came in and sat on the reed mat as Subbamma wished. When he
looked at Chandrayya Gowda in the red light of the oil lamp, he was
surprised, pained and full of pity.
Where was the haughty Chandrayya Gowda of old? What was this pitiable
object on the bed, curled up and about a span long?
‘Chikkayya, how are you?’ he asked loudly in order to draw the Gowda’s
attention. The next minute, he felt ashamed of the conventional question he
had asked. It sounded absurd in the face of this reality.
The sick man slowly turned his face. It was bereft of all feeling.
‘Don’t you recognize me, Chikkayya? I am Hoovayya,’ he said advancing
a little towards the Gowda.
There was a sudden rush of feeling in the Gowda’s eyes which had been
blank. Chandrayya Gowda gazed at Hoovayya without blinking. His chest
heaved. His breathing was now audible. As Hoovayya watched, living, warm
tears started to flow from his eyes only to lose their way in his thick beard. He
tried to say something but couldn’t. Finally, with great effort, the Gowda
stretched out his right hand which was mere skin and bone towards Hoovayya
as if a stream of love, sorrow, regret, apology, regard and prayer had flowed
out! Hoovayya held the ghostly hand in his own, alive and strong with flesh
and blood, with endless forgiveness and love. His heart melted and he broke
down, unable to control the rush of myriad feelings. His tears fell warmly on
the ghostly hand.
Watching this, Subbamma started to cry as well. It was as if the tip of the
arrow of great pain in her heart was being tempered with the sweetness of a
great joy.
‘I shall leave now,’ said Hoovayya a little later. Chandrayya Gowda took
his hand to his forehead in salutation! Hoovayya was struck dumb and took
leave of him, returning the gesture.
He spoke words of courage to Subbamma outside and sighed in dismay on
his way to Kelakanooru. Ramayya was so indifferent towards his father. Why
was he so?
Eight days later, around ten or ten-thirty in the morning, when Hoovayya
was busy in the field with Puttanna, Soma and Baira, the valley shook with
the sound of gunpowder bursts from the Kanooru house. The hills seemed to
echo it.
‘The Kanooru Gowda must have passed away!’ said Soma, open-eyed and
sad-faced.
 74
Once Again, Subbamma is the Heggadithi of
Kanooru

T HERE WAS A huge crowd of relatives and mourners at Chandrayya Gowda’s

cremation. People from Mutthalli, Seethemane, Kelakanooru and Nelluhalli
had gathered there, having forgotten all their past dissensions. Singappa
Gowda too was there. Hoovayya had stayed away but had sent Soma and
Puttanna to represent him. Puttamma, Chinnayya and Shyamayya Gowda had
come from Mutthalli but not Seethe, the daughter-in-law of the house.
When all the rites were over, Subbamma confined herself to their dark
room for months, crying her heart out. Friends and relatives visited her,
commiserating with her on her bereavement and expressed their condolences
in a variety of ways. Though her parents insisted that she go with them,
Subbamma refused. When she left Nelluhalli she had made up her mind never
to go back.
Though she grieved initially about her husband’s death, it was self-pity
which made her shed tears later. She was worried about her widowhood and
her future. The proverb that no one can keep up crying when there is a death
every day was proved right in Subbamma’s case. Her friends and relatives
were tired of having to console her daily. Moreover, who would look after the
needs of the living if one spent all one’s time weeping for the dead? Everyone
had his own duties to perform. Within a few days of her relatives and well-
wishers having had their fill of condolences and grief, Subbamma felt bored.
Even grief, perhaps, dulls at the edges when it becomes a familiar routine.
When towards the end no one called on Subbamma, the overseer went in
one day and sat at a distance on a mat leaning against a wall. As soon as she
saw him Subbamma who had stopped crying started anew. She could
summon tears at will, having practised over a long time.
The overseer’s voice was dripping with sympathy and concern as he
preached to her on ethics and dharma, things he had learnt as a spectator at
the folk-plays depicting the ten incarnations of God!
 ‘Amma, what’s the use of crying like this? It’s God that gives us things and
it’s the same God that takes them away. Who are we to question Him? It’s all
His leele! All that we can do is to accept what He gives . . . No one can dodge
death. If the Gowda died the other day, it shall be someone else’s turn
tomorrow. Obviously the time had come for the Gowda to depart with all his
merits. Will he ever come back because one weeps at his death? We should
have trust in God and try to make our lives as pleasant as possible! Having
been his wife, you will have to take charge of the house and manage it
somehow. Grief has made it impossible for Ramayya Gowda to take interest
in the matter. You are the only one who can uphold the name of the deceased.
You are the Heggadithi for Kanooru from now on, remember. What sort of
future has the house if you confine yourself to this room, grieving like this?
Vasu is like your own son even though he is your stepchild. You can save this
house from going under, if only you can make up your mind. Anyway, I have
decided to clear the debt that I owe this house for all the salt I have eaten.’
As the overseer talked like one of them from above the Ghats, showing
concern and hinting at the shape the future would take, Subbamma found
herself being interested in the adventure ahead. She was enthusiastic, as if she
had acquired a new status, when she heard him refer to her as the new
Heggadithi of Kanooru. She decided to take on the role and win everyone’s
praise and respect with the overseer’s help.
Within a few days Subbamma stopped crying, came out of the room and
participated in managing the house with enthusiasm and responsibility. The
surprising thing was that even Ramayya, contrary to what the overseer had
said, undertook his supervisory work with the same zest as Subbamma.
There was a reason for his new-found enthusiasm. The knowledge that he
was the sole master of the house after his father’s death had stiffened his
spine a little. All those who had turned into enemies because of Chandrayya
Gowda had now become his friends and grown close to him. Let alone the
ones in Mutthalli, even Singappa Gowda entered his inner circle of well-
wishers and gave him good advice. Everyone took pleasure in standing by his
side during that difficult period. Ramayya too had changed as times changed.
More than anything else, it was the secret hope he nursed of Seethe’s return to
the house that made him doubly enthusiastic about things!
Not that there was no basis for his hope. Shyamayya Gowda had started to
bring pressure to bear on Seethe saying, Your father-in-law is dead. You have
no reason to be afraid. Go to your husband’s house and live the life of a
married woman. It’s not nice to stay away from your husband like this. You
will be the talk of the town.’ Gowramma too was saying the same thing
whenever an opportunity arose. Chinnayya extolled the change that had taken
place in Ramayya since the death of his father and tried to change her mind.
They invited Ramayya to Mutthalli within two months of Chandrayya
Gowda’s demise and the hospitality they extended to the new son-in-law was
lavish. In addition to all this, Shyamayya Gowda had spoken to Singappa
Gowda about Hoovayya’s visits to his place and said, ‘It’s not right for him to
keep coming here. Please tell him not to visit us till Seethe goes to her
husband’s home.’
Singappa Gowda took the message to Hoovayya. ‘Think about it. Why do
you want to do anything against their wishes? Let them do what they want to
with their daughter. Why should you be the one to be blamed later?’ he said,
taking up Ramayya’s cause.
Singappa Gowda was surprised when he noticed Hoovayya’s face turning
red under his beard and moustache. His voice was harsh as he spoke standing
there, motionless like a rock.
‘What did you say? Did you say that they can do anything with their
daughter and that I shouldn’t allow myself to be blamed? How nice! Why
didn’t you think of this before? All of you seem to have changed since
Chikkayya died. Didn’t you say that they had got Seethe married against her
will? Didn’t you also say that the Joisa had been bribed to read the
horoscopes in a certain way? Wasn’t it you who maintained that it wasn’t the
groom who tied the knot round the bride’s neck? And it was you who insisted
on my not sending Seethe to Kanooru! And now you change colour like a
chameleon and speak utter nonsense! Tell me, aren’t you all scheming to
catch a butterfly which alights on a flower and consign it to the fire . . .? Tell
me, is Seethe willing to go to Kanooru?’
‘What do you mean by asking about Seethe’s willingness? Seethe’s
willingness indeed!’ There was an edge to Singappa Gowda’s voice as he
continued, ‘Why should one bother about her consent? It’s a simple matter of
a girl going to her husband to whom she gave her hand! You seem to be
laying down a new law!’
‘It’s your learning about laws that has destroyed your common sense! You
talk of someone to whom Seethe gave her hand! Tell me, who was it?’
‘What do you mean? Ramayya, of course!’
‘And Seethe?’
 ‘Come on! why should one ask a man in charge of a pond for permission to
drink water from a stream?’
‘Listen to me, Kakkayya! You have neither principles nor a course from
which you don’t swerve! You are fickle, ready to go with the wind! Seethe
has confided in me about everything. She didn’t get married to Ramayya. She
didn’t give her hand to him. She is even ready to kill herself if anyone forces
her to do anything!’
‘What else? Does she plan to live with you in sin?’
It was as if a spear had pierced Hoovayya’s heart. His anger subsided like a
cobra dropping its hood. His head bent under the weight of his grief and he
fell silent as tears rolled down from his eyes for a couple of minutes.
He raised his head and said, ‘Why do you say such things, Kakkayya? It
wasn’t out of selfishness that I spoke. My only interest was in saving her soul
from being sacrificed. My dream of marrying Seethe was shattered ages ago.
You had helped me, remember, in my building such golden dreams. You were
the same then as you are now. You had no principles goading you into
helping me. It was your hostility towards Chikkayya, your desire for revenge
that motivated you! I know so well. Don’t think that I don’t know why you
now hold this brief for Ramayya. It seems that you are planning to buy a
piece of land from him. You are trying to sacrifice Seethe at the altar of that
demon-desire. Dear Kakkayya, don’t think of me as a helpless fool. Listen! I
will bare my soul. I gave my word to Avva on her deathbed that I would get
married! Even then, I don’t intend to marry! Not ever in the ordinary sense of
the word! Seethe and I were married long ago in the world of souls! That
bond of love between us is deathless.
‘I’m sure that my mother, who is now a soul herself, understands the
marriage between our souls. Thereby I keep the word that I gave my mother.
You are incapable of understanding either why I grew this beard from that
very day, or the self-imposed religious observance behind it. I have done all
this to protect Seethe, not to destroy her. I will do so till my dying day! Some
superhuman force is helping me, do you understand?’
His voice was firm, charged with both faith and power. Singappa felt that
everything he said was true. ‘Boy, forgive me! I’ll never again interfere in
your affairs,’ he said and added, in order to substantiate what he had said
before, ‘I did not approach Ramayya for his land. He came to me saying that
he needed money to pay back the loans he had taken and to manage his
household. He offered the land in lieu of the money he needed. I told him that
I would think about it and let him know. Nothing else apart from that
promise. Why do I need his land anyway? I shall be happy looking after what
I have already . . .’
Five or six months passed and there was no sign of Ramayya’s desire being
fulfilled. Seethe wouldn’t be persuaded by anyone’s words. She was like a
boulder in midstream that wouldn’t budge.
Ramayya gradually went back to his old self. He withdrew into a corner
and stayed there for longer periods than before. He despised everyone and
dark mazes formed in the depths of his mind.
But the affairs in the Kanooru house went on smoothly. Under
Subbamma’s supervision, the overseer, the workers from the Ghats and the
Belas had to work without respite. She was everywhere, in the kitchen, fields,
orchards, backyard, cattle shed, manure pits, their workers’ quarters and the
sugarcane fields, supervising the work. She had a thousand eyes and everyone
looked on with amazement.
 75
Subbamma’s Nightmare

IT WAS A year since Chandrayya Gowda had died. Subbamma Heggadithi’s

competence was renowned all over. Even men would say when scoffing at
one another, ‘You are good for nothing, fellow! Go to Kanooru and learn
from Subbamma how to manage things. Go!’
‘The Belas and the workers from the Ghats tremble at her words . . . It
seems that the overseer, Rangappa Shetty, is like a puppy with its tail between
its legs! Ramayya Gowda doesn’t at all interfere in household matters. He has
left everything to his stepmother. What a courageous woman she is! Despite
being a woman, she is supposed to have thrashed a sturdy Bela boy with a
tamarind broom, leaving marks all over his body. Chandrayya Gowda’s wife
has turned into Chandrayya Gowda himself!’ People said such things
everywhere about Subbamma.
There was exaggeration in their words but no untruth. Subbamma’s
authority had gradually grown till it became supreme. No one took a step
without her permission. With the confidence she gained on inheriting her
husband’s throne, his arrogance along with some harshness and a little
rascality mixed with cruelty had also sprouted within her and kept growing.
The intoxication of youth blended with the insolence of power. If a woman at
the peak of youth attains power, many people for various reasons, become her
servants and bow to her personality. What if there are no jewels in her ears or
nose, round her neck or in her hair? If a beautiful widow combs her thickly
grown hair with a parting, ties it up in a knot at the back, wears a dark blue
saree tightly, and the traditional clothes of Malenadu, stands in front of people
wielding her power wearing thick bracelets, and is strong-bodied, full-
breasted and round faced, which man like the overseer would not obey her
bidding implicitly? Who wouldn’t feel that her reprimand was a blessing and
a thrashing from her a fulfilment?
Because of her pride in managing the household successfully, she had
forgotten her poverty in the past and the misery, injustice and the string of
insults she had had to bear and had gradually started to behave in a cruel
manner. Ramayya sat brooding over his pain and was unconcerned about
household matters. As a result, Subbamma’s body turned lustrous, her fingers
grew claws and horns sprouted on her head. She had the temples of various
spirits and demons like Jakkini and Panjurli which were in her jurisdiction
renovated and ritually reinstated by Venkappa Joisa. She increased the
offerings made to the spirits and demons that were still around at the time of
Chandrayya Gowda’s death. Where one sheep was previously fed to the spirit,
there were now two and two chickens where there had been one earlier. Her
ignorance led her to believe that all the hardships that befell the Kanooru
house were caused by the spirits who had not been properly fed. The common
people who saw all this and partook of it were very happy. As far as they
were concerned, any activity that provided them with tasty food and unlimited
liquor was a time-honoured ritual and so fit to be preserved. That was one of
the reasons why quite a few people didn’t open their mouths even when they
were shouted at and beaten up by Subbamma.
One morning when the golden sunshine shone radiantly on the water drops
on the green trees, when birds were singing melodiously in every bush,
Subbamma set out after telling the cook all that he needed to do. She had tied
the valli over her saree and was going to check on the new ditch that was
being dug.
‘What shall I prepare, Amma? There are no vegetables,’ the cook said.
‘I had asked Putta to bring some. Didn’t he bring any?’ Subbamma
scowled.
‘Who knows where he has gone? He left long ago and is still not to be seen.
Must have either gone up a guava tree or a rose-apple tree!’ the cook said and
accidentally dropped an earthen pot of oil which broke into pieces. He stood
petrified. ‘May your head be set on fire!’ shouted Subbamma, coming
forward. She gathered the oil flowing over the floor with her hands and threw
it at the cook’s face as he stood unblinking. She picked up the pieces of the
pot, cursed and hurled them at him. ‘Put these on your corpse!’ she said as she
walked away rubbing the oil on her hands into her hair.
As she went down towards the field, Putta came along carrying the banana
stems for the cooking as Subbamma had ordered, playing with the dogs that
were following him. ‘What were you doing all this time?’ fumed Subbamma.
Giving him no chance to reply, she twisted his ear lobe until he screamed, and
moved on.
 Putta cried and watched her go out of sight with trembling lips. ‘Bitch!
Adulteress!’ he swore at her secretly and went up the steps.
The workers had already come and were busy digging the ditch. The
overseer was supervising the work being done, flinging commands here and
there. Seeing Subbamma from a distance, he warned the labourers and they
started to work with greater earnestness.
One of the Belas was absent. Subbamma called Obayya who was digging at
a distance. ‘Obayya,’ she said in her customary manner, ‘Why isn’t the boy at
work?’
Obayya stopped digging to say that the boy had body pains and resumed
his work. Subbamma sent Sidda, had the boy brought back by force and put
him to work.
Sitting on the bank watching the work go on, she took out everything she
needed for chewing pan. The overseer who was moving around, very active,
tossing instructions here and there, came to Subbamma after a time, sat at a
distance and asked for some pan, smiling and exhibiting his jutting teeth.
Subbamma took out some betel leaves, areca and tobacco one by one and
gave him some. The overseer put them into his mouth with great joy, chewed
till his lips, tongue and teeth were all reddened, spat out red saliva now and
then and sat talking to her.
At first they talked about the ditch the workers were digging. Then their
conversation veered towards the fence. Then it went on to the tilling in the
garden and from there, to the areca yield that year and its selling price. Then
the debt owed to the Mutthalli family. And to Seethe, Ramayya, Chinnayya
and the others.
‘Why shouldn’t Ramayya marry again? Your husband also felt that he
should marry again. That girl was insane. Should he fall into a pit merely
because he is tied to a woman like that?’ the overseer asked.
Subbamma looked at the workers but not at him. ‘It was because of that girl
that our house turned into an accursed place. The house was divided and
ruined. They didn’t live well nor were the ones that got married spared. The
influence of Shani . . .’ she said and fell silent.
The overseer didn’t speak either. The noise of the workers’ digging mixed
with the chirping of the birds among the trees.
Subbamma sat quietly for some time and presently got up. The overseer
also stood up and followed her like a servant. After walking a little distance,
he said, ‘Heggadithamma, the outlet of the tank by the garden needs to be
repaired. If you can please have a look and tell us . . .’
Subbamma agreed quietly and followed him. They both reached the outlet
and looked it over. He suggested ways to repair it. ‘Let us think of it later. Let
the ditch be dug first,’ said Subbamma. She was about to return by the same
way they had taken when he suggested a short cut and they went by it.
They had gone a little ahead when they came to a ditch with some planks
across it. ‘There’s a bridge over there. We can go across on that,’ said the
overseer and led her along beside the ditch.
Eventually the bridge which was merely two areca trees tied together and
laid across the ditch came into view. The overseer walked on and crossed
over. But Subbamma grew scared and stayed back on the bank. The water
was deep and the bridge swayed a little. It was frightening and dizzying for
those who were not accustomed to it. It was an impossible adventure
particularly for women. The overseer encouraged her from the other side,
telling her not to be afraid as the bridge was strong enough. But Subbamma
after attempting to cross a couple of times, didn’t feel brave enough.
‘Ayyappa!’ she exclaimed and drew back.
‘Hold my hand and cross slowly,’ the overseer said as if it was something
generally done in a voice of pretended innocence. He crossed back to where
Subbamma was. His words made the young widow feel as if the blood had
rushed to her face.
She drew back quickly. ‘No, let’s take the path we came by. I can’t go on
the bridge.’
All sorts of lustful emotions that the overseer had held in check for quite
some time surfaced. There were thick forests and areca plantations all around
and the place was lonely. But with the apprehension that the people who were
working a little distance away would not ignore Subbamma’s cries if she
chose to scream, he restrained himself. ‘Don’t be afraid, Heggadithamma! I
shall hold the stick and you hold the other end and cross,’ he said breaking off
a stick from a tree and turning it into a staff.
The suggestion seemed innocent enough to Subbamma. With her right hand
she held the tip of the stick tightly. He started back across the bridge slowly.
Subbamma gathered up her life in her left hand and held the stick with her
right and followed him for a couple of yards. But the swaying of the bridge
increased. It was true enough that it was a natural phenomenon. What
Subbamma didn’t realize was that the overseer was making the bridge sway
intentionally with his footsteps.
Subbamma stopped. ‘Ayyayyo!’ she shouted, ‘Come back! Come back!’
‘Don’t be scared. Come. You are almost at the end of the bridge!’ he said,
pulling at the stick.
Subbamma felt dizzy looking at the depth of the water. She started to sway
back and forth. She thought that her end had come and she was so scared that
she couldn’t even shout though she tried. She assumed that she would die
anyway, falling down and cracking her head. She let the stick go, took a
couple of steps, ran and held on to the overseer. ‘Ayyayyo!’ exclaimed the
overseer, tottering. If he too had been unsteady, both of them would have
fallen into the water hugging each other. But he held on to her and steadied
himself and reached the other end cautiously. Subbamma let go of him
immediately. But he didn’t.
He was inclined to hold her protectingly like that for quite some time more.
But Subbamma pushed him away, stood at a distance and looked around in
fear.
‘No one saw,’ the overseer said. Unlike her, there was no fear on his face.
He wore a smile instead.
May your face he set on fire!’ scowled Subbamma, ‘You wouldn’t listen to
me. You almost killed me!’
‘We would both have fallen into the water and died! When you rushed up
and held me like that, how could I stand upright? You tell me,’ he said
laughing.
‘Get lost!’ said Subbamma. Remembering that she had escaped from
danger, she laughed but realizing quickly that it wasn’t an occasion for
merriment, she went off towards home, brows knit in anger.
The overseer recalled the thrill he had experienced at the touch of a
woman’s body, relishing the memory, and smirked now and then as he went
back to the labourers.
When Subbamma returned home in an excited state, she could hear a
couple of people talking upstairs. She learnt from Putta that Mutthalli
Chinnayya Gowda, Seethemane Singappa Gowda and Attigadde Hiriyanna
Gowda had arrived. Subbamma realized instantly why they had come.
After Seethe threw away her mangalya sutra and refused to go back to
Kanooru, Ramayya’s well-wishers had kept pressing him to marry again.
Attigadde Hiriyanna Gowda wanted to offer his daughter Rangamma in
marriage to him and was eagerly pressing her suit. Shyamayya Gowda,
Chinnayya and Singappa Gowda were making a concerted effort to the same
end. Even Hoovayya had suggested that it was much better for Ramayya to
marry someone else rather than force an unwilling girl to live with him. Once
at Kanooru, the three visitors had broached the topic and were arguing with
Ramayya.
Subbamma stood listening for some time, hoping that Ramayya would
somehow be persuaded to marry. She went to the kitchen to prepare
something special for the guests.
The whole morning was spent in discussion. However Ramayya did not
agree to marry again. It appeared that he had spoken such nonsense that
everyone was put out with him. Listening to all this, Subbamma sighed
deeply thinking that she would have to spend her time in that household as the
lone woman.
In the evening the visitors took leave of her, quite disappointed.
Until then, the incident that had occurred in the morning at the edge of the
field had been submerged in Subbamma’s mind. Now it came up like a piece
of cork thrown into water. But she deliberately pushed it out of her mind and
got busy, providing the homeward-bound workers with their rice, salt,
chillies, areca, tobacco and other such things.
But what had been driven out during her wakeful hours rushed back in a
dream she had that night.
She was standing at the edge of a deep ditch trying to go across. But its
depth was equal to the height of two or three areca trees, one above the other.
Down below a frothing river was rushing along at great speed. Her heart was
full of fear. Chandrayya Gowda stood on the other side telling her to cross.
Subbamma was scared. Eventually, Chandrayya Gowda came to her and
helped her across the bridge. They had both come to the middle when
Subbamma realized that it was not Chandrayya Gowda holding her hand, but
the overseer! She tried to set herself free but the overseer hugged her very
tight. The bridge started to sway. Subbamma looked down and felt dizzy. She
embraced the overseer imploring him to take her across. In the ensuing
confusion, they fell into the river below, still in each other’s arms. As she was
washed away in the river, she hugged the overseer even more tightly. But he
pushed her away with great force, freed himself and swam to the bank.
Subbamma was washed away in the flood, and dashed against the rocks. She
was hurt and water rushed into her mouth and nostrils, suffocating her! Ayyo,
she was choked!
Subbamma turned over in bed. She woke up crying. Her heart was beating
fast and she couldn’t see a thing. The room was like a cave. Silence reigned
supreme.
 76
Defilement in the House

O NE NIGHT TWO months later Puttanna and Soma went hunting, guns in
hand, dogs trailing behind. Obayya and Putta had joined them with their dogs
without letting anyone know. They had no luck at all. Tired, having wandered
all over, they turned homeward at one o’ clock in the morning as the moon
was setting.
Obayya and Putta were near the house when Putta whispered in fear,
‘Obegowdare, Obegowdare, I saw someone go in there,’ and pointed.
Obayya stopped and looked. He saw nobody. The trees and shadows
looked like phantoms in the light of the setting moon. Even the dogs were not
inclined to stray from the path along which they were walking. When the men
stopped, they stopped too and cocked their ears.
‘No one is there, fellow! Sometimes even trees’ shadows look like that in
the moonlight,’ said Obayya as he proceeded.
Putta was still looking in the same direction as he followed. He was almost
sure that someone was standing under the jackfruit tree. ‘Obegowdare, look!
Someone is standing there!’ And he pointed again to the spot.
The dogs rushed away in that direction, as was their nature. Immediately
after they started to bark as if someone was indeed there.
Someone’s voice was heard above the din. ‘Hacha! Hacha! Have the dogs
gone blind or what?’
‘Who’s that?’ Obayya shouted.
‘It’s I!’ came the reply. They could see a man coming through the shadows
towards them with a gun on his shoulder. The dogs had stopped barking.
Instead they were all around the man, tails wagging.
‘Is it the overseer?’ asked Obayya.
‘Yes, fellow! These dogs had almost torn me to pieces!’ The overseer’s
laughter sounded hollow as he came up.
‘Where had you gone in this direction?’
‘I had gone with my gun hoping to get some rabbits. By the way, where
had you gone?’
 ‘We went to the fields. We saw nothing.’
‘Give me a betel leaf, if you have some, fellow! Damn the rabbits! I got
tired, dozing while keeping a watch for them.’
The overseer collected some betel leaves, areca nuts and tobacco and
walked towards his hut which was Gange’s too. Putta took the overseer at his
word. Obayya felt that there was something fishy about what the overseer had
said. He was still thinking about it as he went to bed.
The growing relationship between the overseer and Subbamma of late had
made Obayya somewhat suspicious. He kept quiet as if he had noticed
nothing. He knew that stepping into the mire of the affairs of exalted people
would be like thrusting one’s hand into an anthill. He did not speak of his
suspicions to anyone and stayed mute but watchful like a stone.
As he lay down thinking, his eyes still open, he heard Ramayya scream in
fear from his room upstairs. ‘Ayyo! Obayya, Obayya! Come here running,
I’m dying!’ In the silence of the night with no one around, Obayya felt as a
chill passed through his blood.
He jumped out of his bed and rushed up the steps to the attic. He couldn’t
see anyone there. ‘Ramegowdare, Ramegowdare!’ he called but there was no
reply. He was scared. He came down, lit a lantern and went up again.
Ramayya was in a corner, lying on his bed with a blanket over him. In the
light from the lantern, Obayya could see that Ramayya had his eyes open.
‘Why did you call me?’ Obayya asked. But there was no response.
Ramayya’s body was trembling and sweat poured down his face. There were
tears in his eyes.
It was half an hour before Ramayya was fit enough to say anything. He had
felt as if someone had called him by name while he was sleeping. When he
opened his eyes he saw a human shape standing near the pillar. ‘Who is it?’
he had asked but the figure had approached him without saying anything in
reply. When it came close, he thought that it looked like his father. When it
came closer still, he saw that it was a female form with a grotesque face,
dishevelled hair and grinning teeth. Even as he watched, it opened its eyes
shining like stars in its rage and ground its teeth, seemingly wanting to jump
on him. That was when he screamed and lost consciousness. Listening to this
fearsome tale, Obayya was afraid as well.
He had to sit beside Ramayya all through the night with a lamp in his hand.
Neither of them had any sleep.
 They sent for Venkappa Joisa from the Agrahara the next morning and had
him read the future. ‘There has been a polluting act in the house. The whole
house has to be purified. Offerings will have to be made to the spirits and
demons,’ the Joisa dictated and offered to attend to all the details himself with
devotion. Everything went as he ordained. And every door in the house had a
sanctified coconut, vibhuthi and prasada hanging from it.
But the polluting act that the Joisa couldn’t have ever imagined happened
without a hitch!
Ever since the day the overseer had held Subbamma’s hand and embraced
her while crossing the ditch, new thoughts, feelings and desires had sprouted
in both of them. Even when he held her close after crossing the ditch,
Subbamma hadn’t shouted or created a rumpus. Her voice was normal as she
told him off in mock anger and she hadn’t brought up the matter with anyone.
Her behaviour on that occasion had given the overseer, an expert in seduction,
a new hope and filled him with a new enthusiasm. And so he carried on with
his efforts.
Her state of mind was like a mango, ripening and ready for a peck from the
overseer’s parrot of desire. No longer hard and sour, it was gradually turning
into a soft, sweet fruit. It had not fallen when it was still unripe, even when
someone shook the tree or the branch vigorously. It was different now, ripe
and ready to fall on the ground, asking to be plucked.
Subbamma the third wife of Chandrayya Gowda had never loved him like a
girl in love. Bereft of romance in both her feelings and thoughts for him,
sexual fulfilment was out of the question. When the Gowda’s second wife—
mother of Puttamma and Vasu—died, Subbamma had suddenly taken her
place, as if it was a natural corollary of the events till then. Her mind had
wandered earlier before her sudden marriage. Even when it was decided that
she would be going to Kanooru, she had fancied that she was going there as
Hoovayya’s bride. She had not foreseen her marriage to the middle-aged
Chandrayya Gowda who had already fathered three children. When it was
certain that she was to be Chandrayya Gowda’s bride, she was a little
disappointed, but had cheered up when she dreamt that she was going to
Kanooru as the wife of the rich and well-known master of a famous house,
that she would lord over the household as its Heggadithi, and would be
looked upon with awe by the others. But she was not fated to see her dreams
come true. Even before she came to the house, the Gowda had been smitten
with love for Gange. The worm of love had burrowed into the flower of his
heart. For a while, the Gowda enjoyed having a new, ripe and luscious fruit
all to himself. But in a short time, life had become hell for Subbamma. She
was partly responsible for what took place in the house. Vain that she was the
Heggadithi of the house because she had married its master, she lorded it over
even Nagamma, Hoovayya’s mother, who was much older than she was. She
was in her dealings with the labourers a scorpion on whom authority had been
conferred. Unfortunately for her, there was a swift end to such arrogance and
she had to leave in the dead of night from Kanooru to her parents’ house to
save herself from the chopper that Chandrayya Gowda was brandishing.
There was no love lost in the relationship she had with the Gowda. There was
only the bondage of marriage, which made her think of her husband as a
heartless demon when she cursed him. Even when she came back when
Chandrayya Gowda took to his bed, there was no love in her for him, only a
sort of pity! She also felt grateful because she could escape from all the
bothers in her parents’ home. She had behaved in accordance with the custom
that a woman should nurse her sick husband. She had genuinely mourned the
Gowda’s death. She said no to her parents’ invitation to go and live with them
and had taken up the responsibilities of a Heggadithi with redoubled rigour.
She was the only woman in the house. She often felt bored and her mind
would yearn for some unknown thing, bringing tears into her eyes. Though
she tried to fill up her time with household chores, there were times when
boredom, disgust and a feeling of emptiness assailed her. Her hope that
Ramayya would bring a bride home was stillborn. And then, there was her
youth now on the boil and ready to spill over. The impoverishment and hard
work of her childhood days were things of the past and her body had filled out
in the leisure that was hers now. The way to hell runs through leisure which
neither knows any culture nor is used to sustain one. The vanity of being the
Heggadithi had gone to her head and as luck would have it, there was the
overseer stalking her.
She knew that the overseer’s eyes were on her from the very beginning.
She had in the past managed to rebuff his advances successfully. But now,
when no one took her into account, his attentions didn’t seem to be all that
intolerable. After the incident of the bridge, he had shown his love and desire
for her whenever an opportunity presented itself. Many a time he had even
created such opportunities. ‘Don’t, please! Get lost!’ Subbamma would
admonish him even as her eyes said something very different. Pleased with
what he saw in her eyes, the overseer enjoyed her admonitions as the chataka
bird enjoys a downpour.
Once, in spite of her remonstrations, he got water ready for Subbamma’s
bath. It became a daily routine for him to procure toddy from Halepaikada
Thimma and offer it to her. He brought back for her an expensive saree which
Gange had purloined! Subbamma treated him to an extra helping of snacks
and coffee to show him her gratitude. As he had his lunch in the Kanooru
house, he was treated to a generous repast of ghee, curds and meat palya. As
the overseer had his dinner at Gange’s place and spent the night there,
Subbamma sent some of the delicacies she had prepared to him now and then
in the beginning and frequently thereafter. Thus the gratitude which each felt
for the other soon turned into friendship. It turned out to be so strong that
once when the overseer had schemed to be the only one at lunch, he scooped
up a handful of water from the container and playfully threw it at her face.
Telling him off even as she laughed, Subbamma threw a handful of curds at
his face and laughed uproariously, seeing his cheeks and moustache splattered
with it. The overseer laughed and wiped it away. Hearing all the noise,
Obayya had come in. They told him a cock-and-bull story about the juice
from the pickle having hit the cat’s eye resulting in the creature leaping up,
hitting the churning staff and falling down! Obayya had pretended to believe
it and left.
The outcome of all this was that the overseer left Gange’s place after dinner
every night and went out with his gun looking for rabbits. Gange had her own
suspicions. ‘There’s no moonlight. Tell me, how on earth can you see a
rabbit?’ she asked. He told her that he took a chance with his shot as the shape
of the white rabbit stood out in the light from the stars and that he rarely
missed. She had smiled and looked at him ironically. ‘Damn your . . .! I know
everything!’ she had said and tugged at his moustache.
The overseer had cried out softly in pain. He had her comb his hair, put
flowers in it and perfume his moustache. With a bunch of flowers in his
pouch and the gun on his shoulder, he had left as usual to hunt for rabbits.
 77
The Buddha’s Grace

T HE KUMKUMA RADIANCE of the evening sun setting at the height of

Kanubailu over the peaks of the Western Ghats had splashed colour all over
in a most fetching way. The shadow of the hills enveloped the valleys.
Obayya had consumed the toddy offered by Halepaikada Thimma and was
about to go down towards the Kanooru house. Thimma had left hurriedly
taking the leftover toddy for the overseer. ‘Nowadays he drinks twice as much
as he used to,’ he said, smiling and looking at Obayya. As the latter wondered
about his look and walked along slowly, he realized that someone was coming
from the direction of the forest. He stopped to look.
There were two persons with their dogs running around them among the
bushes. Obayya could hear their conversation about hunting and recognizing
Puttanna’s voice, he called out to attract their attention. ‘Puttanna, finished
with the hunting?’
Puttanna who was carrying a country gun and Soma who was walking with
a slight stoop because of the weight of the object he carried wrapped up in a
blanket approached him. The barking dogs came up and wagged their tails.
‘What then? Good hunting?’ Obayya asked again.
‘If you say it is good hunting, it is. If you say it isn’t, it isn ‘t!’ answered
Soma from the back with some effort even before Puttanna could answer. The
strain of the weight he carried was obvious in the way he answered.
‘What’s it that you are carrying? You are hardly able to speak a word!’
‘Nothing much. A birka calf the dogs caught,’ said Puttanna.
‘A birka calf? Look at Soma who can hardly carry it!’ said Obayya.
‘Well, it was a baby then, but now it’s an elephant!’ said Soma, laughing at
his own joke and dropping the load he was carrying. He had used the word
‘kari’ instead of elephant, a word that he had heard in a folk-play, which
rhymed with ‘mari,’ meaning a baby. Soma’s voice carried pride at his
erudition. Realizing that neither Puttanna nor Obayya had responded either to
his sense of humour or his scholarship, Soma asked, ‘Do you know what
“kari” means, Obayya Gowdare?’
 ‘Kari means soot. Burnt black.’
‘I didn’t use it in that . . .’
There was no opportunity for Soma to correct Obayya and tell him in what
sense he had used the word. When the birka was dropped along with the
blanket, all the dogs surrounded it. Puttanna was trying to chase them away.
But one of the dogs was tugging at the blanket. Seeing this, Soma stopped
talking. ‘Ayyo, ayyo, ayyo! My blanket is ruined. Damned dogs! They go
berserk at the sight of meat! Shoo, shoo, get lost!’ he shouted, picking up the
animal and the blanket quickly. After that, he walked straight on to
Kelakanooru and the dogs followed him.
‘Are you running away, fellow, thinking I might ask for a share?’ asked
Obayya.
Soma didn’t turn back but carried on, singing Yakshagana songs loudly.
‘How Soma has changed!’ exclaimed Obayya.
Puttanna sighed and put the gun down. He spread the blanket on top of a
rock and sat down on it. ‘He says he is bringing in labourers and setting up on
his own. He wants to take on all the jobs around here and destroy the Kanooru
overseer . . . He has asked Hoovayya Gowda to advance him some money.
The Gowda is considering the matter,’ he said, coughing, clearing his throat
and spitting. A kurudugappate bird flew past, calling. The sun had set and the
first shadows of twilight were descending. A procession of colours marched
across in the evening sky. A couple of bright stars were twinkling.
‘It would be much better to drive the Kanooru overseer out of town!’ said
Obayya, throwing a stone he was rolling around in his hands at a rock nearby.
‘Why? It appears he is the minister to your Heggadithamma’s
dispensation!’
Obayya sighed and said nothing.
Appearing to have understood the meaning of Obayya’s silence, Puttanna
didn’t pursue the matter further. ‘How’s your Gowda now?’ he asked.
The sweet smell of toddy emanated from Obayya’s mouth.
‘How is he? Let me see! He is alive. Has his meals and snacks. He can’t
sleep well and so he has also started eating something which, I believe, has
opium in it. I too sleep upstairs with him. It seems he is afraid to sleep by
himself . . . Once in a while, perhaps because of the opium habit . . . he comes
out with all sorts of things at night. The day before yesterday, he started
crying while still under the opium spell. “Ayya, Obayya, everyone has
abandoned me. Why should I live? I’ll jump into the river and kill myself!” he
cried and said all sorts of things. Once, at midnight, he asked me to fetch a
gun. When I asked him why, he said that he would shoot ‘him’ first and then
shoot himself later. When I asked him who it was he wanted to shoot, he
didn’t answer. I consoled him somehow and put him back to bed. I can’t sleep
well either . . . Eight days ago, he had the cart hitched to take him to
Theerthahalli to see Vasu. He has brought back all sorts of bottles, about
twenty or thirty . . . What is it? Why are you staring like that?’ Obayya
stopped talking and looked towards the west where Puttanna had turned.
About a furlong away from where they sat there was a big rock, black and
high, facing the red evening sky, rising up like a round tower. In the
enveloping twilight, its form seemed to be full of a strange meaning and
mystery. In daylight it didn’t appear to be all that prominent. But from where
they sat it stood out as if it was etched against the sky-wall, the most
prominent among all the other things that were hidden and ignored in the
uncertain twilight. As Puttanna listened to Obayya staring all the while at the
rock, a human form climbed it, black as the rock itself against the evening
sky. Like a line-drawing in ink, the form had no details or physical attributes
and was merely a shape. The ink-form stood bold and straight on top of the
rock and looked up at the evening sky. Wearing nothing on its hairless head
and with its two ears outlined, wearing a shirt and a dhoti, the form stood for
a little while like a statue and then turned, facing north. Puttanna saw the lines
of a long nose, lips and chin, and recognized the man. In answer to Obayya’s
question, Puttanna said in a reverential whisper, ‘Hoovayya Gowdaru!’ as if
he was in the sanctum sanctorum of a temple, standing in front of an idol,
speaking in awe and devotion.
‘No beard, no hair! It’s a sanyasi’s head, tonsured!’ Obayya whispered
back.
‘The other day, he shaved off his beard, hair and moustache!’
‘Why?’
As they spoke, Hoovayya sat cross-legged on the rock.
‘He comes here every day to meditate . . . Nowadays, I am scared to go
near him. Not scared, really . . . But something happens when I go near him.
He used to be mad about hunting, but now he doesn’t go anywhere near it. He
has even stopped eating meat. He eats only once a day, in the morning. He
wrote to his friends in Bangalore and had a figure of the Buddha, so high, sent
over. It must have been a fortnight ago. Not the day Puttamma had the baby,
but the day before, I think . . . It was later that he shaved off all his hair.’
 Puttanna waxed eloquent about the person he admired. Even after half an
hour, the motionless ink drawing sitting cross-legged on the rock against the
sky with its fading light didn’t stir.
‘I’m leaving. Our Gowda calls me as soon as it gets dark. It seems he can’t
stay alone for a minute after that. He drinks all sorts of things . . . It is much
better if he sleeps. But once in a while, he goes berserk and only God can help
us then! “They have come! They are here! They will beat me, kill me,” he
shouts. He is so scared,’ said Obayya. He came back after he had taken a few
steps. ‘Could you give me some powder for a couple of guns? I shall return it
after coming back from the shandy at Koppa,’ he said.
‘Why? Doesn’t your Gowda give you some if you ask?’
‘Ayyo! I don’t think you understood what I said. You come and see him
one day. You will realize the state he is in.’
Obayya went down the hill after Puttanna promised to send some powder
through Baira the next day.
The sky was teeming with stars. Puttanna followed and caught up with
Hoovayya who was homeward-bound.
Hoovayya asked a few questions about the hunt and wanted to know why
they were so late in returning. Puttanna said that he had run into Obayya who
kept him back, talking. He then carried on, giving Hoovayya an account of all
that he had heard about Ramayya. Hoovayya answered in monosyllables now
and then and reached home worried.
Listening to the tale of Ramayya’s deterioration and his present state,
Hoovayya’s mind was filled with sadness and pity. A sharp feeling that he
was the main cause pierced him. His selfishness, lack of firmness,
indecisiveness and wavering mind— were these responsible for the disasters
that had come to pass and were still haunting the members of two or three
families? Hoovayya examined himself with a harshness which was extreme,
though not uncalled-for, and gazed at the image of the meditating Buddha that
was before him on the table.
Hoovayya thought of the self-sacrifice of that great soul, his detachment,
generosity, compassion, non-violence, sharp intellect and concern for others’
sorrows which took concrete shape in the happenings of the Buddha’s life.
His own smallness seemed piteous and mean before the colossal personality
of the Buddha and tears fell from Hoovayya’s eyes. He laid his forehead at
the lotus feet of the image. ‘Gurudeva, hold my hand and pick me up!
Redeem me. Give me at least a few of your great virtues. Make my life
meaningful,’ he begged.
As time passed, Hoovayya’s mind was greatly attracted towards
Buddhadeva. His austerity, strength of mind in adversity, his great generosity
comparable to the sky, his negation of himself in order to serve the world
were like hymns of salvation to Hoovayya in his present state of mind. The
mentor became the ideal and he tried as far as possible to emulate him. But
many times the effort proved to be fruitless because of past passions. But
without losing heart, Hoovayya carried on absorbed in the task of his own
fulfilment.
That night he begged for Buddhadeva’s benediction and with a determined
mind, decided upon his future path. He would go to Kanooru the next
morning and work with a sense of sacrifice for Ramayya’s redemption and
happiness. He would be going to Mutthalli anyway the day after—Chinnayya
had asked him to join them at the cradle ceremony of his baby son. He would
meet Seethe there and persuade her to go to Kanooru and live there as
Ramayya’s wife.
As he was taking the second decision, he felt as if his whole life was being
thrown away. His heart seemed to have been squeezed dry and he felt as if he
was sawing at his own entrails. He broke into a sweat and tears flowed from
his eyes. He wanted to sob but he conquered his weakness, believing that the
Buddha’s benediction was with him.
When he came out of the room victorious in his battle with his weakness,
his mind was an ocean of peace as he looked up at the sky. The midnight
studded with myriad stars was like a guru’s blessing. It was like a soul
struggling and choking in a smoke-filled room, eyes bursting with tears,
coming out into the clean air, or like a drowning man being pulled up to the
bank. His mind felt unfettered and light as a feather, peaceful and full of bliss.
He had never before known that a flower could take shape from stone. Such
joy from such misery, such peace from such harsh sacrifice! How could
anyone understand it without actually experiencing it?
The next morning he felt as if he was reborn. From the peace and happiness
welling up in his heart, he started singing to himself making the Kelakanooru
house overflow with music. Soma, Puttanna and the cook who heard him sing
stopped working for a moment, listened intently and were happily surprised.
His heart brimming with endless generosity and a boundless sense of
never-ending sacrifice, Hoovayya went alone to Kanooru. Wherever he
looked, nature appeared heavenly. Not wanting to hurt the green grass, he
walked over a path where there was no grass!
But the house in Kanooru was quite different from what he had expected.
The hearts of those who resided there had grown distant from his own state of
mind. The overseer, Obayya and the workers—all of them who were there
were intrigued to see Hoovayya. Ramayya, who probably saw Hoovayya
arrive, locked himself up in his room upstairs and refused to see him. Instead
he insulted him with harsh words. When Obayya who was sent over and over
again went to the door, Ramayya shouted at him and warned them that he
would stab himself if Obayya came again! Desperate, Hoovayya wanted to
meet Subbamma. The overseer put him off saying that she had gone
somewhere on work.
Hoovayya looked around at the entire house and crossed the main door
with a sigh. The dogs of Kanooru who knew him bade him farewell, sniffing
and jumping on him just as they had welcomed him.
Obayya made noises to drive them away.
The love of the dogs appeared to be the only oasis in the desert of that
household. ‘Why do you scare them away? Though they are dumb animals,
are they not behaving better than people?’ he asked, stroking their heads and
patting them as he looked at Obayya with a smile.
Obayya didn’t comprehend the feeling behind the words. ‘I scared them
away so that your clean clothes wouldn’t get soiled,’ said Obayya.
‘It doesn’t matter.’
Walking along towards Kelakanooru, Hoovayya looked towards the areca
plantation. ‘Oh, where is the champaka tree that was here before?’ he asked
pointing out the place with his finger.
‘Ramayya Gowda had it cut.’
‘Why? It used to be full of flowers!’
‘The whole of the top floor would be filled with its fragrance and he found
it impossible to bear!’ Hoovayya laughed gently as he said, ‘Oh, I see.’
 78
Chinnayya, Puttamma and their Ramesha!

T HOUGH HIS GENEROSITY had not achieved its intended goal and he was
disappointed, the joyous Ganga which had its source in his mind’s lake
flowed on uninterrupted, full as before. The divine experience which he used
to have at rare moments seemed to have come to stay with him. The sweet
songs of the kamalli bird didn’t come from the top of the tree before him any
longer. It came from the womb of eternity, carrying a meaning of its own. The
forest flowers blooming here and there were no longer mere flowers. They
were now celestial ambassadors bearing sweet messages of the soul for him.
The inertia, grossness and reality of the world around seemed to be nothing
more than a myth. They appeared to be the garb of the waves of the ocean of
rasa so that they would be grasped by the senses. Hoovayya’s body too felt as
if it was but part of the soul’s sensibility and though he walked on the ground,
he felt that he was floating. The experience appeared wondrous to him.
‘Is it possible that such a small sacrifice can yield such great happiness?
Why not? The key to a big case full of riches need not be as big as the case!’
he told himself.
Hoovayya stayed in that state of ecstasy all day. Its impact was felt by
everyone who approached him. Instead of the three or four cartridges that he
usually gave when Puttanna put in a requisition, he handed over fifteen or
twenty. Instead of the usual response, ‘Let’s see!’ when Soma asked for an
advance so that he could bring workers from the Kannada district and set
himself up as their overseer, Hoovayya gave him more money than he had
expected. Not only that, he talked about the matter for long and offered advice
to Soma about choosing the right kind of workers. Encouraging him to go
ahead with his plans, he even said, jokingly, ‘All right, Soma, we will call you
overseer Somayya Shetty from next year onwards!’
That evening, Nanja brought a letter from Chinnayya and said, ‘They want
you there now.’
‘Isn’t the cradle ceremony tomorrow?’ he asked and opened Chinnayya’s
letter.
 ‘Even if it’s tomorrow, there’s nothing to stop you going there today!’
Nanja was prepared to argue on behalf of his master.
Chinnayya had in his letter insisted that Hoovayya leave for Muthalli
immediately. And so Hoovayya flung an uttareeya on his shoulder and left
without even bothering to change.
The toddy shop was on their way. As they approached it, Nanja said,
‘Ayya, I’m dying of thirst. Let me go and drink some water.’
Hoovayya knew the nature of Nanja’s thirst and said, ‘All right. Go. Don’t
stay long. Come back soon!’ He walked slowly. Within a short while, Nanja
having slaked his thirst came up from behind and joined him.
Hoovayya maintained a certain distance from Nanja, unable to stand the
smell of toddy. He didn’t engage Nanja in any conversation, either. Though it
had turned slightly dark, the track could still be seen clearly.
Suddenly, there was the thud of something falling. Hoovayya looked back
to see Nanja getting up, brushing the dust off his clothes. He was unsteady on
his feet.
‘What’s the matter?’ Hoovayya asked, smiling.
‘Maraya! Can you imagine it? The track is tripping me up!’ Nanja
exclaimed and moved on, swaying from side to side.
Hoovayya smiled and walked on without turning back. It was obvious that
the toddy had gone to Nanja’s head. Nanja fell down again before long. He
didn’t get up this time. Instead, he cursed the track. ‘Why does it behave like
this? Doesn’t allow me to take a step forward. May it be set in fire!’ and spat
on the track.
‘Is this what you meant when you said you needed a drink of water? Get
up, get up!’
‘How can I get up? Doesn’t even let me get up! Presses me down!’ Nanja
said and started moving forward on all fours like a little child. Hoovayya
couldn’t contain his laughter.
Nanja laughed wildly. He was still forging ahead on all fours as he lisped,
‘Ayya, do hold my hand. This track is out to bother me! I can’t manage on my
own!’
Hoovayya took his hand and led him on with great difficulty to the door of
his quarters. It was very dark by the time he reached the Mutthalli house.
Chinnayya, who was waiting for Hoovayya wanted to know why he was so
late. Washing his feet with the hot water that Seethe brought him, Hoovayya
narrated all that had happened. Everyone laughed till their sides split.
 Shyamayya Gowda seemed to have viewed the matter with some
seriousness as he said, ‘Nothing good will ever come from that worthless
fellow! It’s the same wherever he goes. I just don’t know what I should do
with him!’
Hoovayya was surprised at the joyful atmosphere in the Mutthalli house.
More surprised than the inmates when they saw Hoovayya’s hairless state!
The atmosphere there was so different from that of the Kanooru house!
Everyone in the house was happy though a cloud of pain might cover the
faces of Shyamayya Gowda and Gowramma when they remembered Seethe’s
plight. But the sun’s brightness would drive away the cloud with its
overwhelming munificence. There was no lack in any other matter, either.
They were very happy that their son and daughter-in-law had settled down
well. Their happiness had turned into celebration now that a grandson had
arrived!
Seethe was healthier and more full of life than ever before. It was as if she
had been pulled out of a well into which she had fallen. There was no hint of
any spirit out to possess her. She didn’t seem to have bothered about what
would happen to her in the future. The only time when she would relapse into
her earlier abnormal behaviour was when someone talked about her going to
Kanooru as the Heggadithi. That was why no one would bring up the matter.
Her routine of the day included her reading stories to Puttamma, Lakshmi and
occasionally, to Gowramma, helping her mother in the kitchen and constantly
fondling and looking after Lakshmi to the point of excess. She was said to
pray and offer puja every day to the framed pictures of gods and great men,
the latter having been gifted to them by Hoovayya. She also locked herself in
her room for many hours, it was rumoured. Anyway on that day she talked to
Hoovayya without any inhibition as if she was his sister.
This much was true. There was no one either in Mutthalli or in the villages
around who was happier and more contented than Chinnayya and Puttamma.
They were like an island comparable only to Brindavana in the otherwise
disturbed sea of life in Mutthalli and Kanooru, raging since the day of the
wedding. The vicissitudes, pain and tumult that visited the others had not
muddied the lake of their lives. They were indeed happy. This didn’t mean
that they had no concern for the others or that they shed no tears. It only
implied that they had supported each other in building a ship of happiness
which could sail smoothly in the sea of woe. They were now in a state of
blissful trance, thanks to the arrival of a baby boy. That was why Puttamma
wasn’t really upset even when none of the invitees came from Kanooru. She
tried to console herself by saying that Ramayya wasn’t fond of her because
she was his stepsister. Even that attempt was more out of a sense of duty than
anything else.
The Joisa from the Agrahara had suggested the name Kariyanna for the
baby.
‘No hope of redemption from these Brahmins, I suppose! Let us forget the
fact that they never bothered to give us good education or wisdom! They
could at least have suggested good names for the baby! Maybe they don’t
want to do so. Kariya, Sinda, Thimma, Kala, Bola—these are the names they
think of for us!’ Chinnayya lamented and asked Hoovayya to suggest a good
name for the baby.
Seethe, Singappa Gowda, Hoovayya, Lakshmi, Kala, Nanja and four or
five relatives discussed the matter for a long time. Listening to the shouts and
laughter in the house, Shyamayya Gowda too joined them. Hoovayya was
surprised to see that even Shyamayya Gowda plunged into the discussion with
passion.
Finally, Seethe went into her room, looked up Venkatacharya’s novel,
came back and said that the name ‘Ramesha’ was nice.
Lakshmi supported her sister immediately. She started crying when
someone said that the name wasn’t all that nice. Taken aback by her protest,
everyone voted for the name. The victorious girl went to the infant and
caressed his cheeks with both her hands and called, ‘Ramesha! Ramesha!’
The infant, who was sucking his thumb dripping with saliva, stopped and
smiled with an innocent look in his eyes.
Before he left for Kelakanooru the next day, Hoovayya invited Seethe to
come to his place along with Lakshmi and the mother with her child. Seethe
looked at Chinnayya who said, ‘Why not?’ He was overjoyed at the
invitation.
Hoovayya didn’t bring up with Seethe the matter of her going to Kanooru.
Ramayya had rejected him, refusing to meet him. Hoovayya thought that it
could be dangerous to ask Seethe to go there, without any knowledge of the
state that Ramayya was in. He had kept quiet not wanting to push Seethe into
a well without knowing how deep it was!
 79
The Overseer Decamps

L IFE FLOWED UNINTERRUPTED for about a year. Soma had gone down the
valley, brought back labourers and worked efficiently, was talked of all over
and gained people’s respect with the title ‘Kelakanooru Seregara Somayya
Shetty.’ As his star rose in the firmament, the overseer Rangappa Shetty’s star
descended westwards. Quite a few of his workers had gone down the valley
without his leave.
One morning, the golden light of dawn striped Hoovayya’s room through
the window and was sparkling on the gold jewellery on the table. Hoovayya
called Puttanna and bundled up all the jewels in a piece of cloth. ‘Take these
and give them to the Kanooru Heggadithi and tell her that I sent them over,’
he said.
‘On my way back, I’ll go to the forest. It seems a herd of pigs has arrived
and has been wandering all over. One of our overseers gathering cane to make
baskets saw them,’ said Puttanna, smiling wide enough to show his reddened
teeth and gazing longingly at the faraway and thickly forested mountain range
visible through the window.
‘Do what you want. You think of nothing but hunting all the time!’ said
Hoovayya, showing his displeasure gently. Puttanna however interpreted it
generously as Hoovayya’s consent and said quietly, T don’t have any
cartridges.’
‘Didn’t I give you ten cartridges the other day?’
‘They were used for the tiger during the festival hunt. Remember? There is
only one left.’
‘No hope of saving any gunpowder with you around!’ said Hoovayya as he
took out five beautiful red brass-bound cartridges and gave them to Puttanna
warning him against asking for more.
Puttanna slung his gun over his shoulder, picked up the bundle of
jewellery, called up the dogs and went towards Kanooru.
Subbamma had sent word on and off through the overseer, Obayya, Putta,
Belara Sidda and finally anyone she could get hold of to say that she wanted
her jewellery returned. Not sure whether Subbamma really wanted them,
because the whole thing had started with the overseer, Hoovayya was
unwilling to send such precious jewellery through anyone in whom he had no
trust. He had sent word that Subbamma herself could visit and collect them.
But since the Heggadithi was in no state to come herself, she hadn’t called on
him. Instead she had spread a rumour to the effect that Hoovayya was trying
to steal the jewellery she had entrusted to him. Hoovayya was vexed when he
came to hear of the rumour and sent the bundle with Puttanna that morning.
Subbamma didn’t need the jewellery to decorate herself with. She needed it
to escape from ignominy. Because of her intimacy with the overseer, she was
with child.
Subbamma had jumped into a well deeper than expected. If a widow like
her were to become pregnant, she would be the object of intolerable insults,
excommunicated and given a harsh sentence if she decided to kill the child
she carried; the family’s name would be trampled into the mud; her parents
and relatives wouldn’t be able to walk holding their heads up. She would be
rejected by society and would have to live and die like a dog. All these
thoughts plagued her. But her lust which had made short work of her wisdom
to rush on headlong to its gratification, and the belief that she wouldn’t get
pregnant because she was barren had made her audacious. The very curse that
her husband pilloried her with for being barren had appeared a boon and she
had been happy. The colourful net which the vile lecher had cast seemed
attractive to her and it drew her in like a serpent entrancing a bird.
The first time she had lost her bearings happily in the terrifying whirlpool
of pleasure and was loathe to stay away from sinning, though with a
trembling heart and weeping with fear. But she had carried on. Once the sin
had been committed she felt contrite with regret and fear. If it were possible
to erase the event, she felt she would never again repeat it. She looked at the
overseer with hatred and told him of her firm decision.
But the overseer, a congenital debauchee, came at midnight the next day
and began to knock on the back door. Subbamma was furious. She wondered
whether she should shout, ‘Thief! Thief!’ but hesitated. What if the wretched
cur made public what had gone on the night before! And so she didn’t cry out
in fear but went to the back door and angrily asked him to leave. But the
overseer started pushing at the door with great force. She opened the door and
let him in, afraid that the others might hear the noise.
 After that she would open the door to him every night even as she refused
him entry. Gradually the sinful act was nothing more than a habit and her
initial hesitation, fear and regret vanished. She discovered a great relish in her
new-found love.
A short while later she realized that she had conceived and sobbed secretly.
She promised to make offerings to various gods and demons. She even told
the overseer that she would commit suicide. He reassured her, saying, ‘Don’t
worry. Gange knows a drug that induces abortion. We’ll have it done without
letting anyone know.’ It was perhaps because of the enmity between Gange
and Subbamma that the overseer failed to bring the drug despite his verbal
assurance. Subbamma pleaded with him repeatedly to bring the drug soon and
save her. The lance of anxiety sank deeper and deeper into her heart as the
days rolled on.
The secret was out finally when the overseer told her that Gange wouldn’t
part with the drug unless she was handsomely compensated for it! Subbamma
said nothing as she handed over a gold bangle to him. But the drug didn’t
materialize.
When a couple of months more passed and it became impossible to hide
her bulging middle, Subbamma took to bed in her dark room, saying that she
was unwell. She did not leave the room during the daytime unless she was
sure that no one was around. Only God knew her problems and the hellish
pain she suffered!
She handed over all her jewels one after another to the overseer but didn’t
get the promised drug. Thinking that Gange was still not satisfied, she sent
many an emissary to Hoovayya wanting the return of all the jewels she had
given to him for safekeeping. She was far too short-sighted to know that the
overseer was in league with Gange to steal all her jewels.
One night, when he was sure that Subbamma had run through all her
jewels, the overseer and Gange entered the house through the back door and
came into her room.
Rangappa Shetty went to Ramayya the next day and talked beguilingly to
him about the plans he had already worked out in his mind. There were gaps
in the workforce as some workers had left, he said, and asked for an advance
of three hundred rupees to hire some new ones. He said that it was the sheer
malice Hoovayya bore towards Ramayya that made him advance Soma
money enough to import workers and set himself up as their overseer. It was
as a result of the conspiracy that the widow’s son had hatched that some of
Rangappa Shetty’s workers had decamped. He would bring new workers
within ten or fifteen days, he promised. Saying that his own man would look
after the workers in Kanooru during his absence, he took the money and left.
It was the afternoon of the same day that the overseer and Gange finally
left Kanooru for a place below the Ghats, with both Ramayya’s money and
Subbamma’s jewels. The Heggadithi knew nothing about the overseer’s
journey.
The night of the same day his workers too decamped with all their
belongings, as per his secret orders. It was the next day that the news spread
about the overseer having taken Ramayya for a ride. Ramayya was insane
with rage. It was in vain that he took his gun with him and set out on the road
to Theerthahalli and Koppa along with some of the Bela workers, saying that
he would catch the runaways and bring them back. Watching him behave so
differently from his usual quiet self, some said that the ghost of Chandrayya
Gowda had possessed his son.
Subbamma gnashed her teeth when she learnt that the overseer had
decamped along with Gange and the workers. The demon that he was stood
revealed naked in front of her.
Gange had given the promised drug to Subbamma saying that it had to be
used after the new moon and that she would administer it herself.
Betrayed, Subbamma’s thoughts turned desperate: death by drowning or by
hanging herself from a tree, a noose around her neck. All that she wanted was
to escape ignominy and she certainly had no desire to die. What guarantee of
happiness had she anyway after death? And there was Chandrayya Gowda!
The agents of Yama, the God of Death, were sure to push her into the arms of
a hot iron statue as punishment! When even a sage who believed in the
description of hell was afraid of death, what could one expect of a poor soul
like Subbamma?
At about midnight Obayya who was sleeping a few feet away from
Ramayya dreamt that someone was moaning. He woke up with a start and sat
up when he realized that someone was indeed groaning in the silence of the
night. He strained his ears and listened. Spirits? Demons? He had heard that
they behaved like that sometimes. No! It couldn’t be, the sound came from
downstairs. Why couldn’t it be a spirit which had entered the house and
groaned? Even as he ran through various possibilities a heart-rending scream
rose out of the groans. It seemed as if the hair of the night was standing on
end. Afraid to go downstairs alone, Obayya lit a lamp and woke up Ramayya.
 Ramayya’s face registered both fear and suspicion as he too listened. Both
of them came down the ladder slowly. The groans and screams were
occasionally punctuated by shouts like, ‘Ayyo! I’m dying!’, ‘The rascal, he
ran away!’, ‘I have been done in, a wretched widow!’. The screams were
horrible to listen to and they emerged from Subbamma’s room. Putta and the
cook who had broken into a sweat in fear as they slept on the verandah rushed
in at the same time.
The door to Subbamma’s room was shut and did not open in spite of their
shouts and pushes. They went round to look in through the only small
window which the room had. That was shut as well. The terrifying groans,
shouts and curses continued to emerge from the room. Not knowing the
provenance of the danger had doubled their terror, leaving them on a razor’s
edge.
Obayya ran out and returned with an axe and started to break the door
open. The thick door developed running cracks within a couple of minutes
and they could see the light from the lamp inside the room shining like a
sliver of red hot metal. A hefty blow with the axe! Once more . . . Another!
The door broke open. The light in the room rushed out in a flood as they
rushed in.
Ramayya shouted, ‘Ayyo, Obayya!’ when he looked in and recoiled in fear.
The scene in front of him was horrible.
Ramayya who had been weakened in both body and mind felt his head reel.
Streams of blood, the red aborted foetus, a stench which made one retch, the
woman in a state of disorder, wails, screams, groans and curses! One by one,
everything joined the dizzying dance in his head. Dazed and unable to stay
there, he tottered out onto the verandah and stood leaning against a pillar. He
could hear Obayya’s words rise now and then amidst Subbamma’s screams.
They were indistinct as if they emerged from a faraway horizon in Ramayya’s
mind.
Having listened to Subbamma’s curses and Obayya’s words, he knew why
the overseer had decamped along with his workers and felt as if a spear had
entered his heart. The name of the family had been trampled into the mud and
life lived thereafter in disgrace would be no different from death. The thought
of suicide which had stalked him like a demon for a long time appearing
fleetingly before his mind every now and then, took concrete form at that
moment and enticed him. Life was too heavy a load for him to carry, he felt.
The intricacies of human existence seemed to be beyond his capabilities.
Death appeared to him a haven which offered him release. He went into his
room upstairs and fished out a bottle the contents of which he had often tried
and failed to drink in the past. He emptied the bottle in a single gulp, latched
the door of the room shut, covered himself with a blanket and lay down in a
corner on the floor.
 80
Before the Image of Death

IT WAS HALF AN HOUR past four o’ clock in the morning when Putta came with
Belara Sidda, stood under the window of Hoovayya’s room and breathlessly
called out, ‘Ayya, ayya!’ When Hoovayya came out in anxiety and asked
what the matter was, all that Putta could mumble while gasping for breath
with his body trembling in fright was, ‘They want you there immediately!’
‘Who?’
‘Obegowdaru.’
‘Why?’
Putta started to sob instead of answering the question. ‘Please, please! I beg
of you, come! It will be a great help.’
‘What’s the matter, Sidda?’ Hoovayya asked.
Sidda, with a lantern in his hand and warmly wrapped up in a blanket, said,
‘I don’t know, Ayya! I was sleeping when he came and asked me to go with
him to Kelakanooru.’
Hoovayya thought something terrible must have happened. He took
Puttanna and the overseer, Somayya Shetty, with him as he headed towards
Kanooru.
As soon as they reached Kanooru, Obayya took him aside and told him
briefly all that had taken place. When Hoovayya went into the room,
Subbamma’s lifeless body lay on the floor. Obayya, wanting to save the
honour of the house, had destroyed both the foetus and the tell-tale signs of
the abortion.
‘Where is Ramayya?’ Hoovayya asked.
‘He is in his room upstairs, sleeping. He has locked himself in and refuses
to respond when called.’
Hoovayya sighed on hearing Obayya’s words and rushed upstairs. The
others followed. He felt that what he had dreamt of in the night had come to
pass.
The door wouldn’t open when they called, shouted and even pushed at it.
 They looked through the window by the light of the lantern and saw
Ramayya lying on the bed, covered in a blanket . . . They sent servants to
Nelluhalli, Mutthalli, Seethemane and Theerthahalli with the news.
Day broke with the sweet song of the kajana bird when the stars faded and
a cool breeze blew. Things regained shape as the light from the lantern grew
dim. When it was clear light, they had to work hard to unbolt the door by
thrusting a long staff through the window. What they saw was Ramayya’s
corpse wrapped up in a blanket.
‘What have you done, my brother? And why were you so reckless?’
Hoovayya cried uncontrollably as he hugged Ramayya’s body. His grief had
been held in check when he saw Subbamma’s body. Not when he saw his
brother’s. It was as if his heart had been wrung dry by being put through an
oil-mill.

* * *

By nine in the morning all the relatives had assembled. Wanting to save
themselves from the humiliation of a police investigation, public inquiry and
post-mortem, Singappa Gowda, Peddegowda, Chinnayya and the village Patel
put their heads together and worked out a report acceptable in the eyes of the
law and performed all the necessary rites.
Hoovayya gave up talking to anyone immediately after. Without bothering
about going to his house even for food or sleep, he wandered all over the hills
like a deranged man. When someone approached him to offer their
condolences, he would leave the place and go elsewhere. Obayya, Puttanna
and Somayya Shetty, the overseer, stayed not too far away from him and
made sure that no danger came his way. On the third day, Somayya Shetty
could no longer bear to see his master wasting away, not having eaten for
three whole days and sleeping in the open. He fell at Hoovayya’s feet and
held on to them tightly. He pressed Hoovayya to come back home. Hoovayya
did not say anything. Nor did he behave as if he was aware of the world
outside. The overseer Somayya Shetty, decided to sit beside his master on a
hunger strike to make him change his mind. Singappa Gowda admonished
him however and Somayya Shetty had to give up his plan.
On the fifth day, Seethe went with Vasu and Puttamma and met Hoovayya
as he sat on top of Kanubailu. She hadn’t visited Kanooru until then and had
been more or less indifferent to the deaths that had taken place. But on
learning of Hoovayya Bhava’s grief and fast and the danger to his health as a
result, she had rushed to Kanooru in anxiety.
Hoovayya who hadn’t spoken till then sent word through them saying he
would be coming home in the morning.
He came home as promised. But it was not the Hoovayya everybody knew.
Subbamma’s death, his dear brother Ramayya’s suicide, his fasting and his
deep meditation over those five days had taken him further on the path of
self-realization. When he walked, it was as if a mountain moved. When he
spoke, it was an ocean speaking. When he looked, it was as if the blue sky
was looking!
Within a month of having performed all the rites the ancestral property
became one, once again. Hoovayya had to shift his residence from
Kelakanooru to Kanooru.
To the amazement of many, Seethe came with Lakshmi, her faithful
shadow and settled down in Kanooru. Her life with Hoovayya was a radiant
one, a marriage of two souls in love, uncontaminated by even a hint of
anything physical. Their love needed no support from either custom or sacred
texts. The proximity between them was pure and more pleasing than any
happiness that could have come from physical contact. It had to do only with
souls, beyond the demands of the senses. If by chance a thin line of impurity
appeared on that solid brick of gold, both of them would take steps to get rid
of it. Much like one getting rid of the soot on top of a burning wick so that it
burns with a brighter flame!
 81
Ten Years Later

T HERE WAS NOW a new pattern to life in Malenadu. Though the main reason
was the passage of time, Hoovayya’s influence in Kanooru, Mutthalli,
Seethemane and the surrounding villages was not inconsiderable. Seethe, who
had been accorded by the womenfolk the status, authority and honour due to
an ascetic had also played her role in it without fanfare.
The toddy shop by the side of the road which ran between Kanooru and
Mutthalli had collapsed and was in ruins, infested with termites. A hospital, a
school, a post office and some shops had come up to serve the needs of the
few villages around and were thriving. The road which once had known not
even a bicycle was now burdened down with the motor cars and buses that
were plying. Nationalism and khadi had caught on to a certain extent and
wearers of the Gandhi cap visited the place from time to time to deliver
lectures. The literate ones got into the habit of reading the newspapers and
discussing matters of the wider world. Superstitious practices like taking
vows in the name of Mari and worshipping spirits gave place to some noble
rites associated with true religion. Civilization had come to the forest.
Thanks to Hoovayya’s efforts, the Belas and the overseer Somayya Shetty
(who had gone to the Kannada district and come back married three years
ago) no longer lived in tents like pigs in a sty but in small and well-planned
houses with as much cleanliness as possible. In times of illness they now went
to the hospital instead of the Joisa. Ninga’s son Putta had learnt to read and
write as a result of Seethe’s efforts. Now married, he was a farmer on contract
in Kelakanooru. People called him ‘Little Puttanna’ to distinguish him from
the hunter Puttanna. The house in Kanooru too had been renovated in places.
It looked attractive in keeping with the times but Hoovayya no longer lived in
it.
Hoovayya had built a new bungalow on the Kanubailu heights where
Halepaikada Thimma had previously prepared toddy for Chandrayya Gowda
and the overseer Rangappa Shetty. He lived there as an ascetic who was a
Karmayogi. Obayya having come to terms with the tragedy that befell his
family worked devotedly in the service of Hoovayya. Many were jealous of
the prestige he enjoyed and said, ‘Whoever will give a girl in marriage to that
ugly one-eyed man with a pock-marked face? No wonder he goes about like a
man who has renounced everything. His is the penance of a cat waiting to
pounce!’ Puttanna was still the same, though he now worked mostly as a
hunter for Vasappa Gowda of Kanooru who had completed his education and
married Seethe’s sister, Lakshmi. Incidentally Puttanna was also Vasu’s
secretary in most other matters! He too had tried to stay on with Hoovayya
like Obayya, but unable to get over his passion for hunting had slid from the
hilltop mansion to the house at the bottom! The warmth of the valley was
more congenial to him than the chill of the hilltop. Everyone made fun of him
about his moving house. He had come down on the pretext of having caught a
cold and cough and so had sent someone to collect his clothes from the
mansion! He was naturally the butt of ridicule particularly from the new
daughter-in-law of the Kanooru house, Lakshmidevi, who let no opportunity
pass. He would counter her remarks in his sing-song voice, ‘Don’t I know
you, Amma? Tell me, wasn’t it you who said all along that you would live
like your sister, but sat on the wedding plank with Vasappa Gowda without
telling anyone?’ It was because Lakshmi found such taunts pleasing that she
kept up the banter.

* * *

The dawn after the full moon of Vaishakha was particularly lovely. A tall,
fair, well-built, handsome young man sporting a thin moustache was on his
way from Kanooru to the top of Kanubailu along the newly constructed
spiralling road. Clad in white khadi pyjama and kurta, he wore a thin pair of
sandals commonly seen on the plains. His hair, combed along a parting, shone
brightly as he strode effortlessly towards the bungalow on top of the hill. A
couple of boys in identical outfits followed him laughing in merriment as if
they were running a race. One was eleven-year old Ramesha, the son of
Mutthalli Chinnayya Gowda. The other was Seethemane Singappa Gowda’s
son, Shankarayya, a little older than Ramesha.
Ramesha ran up to the young man, took his hand and said, ‘Mava, I won
the race! Shankarayya couldn’t catch up with me!’ His lips parted as he
laughed, showing pearly white teeth.
‘I couldn’t help it, I stepped on a thorn!’ Shankara said from behind.
 Meanwhile the now-graying Singappa Gowda who was walking slowly
along with Chinnayya narrowed his eyes as he looked up and called in a
ringing voice, ‘Oh, Vasappa!’
The young man and the boys who had forged ahead stopped and turned
around, looking down.
Singappa’s loud voice was heard again. ‘Wait for us, boy. You find it easy
to go up the hill, don’t you, now that you are recently married!’ The Gowda
shouted as he moved up. Though Vasappa stopped, ostensibly for Singappa
Gowda to catch up with him, his eyes were fixed elsewhere. Seethe clad in a
khadi saree was holding the hand of Puttamma’s six-year-old daughter
Lalitha, while Puttamma herself carried her one-year old son in her arms.
With them was Vasappa’s young and beautiful wife, Lakshmidevi, in a blue
silk saree looking as if she was herself the adorned deity of Spring. The wise
Gowda knew that Vasappa’s eyes were focused not on him, but on his wife.
When he came up he said, ‘That’ll do, boy. Your eyes have feasted enough.
The evil eye may fall on her if you stare any more! Move on, boy, let’s go.’
Embarrassed Vasu turned around and said, ‘You had better keep quiet,
Kakkayya! Don’t I know how self-controlled you were as a young man! And
if you have forgotten, ask Hoovanna. He will tell you!’ He turned to the boys
who were busy catching coloured butterflies and said, ‘Come along, it’s
getting late!’
Puttamma heard him and turned to Lakshmi. ‘Lakshmi, will you please
take Madhu for a while? I’m tired.’
‘I am tired too,’ said Lakshmi without turning around. Being young and in
the pink of health, she wasn’t the least tired and could have carried the baby
easily! The truth of the matter was that she was anxious lest her make-up be
messed up or her clothes soiled if she carried the baby.
Seethe divined the reason behind Lakshmi’s words and admonished her.
‘Come on, girl! Take the baby. What will it be like in the future if you carry
on like this now?’ There was tenderness in her admonition.
‘What will it be like in the future, did you say? She will probably have a
maidservant to carry her baby! I had better let Vasu know!’ Puttamma said
and looking at the group of men ahead, shouted ‘Vasu, eh, Vasu!’
Though none of them heard her call, Lakshmi turned back swiftly and ran
to her sister-in-law. Holding her hand over Puttamma’s mouth, she pleaded,
‘Please keep quiet, 1 beg of you,’ and stretched both her bejewelled arms to
the baby saying, ‘Come, Madhu, come!’ and gathered him to her before going
up at a brisk pace.
Somayya Shetty’s workers, the Belas, the affluent from the neighbouring
villages, Venkappayya’s two sons who were Vasu’s classmates and many
others had assembled in the hermitage-like bungalow which had been
decorated with leaves and buntings and was sweet with the smell of incense.
It was Buddha Jayanthi. Vasu was talking to his Brahmin friends with a
certain showiness born of familiarity. Singappa Gowda talked to all his
acquaintances about the rains and crops. Seethe, Puttamma and Lakshmi went
into Hoovayya’s room before joining the other ladies. As was her custom,
Seethe touched Hoovayya’s feet in greeting. He in turn folded his hands in
front of the framed picture of the Buddha passing on Seethe’s obeisance to
him. He took Madhu from Lakshmi’s arms, seated him on his lap and spoke
to him caressing him all the while.
The festivities began soon after. Vasu, his two Brahmin friends,
Shankarayya and Ramesha stood by the platform and chanted mantras
celebrating the flowering of a new life. Lakshmi played on the harmonium
offering a fitting background to their chanting. Seethe stayed where she was,
a silent participant. Everybody was transported to a new world of hope on that
lovely spring morning. The sunshine was glorious and the chanting blended
with the calls of the parrots kamalli, kajana, the koel and pikalara birds.

There, behold a new sun rising on the peaks

of the Sahyadri range.
Night has fled, a new dawn smiles
and a cool breeze plays about,
as the golden radiance of the sunlit day
falls in love with the land of hills.

Wake up and listen to the clarion call

of a New Life—the solstice!
There the Goddess of the New Age arises,
cutting through blind beliefs,
Kali incarnate, armed with the sword
of Knowledge and Science!
Having mastered the skills of body and mind,
arise with pride and faith.
Oh, Children of Revolution, prosper,
Waking up to Light and Peace.
 THE BEGINNING

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This collection published 2016

Copyright © K.P. Purna Chandra Tejasvi 1999
The moral right of the author has been asserted
Jacket images © Shamli Nimbalkar
ISBN: 978-0-140-28082-1
This digital edition published in 2016.
e-ISBN: 978-9-351-18889-6
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold,
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