Yes, they both wrote a story

“Aunu – Valliddarü katha rasaru” by Potturi Vijayalaxmi

Raghava Rao returned home from his morning walk, whistling cheerfully. Maithili, busy making coffee, felt a pang of dread. “Oh no,” she thought. “He’s in a good mood. This can’t be good.”

Maithili’s unease wasn’t without reason. Raghava Rao had retired from his government job two years ago. They had a house; both their children lived in America, and they faced no financial issues. Health-wise, they were doing well. But his problem was boredom—too much time on his hands. He could easily find work if he wanted, but he didn’t like the idea. He believed that if people who didn’t need jobs took them, it would increase unemployment. So, he filled his time with various distractions. He had spent years going on pilgrimages, visiting every possible site. Eventually, even the tour organizers said, “There are no more tours for you.” This left Raghava Rao restless.

He subscribed to several newspapers, reading them all and watching every news broadcast. He’d watch on TV any sport, no matter how obscure. Despite all these distractions, he missed one thing—power. As a government officer, he commanded hundreds of people. Now, that authority was gone. Still, he tried to exert his dominance where he could. He scolded the maid, threatening, “If you’re careless, I’ll fire you!” But the maid wasn’t intimidated. “There’s plenty of work elsewhere,” she said and left, throwing down her broom.

After driving away a couple of maids, Maithili finally rebelled. “If you keep firing the maids, I’m the one who ends up doing all the work! If you don’t stop, I’m going to Kashi, the pilgrimage forever,” she warned. Terrified, he stopped interfering with the maids.

But, as they say, old habits die hard. Raghava Rao’s next target was his wife. Maithili loved and respected him deeply. His job had involved frequent transfers, but he always insisted they move together. “Wherever it is, we should be together,” he used to say. He avoided parties and spent his evenings at home. Maithili often praised him, “My husband is a gem of a man.” Everything was fine—unless something upset him.

Usually, after his morning walks, Raghava Rao would come home irritated, complaining about the litterbugs on the street or the incompetence of the local workers. His anger was easily soothed with a cup of coffee. However, Maithili dreaded the days he returned whistling. This meant he had a new idea.

A few days earlier, he had returned home with sprouts and a pamphlet that detailed the health benefits. “Stop eating dosas and oily food. Eat these sprouts; they’re better for you,” he told her.

“What about you?” she asked.

“Me? I’m fine except for a little high blood pressure and diabetes. But you! You’re the one with backaches and leg pains,” he said, insisting she eat sprouts for four days. Maithili was exasperated but obeyed.

The next day, he came home whistling again, this time holding a pamphlet on pranayama, an exercise that controls one’s breath. “Did you know that if you practice pranayama, you don’t need to regulate your diet?” he announced, spreading a mat and instructing her to sit down. He demonstrated how to close one nostril and inhale.

While Maithili was trying to follow his instructions, the doorbell rang. He went to answer it only to reprimand the visitor, leaving Maithili waiting. When he returned, she was sitting with her legs outstretched, irritated. “What happened? Did you exhale?” he asked.

“What do you think? You left me here, holding my breath! Do you expect me to suffocate while you boss someone else around?” she snapped.

Pranayama lasted only four days, as with all his ideas. Maithili was relieved when he gave it up.

Now, as Maithili brought him coffee, she wondered, “What new scheme does he have to experiment with this time?”

Raghava Rao smiled. “I’ve got something important to tell you. Get yourself a cup of coffee and sit down,” he said. She did as he asked.

He began, “After my walk, I sat in the park to rest. An old man and his wife were sitting next to me. They seemed so ideal a couple like they’d just descended from heaven. I started chatting with them and found out they’ve been writing stories together for years. They’ve become famous, made money, and most importantly, found a way to kill time meaningfully.” He sounded pleased with himself.

“What are you thinking?” Maithili asked. “Are we going to invite them over for lunch?”

“No, no,” he replied. “We’re going to write stories, like them.”

Maithili was incredulous. “Just because someone else did it? How are we supposed to write stories?”

“We have some experience!” he insisted. His experience was a single article he had written for his college magazine forty years ago. Maithili had written a letter to the editor of a magazine twenty-five years ago. That was the sum of their writing careers.

Maithili protested, but Raghava Rao was undeterred. While they were arguing, he spotted an advertisement for a love story competition in a magazine. The prizes were attractive, and the contest was open to all, even to those without necessarily having writing experience. To top it off, his right eye twitched—a good omen, he believed. Maithili couldn’t argue anymore. And so, their great mission to write stories began.

There needed to be a hero and a heroine since it was a love story. They decided to name the characters Jayanth and Jaya for their proposed story. Next, they needed to come up with the actual plot. They thought about it for a day.

Raghava Rao then said, “How long are we going to keep discussing the plot? Let’s just start, and the story will come together.” He gave his wife the chance to begin, sticking to the “ladies first” principle.

“The sun rose in the east,” Maithili began.

Raghava Rao cut in, irritated. “Of course, it rises in the east! Do you really need to say that?”

*

Wind In The Leaves, Contemporary Telugu short stories in translations, Edited by Nishi Pulugurtha

https://antonymcollection.com/product/wind-in-the-leaves-contemporary-telugu-stories-in-translation/

Purushotham: