"Ammamma..." she cried, a fake snivel shaking her shoulders. "Naaku? (For me?)"
Her grandmother sat rolling balls of rava laddu in a shaded corner of the laanchi (boat). "Vratham aina thravatha thintuvu kani (You can eat after the vrath,)" the elder smiled, while her bony fingers lifted a clump of the sweet mixture to Dhri's mouth. Her face had thinned down from the years gone by, but her eyes still held an adolescent's enthusiasm around her grand children.
"No!" She stomped and her payals jangled in a tune of revolt. "Ippude ivvu. Leke pothe nenu e rojantha thinanu. (Give me now. Else I won't eat all day.)"
Narrowing her eyes, she stared them down for a long minute and fell into the nearby cot when her ammamma wouldn't budge.
Dhri laughed, just as her cousin sister bathing her nephew chimed in. "Illanti mondithanam pelli cheskunedhaniki kooda kavaliamma.(You should hold the same insistence for getting married too.)"
She cringed hearing yet another poke at her being single and turned around to have her back to them. "Ippudu naaku class peekadam antha avasarama? (Do you have to lecture me now?)"
The sun partially hid behind cloud covers making it an overcast afternoon. The water was warm and the distant ripples shone like a long string of murky diamonds. With her umpteen uncles, aunts and their children boarded onto three thousand square feet of deck space, there was little that she couldn't hear or sense. The giggles of her nephew being bathed filled her ears, while the fragrance of pure ghee and roasted almonds made her stomach quiver from a deepening desperation to taste them. Taking the laancham down the Godavari river was always her favorite part of their bi-annual Badrachalam trip, but today, when they had flown down to the Rajmundry airport, she'd had no heart to step out the air vessel alone. Though everything seemed effing perfect, her world was far from being being so, when the seat next to Vishwa had remained empty throughout that time.
"Poni nannu pelli chesu kuntava, atha?(How about marrying me then, atha?)" Her youngest uncles's son, Advait, popped by the head of the cot, his hand holding a large red toy car.
She whacked him by the side of his head and raised herself to sit-up. "Naa jadantha levu, neeku nenu kavalisi vachinda? (You don't measure up to the length of my plait and you want to marry me?)"
"Argh!, atha..." Advait cried rubbing his head.
"Mavayya, veedu varasalu kalupu thunnadu. Veedu saganthi koncham chudu. (Uncle, this brat is mixing up his relationships. Take care of this one, will you?)"
Getting to her feet, she shoved Advait towards her uncle in the far corner. She began to leisurely pace close to where her grandmother continued to mold ladoos, with Dhri lazing on her lap.
"Sare,appudu nee jadani yethae vadaina chesukuntava?(Fine, then will you marry the one who will lift your plait?)" Her cousin sister prompted shampooing her son's hair.
"Uh-huh! Adi seethama thalli katha. Nadhi kaadhu. (Uh-huh! that is seetha's story. Not mine.)" She shook her head and dismissed the remark with a wave of her hand.
She'd been thirteen when she'd heard the folklore of Ram having faced some difficulty in lifting Sita's plait to tie the mangalsutra around her neck. However illogical it had sounded to claim that the man who had hoisted the Shiva's bow with his left hand had been unable to raise Sita's plait, the story had stuck with her. There was an understandable charm in the good Lord's shortcomings when it came to his wife; the show of his vulnerability being the lord's gesture of submission, she'd fantasized one too many times a story for her own wedding.
Twirling the corner of her half-saree over her finger, her feet stepped with impatience. There was a strange clarity in her head, despite the fuzziness that came with predicting her own future. Though she couldn't tell how the defining moment would come, she was clear what it wouldn't be.
"Mari inka elanti vaadu kaavale?(Who will you marry then?)" Pausing mid-way while emptying a jug of water over her son's head, her sister retorted, "Nee ammamma vayasukaina pelli avuddha?(Will you at least be married by ammamma's age?)"
The laancham pulled ashore and came to a jerking stop, briefly throwing her off-balance.
"Chesukonu...Chesukonu...Chesukonu...(I won't, I won't, I won't.)" She repeated thrice for good measure with palms covering her ears and wondered why she was entertaining a conversation that was nothing short of Japanese torture methods.
After another second passed, her forehead squeezed together with reluctance over nothing.
"Nannu mutuko kunda pelli chesukune vadu vunte choppu, atha, pelli chesukuntanu, (Tell me if there is a guy who can marry me without touching me. Then I will agree to marry him,)" she said without thinking and took a step back, contemplating if there was any truth in what she'd said.
But with her mind wandering in the realms of the future, she'd missed the reason the laancham had come to a stop in the present. Another step and her back bumped against the man she didn't want to be touched by then.
Shiv Shakti
Kyunki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi 2
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