Tell A Thousand Lies (50 page)

It came back to me though the fog in my mind. Srikar had mentioned that Lata and he were alternating visits to Ved. Ved was now old enough to walk to Headmaster
garu
’s house by himself, so it hadn’t registered that Lata was meeting him. Taking care of Ammamma had sucked up so much of my energy that I hadn’t paid attention to anything else.

Then the import of Ved’s statement struck me. “You’re going away?” I whispered.

“Going back to her is the right thing to do, isn’t it? After all, she was the one who fed me, bathed me, took care of me, when you were off being doctor.”

 
Lata’s words.

I was numb. Ved was only eleven years old. He did not deserve to be torn between Lata and me.

“Amma is miserable without me.”

“What do you want to do?” My throat hurt, but my eyes were dry. My son had lived with me for three years, but ‘Amma’ was still Lata.

“I will go with her. She is so sad without me. Who else will take care of her?”

How about your father, my husband?

Why was it that my anger at Lata was mostly infused with sadness? Perhaps it was the guilt that ate at me. Guilt that, as a doctor, I was in a place in life she’d staked claim to.

My insides were being systematically shredded, but I wouldn’t let my child be caught in my battles. “Child, all I’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy.”

“Then you’ll let me go.”

My chest knotted, but I nodded.

“Amma also wants me to change my name back to Pullaiyya,” Ved said. “After all, she chose that name with so much love.”

Chapter 60

Is There a God?

“H
elp me up,” Ammamma demanded.

I looked with sorrow at this woman who had seen me through times good and bad. Her eyes were sunken. Chemotherapy had caused her to lose most of her hair. As I put my arm around her, I felt her bones jut out.
Oh, Ammamma!

Ammamma’s eyes flashed with anger. “How can you let Lata get away with this?”

“Kondal Rao is behind it,” Chinni said pacing about the room.

At this point I had no idea who was manipulating whom. Maybe Lata and Kondal Rao had thought this up together. Or, maybe not. After all, there was nothing in it for Kondal Rao.

Chinni said, “We have to do something. We should request Swami Chidananda to talk to Lata. He was able to make her see reason once, maybe he can do it again.”

I shook my head, feeling darkness descend on my soul. Lata would not be convinced a second time. Ammamma didn’t have too much time left, a couple months at the most. I had barely enough energy to fight one battle, let alone two.

><

Chinni and I were going over the accounts of my medical practice when Kondal Rao descended on us, entourage in tow.

Why does the blasted man always have to make an entrance?

“You have heard the news?” His eyes glittered bright enough to burn holes through me. His two sidekicks positioned themselves behind him, legs spread wide, arms locked behind their backs.

“What news?”

“I have a shot at being Chief Minister of the great State of Andhra Pradesh.”

“Spare me your histrionics. I’m not your vote bank.”

“Ooh! The little Goddess has sprouted claws.”

“Having Satyam blackmail me over my son. Age getting to you, Kondal Rao
garu
, that you’re unable to do your own dirty work?”

“Oh, him!” He flicked a finger, dismissing the priest.

“Pullamma,” Chinni said urgently, pulling me down to her height. She whispered furiously in my ear. “He is still a powerful man. Don’t push him.”

“You are getting extra friendly with Chandrasekhar.” He leered at me. “What a family. One sister shacks up with her brother-in-law, the other manages a little fun on the side.”

“May the filth in your mouth choke the life out of you!” I quivered at the insinuation.

“
Tathastu
!
” Chinni whispered.

I snorted. I’d given up on the so-be-it Gods.

“For someone who has crawled out of the gutters,” Kondal Rao said, “filth is a friend, Little Goddess. You’d do well to remember that.”

“Can’t you do better than the villain of a B-grade film?”

“Let it go,” Chinni urged, her nails digging into my arm. “He is just trying to rattle you. Don’t give him the satisfaction.”

I struggled for control.

“I don’t care what you do in private,” Kondal Rao said. “But, publicly you will support me.”

“Pray, why would I do that? With Srikar and my son not accessible to me, what do I have to lose?” If hatred could kill, there wouldn’t be enough of this man left to consign to flames.

“I still hold the winning hand, Goddess,” he mocked. “One word from me, and Lata and your son disappear.”

“He is your only heir, your only chance for salvation after you die.”

“Screw my salvation,” he shot back.

His eyes had a feverish glint.

“I am an old man now. I have only one chance remaining at Chief Ministership.” He leaned forward, his face close to mine. “Only one chance, you understand?”

If there was a God, Chandrasekhar’s feet would powder Kondal Rao’s head to the finest dust in these elections.

><

The surrounding villages were in uproar. Chandrasekhar had converted more and more people to his side and his win seemed a given. I heard from my patients that Kondal Rao was getting more desperate by the day – he had been storming the villages trying to whip up frenzy, buying votes, offering rice at one rupee a kilo, invoking my name despite my refusal to endorse him, threatening people with dire consequences.

I had thought about publicly declaring my support for Chandrasekhar, but two things held me back. Firstly, I couldn’t be completely sure Kondal Rao wouldn’t do anything to my son, and secondly, Ammamma was terrified of the consequence of Kondal Rao’s filth tossing.

I’d told Ammamma about Kondal Rao tracking my father down in the Himalayas. Ammamma worried that Kondal Rao was saving this information to use when it would be the most damaging. She was also convinced he was just looking for a chance to have me stoned for the supposed adultery with Chandrasekhar, the same way he’d had
Renuka
pinni
stoned to death for supposedly being a witch.

><

Bhavani came to the clinic during the campaign, looking morose.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Chandrasekhar might lose. Kondal Rao has vast amounts of cash at his disposal that he is using to buy people. He has been distributing clothes and grain. A few TVs, too. Even if we had that kind of money, Chandrasekhar would never bend his principles.”

“Which is how it should be.”

“Sounds well and good,” Bhavani said, “but it won’t win him the election.” She gave a dispirited sigh. “This system beats us down. How can an honest candidate ever win?”

“I can’t believe you’re saying this. Where is your spirit,
hanh
? Where is your fire? So many people are depending on Chandrasekhar. How can you let them down?”

She rested her head on my desk. “What can we do?”

“Contact the Election Commission. Draw their attention to Kondal Rao’s underhanded practices. Talk to the TV stations. See if you can get them to investigate.”

“These things take time,” Bhavani said.

“This is not the early ‘80s, when the Government controlled the news. Talk to a private TV channel. You can’t let Kondal Rao win.”

Bhavani straightened her shoulders. “You’re right.”

><

“If I ask you something,” Ammamma said, “will you give me an honest answer?”

“Of course.” I looked down at the shell of my grandmother. Through the months of cancer, she had lost all of her comfortable weight. Now she had barely enough outer covering to hold her bones together.

I hoped she wouldn’t ask to see Malli. My older sister had asked her in-laws for permission to visit, and been refused. Her father-in-law was sick, too, and Malli was needed to take care of him, in addition to running her household.

“Will I make it through the night?”

Shaken, I turned away.

“Tell me,” Ammamma demanded, bony fingers biting into my hand. “Will I live to hear the temple bells toll?”

I looked down at her, tears streaming.

“None of your doctor nonsense,” she warned.

“I don’t know,” I whispered.

“Then will you promise me something, Pullamma?”

“For you, Ammamma, anything.”

“Fight for your family, Child. Don’t give up.”

I nodded, heart heavy.

“Now bend down and give me a hug. I am tired.”

I hugged her as tightly as I dared.

She closed her eyes, and went to sleep.

Chapter 61

End of An Era

I
made an incoherent call to Janaki aunty. Then I collapsed, feeling like a helpless fish caught in the currents of a breached dam. The turbulent waters lifted me high and battered me repeatedly against the rocks; I felt bruised and broken. I sat on the floor all night, my head on the nightstand, replaying the precious years of my life with Ammamma, my wonderful grandmother.

Aunty arrived a few hours later. She sat on the floor next to me, her hand on mine, not intruding in my grief, but not leaving me alone, either.

I thought of how Ammamma had sustained me, how she had fought the villagers on my behalf, how she had urged Srikar and me to escape, even at cost to herself. How, despite great poverty, she’d not touched a paisa of the thousands of rupees I’d sent over the years because she couldn’t be sure how that money was earned.

Aunty put her hand on my shoulder.

I didn’t know what time it was, but the temple bells had
tolled
; the milkman had made his way past on his bicycle, the distinct sounds of foot pedals clanging against the aluminium milk containers balanced on either sides of his handle bar. I looked at her, eyes dry.

“Do you want me to check in on her again?”

I nodded.

Aunty was back in minutes. “She’s still breathing, but very weak. I think we should take her to the city.”

“I’m afraid she won’t be able to take the journey.”

“If she could survive the night, she deserves a chance at the hospital.”

With Kondal Rao’s attention on his campaign, I ordered an ambulance, rode with Ammamma to the city and admitted her in the hospital. All night I sat by her bedside, aching that she was losing the fight, willing her to open her eyes. When she finally did, it wasn’t to say what I wanted to hear. Catching hold of my hand, she begged, “I don’t want to die here, Child. Take me home.”

“Ammamma, please.” My voice broke. “I can’t treat you. I’m not a cancer specialist, and I’m too close to you. You need to remain in the hospital.”

“No more treatment.”

“But, Ammamma –”

“No more treatment.” Ammamma closed her eyes, forestalling argument.

I trudged out to the dreary waiting room, its patchy yellowed walls reminding me how depressing this place really was. I collapsed into the uncomfortable bench seat next to Janaki aunty. The smell of cheap disinfectant stung my nose.

Aunty looked at me sideways.

I sighed. “Ammamma’s refusing treatment. Kondal Rao is demanding I return to the village, but Ammamma’s too weak to travel back.”

Aunty folded me in her arms. “You go ahead, I’ll stay with your grandmother till she’s strong enough to travel. Then I’ll bring her back.”