Goddess’ Smile

Telugu: Ketu Viswanatha Reddy

Original title: Amma vaari navvu

*

​​That was the lunar month of Kartika. There was a bite in the breeze blowing. The hues on the itinerant cloud-canvas changed by the second. Over the horizon the young cloudlets looked like a mixture of champac and jasmine. While the purple clouds appeared like December flowers (barleria cristata), the red and yellow hued were like Crossandra (infundibuliformis) and other xanthous flowers. The whole flora beneath the sky swayed to the vagaries of the wind. And the flowers, swaying with them, presented a montage of their individual, colourful spectrum.

Adjacent to these flowerbeds, the aromatic Indian peppermint, mug wort, marjoram, artemisia and others wafted their pleasant scents and odors all around. The scenery presented a look of a vast green saree inlaid with fragrant flowers. Poor poaceous flowers, they anxiously searched for their gray shade among the clouds.

Jaffer from his flower garden watched from afar someone walking carefully on the bunds under the lukewarm sun and yet lost himself watching the clouds above and inhaling the sweet scents of the garden below. He immediately identified him as Sankara Reddy, his pal, from his gait and the way he donned his dhoti.

“Hey, Sankar bhai! Look here! This way! Come straight…!” he hailed at a high pitch.

Sankar Reddy hurried his steps. Adjusting the towel over his shoulder he walked into the field where Jaffer was working.

“Jaffer! You are the luckiest person. Shall I tell you how you look in your garden? You are like a full-blown, four-palm-width Sunflower.”

“Wow! Do you look any less, bhai!  In that green bordered dhoti, you are looking like a yellow oleander!” praised Jaffer matching the compliment from Sankar Reddy.

“Jaffer! Why didn’t you compare me with any of these flowers from your garden?”  Sankara Reddy poked at Jaffer.

“Sankar Bhai! I compared you with no less than the most favorite flower of Lord Shiva! But you compared me with a mundane farmyard flower like any other farmer. Evened out?”

“Jaffer! You haven’t changed much. You know our gods and their favorite objects,” said Reddy with a chortle.  Jaffer joined him in the laughter.

“Oh! I forgot,” said Jaffer extending his hands towards Sankar Reddy for a hug. Reddy also extended his hands. They hugged each other thrice.

Jaffer asked about Reddy’s welfare:

“Sankar Bhai!  How is my sister-in-law? How is your son, what’s his name? Yes, Harishwar.  I think he must have completed his engineering degree by now. Is he preparing to go to the US? Or ​entered some job here?  How is my aunt Eswaramma? I heard your father passed away.  Subba Naidu, our classmate in tenth at Nandalur, informed me. Why did you not send word for me? Are we strangers?  Or ​am I that far?  Forget about the message, you should have, at least, posted a letter asking me to attend the tenth day ceremony.  Your father and my father were bosom friends like you and me. Did you forget about that?  We fell​ ​on bad days after my father passed away.  Of course, I did not heed your advice and came over to this rural area obeying our in-laws. Five years have passed already!”

Jaffer heaved a heavy sigh.

Sankar Reddy who thought about every word that Jaffer had said was embarrassed.

“All of us are doing fine.  I admit that it was a grave mistake on my part not to inform you. I am sorry,” said Reddy.

He could not say that his son did not get the US Visa.  His chances were bleak for a H1B with his degree in Civil Engineering and one year computer course. He could not say that he was now trying for Canada, and he was his main worry.

He somehow put on an enthusiastic mien and enquired Jaffer about his family:

“How is my sister-in-law, Zarina?  How is the oldie?  You performed the marriages of all your three daughters.  Hope your daughters and sons-in-law in Saudi (Arabia) are happy.  That way, you are a happy soul,” he complimented.

“Sankar bhai!  As many lives, so many fates!” Jaffer’s voice shivered.

Reddy noticed a false note in his voice and immediately asked him with concern,

“Why do you say it like that? What happened?”

Jaffer changed the subject. “First tell me the reason for your sudden visit. It was two years since we last met. Why? Were there any new skirmishes at your place? ​Need I come to your assistance with my people? I am ready to do anything for you…”

Reddy was touched by Jaffer’s words. For a moment he slipped into the past …

That was about ten years back… Jaffer’s father Imam got wind of an attack planned on Reddy’s father with country-made bombs and sickles and he tactfully rescued him to safety. The rumors he heard about Imam rescuing his father with the help of a crude country pistol concealed under his belt, flashed in his memory. To put an end to violence and counter violence, his father finally compromised with the opposite party. Village politics have changed remarkably in the past ten years. Imam passed away and Jaffer reached the countryside of Rajam Peta with his family… making a new beginning to his life.

“Sankar bhai! Are you lost in thoughts? Why don’t you answer me?” said Jaffer shaking Reddy into the present.

“Nothing like that Jaffer.  There were no problems at my place. I came here in connection with the marriage of my uncle’s daughter?”

“Whose daughter? Narada uncle? Or Radio uncle?”

A broad smile flashed instantly on Reddy’s lips. ‘Jaffer still remembers the epithets of my two uncles,’ thought Reddy within. During his father’s time, one of his uncles who made merry igniting troubles between people was called ‘Narada’; and the other one who eavesdropped and carried messages to the wrong parties to foment troubles was called ‘Radio’ … by the people.

Recalling those names, Reddy laughed heartily holding his sides. “No, ​no​,” he said at last.

“Then who?” asked Jaffer trying to remember Reddy’s uncles.

“You remember my fourth uncle Hussain Reddy. Don’t you? At least my grandmother Pakkiramma? Her second son Venkata Swamy Reddy.  It is his daughter’s marriage.”

“Why don’t I remember him?  By the time we came of age, he migrated to Karnataka to take up contracts there. Isn’t he?  He was in Congress first and later joined Telugu Desam.  What party he is in now?” asked Jaffer.

“Yes, the same person. He is helping our family in one way or the other. He is now Mandal President. Earned a good name.  It is his daughter’s wedding. He is giving a dowry of thirty lakhs. A match from Telangana.  The boy hails from a village near Warangal. The boy is working in the US. And our daughter is also an engineer.”

“Why do you glorify them? Tell me what we should do?” Jaffer asked impatiently.

“Some of the responsibilities were entrusted to me and there is one particularly important thing that you should take up.  Recently I attended quite a few marriages of some businessmen and other bigwigs. When I enquired them who was entrusted with stage decoration, they all referred to one “Florist Jaffer” and gave the name and address. I was so happy that it turned out to be you.  I came to you only on that mission and want only you to take up this responsibility.

Jaffer’s happiness found no bounds.

“Decoration of the marriage pandal, hall and surrounding areas and at the entrance should be handled by you.  People should remember it for years to come. Of course, I did not tell Venkata Swamy Reddy about us. I just assured that you would do it in a memorable way.”

“What is the date of marriage?”

“November 24^th. One week from now.”

“Venue?”

“The same place where your craftsmanship was quite well known, Cuddapah.” Reddy laughed mischievously.

“At TTD Kalyana Mantapa?”

“Exactly.”

“You saved me informing a week before.  With Rajam Peta, Cuddapah and Tirupathi Markets unviable, we have been sending our flowers to Hyderabad market of late….  mostly champac, marigold, chrysanthemum, marjoram and artemisia. Of course, there was great demand for champac this season.

“At what rate they are selling?” asked Reddy.

“At ten rupees kilo, this week. I am not sure at what rate they go after the next harvest.  Neither Allah nor Lord Sri Ram could guess.”

Sankar did not pay attention to Jaffer’s humorous vein.

Grudgingly he said, “Your flowers are faring better than our vegetables. For that matter, they are better than any other crop.  Last week I sold a ten-kg basket for just four rupees.”

“Sankar bhai! The days belong neither to you nor to me.  They are the days ​for those ​who make bulk purchases ​insisting, ‘I offer this price. Sell it at this rate, else go to hell.’ These governments are more interested in highways but not in the farmers. No body knows who commands what.”

“Why? Don’t you have power in your hands? Don’t you buy flowers from small farmers and send them to the market?”

“Sankar bhai! I admit that I export flowers.  But I can never sell mine at one rate and other farmers’ at a different rate. I present all accounts before the farmers and accept whatever they offer me. only​ ​for that reason, I could get this land for a lease.”

“On commission basis?”

“Don’t dub it simply like that. It’s just extending a helping hand; and giving a sage counsel at the right time. That’s all. If there is any time where I can make a few bucks, it is only during the marriage-season.  That too, if there is a marriage in a rich family. What I save here will be enough for the costs of seed beds, rents, wages, and for the livelihood of us three. As you know, flowers won’t last more than two days.”

‘Jaffer has not changed at all. Perhaps, I hurt his feelings with my questions,’ thought Sankar Reddy with regrets.  He fell silent for a few minutes.

Patting Reddy on his shoulder Jaffer said, “Come on. Let’s go home.”

“I will just greet Zarina, pay respects to the oldie, and take the two o’clock bus.  When I asked the conductor, he informed that the return bus was at two,” said Reddy.

“Sankar bhai! Why don’t you stay for the night? I can’t give you company for lunch,” said Jaffer swallowing the saliva.

“Jaffer! Is your affection and your royal treatment new to me?  If I stay for the night, you extend the menu to chicken, meat, palov and Khaimah. Pal! I have some pressing work at Cuddapah. Leave me. Besides, at the instance of my family members, I stopped taking non-veg during Kartika.”

“I wonder at these religions, these festivals, and the observances! Strange are the proscriptions about what one should eat!” There was palpable displeasure inn Jaffer’s voice.

Observing the women harvesting Crossandra in the adjacent garden, Reddy did not pay attention to what Jaffer had said.

The two passed the row of gardens and reached the mofussil road. Jaffer pulled out the Taqiya from his pocket and put it on. With a look of surprise, Reddy said, “I never noticed this habit before?”

“Oh, you mean this cap? For the last one year I have been visiting Hyderabad in connection with the sales of flowers. I did not wear the cap when I went there for the first time. I went there like any other farmer. I did not even keep my beard then. My Urdu, as you know, had that local, Cuddapah accent.  The Hyderabadis laughed at my Urdu and my accent, and the flower merchants dismissed me saying, ‘You are not a Musselman.’  I asserted that I was a Muslim and asked them what I should do to prove it. Then they asked me to put on a Taqiya. Reddy, this is the story behind this cap,” concluded Jaffer. The animation behind Jaffer’s narration tickled Reddy and he burst out laughing.

“Then why did you put it on now? Neither you are in Hyderabad, nor the sun is warmer now?” asked Reddy teasing Jaffer.

Having reached Jaffer’s home, Reddy received no answer for his question from Jaffer.

*

The hospitality extended by Zarina and the oldie, Jaffer’s grandmother, thrilled Reddy. Zarina first offered water with a bowl for Reddy to wash his feet.  Set the chair for him to sit.

Giving him water to drink, Zarina asked, “Bava[1]! How are my sister and her children? Hope everyone is doing good.”

Jaffer’s grandmother enquired about their welfare with her toothless bellows-like mouth. She recollected the good olden days:

“Sankar! Will those days when we lived there in our village ever come again? Your father helped Jaffer’s father to get five acres of Fakir’s glebe-land for conducting daily rituals at the Dargah. That was the root of all troubles. The Village Karanam claimed the land belonged to Lord Hanuman.  And the Village Munsif joined him. The raison d’etre was something else. They could not endure the kind of friendship between your father and Jaffer’s father.  Once, the Village Karanam asked Jaffer’s father to send his plough and oxen for tilling his land.  He replied that he would attend after the tilling was complete on your lands. On another occasion, the Village Munsif asked Jaffer’s father for help in haystacking work in his field. Jaffer’s father replied he was attending the haystacking work on your farm and would attend after it was over.  If the village Karanam was a Satan, the village Munsif was a mother f****r.  They called for a Panchayat. They cheated and took away the land from us.  They never lighted a lamp in Hanuman’s temple. ​Finally, it was either your father or Jaffer’s who did it ​so long as they were alive.  ..”

“Granny! Why do you recall those bygone days?”  Jaffer objected.

“Jaffer! Let her do. Afterall, some heartburns won’t subside so easily,” supported Reddy.

Taking encouragement from Reddy’s words, the oldie resumed,

“We lost the land.  Jaffer’s father and your father met their creator.  The two lived like two brothers. And you two have grown up together like two brothers. We fell on bad days of famine and want, envy and hatred. And we ultimately reached this place,” she lamented.

“Granny! It’s enough.  Sankar bhai should leave by two o’clock bus after lunch,” said Jaffer. The granny was lost in preparing material for her pan.

“Bava, let me prepare your favorite dish, vermicelli pudding,” said Zarina before walking into the kitchen.

“Sankar bhai! I will be back within fifteen minutes.  Don’t think otherwise.  By that time, your lunch will also be ready. A simple meal with a dal. Let me go to the Masjid for a namaz,” said Jaffer.

“Namaz? Do you have a Masjid here in this village?”

Jaffer searched for words to answer him.

“Yes. With the contributions from Kuwait and Saudi they have constructed a Masjid here recently. With people vying with one another, a temple and church have also come up.  Youth and fellow Muslims insist that one should attend Masjid at least during Ramazan.  Do you recall how your father ​and ​my father taught us poems of Vemana. My father used to quote these poems often:

“Varied the milch are, but the milk is of one color

Varied the flowers are, but the worship is one,

Varied the faiths are, but the God adored is one

Listen, Vema! The darling of the world!”

Do you remember this poem now?

And Sankar Reddy picked up where Jaffer left off and continued the jolly vein:

“I remember this poem as well as the poem taught by my father insisting that we two should learn it.  Do you remember that?  The one…

“Need one travel to Mecca and return

Can’t you find the lone Creator here?

Allah! Mohammad is omniscient

Listen, Vema! The darling of the world!”

As the two regaled in reciting the poems recollecting from the past, the granny was all smiles baring her toothless jaws.

Jaffer left with a smile still lingering over his lips.  The oldie noticed Zarina going into the backyard. And in a low tone she said, “Sankar pota[2]! His youngest daughter has been the cause of great grief for Jaffer,” drying her tears with the frills of her cloth.

“Thinking it was a good match, we gave her hand to a boy from Siddhavatam. He took her to Saudi. While we rejoiced that she was happy there, it was short-lived. He gave her a talaq within six months. It was rumored that he married two or three women! Nobody knows what happened to the girl or where she is now. It is almost two years since there was ​any information about her. There was no trace of her.” The oldie wailed silently.  She stopped talking when she noticed her daughter-in-law re-entering.

Reddy recalled…

He was present when the marriage was settled. Razia was such a beautiful girl! Her smile was so special. Strange! It is always on the good people ​the tough times visit!  So were​​ his worries with his son, Harishwar. The boy was getting crazy without any employment.  He spent over two lakhs for his studies and the three lakh rupees of debt was hanging over his head.  Venkata Swamy Reddy had been giving assurance of doing something for him. He had his own worries. He took upon himself some of the responsibilities hoping for some welcome thing to happen.

After Jaffer’s return from Masjid, Zarina unrolled the mat and served lunch to Sankar Reddy. Jaffer sat opposite him.  He implored Sankar to take ‘a little more, a little more’ of the vermicelli pudding.  Zarina cheerfully served Reddy with few more helpings.

“Oh, Jaffer and Zarina! My stomach is full. While Jaffer is fasting, I packed my tummy to its full.”

“Bava! Why don’t you stay for the night and return home early tomorrow morning?” pleaded Zarina.

“If I am tempted to stay for the night, I shall have to remain here for the next three days, for his hospitality. I cannot. Zarina, I have some pressing work at home. Thank you. Granny! I take leave!” Reddy took leave from them.

Slipping his feet into his chappals Reddy turned to Jaffer.

“By twenty third afternoon, you reach Cuddapah with your ware and men.  I shall meet you at the marriage venue. Marriage is scheduled for twenty fourth. What flowers and what leaves you use I leave it to your discretion. But people attending the marriage should be enthralled. Keep this three thousand as advance. After the work is over, I shall give you whatever you say,” said Reddy taking the liberty to press the notes into Jaffer’s shirt pocket.

“Everything is fine, except that you forgot to tell me the names of the bride and the groom, Sankar bhai!” reminded Jaffer.

“I am forgetting things of late,” said Reddy and pulled out an Invitation from his plastic bag. Giving it to Jaffer’s hand, he said, “The groom’s name is Manugala Madan Reddy and the bride’s name is Nalini. Don’t forget. Look into the card if you get any doubt.”

Jaffer looked at the card. The blue color print on the yellow ​hued card looked grand.

After Sankar Reddy got into the bus, Jaffer walked towards his garden planning how he should decorate the marriage hall.

*

Jaffer and his team worked without rest the day before the marriage from morning till night sparing no effort. Sankar Reddy was amazed at their devotion to duty.

They set up a ‘Welcome arch’ with the names of the bride and groom in flowers of variegated colours.  From the gate to the hall, they arranged hemispherical gleaming garlands laced with artificial zari, placed scented roses at the gate for presentation to each invitee, and a full-length picture of Lord Rama and Sita with Hanuman at their feet at the front gate. The whole setting was in a spectrum of colors. They looked absolutely marvellous to Reddy.

At the marriage venue proper, as a backdrop over a nine by ten area of the wall, Jaffer arranged a six by seven picture of Lord Venkateswara and Padmavathi. They were just peerless.

What flowers and leaves they had used Sankara Reddy did not know, but the jewel-studded crown of Lord Venkateswara, his face, his broad ear-studs, the conch and the spinning wheel, the Kaustubha necklace, the Spanish cherry garland, the reassuring hands, the sari of Padmavathi, and the sacred thread around her seemed real and stunned him.

All the invitees were impressed with the floral decorations and the beauty of the setting at the venue. It just looked out of the world for the youth. Particularly impressive was the floral images of Lord Venkateswara and Padmavathi as the backdrop. They stole the hearts of the attendees in such a way that some of them were oblivious to the young couple sitting in front.

Art is a wonderful illusion. And a merciless fact too. Marriage was over. And the guests and relatives were now preoccupied with making rounds to see the dishes served, choosing the best among them and self-serving in the right quantity, and greeting and gathering around select acquaintances. From small leaders to the bigwigs, and contractors realized that ‘a considerable amount was spent’ for the arrangements. After the exchange of greetings, secret and confidential gatherings, everybody left the place after their meal.  Oblivious to the colorful flowery world around them, some people went their own way.

Notable among the visitors was a special invitee from the groom’s party, Swamy Sundara Ramananda. He was studying the pictures with rapt attention. The groom’s father and the bride’s father, standing on either side, were eagerly waiting for his studied opinion.

‘Groom’s father is in BJP. And this Swamy is his spiritual Guru.  If they decide, he could get a parliament ticket in the ensuing election,’ woolgathered bride’s father.

Swamy asked suddenly, “Who is the artist who presented these flowery deities before us?”

Venkata Swamy Reddy was taken aback. He was a bit confused. “Call Sankara Reddy here immediately,” he said to one of his followers in his ear and turning towards Swamy, he asked apologetically, “Sir! Are there any blemishes?”

“Not one I can point. Instead, I notice a great finesse and deep understanding of Hindu culture in these images of Gods. Particularly, that depiction of subtle, palpably impalpable streak of smile over the lips of the Goddess. That is but the exclusive forte of an exceptionally devout Hindu artist.”

In the meantime, Sankara Reddy came running to Venkata Swamy Reddy along with his son Harishwar. Gasping for breath he asked him, “Anything went wrong, brother[3] ?”  In his hurry, Sankara Reddy did not notice the man standing beside his uncle. The person was wearing a long Jasmine-white shirt and saffron-bordered white dhoti with a matching overcoat.  On his forehead there was a big round vermilion mark. There was also another person beside him.

Venkata Swamy Reddy introduced Sankara Reddy and Harishwar to Swamy Ramananda.

Swamy Sundara Ramananda asked cooly, “Who created these flowery images?”

“Our Jaffer uncle,” answered Harishwar stressing on ‘Jaffer.’

The stress did not escape the attention of Swamy Sundara Ramananda. For a moment he was speechless. ‘That smile, that smile,” he murmured inaudibly within.

Outside the hall, at one corner, and a​​fter fasting for over twenty-six hours, tired and oblivious to the world, Jaffer was blissfully asleep on a bed of gunny bags.

*

(Published in India Today, 28 Jan 2003)

[1] Brother-in-law, literally. But it is a common courtesy extended by village folk to address one another.

[2] Grandchild. A common address by old people when they address children.

[3] Brother.  Here, it is not a denotive of relation but a catch word among some of the people living in Rayalaseema and Telangana areas.