What was to be
done now? If I stood outside the house, onlookers would get suspicious. They
would ask why was I there. That was a family affair and should not be given
publicity, lest the prestige of the family should suffer a loss. So, I decided
that, without waiting further, I would go to the fair.
The fair was eleven kilometres away and I wished to
proceed, walking straight away, without any thought. Those were luminous
nights, and the round moon was already up in the sky, giving bright light. Many
people were walking all the way to the fair, and I, too, set out along with
them, walking the entire distance. We reached the fair that night. By the
morning, the boys were all dressed up and were moving about, whistling here and
there. I was tired, having walked so much. Besides, it was summer; I felt very
thirsty. I could not find water anywhere. At length, I saw some water at a
distance and went there to drink it. This was the water with which cattle were
washed. It was very dirty. As I was very thirsty, I drank that water. When I
turned around, I saw an anna coin and a beedi (country-made Indian: cigarette)
packet lying on a stone. Someone must have forgotten them: I asked the people
around whether the things belonged to them, but no one claimed them. Then I
tore apart the beedi packet and buried it in the sand. I took the one anna and
had it converted into four bottus. I had to stay at the fair for eight
more days. I thought to myself how should I get on with the four bottus.
Then, I made the only mistake of my life-it was a big mistake! People at the
fair were playing a game called Buda Buda Kate, which was a kind of gambling. I
played the game and won twelve annas. My hands were now full of coins, and I
felt the money was enough for my stay there. Should any coins be left over, I
could buy prasadam and take it back home.
In those days, a bottu fetched three big dosas.
They were very cheap then. If one took three dosas in the morning and three in
the evening, one could manage with only two bottus a day.
As I had planned, I took three dosas with a bottu
on the first day. They also served very hot chilli powder with the dosas
that tasted like masala chillies. I had a balance of eleven annas and three bottus
left. I had the new problem of keeping the change safely. All I had was one
towel.
I tied the change secretly in one corner of the towel.
I had no bed, no bedspread and no pillow, either. I then made a shallow burrow
in the sand, put the bundle of coins into it and covered it with the sand
again. I spread my towel properly over it and lay down to sleep. As I was
tired, due to working the whole day, I immediately fell into a deep sleep and
slept soundly. As fate would have it, someone quietly made away with the money.
What was I to do? I spent the next three days without food. Nevertheless, one
of my friends detected this and would silently bring two extra dosas for me.
For three days, he looked after me thus.
The time had now come to return home. Back there,
Seshama Raju's wife was completing the ninth month of her pregnancy. It was
customary for those returning home from Thirunaalu to bring back some prasadam.
It was an important festival. Therefore, it would be improper to return home
empty-handed; I should take some prasadam for Seshama Raju's wife, at least.
Who would give me the money for this? I went to the boy and requested him to
lend me an anna. I bought turmeric and vermilion for one-half anna, and flower
and fruit with the balance. I made a package of them and returned home,
walking.
He would then refer to his ability to bear physical
and emotional pain as a child:
When I returned thus with great difficulty, Seshama
Raju was at home. It was a holiday and he was doing some homework at his table.
There had not been anybody to fetch drinking water for the eight days I was
away. So he looked at me angrily. People at home also might have made a
complaint against me. I had placed the prasadam I had brought on his table. He
was drawing lines on a piece of paper with a wooden ruler. With this ruler, he
started beating me. I shielded myself with my hand, injuring it, which became
swollen. The ruler, because of the force used, broke into three pieces. At that
time, some visitors from Puttaparthi had come to our house. Seeing my swollen
hand, they asked me what had happened. I immediately told them that I had a
boil on my hand and sent them away, pacified with this lie.
Upon arriving at Puttaparthi, they made a big story of
this fact and told my father, “Why have you kept your son there? They have
troubled him a lot. Bring your boy back to Puttaparthi at once.” My father lost
no time in coming to me, when he heard this. He saw my injuries and felt
greatly grieved, but suffered silently, not talking about it to anyone. In quiet
indignation, he walked about the house, until it was dark. It was about eight
o'clock in the night. He then told me that he wanted to go out. “Get me a
lantern”, he urged. I understood that he was planning something. Seshama Raju
brought the lantern and, giving it to me, asked me to accompany my father.
His profound wisdom would then unfold, as he would
speak of himself as little Sathya advising his own father:
My father went out. After walking for a while, he
stood before me and held my hand firmly. With tears in his eyes, he said, “Why
are you suffering here? Come away with me at once. You should not stay here for
a moment longer. It does not matter if you do not have education. If you do not
have food, I shall beg [for alms] and bring you up. When you suffer here, I
cannot bear to see it. No, no, you cannot be here any longer. If one is alive,
one can sell salt and make a living out of it.” This he said with a heavy
heart. He then, very firmly declared, “You are ruthlessly beaten up here; you
should not be allowed to stay here any longer.” I heard all that he said, but
replied gently, “What you say is not proper. People talk as they wish. Our people
here are in trouble now, having lost their child. Please go. I shall wait for
fifteen days and then come away, quietly. It does not look proper for both of
us to go away together, like this.” I spoke to him, softly and convinced him of
the sincerity of my words--on moral grounds. After being comforted in this
manner and hearing me fully, he said, “All right, I shall go”, and on the
second day, he proceeded to Puttaparthi, alone. He also asked me: “Do you want
clothes or anything else?” I immediately said, “No, I don't. I have everything.”
I pleased him in this manner and sent him away. While going to Puttaparthi, he
went to Seela Subbanna's cloth shop and requested, “If my boy wants clothing,
please arrange for the stitching. I shall send you the money.”
School days at Kamalapuram had other memories, too. D.
Mehboob Khan, the English and Social Science teacher, was very popular among
his students for his earnest and appealing teaching methods. He was an old
bachelor and treated Sathya with unique affection. “Sathya would dance when
lovingly compelled by his teacher, Mehboob Khan.”
“This teacher would [persuasively] press sweets and
savouries on the boy ... He would say that his house was specially cleansed for
the preparation of the dish, because he knew that Sathya ... [would] ... not
eat anything having the remotest contact with nonvegetarian dishes. He would
say that he himself had not taken food yet, for he wanted Sathya to partake of
it first. He would sit silently for long, stroking Sathya's hair.” Mehboob Khan
recognised, quite early, the great power that Sathya was.
His friends, however, treated him as not different
from themselves, and Sathya did not harp on any differences. In fact, he
believed in sharing. Sathya would bring groundnuts in his pencil box. Once, in
the sixth class, when he was not in the classroom, Gajula Krishnaiah, one of
his schoolmates, stole the groundnuts. When Sathya returned, he asked
Krishnaiah, “Why did you steal all [of them]? You should have kept some for me.”
He called him, in playful chiding, 'vedava' (a useless person).
