Tell A Thousand Lies (53 page)

I was close to fainting.

A man stepped forward and grabbed Kondal Rao by the collar.

“No...o...o...o. Help me. Someone help me.”

The gun-toting henchman fired in the air. The mob froze. A man leapt on the gunman. A wild shot struck the banyan. The gun fell on the ground. The gunman tried to fire another shot, but the gun jammed. Hurling it on the ground, he took to his heels. The other henchman followed, chest heaving. That left Kondal Rao alone – and unprotected.

“This is wrong,” I pleaded. “Don’t harm him. Hand him over to the police. Let the courts punish him.”

Most people separated themselves from the mob, edging the sides of the road. The rest eyed Kondal Rao in tense expectation.

My blood chilled. Srikar was frozen in horror.

The mob took a step forward.

Kondal Rao stumbled to his feet, swerved on his heel and took off at a run.

“There goes the sinner,” the mob roared.

They took off after him.

I stared till the mob grew smaller and smaller. Then they were gone.

I fell against the wall, shuddering violently. The remaining spectators were still as trees on a breezeless day. Not an eyelid moved. When the dust settled, the silence was eerie.

Lata had stopped her swaying. She was breathing heavily, drenched in sweat.

“What about her?” Someone pointed at me. “The
kumkum
was at her gate. She’s a witch.”

There was murmuring in the crowds. Tense expectation again.

“Fools!” Chinni roared. “All of you are fools. Can’t even see how Kondal Rao manipulated you.” She grabbed my arm. “This is Pullamma, our Pullamma, the same girl who grew up with us, played at our doorsteps, ate food in our houses.”

Chinni’s mother stepped forward, dabbing her forehead with her sari. “Kondal Rao bribed Ranga
Nayakkamma
to pretend Pullamma was a Goddess. Even today he was behind the planting of the dead chicken and
kumkum
. I know, because I saw his henchman, the one without the gun, do it.”

The crowd gasped as one.

“But why?” another man shouted.

Chinni’s mother said, “Kondal Rao was on the verge of losing his Chief Minister’s post. He planted the
kumkum
and the dead chicken at Pullamma’s doorstep to divert attention from his scandal.” She looked at the crowd. “Leave this poor girl alone. She has suffered enough.”

There seemed to be no more questions. I looked at Srikar.

Suddenly, he seemed to reach a decision. He took my arm and pulled me forward. “I am Srikar, grandson of Kondal Rao.” His face was grey.

The crowd gasped.

He slowly moved his eyes around the crowd, meeting eyes with as many people as he could. Then he put his arm around me. “Pullamma is my wife. Ved is our son.”

Another shocked gasp went around. People covered their mouths in disbelief.

“How come you didn’t acknowledge her for so long,
hanh
?” a belligerent man shouted. “What kind of man leaves his wife to live with the sister?”

“The kind of man who loves his wife enough to protect her from his unspeakably evil grandfather.”

We had been trying to combat gossip, well aware that people thought I was living with my sister’s husband, but in the villages, trust didn’t come easy.

“So you say!” A woman taunted.

“If you had doubts about Pullamma’s character, why didn’t you come forward?” Srikar shouted back. My
grandfath
–”

A police convoy was pulling up.

We stood in a frozen tableau. I against the wall, Srikar standing protectively in front of me, Lata in the middle of the road.

Eyeing the police, the crowds began to disperse. Chinni’s mother touched my arm in mute apology. I nodded, and she left with Chinni.

“Come,” Srikar said, taking my arm. He looked drained. We stepped through the doorway of the compound’s gate. My twin threw herself against the doorway.

“Can I have Ved?” Lata said, breathing harshly. “I came because I knew Kondal Rao would be here. I helped you out, didn’t I?”

Srikar turned around to face her. “Yes, you did,” he said quietly, “and I’ll never forget it. However, from now on it would be for the best if you stayed away from my family and me.” Gently, he closed the gate on her.

Inside, he put one arm around a terrified Ammamma and Ved, the other around me.

I closed my eyes against his shoulder, trying to blot the horror out of my mind, and replace it with the warmth of his strong arm around my shoulders.
 

I was truly home.
 

Epilogue

C
handrasekhar is now the elected MLA from our district.

Srikar, Ved and I have set up home in the private quarters of my former ashram. Srikar bought our portion of the house from the daughters of
Buchaiah
, that poor old man who was shunted out from his own house by Kondal Rao, and who later died in an old age home.

Srikar’s grandmother and Janaki aunty moved in with Ammamma. Srikar laughingly complains that as the only males in our household, Ved and he are vastly outnumbered.

Lata is busy setting up a computer training centre for girls; she always was ahead of the times. In an effort to make up to her, Ammamma raised money for the computer centre by mortgaging her house. She asked my permission to add my ‘doctor money’ to it, what was left after the construction of the clinic anyway. I readily agreed. In the grand scheme of things, money sits the lowest on the rungs of my life’s ladder.

Lata phones to talk to Ammamma, and to Ved. We’ve told Ved he is free to visit her, but he isn’t ready. Someday, perhaps.

My Goddess aura has dissipated, thankfully. But life isn’t a fairy tale which ends in ‘happily ever after’ just because the last line of the story is written. Hurts have to heal, resentments have to fade, trusts have to mend.

But I see hope for us.

We adopted a baby girl – Ved, Srikar and I, who we named in honour of my other daughter. The lives of us all of us revolve around the terribly spoilt Vennela.

For this daughter, too, I’d tell a thousand lies.

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About the Author

Rasana Atreya, author of
Tell A Thousand Lies
, left a comfortable job in IT because she thought roughing it out as a penniless writer was romantic. Her next book, tentatively titled
House Inherits Grandson
, should be out soon. She has already begun work on
The Temple Is Not My Father
.

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Copyright 2012 Rasana Atreya

ASIN:
B007IX6W8Q

ISBN-13: 978-1466340374

ISBN-10: 1466340371

R
asana Atreya has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the author’s consent in any form other than this current form and without a similar condition being imposed upon a subsequent purchaser.

Tell A Thousand Lies
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved.

http://rasanaatreya.com

Cover art
Manoj
Vijayan

http://www.inkbugdesign.com

Acknowledgements

A
lot of people encouraged, cajoled, critiqued, proofread and handheld me through the writing of this book. They are (in no particular order):
Vrinda
Baliga
, Carol Kean,
Francene
Stanley, Holly Michael, Jackie/
Jonjo
, Frank Chan
Loh
, Regina Zeller Wingate, Silvia Villalobos, Neil Lambert, Heather Jane O’Connell, Judith
Quaempts
,
Dr.
Parang
Mehta, Ruth
Zavitz
, Bob White, Bill
Backstrom
, John Hutt, Deb O’
Neille
,
Harimohan
Paruvu
, Yael
Politis
, Dr. V
Haraprasad
,
Drupad
Parsa
and my sister,
Vandana
Atreya.

For helping me whip the book into shape, the credit goes to my editor, Patricia B. Smith, and also my husband,
Aditya
Gurajada
.

For helping me fill in details about the various rituals and traditions in rural Andhra Pradesh, I owe my mother-in-law, Mrs. G.
Satyakumari
, a debt of gratitude.

Ben Shipley – thank you for helping with the formatting. Hugh Ashton, thank you for your patience in formatting the book for print, as we went through endless rounds of typo fixing.

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