Tell A Thousand Lies (24 page)

E
arly next morning Satyam, the priest – lackey of Kondal Rao – brought word from his master that the ashram was to remain closed. On account of my being in meditation. Hopefully, all this unscheduled meditation was doing me some good.

Kondal Rao stormed in moments after
Satyam’s
departure. He tapped his foot impatiently as his sidekicks closed the gate to the courtyard, then erupted. “What game are you playing?”

“What game?” I said.

“Don’t try your innocent act with me,” he roared, face so red I feared it would burst.

“Pullamma,” Ammamma said urgently. “Let me talk.”

I shut up, but not without effort.

“Kondal Rao
garu
,” Ammamma said. “You are like an elder brother to me –”

“Cut the bullshit!”

Ammamma was so shocked, she abruptly shut her mouth. It would have never occurred to her that the husband of her childhood friend would disrespect her so.

Kondal Rao stabbed a finger at me. “Tell this little granddaughter of yours never to forget her place. I made her. I can also break her. I have bought and sold hundreds like her. She should be grateful I am even ready to give her my patronage.”

“Of course, of course.” Ammamma’s lips quivered. “She is but a child, please forgive her mistake.”

Trembling with rage, I opened my mouth. Ammamma quelled me with a sharp look.

Turning to Kondal Rao, she said, “We are simple village folk. What do we know of accepting unimaginable gifts like brand new temples?”

“She dared throw my gift in my face!” He gave me a furious look. “Have you taught her nothing? Has she no gratitude?”

“Please forgive her,” Ammamma begged. “She is immature, yet.”

I ground my teeth down in an effort to stem my words.

Ammamma soldiered on. “Little people like us cannot think big, Kondal Rao
garu
. If you were to build Pullamma a temple, and she let you down because she didn’t know how to behave, it would cause you unimaginable loss of face.”

And the loss of an election, though Ammamma didn’t come out and say it.

“Hmm.” He appeared to be thinking.

“I have a suggestion, if I may,” Ammamma said, “which is sure to enhance your prestige.”

“Tell me.”

“Build an ashram. Bigger than this little house, if you wish.”

He snorted. “And that will help me, how?”

“If you would consider it for a moment.” Ammamma took a deep breath. “If you were to build the temple, people would know, of course, that it was your generosity that built it, but it would forever be associated with Pullamma.” Just in case he’d missed the point, Ammamma reiterated, “The temple might cause her stature to eclipse yours.”

Kondal Rao pursed his lips. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

I’m sure he hadn’t, the snake.

“But if the plaque on the ashram carried your name...”

Kondal Rao’s beady eyes glinted. “Tell me more.”

“You might consider starting a free school for underprivileged children. Yoga classes. Spiritual classes. Offer free meals. That will do a better job of reminding people of your generosity.” Ammamma cleared her throat. “Pardon me for speaking so, but during election time, this would be of great use.”

“How so?”

“The ashram would automatically generate jobs for maintenance, teachers, and so on. Money is not an issue, obviously, with so much pouring in. In these hard times, people who are able to find, and retain, jobs will be grateful to their benefactor, especially if he throws in a little extra here and there.”

“
Hanh
!” Kondal Rao stroked his chin.

“You wouldn’t want people to forget, pardon my impudence, who the real benefactor is, would you? If Pullamma sat in her temple, granting boons, she would be the one who’d stay in people’s minds.”

I held my breath.
Please let him think this is a good idea!

“Your idea has some merit.” He pursed his lips again. “Very well. Go bring the almanac. We’ll need an auspicious date for the new ashram’s groundbreaking.”

“Kondal Rao
garu
?”

“What now?”

“I would like to beg something else for your consideration.”

“What is it?”

“I came to this house as a seven year old bride. I have seen many harvests pass here.”

“Most of them bad.”

“Quite true.” Ammamma inclined her head in acknowledgment. “I have faced many hardships. But I would like to be carried to my funeral from this house only.”

“You stay then. Your granddaughter will move to the new ashram.”

“Who will manage her if I am not there?”

“Then you move to the ashram, too.” And he turned to go.

All my relief began to dissolve into anger. How dare he talk to my grandmother so?

“Kondal Rao
garu
?” Ammamma said.

“
Bah
! What is it now?”

“When Pullamma’s mother died, when it seemed like I might have to sell this house to support my three granddaughters and myself, I promised the Lord on the Seven Hills that if he let me keep this house, I would light a lamp for him in my altar every day for the rest of my life.” She turned toward the kitchen, joined the palms of her hands and bowed. “The altar in this house.”

Kondal Rao swore under his breath. Even he wasn’t brazen enough to come between a woman and her promise to God. “You were the one who suggested the ashram in the first place.”

“That I did. Perhaps we could convert part of the house into an ashram...”

“Then I am going to make it bigger and better.”

“Not bigger,” I said.

Kondal Rao looked as if he couldn’t believe I’d dared to open my mouth in his august presence.

“Quiet, Pullamma!” Ammamma hissed.

“If you want me to cooperate,” I said, “I will not live in a mansion.”

Kondal Rao’s jowls quivered.

“This foolish child doesn’t know what she is saying,” Ammamma said, sweat breaking out on her forehead. “What she means to say is, we won’t be able to manage such a place. We are poor folk. What do we know of grand mansions?” Ammamma’s hands, joined at the palms, trembled.

“You have so many devotees. Make use of them.”

Ammamma bent her head. “My granddaughter isn’t able to recognize your big-heartedness. What if she has a breakdown? I humbly request you to set aside one room, kitchen and bathroom in this house for us to live in privacy. The ashram can be built around it.”

“Hmm.” He considered me, stubby forefinger tapping his chin. “Okay, your current house shall remain the same. We’ll have to upgrade it, of course – Italian marble in the courtyard, fancy fans, modern kitchen, that sort of stuff. This can be the new ashram. I will break open your wall on that side,” he pointed a finger, “and build your private quarters there.”

I said, “But that is
Buchaiah’s
hous
–”

“Quiet,” Kondal Rao roared.

“Don’t let this foolish girl ruin your plan.” Ammamma’s face was white.

He swerved to a henchman. “Who’s this
Buchaiah
?”

“Old man, seventy-plus, no wife or sons.”

Kondal Rao struggled for control. “Leave
Buchaiah
to me. Old fellow like him. How much longer will he live, anyway? I can’t build you some village-type rooms. I have my prestige to consider. Enough of these discussions. I shall consult the almanac myself for an auspicious day. Then the work can begin.”

“Not a word,” Ammamma warned as Kondal Rao stalked out.

Chapter 32

Buchaiah
is Moved Out

P
oor
Buchaiah
. To be hustled out of his family home, one that had seen so many generations of his family, in so disgraceful a manner. All because he had no male heirs. His wife had died forty years ago, his daughters long married and settled in the city.

The elderly man was trundled off, no fuss no muss, to an old age home one district over. The courtyard wall to the left of the front room, which adjoined that poor man’s property, was broken down to open into another, smaller, diamond-shaped courtyard. Two bedrooms, each with attached bathrooms, and a kitchen were built around a private courtyard,
with a planter occupying the place of
honour in
the middle – the sacred
tulsi
planted in it.

Our sanctuary was truly private. It was off-limits to everyone, including the maids. Sometimes I wished it were off-limits to Lata, too. It wasn’t as if I didn’t understand her anger – she’d been denied her dream of being a doctor, and living a life of comfort. Instead she was married to a man she couldn’t abide, while I’d ended up with the luxurious lifestyle, and the supportive husband. That I was tied down as Goddess, and away from my husband, wasn’t something Lata considered a negative. Still. I wished I could feel closer to my sister, but she had a way of wearing me down.

If there was any upside to being forced to live away from my husband, it was that I was able to provide Ammamma with the comforts of life. No detail was overlooked in the building of our private quarters – from luxurious furnishings, to air conditioners, to a large television, I did not lack anything.

Ammamma no longer had tedious chores to take care of. No milking the cow, no backbreaking sewing, no endless rounds of pickle-making. The old house was upgraded, as promised by Kondal Rao. Walls were repaired, paintings put up on them, good quality curtains hung on windows. The courtyard was beautified, the uneven cobblestones replaced with expensive marble. Now it served as a central gathering place for my followers.

Ammamma and I retired to our private quarters at eight each night, when I shut the door, and the world, out. Ammamma spent an hour cooking up a meal in our fancy kitchen, then got on her hands and knees to scrub the expensive flooring. I had offered to let the maid come in when we were with the devotees, but Ammamma insisted on doing this herself. All her other chores – our breakfast and lunch included – had been taken over by the devotees anyway.

Power cuts, for us, were a thing of the past. Kondal Rao had arranged for power generators running on diesel, keeping us in light while the rest of the village batted mosquitoes in the dark. I felt terrible about this, but Lata told me to get over it. For Lata, a visit to the ashram was her only chance of getting away from the drudgery of life. I felt disloyal for the thought, but I could have done with a little less sisterhood.

“Why do you lock yourself in all the time?” Lata asked as she followed Ammamma in after a particularly gruelling session.
Vineeta
, my schoolmate in another life, had lost her mother last night, and I wasn’t up to dealing with my twin.

“Leave her alone,” Ammamma said. “She deserves some quiet.”

What Ammamma didn’t add was that we were worried. My pregnancy was advancing, but we weren’t able to feel the baby’s movement.

Ammamma said, “She has a hard life being in the public glare all the time.”

“If you think this is hardship,” Lata said, flouncing on my opulent bed, “you should see our house. No power six hours a day. I have to draw water from the well for cooking, cleaning, for my husband’s and in-laws’ baths; I get to thatch the roof, make pickles for sale, scrounge around for cow dung. My mother-in-law is such a taskmaster. Why hire a servant when there is the sister of the Goddess, right?”

“I’m sorry, Lata,” I said, feeling remorse. “I’ve been so involved in my own problems that I haven’t been able to see how you’re suffering.”

“Then give me a monthly stipend. Enough to upgrade my house. Some for my personal use. I am the Goddess’s kin, after all.”

“Lata, you know I have no money to give you.”

Lata ran her eyes over the place. “You’re swimming in luxury, and you have no money?”

Put that way, it did sound unbelievable. “None of that is mine, Lata. It belongs to the devotees.” Ammamma and I had never used a
paisa
for personal use, never would.