Read THE PUPPETEERS OF PALEM Online
Authors: Sharath Komarraju
THE PUPPETEERS OF PALEM (17 page)
Chapter Twenty Three
Diary of Sonali Rao
March 16, 2002
Dear Shilpi,
I’ve had no replies from you for my previous letters, so I don’t know if any of them have reached you. I don’t leave the house much these days, so I give the letters I write to Avva, and she posts them at the local post office. I don’t know if anyone works there. I don’t know if Palem has any contact with the outside world. It doesn’t appear so.
But writing to you makes me happy, Shilpi. If nothing else, it makes me think straight, even with my mind as muddled as it is. Over here, it is only thoughts of you and Mother and Father that keep me from going completely insane.
My sleeping time has grown to sixteen hours a day now. I don’t remember much of my waking moments. But how clearly I remember my dreams—the sights, the sounds, the smells. I’ve grown so accustomed to dreaming that I am disappointed when I wake up. The stories in my dreams seem to be more real than all my experiences in real life.
My latest dream is similar to the previous one—a congregation of shadows at the sarai shop. And the sound of liquid falling into a pitcher from a packet.
‘I don’t have any more money, Sanga,’ a steady voice says. He holds up something to the other man. The man takes it and downs it in one gulp.
‘My hands shiver when I don’t have it, Ayya. I beat her everyday… everyday… with my hands…’
‘She is your wife, boy. You’re doing nothing wrong.’
‘But Ayya, I feel so bad after beating her. I need to drink, Ayya. Give me some more money.’
‘I don’t have any more, Sanga.’ He holds up another glass. Down it goes.
‘I… you said you will give me money. I’ve taken money from so many people here, Ayya. What shall I do?’
There is a silence. Steady Voice says gently, ‘Do you know what happens in the Mahabharat, Sanga?’
‘What, Ayya?’
‘There is a king who pawns his wife in a game to win back his kingdom.’ Another glass is filled and given. It goes down, followed by a satisfied sigh. ‘Your wife is your property. You can pawn her to pay off your debts.’
‘Really, Ayya? Really?’
‘Yes, boy. I know four men who will pay you enough to pay off all your loans and have enough money for a
month
of drinking.’
Silence from Slurry Voice. ‘But what will she say?’
Steady Voice laughs mockingly. ‘She is your wife. Isn’t it her
duty
to do everything in her power to keep
you
happy?
’
‘Yes.’ Then more loudly, more confidently, ‘Yes!’
‘Does a farmer’s plough say no to ploughing the field? Does a milkman’s cow refuse to give milk? Do your clothes refuse to get washed? Hmm?’
‘No.’
‘Then why should your wife refuse to solve your troubles
?’
‘She shouldn’t.’
‘If she does, you know how to deal with her.’
‘Yes,’ Slurry Voice said, his eyes glazing over in rage. ‘I will
make
her.’ His hands shivered. ‘I will
make
her.’
‘Good. I will tell you when to expect them.’
An interesting point about these dreams, Shilpi, is that even though I see the same dream many times, I never get bored of them. Because each dream is slightly different. Sometimes I hear voices, or I see shadows, sometimes I see profiles, sometimes I am sitting inside the shop, or I am floating in the air—you know, it’s like seeing the same movie from different vantage points. Even though you know what’s going to happen and how it is going to end, you take something new out of it each time.
When I told Avva about this dream, she just shrugged as if to say, ‘What’s wrong in that?’ You know, I’ve come here to find out about the Palem deaths, but the longer I live here, the more I feel as if the
real
story happened a long time ago; long before you and I were even born.
Maybe it is that story that wants to tell itself to me. I should be glad, because that’s what I came here for. But Shilpi, I am scared. I don’t want to live here anymore.
I want to come back.
Love,
Sonali
Chapter Twenty Four
2001
T
wisting the bracelet on her wrist, Sarayu asked, ‘You remember this, don’t you, Seeta?’
Seeta, who had been staring at the dirty blue coin on Sarayu’s wrist, came to life with a start. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, of course.’
‘Of course you do.’ Sarayu blew away a strand of hair from her shoulder. ‘Do you remember what you told me when we tied it?’
Seeta sat up straight, looking nervously about her. ‘Yes.’
‘You said I was your best friend.’
‘You are, Sarayu,’ Seeta said. ‘You
are
.’
‘Hmm,’ said Sarayu. ‘Interesting indeed.’ She slipped a finger under the bracelet and stretched the thread that held it around her wrist. ‘You remember our school days, don’t you, Seeta?’
‘Y…yes.’ Seeta’s shoulders suddenly slumped and her gaze lowered.
‘How many friends did you have?’
Seeta shook her head.
Sarayu looked up just long enough to see that shake of the head. Then she immediately refocused her attention on the bracelet and her finger under it. ‘You did not have any friends, did you?’
Seeta started twisting her index finger. She pulled and she twisted. Finally, she shook her head again and said, ‘No.’
‘What did they call you? They called you Feeta, didn’t they?’
A moist redness sprang into Seeta’s eyes. She looked up imploringly at Sarayu.
Sarayu did not see. She played with her bracelet. ‘Remember the days you used to eat your lunch all by yourself by the Gandhi statue, and the other kids would throw mango seeds at you?’ She looked up. ‘You do, don’t you?’
‘Please, Sarayu. Please.’
She untied one knot of the bracelet, loosening it, making the coin bend to one side so that it caught the light of the sun. When she spoke again, her voice was softer, calmer. ‘What about now, Seeta? Have things changed?’
‘Stop. Why?’
‘Have things changed, Seeta? Do people look at you now? Or visit you? Do you have any friends now? Anyone to call your own?’
‘Why?’ Her question was the petulant whine of a child asked by a parent to turn down the lamp and go to sleep early.
Sarayu carefully untied the second knot, loosening the bracelet further. ‘You have no one even now, do you?’ She looked around the room and gave a half-smile. ‘Who would want to come in
here
, anyway?’
Seeta curled the toes of her feet tightly. Her head sunk to her chest. She continued to shake her head.
‘Tell me, Seeta,’ Sarayu said, ‘who played with you when no other kid in the village would so much as look at you?’
Seeta looked up.
‘Who chased away all those seed-throwers by the Gandhi statue?’
‘You.’
‘Oh, you remember.’ Sarayu’s face and eyes were expressionless. Only a single eyebrow lifted slightly to register the surprise. ‘You remember. That’s interesting.’
‘Of course I remember, Sarayu… I…’
‘If I recall correctly, you were going to jump in the well by the Shivalayam back then too, weren’t you?’
Seeta blinked once, then lowered her head again.
‘That day… remember that day, when Prabhakarayya’s son tore your blouse and threw a five-rupee note in your face?’
‘Stop, please.’
‘You
do
remember. Then you must remember, too, who it was that talked you out of it. You must remember, too, who it was that pinned a blade to his underwear.’
‘Stop, please, must we remember…’
Sarayu methodically untied the third knot and let the coin tinkle to the floor. ‘Of course, Seeta, we must. We’re
best
friends, aren’t we?’
Seeta, her chin immersed in her chest, stared at the rolling coin until it came to a stop.
‘Ah, yes, best friends,’ Sarayu said, smiling wistfully. ‘Best friends, who would tell each other
every
thing.’ In a moment, the smile narrowed, then vanished. Her features became calm again, her cheeks pallid. ‘Right?’
‘Sarayu, why…’
Sarayu smiled at her. ‘Good old Seeta. Honest as always. You told me everything, didn’t you? Absolutely everything.’
‘Yes, why—’
‘You told me you slept with
my
man?’
Seeta paused, and her eyes grew larger each second. ‘How… how… he promised—’
Sarayu sighed and shook her head slowly at Seeta. ‘What did Prabhakarayya want from you, Seeta? Hmm? What did he want from you? What do all the men in the village want from you now? What are you to them? You’re not a person. You’re a thing—a thing to be used and thrown.’
Seeta shook her head and lowered her gaze.
‘Do you really think you have a chance with Aravind?’ Sarayu lowered her voice to a tender croon. ‘Hmm? You—who has never had a friend except when I took pity. You—whom the men of the village come to when their wives are not giving them any. You—who cannot even speak a word without stuttering. You—with your three lips… did you
really
think you have a chance with
him
?’
‘He… he promised—’ Seeta’s toes stayed tightly curled. ‘He promised…’
‘He promised, did he?’ Sarayu asked. ‘He promised not to tell anyone about you? But he told me—this morning—in bed.’
Seeta shut her eyes tight and curled her toes further inward.
‘Men are such creatures, Seeta. You wouldn’t know—you will never have a man. But men have needs. The same need that made Prabhakarayya’s son tear your blouse, the same need that brings the men of this village to your house at night only to slink away to their wives before dawn, before they have to
look
at you, the same need that brought Aravind to you yesterday.’
‘But… but he came straight to me, yesterday, in the
afternoon
—’
‘Yes,’ Sarayu said softly. ‘He told me that too. If you’ve ever had a man, Seeta, you would know that men’s promises are as empty as that well in our Shivalayam.’
Tears streamed down Seeta’s cheeks, forcing their way out of her tightly shut eyes. Her hands balled into fists as she slouched against the wall, sinking deeper and deeper.
‘How did you think that you could get Aravind, Seeta? Did it never strike you that he might—he might deserve
better
than you?’
Seeta nodded and her body thrashed in throes of audible, broken weeping.
‘You did, didn’t you? When he gave you gifts, did you think he loved you?’
Seeta nodded.
‘Poor girl,’ Sarayu said. ‘Some of them give gifts, some of them throw money in your face. All of them want the same thing.’
‘I… I thought…’
‘Do you know what hurts me the most in all of this, Seeta? The fact that you lied to me. You knew that I liked him. I told you. You knew that he was always going to be mine. I told you that too, and that is what has happened now. You knew that telling me would be the right thing to do. But you didn’t.’
‘I… I am sorry… Sarayu, I didn’t—’
‘We were best friends, right? I told you everything I knew. I shared everything with you. But you kept from me something like this—something about a
boy
, something about
Aravind
. And you hid this from me, all the while taking my help, using my advice, and you deceived me into thinking that we were, in fact, best friends.’
‘I am sorry… really—’
‘I trusted you, Seeta. I took pity on you, and I became your friend in spite of… how you are. But you repaid me well. You repaid me well.’
‘No no… I am sorry. No, please—’
Sarayu bent down and picked up the bracelet. Smoothening it out on her thigh, she said, ‘Maybe there is a lesson for me in all of this. Maybe it was wrong of me to think that you were different from what the whole village believed you to be. But you—you’re just like your mother.’ She folded the bracelet on top of itself and picked it up in one hand. ‘You can take a bitch to the throne and crown her queen—but she will remain a bitch.’
Seeta was on the floor now, holding her knees to her chin and sobbing, shaking her head.
Sarayu stood up and dropped the bracelet on top of her. ‘I don’t know whether to feel sorry for you or to be angry with you, Seeta,’ she said. ‘I pity you for many things—most of all, for thinking that you had a chance with Aravind. You know, one should always know what one’s
status
is. You—and Aravind?’ She took a step towards the door. ‘But I pity myself more, for having trusted you, and for having thought that you were my friend.’
She walked to the door and opened it, letting a stream of sunlight through. There she stopped, and without looking back, she said, ‘If I had known you were like this, Seeta, I would have let you jump into that well that day.’
And she walked out.
