A State of Uplifting Bliss

I have always wanted to write. There is pleasure in writing. There is enjoyment in expressing our views in words. We all do this when we speak. I have been writing something or the other right from my early childhood. I love words and their meanings. I may not have any profound views. At times there is an absence of novelty in my thoughts. It hardly matters to me for the moment.

The very act of placing words together to express my views makes me happy. I bestow a kind of permanence to my thoughts when I write them in words. I find a special joy when I read my own thoughts. They are my thoughts. They have come out of my own thinking. They are part of me. Still, at times, they look so alien to me. When I think of something that I have written quite a long time ago, I find it as though I never wrote those thoughts. They appear so remote and alien to me. What makes them appear so remote from me? May I have to investigate into this matter? Are they not my thoughts? Am I not the creator of those views?

I am like a small child learning to walk. It takes time for me to run, to write effortlessly. There are times when I ask myself: “Why do I write?” What purpose do I want to serve by writing? I do not know any answer. Can I restrain myself from writing? Certainly I cannot. There is something within me that compels me to write. There is an irresistible urge that propels me to express myself in words. It is something innate. It is certainly an innate compulsive urge to free myself from the burden of thoughts.

Thoughts enter my consciousness without any of my efforts. Thoughts haunt me. They enter me. They urge me to translate them into words. This is something spontaneous, something that happens without any of my involvement. I am a mere spectator. Thoughts enter my mind, find their expression, and appear as clusters of words when I write.It is for this reason some thoughts appear so alien to me. It is I who give those thoughts a form in words. Did I think those thoughts? I am not certain. Perhaps I am a sort of a medium. Thoughts do not belong to me. Where do these thoughts come from? I do not know for certain. The fragments of sentences I compose with words are mine.

I am certain about one thing. I have got to write. Writing is an intrinsic part of my being. I cannot keep away from writing. We need to communicate with others for our survival. We speak mostly out of necessity. We need to talk to each other in order to get things done. We certainly use words when we speak. In one sense, the act of writing can also be used as an essential operation for worldly existence. It is a mundane crumb of the writing act.

Creative writing would never turn into a routine activity. Writing, in its true form, is not merely meant for worldly communication. Writing has a sublime role to play in the life of the writer. It helps the writer in his contemplation. One can discover oneself only when he is conscious and mindful. Writing helps to refine ones powers of concentration that lead to contemplation. Writing paves the way for self discovery.

There is magic in words and in the feat of writing. Yes, it is a feat. Man can reach his inner source through this feat. He can find his original self only through an act of writing. True writing evolves simply through an awareness of the reality of this wonderful creation. Writing is a kind of penance that takes the writer into a state of uplifting bliss.

He had a large circle of friends

My father was a curious amalgam of worldly wisdom and crass gullibility. His hard-earned money did not stay with him. He performed the weddings of my two sisters when he was financially sound. We are six siblings—I have two younger sisters and three younger brothers. I am the eldest of all.

My marriage with Saraswathi took place around 8.30 pm on 11 March 1982 Thursday in Rajahmundry. The kalyanamandapam was beautifully decorated, and my father took special care to see that all our relatives and family friends not only attended our wedding but also stayed till the end of all the matrimonial rituals. He had a large circle of friends, and he liked the way the wedding rituals were performed, and he enjoyed himself conversing with his bosom friends. Prominent among them was one of his Tamil friends, Krishnamurthi, a dark short man with a cheerful smile on his face, who came from Dindigal of Southern Tamilnadu. I was told that my father and Krishnamurthi commenced their apprenticeship in accountancy together and became intimate friends. Guided by my father, Krishnamurthi opened a small vegetable shop in Dindigal market in 1960s, and in a short time he became a rich man, and later he tried his luck in selling groundnut oil. He was a success and was very grateful to my father. He spoke to me with great affection in Telugu with a Tamil accent. He told me that he and my father were very fond of Sivaji Ganesan’s movies, and used to watch every Sivaji movie several times. Krishnamurthi used to take me around the market place when I was a small child. My grandmother used to treat Krishnamurthi as one of her sons, and he was with us on the day of my marriage.

A large contingent of people arrived from Charla, my father-in-law’s place, to witness our wedding. The number was quite huge and was rather unmanageable. Initially, my father-in-law was a little worried about their make-shift shelter. My father asked him to stay cool, and assured him that he would take care of everything. My father-in-law was all praise for the excellent arrangements made for the guests for their rest and dining. Balathripura Sundari, elder sister of Saraswathi, was in full charge of the womenfolk who came from Charla to attend my marriage. My father was gregarious and extravagant. He was loved by the young and the old. He promised gifts to most of his cousins, and these young women were after him. There were my school friends and college friends. He also had a hearty chat with my friends. He knew most of them by name. There was lot of fun, and it was a memorable evening to all of us.

My mother, sisters, brothers and several of my aunts added charm and grace to the function. My two sisters were married, and my three brothers were attending high school. I have several aunts from my father’s side. There were no video cameras in early 1980s, there were only colour photographs. The wedding photographs could not be developed in Rajahmundry. We could get the negatives of the photographs developed in Hyderabad one month later. There were giggles and jokes on me from the womenfolk. It seems that I tied four knots of the mangalasuthram instead of the traditionally prescribed three knots while placing it around Saraswathi’s neck. One of my aunts commented that I would love my wife more than anyone in the world.

My maternal grandmother, who was very possessive of me, was in all excitement during my marriage. My maternal and paternal grandfathers did not live to see my marriage. My father had friends among mridangam players since my paternal grandfather Mallikharjuna Rao was an eminent drama artiste. My paternal grandfather played Hiranyakasipu a number of times in Bhakta Prahlada on stage and on silver screen. His performance in the role of Hiranyakasipu in a silent movie Bhakta Prahlada, made in late 1930s in Calcutta, made him very popular with his people in his prime time. His name found a place in the book Nataratnalu authored by Mikkilineni Radhakrihna Murthy in 1960s. Later he received an official monthly pension from the government of Andhra Pradesh for his contribution to Telugu drama till he died in February 1974. My father requested the mridangam players to choose good tunes during the wedding function since there were several music-loving elders in the audience. The mridangam-sannayi music troop played mostly to memorable tunes like “Seethaaraamula kalyaanam choodamu raarandi...” and pure classical Thyagaraja numbers.

My college friends asked Saraswathi to answer a few questions about me. She remained silent. My father intervened and told my friends that she could answer questions about her father and their family. Later she smilingly told them she would answer questions about her father. They asked a few questions about her parents, elder sister and younger brothers. She answered these questions with a little diffidence. My friends certified that Saraswathi was articulate. Some of the girls from our neighbourhood took a closer look at her since they were looking at her for the first time after our marriage was announced. A day after our marriage, my parents took Saraswathi and me to Annavaram to worship Sri Satyanarayana Swami. My sisters, brothers, some of our intimate relatives accompanied us on our journey to Annavaram on an RTC bus specially booked for the marriage party.

While our convoy toward Annavaram was on the move, some of my aunts asked my father how he came to know about Saraswathi’s father. My father surprised them by telling them that he knew Saraswathi’s parents for quite a long time. He told them that Saraswathi’s mother was one of his distant sisters. He knew Saraswathi’s father and their family for several years. It seems my father called on them earlier in Charla when he visited their village on business to purchase red chillis. Raayavarapu Suryanarayana, a gold merchant in Rajahmundry, a common friend to my father and my father-in-law, played middleman in arranging our marriage. The merchant’s son was my classmate in my elementary school. My father told my aunts that he was convinced that Saraswathi was a rare girl with a spiritual bent of mind, and she would make an ideal housewife. We returned home by late evening after paying our respects to Sri Satyanarayana Swami at His Temple at Annavaram.

Somalamma—the village deity of pastoral Rajahmahendri

Rajahmahendri was one of the ancient towns of our land, and this town was written about from the days of Raja Raja Narendra. Most of the temples on the banks of river Godavari had famous sthala puranas. Several myths of this town were unknown even to its natives. There were several legends popular with the older generation about the village deity of pastoral Rajahmahendri—Somalamma. She was the Goddess in Residence for the people of Rajahmahendri. The temple of this deity was in Kothapeta, a place that was never got inundated even when river Godavari went into spate every year. People of this area attribute this occurrence to the grace of the Godden in Residence. Kothapeta may be the most densely populated locality in the town. I did not realize the rich culture and camaraderie this locality was known for in my early childhood. The place was known for the annual Somalamma Jathara, a colourful carnival celebrated by the locals combined with a large number of populace from the neighbouring villages. There were occasions when outsiders from large towns, like Bezwada and Vizag, visited Sri Shyamalamba Devi Temple for the annual religious ritual. Somalamma was known as Sri Shyamalamba Devi in more formal pronouncements.

Somalamma was the only daughter of a poor farmer who lived in an indistinct lowly farmhouse bordering the line of entry to the village. The hut of his family was isolated from other huts in that area. There was vast uninhabited land thrown between one hut and another. Somalamma’s mother discovered, soon after giving birth, that her child had strange habits. She witnessed several events that could be understood only as miracles. The child could walk without fear in stark darkness, and could see things and describe the colour and shape of them. She could pick up burning cinders from fire and hold them in her palm as an act of play. The mother was convinced that her daughter possessed extraordinary gifts. But she did not speak of these gifts to anyone, not even to Somalamma’s father. Unlike other children of the neighbourhood, Somalamma was silent most of the time. She used to select a place under the shade of a tree, and would go into a blissful state.

The farming community of the Rajahmahendri town, built on the banks of Godavari, engaged only in rain-fed cultivation for several centuries. The irrigation canals that Raja Raja Narenrda built had disappeared, and the water they carried had evaporated on the sands of time. The waters of river Godavari were not available for cultivation even in the nineteenth century. There were neither bridges nor dams across rivers in the land. The parents of Somalamma tilled their land, and it was the only occupation they knew. Life was very simple and other vocations did not find their way into the lives of those undemanding rustic folk. Their livelihood depended basically on the annual farm produce. What their land would produce in a year depended on the grace of the Rain God. The Rain God, most of the years, was unkind to them. If people could raise good crops in a year, farmers had a cause for genuine celebration of life. But such events were very rare. In one year there were no rains, and all the farms in the village did not yield any crop. The farmers could only pray to the Rain God and looked persistently into sky with helpless eyes. The womenfolk took holy dips in river Godavari with pleas to protect them from starvation.

Somalamma also went into river Godavari and cleansed herself with an innocuous expectation of approaching rains. She remained still in the waters, being oblivious to the outside world, for a long time. It did not rain. She prayed in great reverence to the river to save them from an intimidating famine. Nothing happened. She continued her penance. No cloud appeared in the sky. It did not rain. All the eyes of the folk on the bathing ghat were on Somalamma. They waited for hours watching the unmoving girl in the river water. Somalamma’s mother did not disturb her daughter, and had shown great restraint until sunset. She told Somalamma that they were going home. Her words did not reach Somalamma who was in a trance. She was brought out of the water and was taken home. The girl continued to be in a state of stupor. She did not eat anything on that day, and their family did not eat anything. There was nothing to eat in their hut except for a few wild nuts and well water.

Her father was deeply worried. He went to the Durga temple in their vicinity and slept at the feet of the goddess. He had a strange dream. His own daughter appeared in the form of Durga and told him that it would be raining by morning. He awoke in astonishment, and was surprised to see that it had already been raining heavily. It was not even day break. He went home drenched in water, and told his wife that their daughter was not an ordinary child. He told her of his dream and his wife nodded her head in agreement.

Did I choose her subconsciously?

Saraswathi did not accompany me when I joined Bapatla Engineering College as a lecturer on 28 December 1982 morning. I was tall, and my weight was about seventy five kilograms, and when I looked at myself in the mirror, I found my features really handsome. I developed a little vanity with a dose of narcissism. This feeling made me confident, and I took firm self-assured strides when I walked. My colleagues asked me of my wife. They would imagine her to be a woman of elegant features. They would ask me to tell them something about Saraswathi, the girl from Charla whom I married on 11 March 1982—about nine months ago.

Our marriage took place in Rajahmundry, and almost within a fortnight my parents brought her to Hyderabad to live with me. I was working as a Design Engineer at Hindustan Aeronautics Limited. We could get a decent house in Mehdipatnam and lived as man and wife for nine months.

Saraswathi is not attractive in the conventional sense. She did not talk much, and this bored me to my bones. She is dark in complexion. There is nothing that I could talk about her to convince anyone that I had an attractive wife. She is not attractive in the worldly sense. I was hardly 26. How could I look at her from any other sense? I found her stunningly beautiful when she draped herself in a sari. She knew the art of being clad in a sari quite well. When I introduced her to strangers, they liked her and used to tell me that I was fortunate to have such a modest innocent girl as my wife. Innocent? Yes. This innocent girl appeared to be romantic as well to my mind.

I was proud to have an innocent wife, and her highly cooperative, non-complaining serene attitude planted seeds of romantic feelings in my mind. This dark lanky taciturn girl appeared to me sensuous, and there was a strange aroma around her persona. We lived in Hyderabad for only nine months—it was really a memorable part of my life. My neighbours used to ask me how a handsome man like me could choose a dark-complexioned girl without much education. They used to ask me whether my father-in-law presented me with a fat dowry. What could I say?

Why did I choose her? No one compelled me to marry this innocent girl with little education from a rustic background. It was all like a dream. Things happened to me on their own accord. Virtually I was not on the earthly plane. I did not take any decision in choosing my wife. My parents did not force her on me. They did give me ample time and advised me to choose her only if liked her. How can I like her? What did I know about her? Liking her means liking her bodily appearance? There were strange thoughts in my rather philosophical psyche. May be I did not like her? I did not dislike her either.

My father used to speak often about my future father-in-law quite highly, and used to emphasize that he studied in Madras. When I went to Charla with my father to see my future wife, I was curious to see my future father-in-law. When I met him he lived up to my father’s frequent briefings about him. He was short, humble, talkative and knowledgeable. He was describing the silt problem of Ramapadasagar dam to his village folk. He would occasionally drop a few immpressive phrases from English. I liked his English and his simplicity. He was completely devoid of the artificiality usually found in feudal areas. I loved English. He dropped in his speech rather inadvertently a few lines of Shakespeare. He studied at Madras Christian College. It appeared very natural for him to slip into English even when he was talking to rustic country people in that small obscure village.

My mind started working. I was to choose the daughter of the man who spoke English so effortlessly. I was not there. I was not participating in any event. I was merely observing everything during that crucial time as though it had nothing to do with me. It was the time when I was shown the girl and I had to take a decision in choosing her as my future wife. I was not a male chauvinist. I believed in fair play. I did find her dark. I did find her lean. I did observe the difference between her and her elder sister. Her elder sister lacked the serenity that I could clearly see on the face of my innocent dark girl. I can not say that I consciously chose her. I was not in a stupor. Simply I did not feel the need for choosing.

I asked myself. Did I have the right to deny her? She is dark? She is lean and looked rather weak? Not much educated? What was so great about me? My weight was merely 42 kilograms a few months ago. I was tall and my height was two inches short of six feet. I was lean and looked weak. Almost all through my childhood I was weak, and my friends considered me weak, and my parents were quite worried about my physique. My body shape was an obsession with me. Only a few months ago I gained a little weight, and the additional weight made me look handsome. It was a recent phenomenon. I was aware of my own features. How could I deny her?

How could I tell my people that I could not choose her since she was weak and lean? I was weak and lean all through my childhood and my early youth. I was silent and my people thought that I liked her. Certainly I did not dislike her. I liked her father and his education, and his cultured way of talking and dealing with his people. He is a wise man. He must have brought up his daughters in a healthy decent way. There was a hale and hearty tradition in their family. She did not ware any ornaments and did not ware any makeup. She was natural and serene.

Can’t this dark innocent girl take care of this young philosopher who lacked even an iota of worldly wisdom? She must be wise. The serenity on her face reflected her wisdom—the wisdom she inherited from her father. She looked wise. I was looking for wisdom in my life mate. Perhaps I chose her subconsciously. Otherwise what stopped me from denying her? I do not know the answer even to this day—after nearly thirty years of married life.

I was in Bapatla. I was expecting our child. I was thinking of our first meeting in Charla in her parents place. Now she was with her parents—expecting our child. I knew that she could not write romantic letters nor could she appreciate one if I wrote one and send it to her. I was rather lonely in Bapatla. I attended college on that day. My friend Varada Raju asked me whether I received the telegram. I told him I did not receive any. It seemed that he knew the contents of the telegram. He was unruffled and told me that the message that my father-in-law sent me was with Ramesh Babu. He took me to Ramesh Babu who appeared a little other-worldly and seemed to lack one night’s sleep. Varada Raju pulled out the small sheet of paper from the telegraph office and handed over it to me.

I read the contents on the paper. I got excited. Varada Raju asked me whether we could have a cup of coffee in our canteen. I followed him. I read the message several times. My father-in-law did not write poetry. His message was poetry to me all the same. The scrap of paper carried a poetic note: I was blessed with a son. Saraswathi gave birth to a baby boy on 6 February 1983.