Tell A Thousand Lies (22 page)

The devotees were alert to my smallest need. They’d have fanned me through the night, had I allowed it. Hard as I tried to appreciate their selflessness, this near constant attention to my comforts drove me crazy. Unfortunately, the devotees took it as a personal affront if I declined their services.

But, now, too restless for politeness, I got down from the swing and walked in to the house, indicating I was to be left alone. Closing the door, I paced about, waiting for Ammamma to send Lata off to her husband’s house, and return home.

Three hours later, the door rattled. With great relief I let Ammamma in.

She sank to the mat. “I’m glad the wedding’s out of the way.”

“Did you talk to Kondal Rao?”

“I did.”

At her tone, I said sharply, “He won’t let me leave?”

“He said you can leave whenever you want. According to him it’s less headache for him if you go into hiding.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“I told him you couldn’t leave openly. The devotees won’t let you go.” Her lips quivered.

“So?”

“He said he didn’t have the time for trivial issues. Then he left.”

><

The phone, newly installed, rang. I knew better than to answer my own phone. Yet another devotee ran up with it, the long extension cord trailing.

I reached for the phone, hand trembling. Srikar, or Kondal Rao? I waved everyone away, waiting till they closed the door behind them.

“Hello?”

“Pullamma, it is me,” Srikar said.

“You can’t call here!”

“Don’t worry, no one’s listening.”

“How can you be sure?” All long distances calls were routed through the operator, a terrible gossip.

“I’m in the village,” Srikar said. “Is your entourage around?”

“No.” He’d come all the way to the village just to make a phone call? I looked at Srikar’s mirrored globe suspended from the ceiling, wishing he were here, instead.

“The way things have been going, I wasn’t sure the wedding would actually happen,” Srikar said. “Now that it is out of the way…”

“Thank god, you’re here. Your grandfather refused to help me get away.”

Srikar was too decent a man to say
I told you so
. “For my grandfather to act honourably would have been out of character.” He hesitated, then rushed into speech. “Now that Lata is married, why don’t we take Ammamma and disappear? I have a job offer from a construction company in Dubai. I’ll get our passports made. Let’s leave all of this behind. We can make a new life there.”

“How will we get away? They won’t even let me leave the compound.”

“We’ll work out a plan.”

I started to cry. “
Yemandi
, please. Do it as soon as possible. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

Chapter 28

Things Change

S
rikar’s escape plan gave me renewed hope. Everything became easier to bear now that there was an end in sight. I got up at 4:30 a.m., performed my prayers, practiced meditation under Ammamma’s guidance, had breakfast, saw devotees, had lunch. Then Ammamma and I locked ourselves in our private sanctuary. If not for this, I might have gone mad. Ammamma sensed this and kept everyone out, no exceptions. Other than Lata, that is. Nothing could have kept her out.

I wished I could have seen Malli before we left India forever. But her in-laws were so demanding, they would never allow her to visit. In my uncharitable moments I wished Lata’s in-laws were half as demanding, but they were too awed by her connection to me. Regardless, she was good training ground for me to maintain my stoic facade.

Tiring as my days were, the nights were worse. That was when I allowed myself to think of Srikar. I worried constantly that something would go wrong with the Dubai plan – maybe they would withdraw the offer, maybe they wouldn’t allow his family to accompany him, maybe they would deny Ammamma the visa.

With the fears came the tears. Rigid as my self-control was in public, in private it was virtually non-existent. Many nights I whipped myself into a frenzy of panic, unable to calm myself down.

“I don’t know if I have the energy to keep this up,” I said to Ammamma after a particularly strenuous day. “I am so tired all the time; I can’t sleep at night. I don’t know how Gurus keep up with this schedule.” We were in our private quarters, away from judging eyes. That was the hardest part for me, the fact that people’s eyes were always trained on me. Every movement of mine, every gesture, every blink was analyzed for divine significance.

When we’d talked last, Srikar said the next time he phoned, he hoped it would be with good news. It was a week since he’d called. I collapsed on the bed. Lata was back on one of her increasingly frequent visits, and it wasn’t helping. I had no idea what went on in her marriage, why she had so much time to direct my life. She didn’t talk about it, and I didn’t ask.

I lay back and stretched out, looking at the mirrored globe Srikar had bought me, trying to derive comfort from it. Why hadn’t he called? “I am so tired. I don’t know if I can get up tomorrow.”

“Why don’t you get someone to help?” Lata said. “At least ten of your hangers-on will jump at the chance.”

“How?” Ammamma asked, addressing the wall behind Lata’s head; she no longer talked directly to Lata. “Get a substitute Goddess?”

Lata ignored Ammamma and bounced onto the bed, next to me. “What’s the big thing about privacy anyway? I would love to have someone wait on me hand and foot.”

Ammamma pointedly turned her back on her youngest granddaughter. “Let me get you some
idlis
,” she said, heading to the kitchen. “I made your favourite chutney.” She returned with a plate piled with
idlis
,
and bent forward to help me up.

“I’m so tired, Ammamma,” I said, voice slurring. “I just want to sleep.”

“I’d let you,” she said, sounding apologetic, “but you are losing weight.”

I reached for the
idlis
. Feeling a sudden surge of nausea, I covered my mouth with a hand, and ran to the bathroom. I retched violently till I had emptied the contents of my stomach.

Ammamma rushed in. “The strain is getting to you, Child. You need to take better care of yourself. There is sickness in the air.”

I washed up, and crawled back into bed.

“You need to eat at least one
idli
, Child. It will help settle your stomach.”

“I can’t,” I pleaded, “I can’t even bear to be in the same room as food.”

“How long since your period?” Ammamma suddenly asked.

“I’ve missed two,” I said slowly.

We looked at each other in mounting horror.

“Oh, no!” Ammamma felt blindly for the chair behind her, and sank into it.

Lata sat up. “What were you thinking, Pullamma? Haven’t our elders said that you should never get pregnant in
Ashadha
Masam
? If the child is born deformed, you will have only yourself to blame.”

Newlyweds traditionally stayed apart in
Ashadha
Masam
– the inauspicious period in June-July, so a child wouldn’t result. Some people believed that a child conceived in
Ashadha
Masam
,
and therefore due in
Chaitra
Masam
– sometime in March – would be born handicapped.

Ammamma leaned over, grabbed Lata’s arm and yanked hard.

“What?” Lata said. “I’m only telling the truth.” For someone so against traditional wisdom, Lata was certainly spouting a lot of it lately.

“If you want to open your mouth,” Ammamma said through clenched teeth, “say only good things. Remember, the
tathastu
devatalu
are always around.”

Tathastu
devatalu
. The so-be-it Gods. Elders said that these Gods made words leaving one’s mouth come true.

Lata snorted.

Wordlessly Ammamma pulled Lata down from the bed, dragged her to the door, opened it and shoved her out into the courtyard. It was a measure of her outrage that she didn’t bother to see if anyone was watching. Shutting the door on Lata, she sagged against it. “What have you done, Child?” she asked, face ashen.

“A baby!” I said, closing my eyes and leaning against the headboard. I felt the beginnings of a smile.

“No one knows you are married. How will you explain away a baby?”

“We have a plan,” I told Ammamma. I couldn’t stop smiling at the thought of the baby. “Srikar is working on it.” Srikar and I had decided to hold off telling Ammamma about the Dubai plan till everything was in place, but things had changed.

“You are fools if you think you can escape Kondal Rao’s clutches.”

“Weren’t you the one who told Srikar and me to disappear?”

“Weren’t you the one who told me that he’d never let you go?”

“I can’t live like this, Ammamma.” I put a protective hand on my belly.

“Think,” Ammamma begged, “this isn’t something you’ll be able to talk your way through.”

“I don’t talk in public.”

“
Bah!
You know what I mean.”

“Don’t worry, Ammamma. It is early yet. Things will fall in place long before my due date.” I lay back and stretched luxuriously. Now that I knew the cause of my near constant tiredness, I suddenly felt energetic.

Ammamma sank to the floor and fell against the door. “Oh
Lord of the Seven Hills!
Oh
Yedukondalavada!
Watch over these young innocents.”

I got down from bed, settled on the chair and reached for the phone.

Ammamma sat up, face alarmed. “What are you doing?”

“Calling my husband.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Ammamma shrieked.

“Considering this is his baby,” I said, “don’t you think he has the right to know?”

“What about the operator? She’ll be listening to everything you say.”

“Make the connection for me, Ammamma. Please?” I’d just have to be careful.

Muttering under her breath, Ammamma booked the trunk call.

The call came through ten minutes later. After Srikar and I had spoken of minor matters, I prepared to give him the news. Suddenly, I felt embarrassed. Maybe I should have asked Ammamma. “Uh.” I stopped, not sure how to proceed.

“What is it?”

“You know those plans discussed in the park... in the evenings... on the swing?”

“Yes?”

“Plans have to be put off, things have changed. In a good way.”

“Oh no!”

I was so shaken by his unguarded reaction that I dropped the phone. The call disconnected. Despite several tries, the operator was unable to connect me back. Not wanting to face Ammamma, I got into the bed, and turned off the light.

“Pullamma?” Ammamma whispered about twenty minutes later.

“What?” I asked, trying to sound sleepy.

“Srikar phoned Lakshmi
garu
’s house. He is on his way.”

Chapter 29

The Escape to Dubai

I
ran a cloth over the newly acquired chairs and flower vase. “Move,” I told Lata. “I need to dust.” The ashram was shut down. No one to tell me what I could, or couldn’t, do. I’d already prepared the delicacies Srikar liked. Now I was cleaning, making sure everything was perfect for my husband.

“It’s only your husband that’s coming, not some royalty.”

Ignoring her, I dragged a chair, and started on the cobwebs.