The First Born

THE FIRST BORN
(SHORT STORY)

[This short story won a Merit Award in a contest conducted by the British Council (South India) in 1985] – Editor

Having finished reading the letter, Venkatramayya sat staring at the wall for a long while. It was difficult to decide what to do. He began pacing up and down the room. Finally he made up his mind.

“Oi! here’s a letter from our boy,” he called out as he entered the sick room.

“Did he? Are they all safe and doing well? Are they coming?” She gathered all her strength and sat up leaning her against the pillows. “Where’s it?”

She took it with trembling fingers. She tried hard to focus but the writing disappointed her. She winced and heaved out a sigh.

“I can’t write now. You write and tell him not to come. There’s time yet. I don’t think I am in all that danger. Kindly write a brief message and post it.”

She was asking him to write to him not to come.

He began thinking, recapitulating and analysing.

But...God forbid...if what should not happen happened...It would be difficult to live with a bad name and a nagging memory. Any other tribulation would be tolerable but not slander. He would never forgive himself for a failure at that juncture.

Venkatramayya produced a smile forcing a sparkle into his eyes, “That’s all right. I’ll write to him.”

Venkatramayya finished reading aloud the post card he had written and looked at his wife. After the first few words, she lapsed into sleep. He went on staring at her.

She thought that the letter was from the elder one and sat up. But the writing on the letter disappointed her–not only that, as they say, a stone fell in her heart.

Perindevamma’s heart bled to see her husband’s face. As a mother she knew how she brought up the two sons. Though he had great deal of love for both, she felt, her husband was rather shy to show his love for the elder one. He was always afraid of hurting her. For this reason he showed more affection for her own son, the younger one. Only she knew of what delicate mettle her husband’s heart had been made.

“There is a letter from our son,” he announced but what he had meant was “here’s a letter from your son”.

Poor man, he thought that she would jump with joy hear­ing of a letter from her son. She would feel on top of a hill with elation, he imagined. The good man that he had always been, how would he wade out of this muddle? Perin­devamma was lost in thought.

It needed a lot of tact, expedience and art to tell a false­hood. Truth is not believed so easily as people believe in artful lies. She knew her husband’s mind. He would wince at the smallest hurt given to her. It was his affection, his large-hearted­ness. But how could she tell him that the first born was the apple of her eye?

Thoughts were a strain on the mind and with the exertion her eyelids dropped again.

Perhaps it would be necessary to call the elder one and ask him to stay for a month or two – Venkatramayya thought for the tenth time. It would bring him the strength of a mountain. He was the one who’d share his responsibility with affection and genuine concern. He knew what it was to be like that to suffer. But........but he should not be hasty. After all the poor woman’s condition had been very frail and on no account should he give her more pain than she had been already suffering.

“I have my duty”, he told himself. “I’ve grown hard after having ‘sent away’ my first wife in her prime. I was a stone – but this one, she has been a flower.” The tears that did not come into the eyes evaporated – he heaved out a heart-­rending sigh.

He picked up his upper cloth from the “parrot’s perch”* and told the woman who came to cook that his wife had been asleep and asked her to be vigilant. He drew the doors close and walked out to post the letter to the younger one.

Perindevi opened her eyes. Her head was aching with thoughts eddying without relent. However hard she had tried she could not shut off the words of the daughter-in-law, her own son’s wife. “We spent around thousand on travel alone. Who cares for us and who heeds my husband, poor man’s advice? It is his delusion. The old lady, unnatural woman, loves the other son, not her own. Psch! She does not know the value of her own son whom she had borne. There are some strange people who do not have even the sweetness of the mother’s belly.”

The daughter-in-law was saying this to the old maid-servant. Perindevi felt her heart and the entrails being twisted into knots.

She wanted to find in her the daughter that God had not blessed her with. She was not afraid of work. She had always been considerate and understanding. She never allowed anybody to touch a bit of the household chores as long as she had been up and doing. She always had things sent upstairs to the son and the daughter-in-law who after all took a holiday with them. The son and his wife would never come and sit with her while she ate.

“The old lady needs someone to be by her. I’d go down little mother,” said the old lady employed to cook for the family.

Perindevamma would never forget the kindness of the old lady. The young woman got the meaning of the cook but then she flared out: “If I sit by that sick woman, who’d look after my husband and my children? If she calls out I can go down and look to her needs.”

The young woman had a way of emphasizing the possessives and Perindevamma did not mind these as long all she was doing well. But now she was helpless. She had to give up going upstairs. Halfway up she would get palpitation and the doctor suggested she occupy the bedroom downstairs. Neglected years of diabetes told on her heart and there was high blood pressure too.

“No, sir, I would not go up at all. If I stay down at least I would be contributing to the security of the house. My hearing is excellent still and I can be a watch dog,” she told the doctor.

“Both the children and the respected one wouldn’t even brush their teeth if they don’t have idli ready along with their second cup of coffee. Even sambar is a must. Idli in the morning and poori with curry in the evening are a must in our house there,” said Visala to the old woman in the kitchen on the very second day they arrived and kept her busy. The old woman never uttered a syllable though her work was doubled suddenly. Perindevi went on observing things.

Visala – what a name and what irony. It was only in her name that there was all the largeness – but then what’s the use ­– if you cut your own stomach the contents would roll down to your feet. She remembered the adage and sighed. Her head began to ache as it never did before. She closed her eyes hard.

“I have been observing for whole week now. Why doesn’t the young man come down and sit with you even for a while? Is he all right?” – asked Venkatramayya once in the privacy of the sick room.

Perindevamma’s eyes became wet and she only sighed.

The children of the first born would not leave her for a minute. Like Rama and Lakshmana they moved together and they would keep her company and play with her. “We would rather stay with you here, naanamma,” they’d say. That drew her affectionate tears and invariably she would embrace them and smell their sweet heads.

On the day his son was about to leave on the expiry of his leave, Venkatramayya wanted to say “Stay for another month,” but didn’t.

“He has given a thousand rupees while leaving,” Venkat­ramayya told his wife with a beaming face, after he saw his son off.

“I know he would,” said Perindevi wiping off a tear. Though she did not spell it out in so many words, she knew at her heart why tears came into her eyes.

“My son is there too who shared my blood and I have borne him He brought in a girl saying that he has married her. It was a love marriage he said. When she wrote that she had been unwell, they came but came as a couple on a holiday trip honeymooning. They would not come downstairs and she had to send up everything for them. Did they ever ask them how they had been getting along. Of course the daughter-in-law may not be in the know of things. But her son, her flesh and blood, should he not understand the strain on their meagre finances? He does know that they do not have hidden treasures.

Money apart, did the young woman think in terms of their responsibilities? Did she ever show even a little of affection? Formality in her case had never ripened into affectionate concern. There would be no point in telling her that. Doesn’t she have a mother of her own?

Venkatramayya looked worry-ridden. One day he went in determined to have a talk with his wife. Not quite knowing where to begin or how, he kept pacing up and down confused like a cat with singed paws. Her woman’s insight told Perin­devamma what lay on her dear husband’s sensitive mind.

“Did you use up the last thousand in the bank?” she asked him coolly.

“Let it go. Whatever can we do? After all we spent it on our needs, on absolute necessities. If we can’t spend it now what would be its use?”

“Whatever you may think, I have this to say of this son of ours. He has grown up, been earning money but doesn’t know its value. It is all your fault, my fault and then it is our karma too. He does not know hardship of any kind and he thinks that still he is a kid basking in paternal warmth. We allowed him to grow up like that. What he does is play and what he uttered song. Withdraw the money that you have put in my name and we leave the rest to the one above.”

Tears eddied in her large eyes.

Perindevamma could not tolerate and keep mum any longer. Slowly she got up and went upstairs resting after every two or three hours. The door was ajar. She could see her son in bed with a book in his hand. In the other he held a glass and on a table nearby there was a bottle and a jug of water. She never noticed the jug ever before. The daughter-in-law was sitting in a chair hemming her daughter’s frock.

Unhesitatingly Perindevamma entered.

“Well mother, you? Why did you come up?” The young man put the glass on the table and tried to cover it but did not know how to.

“Aren’t you asleep, respected one?” Visala asked getting up.

“I don’t feel like sleeping. You, stone-hearted ... is this what you have been doing all these weeks? You have never asked the frail old man how he has been getting the money to run the household and you never bothered to think of tending this sick mother. You never ask whether I’m alive or dead. You want your luxuries and your own happiness. Whenever do you realize that you have a responsibility and a duty to the family? On top of all that this evil, vicious habit, never known before in our tradition-bound family, pure as fire. How dare you bring this wretched stuff in here, into what used to be your revered father’s room. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?”

Perindevamma grew wild and said everything she had been harbouring in her heart of hearts for quite some time.

“You asked us to come and perhaps what we eat appears to be too much for you.” Visala hit . Perindevi was wriggling in excruciating pain. The sky appeared to be falling right on her head in rent pieces.

“Hm, let the one experience the fruits of the deeds one does knowingly or unknowingly. It is impossible to escape what is ordained according to one’s own Karma,” she said and came down never to go up again.

Early the next morning Perindevamma told her husband; “Please make the reservations by the next available train for Visala and her husband and children. If they leave I’ll have some peace of mind.”

Venkatramayya knew what was happening but did not want to give his wife any more pain by saying anything more. He understood her and went to the railway station.

Now the younger one wrote to say that he would come again.

Venkatramayya returned after having posted the letter he had written. As soon as he returned Perindevamma asked him to send a telegram to the first born in a tear-strained voice.

On the third day the elder one and his family arrived.

“Mother, by God’s grace you are well. I panicked seeing the telegram!”

“Oh, I’ll never be well again, my dear one,” she sighed and looked around. She saw the two grandsons, the daughter-in-­law and her beloved son standing by the side of her husband. “Now I am happy and contented. I don’t care what happens now,” she declared.

The next day Visala and her husband arrived with their children.

Venkatramayya and Perindevamma exchanged glances silently.

“Father, by way of caution I sent a telegram to brother before starting. I am happy he has come too ...”

Perindevamma remained silent.

While the family was having their dinner Perindevamma had difficulty in breathing.

“I’ll fetch the doctor,” said Venkatramayya and dashed out. Everyone in the house stood by the sick bed.

“Dear, go and call your sister,” said Perindevamma gasping for breath. The daughter-in-law brought Visala downstairs.

“My dear one, there’s nothing I can give you. This chain was given to me by the elder one. In those days it weighed five tolas – but since you don’t have a daughter give this away to Visala .... you take my bangles ..... if the younger one keeps the chain at all, it can be given to the little grand-daughter at her wedding...” Perindevamma was talking only to the elder daughter­-in-law.

“Why do you say these things, beloved one, you are fine and in a day or two you’ll be all right again. Believe me ...” The elder one tried to reassure her.

“We have been spending a thousand every time we make a trip here,” Visala drew her lips close.

“Let that be... Re babu, my dear one, you know all but let me tell you one thing more. You take after your angelic mother. I have a small wish. Though I haven’t borne you, I know how much you are devoted to me. I ask of you only one thing. You must light the funeral pyre ...”

“My dear mother, why do you utter such inauspicious words in a full household ... You must protect us for several years to come.”

“These are not inauspicious words. With a son like you it would be a pleasure to go on living ... But it is not in our hands. Look after your father well, he has a heart softer than butter. He never would utter anything that would hurt me. He is so delicate and so god like ...”

She could not speak further. She felt choked.

“You need not worry about him, dear mother. Father would live like a Raja. You underestimate my younger brother. He is educated and knowledgeable ... but perhaps a little too young to realize any seriousness ...”

“Your brother, hm, and a son indeed ...” Perindevamma clutched at her chest and slided in pain.

“Where is brother?” asked the elder one looking at Visala.

“I think he has gone to a film. Did the lady have a thought that she has another son? People without hearts...” Visala commented vengefully.

“Oi!Hold her there, quick...She should not breathe her last in bed. It’s inauspicious...”

While the elder son and his wife were lifting her down to lay her on a mat, without her knowing, Visala broke into a loud wailing.

* A wooden bracket with pegs on which shirts and items of clothing are hung.