A Shell With a Hole
(A young boy may see parallels between a flawed seashell and himself; the seashell could also be symbolic
of something beautiful, and even possess a value of its own, considering the fact that it did catch his eye.)
*
Muthyam was dawdling along the beach. He was a fifteen-year old young man. Two years back,
Muthyam fell ill and lost his voice.
His older brother, Giri, a software engineer in a mid-size firm, offered to get him medical help. He had
promised to have the surgery on his vocal chords done in the States. That was a year ago.
Muthyam was walking slowly, with his eyes down, as if he was searching for something in the sands. He
stopped suddenly. There, right at his feet was a shell lying in the sands, belly up like two crescent moons
holding a tiny dark marble fondly, or, rather like sunbathing or studying the skies. Muthyam stopped; his
eyes squinted. The sunrays bounced back from the shell and added a new halo to it.
After a few seconds, he bent down slowly and picked it up; held it up and noticed a hole at the center; he
could see the glimmering sands through the hole. The sands, the waters, the vast expanse of the open sky
reminded him of his home in his village. That was the reason he would go to the beach often. Today, he
was here for the same reason. But he had never found a shell this big and this beautiful and also with a
blemish. He closed his fingers around the shell tight, looked up, mustered all his might and threw it into the
waters. The shell fell into the water with a splash and headed to the bottom quickly. He stood there staring
at the spot where the shell had fallen. In his village, he used to throw small flat stones into the water and
they would hop on the ripples a couple of times and then drown. This shell did not jump; it just drowned.
He returned home. His little nephew Bobby drew the chart for the ‘tiger and the goat’ game on a tarpaulin
sheet and was waiting for him. Muthyam had taught him that game soon after he had arrived here. For
Bobby it was fun to create the board game on a tarpaulin sheet; it was lot more fun than running to the
store and buying one.
Muthyam was about to sit down.
“Muthyam, come here for a second. Get me some curry leaves,” Vanaja called from the kitchen. Muthyam
turned around to go to the kitchen. Bobby clutched his hand and pulled him down. They both knew only
too well that whenever his sister-in-law called out for him, it was not going to be just for a second. But
there was nothing Muthyam could do about it. He gently pulled his hand out of Bobby’s clutch and went
into the kitchen.
Bobby pouted, kicked away the tarpaulin sheet and went away to ride his bike.
Vanaja was busy in the kitchen, organizing the items on the counter. They were expecting guests. Two
weeks back, Giri’s English teacher in college, Sekharam, called Giri and told him that he (Sekharam) was
taking his parents in his minivan and showing places. Their first stop would be Giri’s house, a four-hour
drive from his town. That would be this afternoon. Vanaja got busy cooking for the guests.
Muthyam came in with curry leaves, washed them and put them on the counter. Then he started washing
the dishes in the sink.
It was past noon. Giri’s office was not too far from his home. Normally he would not come home for
lunch but today he made an exception in honor of the expected guests. He was about to open the door;
Sekharam’s car pulled into the driveway.
Giri turned around and greeted them with a big smile. Sekharam got out of the driver’s seat, and opened
the door for his father Somayya and mother Kotamma. Vanaja was standing at the door with a smile. She
had never met them but heard Giri mention something about them.
After they all got out of the car and exchanged civilities, Sekharam walked back to the car and started
unloading the suitcases.
“Oh, no. Don’t worry about the luggage. I’ll get them,” Giri said, without budging from the spot. He did
not mean exactly he would when he said “I will”. Muthyam knew that only too well. He quickly moved
forward and took the luggage from Sekharam. Sekharam felt a little uncomfortable but let go of the
suitcases anyway, and followed Giri into the living room.
Muthyam carried all the six suitcases to the guestroom upstairs and went into the kitchen. He returned
with coffee and served to the guests. Giri noticed that Somayya was watching the boy curiously and felt a
little embarrassed. He said to Muthyam, “Come on, sit down. Where is your coffee?”
Muthyam did not sit down. He motioned toward the kitchen and went away. Kotamma followed him into
the kitchen. “Can I help?” she asked Vanaja.
“There isn’t much to do, nothing really,” she replied, sounding casual. She gave Muthyam two eggplants
and a knife to cut.
Kotamma stood there watching them; she was trying to make a conversation. She said, “It’s strange, I
mean, the life nowadays. Sometimes it feels like four generations have gone by just in the past one decade.
In my childhood, take any household, it would be teeming with uncles, aunts and cousins, a dozen at the
least, not counting the constant influx of guests, that is. A regular traveler’s bungalow, if you ask me. We
women were always busy with something or other; no one telling the other ‘do this or do that.’ My
grandfather had never sat down to eat, unless there was a guest next to him, you know.”
Vanaja was listening to the lady with chuckles. She was used to this kind of rambling. Almost always, the
visitors from India have only two things to talk about—either the vanishing traditions in India or the
astonishing happiness in America.
In the living room, Sekharam, Somayya and Giri also were also engaged in a conversation on similar lines.
Muthyam had heard them all; there was no expression on his face. He gave the cut vegetables to Vanaja,
and returned to the dishes in the sink.
Somayya stood up, as if he was looking for something.
“What? Want something?” Giri asked anxiously.
Somayya replied, “Just water. You stay, I will get it myself,” he said.
“No, no. You stay. I will get it,” he said, and called out for Muthyam.
Muthyam brought a glass of water and gave it to Somayya, and sat down next to Bobby to help him with
his homework.
Kotamma could not help noticing. She said, “You’ve found a good boy. Nowadays, we can’t find
domestic help even in our villages; nobody wants to work hard anymore.”
Vanaja cringed as if a splash of water hit her face; she was fidgety. “Oh, no, madam. He is not a domestic
help; that’s my brother-n-law, Giri’s little brother. He fell sick two years back and lost his voice. We
brought him to have the surgery done here,” she said quickly, anxious to set the record straight.
Kotamma was even more curious now. “So, what happened? It did not work?”
Vanaja was annoyed. Why do I have to explain to this lady, a total stranger! She’s not my cousin, on
mom’s or dad’s side!
Yet, she had to be civil; she must explain. “We’re working on it. First, it took six months to find a good
doctor; and then, been through two rounds of tests. Before we could set a date for surgery, other things
had come up—like my sister’s marriage. Father said the groom’s family did not ask for dowry—you
would think that’s a blessing. But, oh no. They wanted so many other things—a very long list of items—
gifts for his mother, sisters, and grandma, a scooter for himself and what not. Father suggested I should
do something about it. Had I said I was in no position to offer help, I would be the bad daughter, right? By
the time we were done with it, here the home repairs came up. We craved for a home on the lakefront; we
grew up on the riverside, you know. Anyway, last spring, the rains nearly dredged up the foundation; four
inches of rain outside, and the basement was flooded. It cost us an arm and a leg to fix it. Both Giri and I
are sincerely hoping to have the surgery scheduled coming summer.”
Kotamma was confused, what’s she talking about? Just the last line would’ve been sufficient!
In the next room, Giri was talking; he sounded more like a politician on the eve of Election Day, “I don’t
know, Saar, I don’t understand this society at all. People here say time is money, which is really hogwash.
In truth, they put value only on their own money. We can put sweat and toil all we can, yet we cannot
please them; they want us to work twice as hard for half the pay. And then, what is worse, they still act
like they’re doing us a favor.”
“Well, Giri, market value is different from the intrinsic worth,” Somayya said complacently. He
understood that one simple truth, the gist of his experiences: People are not interested in one’s abilities;
they’re concerned only with that part of one’s capabilities they could use. Each employer puts a value only
on the amount of capabilities he could use to his own benefit; he will not consider it as evaluating the other
person’s total worth.
Vanaja came in to announce that lunch has been served.
Muthyam set the plates and glasses of water. Giri sat at the head of the table and Vanaja across from him.
Kotamma and Bobby sat on either side of her. Muthyam sat next to Bobby. Sekharam and Somayya sat on
either side of Giri.
Giri resumed his speech on the principles of economics in the world’s richest country. “Our folks in India
think here we are making lots of money, hefty dollars,—fifty rupees per dollar, you know. But, as the
saying goes, dollars don’t grow on trees. They have no idea how hard we sweat to make those dollars.
Come to think of it, my entire property, land and all, was washed up clean, by the time I was done with
my education. Mother got by barely. I’ve got to understand the value of labor only after I’d started out on
the job here, to be frank. I put my heart and soul into this, a job in the number one country in the world.
Now I know. I am working thirty hours a day; holding my heart in my fist; constantly worried who might
complain about what? scared about the company shutting down, I getting the pink slip; the worries are
endless. The fear is always hanging over my head eternally.”
Somayya nodded sympathetically.
“You can’t live in fear forever. Pull yourself together,” Sekharam said as if he was obliged to say
something.
Giri was still stuck on his own line of thinking, “A friend of mine in my office was saying the same thing.
He nearly broke into tears as he talked about his predicament. He said his uncle had given some ten
thousand rupees to his mother, probably long before he was born; he had sent the money back to his uncle
god knows how many times. But the uncle obviously had been asking him for the money over and again.
He commented ruefully that that account would never get settled until one of them was dead.” Giri broke
into a big laughter.
Funny how someone else’s miseries of others make the best material for laughter for some people.
“Watch the time,” Vanaja alerted him.
Giri looked at his watch and jumped to his feet, “Oh no. I have to go. Please, don’t rush on my account.
Eat well and rest for a while. We can go around in the evening.”
In the evening, Giri came late. Sekharam and his parents went out briefly. The long drive was tiresome for
the older couple. So, Sekharam returned home early. They all gathered in the living room. Vanaja put a
Telugu movie.
They heard the door open and turned around. “Hi, dad,” said Bobby.
They looked at Giri and were silent; nobody knew what to say. Something was very wrong. It was writ
large on his face. Giri looked as if he had not eaten for six months.
“What’s wrong? Are you sick?” Vanaja was the first to speak.
Giri shook his head limply and went into the bedroom. His wife followed him. After ten minutes, they both
returned to the living room. Giri got the pink slip that afternoon.
Sekharam said he was sorry. Somayya showed his sympathy in his face. Kotamma was not sure what to
say.
Giri gave them the details. The company had been planning a major reorganization to improve the
production quality. They decided to bring in a young man, fresh from Yale, in his place. No, Giri was not
laid off. They offered him a job in a different department, but it was not suitable for his qualifications.
They even gave him a week’s time to think about it and get back to them. The management assured him
that there was always room for growth.
“That’s good; isn’t it? I mean some job instead of no job,” Kotamma said.
Giri turned to Somayya and said, “Saar, we were talking about this yesterday. You tell me. How do people
measure the competence of a person?” He spoke very softly; the insolence of yesterday was
conspicuously absent in his tone today.
Sekharam said persuasively, “Giri, each person has a different yardstick. Possibly, you two are looking at
two different things; your qualifications could be excellent, yet a mismatch for their requirements. They
would put the same value on their dollar as you would on yours. I’m sure you can see the difference
between the two perspectives”
No, Giri did not see the difference; he could not. He was not to be blamed either. That was not the kind of
difference that was taught at schools. No textbook discussed such things.
Giri grit his teeth, without his teacher not noticing it.
Sekharam and his parents decided to leave first thing in the morning.
“Why change of plans? You don’t have to leave so soon. We still can feed you,” Giri said, smiling vaguely.
“No, no; don’t get us wrong,” Sekharam protested quickly, “Mother and father are tired already. They are
not used to this kind of long drives you know. So, I thought, if we start early enough, we will be in the
twin cities by noon. Gives them more time to relax.”
“Have breakfast at least before you leave.”
They sat down at the dining table, and kept fumbling with their knives and forks quietly. Nobody had
anything to say. Giri could not take it anymore, even if it meant showing he was desperate. He turned to
the most revered man in the room and asked feebly, “Saar, what do you suggest?”
Somayya was not his ‘Saar’; he had never been his teacher, yet, he was equal to a teacher. Giri was
grasping at straws. It did not occur to him that he was asking the wrong person. Somayya was just about
as much befuddled by the local practices.
He spoke softly, “Look, Giri, I don’t know whether you would or should take that second job or not. Let
me tell you what I’ve noticed in the past few days I’ve been here. All I see nowadays is that everybody is
constantly searching for ways to grab the most for himself; it’s the same here or back home. . Yesterday I
said the market value is different from the intrinsic worth of a product. Let’s say, in your resume you
mentioned that you possessed remarkable knowledge of Carnatic music. You’ll try to convince your
employer that you could make your presentation music to the ears of your clients. If your prospective
employer were also a music buff, he could be persuaded of your argument. Otherwise, he might dismiss it
as a totally useless skill for the job on hand. What I’m trying to say is the employer will put a value on only
that part of your capabilities which he could utilize. You on the other hand are weighing up your worth,
based on your needs and capabilities as you know them. Almost all the smart folks know this simple truth
but nobody acknowledges it. Why? That is what I could not figure out.”
Giri could not understand Saar’s argument. He did not get the answer he was looking for.
Muthyam went upstairs, brought all the six suitcases and loaded the minivan.
Somayya watched him and wondered if there was anything he could do for this boy. Suddenly, he walked
up to Muthyam, took his hand and shoved a green bill in his palm. Muthyam tried to refuse the money; he
pulled back his hand. Somayya closed the boy’s fist, patted on his shoulder gently and went to the van.
Giri and Vanaja waited until the car pulled out of their driveway and then went in.
Muthyam stood there motionless scrunching up the paper in his fist. His heart was writhing like a
rattlesnake. His mother’s words came to his mind: Open the fist and the magic is gone. The magic stays
only as long as the fist was closed.
Bobby tugged at his sleeve and asked again, “What is it?”
Muthyam’s eyes bounced back and forth on his fist and Bobby. What good this piece of paper would do
under the circumstances he was caught up?
“Show it. Show it to me,” Bobby was asking.
Muthyam’s five fingers opened up slowly like lotus petals at dawn. In the next moment, a breeze came
blowing and swept away the currency from his palm.
He thought about the shell he had tossed away yesterday. It needed a little effort on his part to toss it out;
this green bill was not worth even that broken shell.
(Copyrighted by Malathi Nidadavolu. Published on www.writegallery.com (2004)
Telugu Women Writers
A Historical perspective of
Women’s writing in Andhra Pradesh, India.
(Copyrighted. Do not post text from this article in part or full without express permission from the administrator)
ORAL TRADITION:
In cultures like India where oral tradition is predominantly a mode of tutelage and dissemination of knowledge, the short story continues to be another important medium. Colossal works like Katha Sarit Sagaram (The Ocean of Stories) and Panca tantram (The Five Strategies of Polity) are series of never-ending stories with several layers of embedded stories. In books like these, the narrator starts a story, branches off into another story within the story and leaves only to pick it up the following night. The listeners have time to ruminate on the story and make mental notes. Dakshinamurti, a prominent fiction writer, stated that, “not only Indians but even foreigners agree that India is the first to explore short fiction. … Our Vedic literature possesses stories in their rudimentary form.” (3).
For centuries, Telugu mothers have been telling stories to children, in the time-honored spirit of oral tradition while doing chores–stories about handsome princes, wicked witches, and mean step-mothers as well as stories of national heroes. The story of Dudala Salamma of Quila Shapur in Women Writing in India (Tharu and Lalitha 216-224) is an excellent example of stories in oral tradition. The narrative highlights some of the important features of oral tradition: [1] a woman, with no formal education narrated the story. For centuries, while formal education for women was substandard, their lore, cognition and aptitude to tell a story remained unquestionable; [2] It reflects the narrator’s strength of character as an active participant in a people’s movement (Telangana Movement 1946-1951); and, [3] Humility, not showmanship, has been one of the telling virtues of Hindu philosophy, and by extension, that of Indian women. Possibly for the same reason we have no biographical details of the narrator, Salamma in the book under reference. Telugu women had no problem in telling a story. The question of recognition and reward was a moot point even in 1960s.
WOMEN’S EDUCATION IN UPPER CLASSES:
Oral tradition imparts knowledge. Over the centuries, women have acquired knowledge while staying within the confines of their homes. There is evidence of scholarship among women from upper classes, Brahmin [scholars], Kshatriya [royalty] castes, and other economically advantaged classes.
Utukuri Lakshmikantamma (1917-1997), a highly respected female scholar in Sanskrit and Telugu, poet, and literary historian, listed more than 200 female poets extending over ten centuries in her monumental work, Andhra kavayitrulu [Andhra poetesses] (1953) . Some of the acclaimed female authors were Leelavati, 11th century, Tallapaka Timmakka, 12th century, Gangadevi, 13th century, Mohanangi, 15th century, and Muddupalani, 18th century, to name but few.
The females in the upper classes had received support and encouragement from male family members in acquiring knowledge as well as in their literary pursuits. Bhaskaracharyulu, a famous mathematician, 11th century, taught his daughter Leelavati mathematics. Leelavati authored a textbook, Leelavati ganitamu which is considered a valuable contribution (Lakshmikantamma. 42-43).
Mohanangi, 16th century, daughter of emperor Krishnadevarayalu, received unequivocal support from her father in her literary venture. Following passage affirms the father-daughter relationship in the medieval period. The original text is in poetic form.
One day Krishnadevarayalu noticed that his daughter was perplexed and asked what was troubling her. Mohanangi replied that she was considering writing not “a few silly lines” but “a kavya [epic] much to the chagrin of those who ridicule women’s writing.” Krishnadevarayalu expressed immense pleasure at her decision and said, “I have been telling you, and you did not listen. Please do let me have the pleasure of your poetry.” He also assured her that her scholastic excellence was superior even to male writers (Lakshmikantamma. 30-31).
It is evident that female scholarship in royal families existed and male family members were supportive of female scholarship. This tradition of receiving support from family members continued into modern period. The story of Bhandaru Acchamamba’s (1874- ?) is a classic example of such support. In fact, her story gives us arguments on both sides of the question—whether and how the family members responded to women acquiring knowledge. Acchamamba’s brother Komarraju Lakshmana Rao, a famous activist and respected journalist, urged her to learn to read. Some members of her family were opposed to the idea. Acchamamba was indifferent at first, and later decided to go along with her brother’s suggestion. Then she took upon herself to convince the other family members. Eventually she became a scholar not only in Telugu, but also in Sanskrit and English, and authored a book, Abala Saccharitra ratnamala in 3 volumes [1. histories of women in classics, 2. women in history and 3. biographies of foreign women] (Lakshmikantamma. Andhra kavayitrulu 105).
Lakshmikantamma cited several instances in her book where the family members actively supported women’s education and encouraged women to writing. It would also appear that by this time the female scholarship extended beyond brahmin and kshatriya castes, to other economically higher classes. Acchamamba belonged to Vaisya caste (business community).
WOMEN IN LOWER CLASSES:
Speaking of the females from lower classes in the previous centuries, mention must be made of Atukuri Molla who belonged to potters’ caste/class and is commonly referred to as Kummari [potters] Molla. One writer asked me how could Molla, a woman of lower caste, acquire the writing skills (Radhika Gajjala. Personal correspondence). I could only take a wild guess based on my limited knowledge of the hierarchy in India. Within each community there is an internal structure. For instance, within the kummari caste, Molla’s father could be the head/chief [kulapedda] in which case she was entitled to the privileges of the women in higher classes. In my younger days, I had noticed this kind of imitation of the upper class customs in the lower class communities. Yet the question remains how a person from lower classes, male or female, could have acquired the reading and writing skills?
Coming back to the known facts, Molla did not hesitate to appear in public or approach the royalty (Further discussion in the later part of this article). Molla was acclaimed for her Ramayanam, written in pure Telugu, brimming with cultural nuance and native idiom, unadulterated with long winding and heavily Sanskritized phraseology. She was the second female poet to write in pure Telugu. Arudra’s comment is pertinent here, “Molla’s Ramayanam enjoys popularity even to this day while several other Ramayanams written by highly regarded male scholars of her times were lost in history” (Samagra Andhra Sahityam 8: 110).
Molla belonged to the 14th or 16th century. Lakshmikantamma established authoritatively the dates as 1320-1400 or 1405 (Andhra Kavayitrulu 25) while Arudra determined it to be the 16th century (Samagra Andhra sahityam 8: 114). However it is important to note that this kind of discrepancy is not peculiar to female authors only.
Women started receiving formal education in public schools in the late 19th century. Kandukuri Veeresalingam (1848-1919), a prominent social reformer and activist, pioneered the women’s movement in Andhra Pradesh, and for that reason earned the title “the father of modern epoch” [yugapurushudu or yugakarta] in Andhra Pradesh.
VEERESALINGAM (1948-1919) AND WOMEN’S MOVEMENT:
Kandukuri Veeresalingam took up women’s cause in the late 19th century. Among his major accomplishments, the most notable were women’s education, widow remarriage and eradication of prostitution. Veeresalingam believed strongly that “the country can not prosper unless women are educated.” (Venkatarangayya 37). He started with educating his wife, Rajyalakshmamma who later became an active participant in his reform movements.
An important issue of this period was the controversy among the male elitists regarding female education. While some were supportive of female education, there were other activists who opposed it vehemently. Kokkonda Venkataratnam pantulu (1842-1915) was one of the staunch opponents of education for women. In his magazine Andhra bhasha sanjivani, Venkataratnam pantulu was publishing articles on the negative effects of women’s education at the same time Veeresalingam was striving to advocate the positive factors.
Narla Venkateswararao, better known as V. R. Narla (1908- ?), an eminent journalist and western-educated scholar, reported the debate as follows [original in English] as “The biggest and the most long-drawn-out of his [Veeresalingam’s] battles were for the right of a woman to education and of a widow to remarriage” (36) … and “In its [his magazine, satihita bodhini] columns, he serialised his stories of Satyavati and Chandramati, his biographical sketches of famous women, Indian and foreign, his popular guide to health, his moral maxims in verse, and his many other writings meant exclusively for women.”(37).
The above passage highlights two points: The controversy surrounding women’s education in Andhra Pradesh was not so much gender-specific as perception-specific—meaning the issue was not one of males versus females but between two groups of males and females, supporters and opponents of education for women. This trend continued well into the modern period.
Secondly, Veeresalingam’s course content for women—the subjects women should be taught—was not as progressive as his views on the need for education. He started the magazine exclusively for women, satihitabodhini, the first of its kind in 1883. His views were made clear in one of his articles entitled “Uneducated women are the enemies of their children.” Veeresalingam wrote, “If women are educated, they will stay away from using foul language, will not get into brawls, and behave sensibly and quietly. We have the proverb, ‘children take after their mother.’ If women behave, the children will learn good behavior. … If the mothers are stupid and petulant, the children fail in their studies, become irascible, take to evil ways and hurt others and hurt themselves.” (Quoted by Potturi Venkateswararao. 86). Veeresalingam’s views on female virtue raised some controversy in his later years. (This is discussed further on page 
SOCIAL CONDITIONS DURING VEERESALINGAM PERIOD:
The prevailing social conditions of women during Veeresalingam’s period are discernable from the story of his wife, Rajyalakshmamma. Kanuparti Varalakshmamma (1896-1978) , an acclaimed poet, lyricist, and fiction writer, wrote about Rajyalakshmamma as follows:
After her husband [Veeresalingam] started the widow remarriage movement, her relationship with her natal home became a struggle. There was no way she could keep her relationship with the two families—her natal home and the in-laws. … After much reflection, she decided to stay with her husband, as was appropriate for an Indian woman. …
Due to their excommunication by the local community, Rajyalakshmamma suffered several hardships. Household help was not available anymore. She had to cook, clean, fetch water from the river Godavari … the list was endless.
For the same reason [excommunication], she was not invited to festivities at her natal home, or by neighbors … She had to put up with ridicule from the other females silently and with tears welling up in her eyes… In addition, her husband was terribly short-tempered, would not give her the time of the day. If she tried to talk to him, he would say, ‘If you can’t take it, just go back to your home.’ Therefore, she had no other recourse but to keep quiet. God only knows how she had endured such hardships. … (42).
Narla also had expressed similar view in regard to Rajyalakshmamma’s position at home.
In a way, she [Rajyalakshmamma] bore greater burden than he [Veeresalingam]. It was easy for him to offer protection to every child-widow that had come to him seeking help. But it was Rajyalakshmamma who had to feed them, clothe them, and take care of them like a mother. …women from different areas, with different backgrounds and personalities. … And she had to deal with several child-widows with several heartrending stories. … (Yugapurushudu 17).
For centuries, Hindu philosophy has been preaching selfless service, and one’s duty to the family and the society. In familial context, compromise is a cultural value. The title of the article, dharmapatni Rajyalakshmamma, reinforces those convictions. Literally, dharmapatni means the woman who carries out her duties consistent with her husband’s role in society. Rajyalakshmamma lived according to these principles. One example of her fortitude was in regard to the will Veeresalingam had created. While contemplating to donate his entire estate to Hitakarinisamajam [his organization for women’s welfare] he was unsure of the amount he should set aside for his wife. Rajyalakshmamma heard about his dilemma and told him that between the two of them, she would die first and so there was no reason for him to worry about her share of the property (Varalakshmamma 44). Strange as it may sound, Rajyalakshmamma’s death preceded Veeresalingam’s death.
The two comments (of Varalakshmamma and Narla) point to the anomaly between Veeresalingam’s preachings and practice. The freedom Veeresalingam was advocating for women had its limitations. However, even during his lifetime, towards the end of his era, women began showing signs of independent thinking.
Two female writers who were children during the last two decades of Veeresalingam throw light on the social change that was taking place almost imperceptibly in the early 20th century. Battula Kamakshamma (1886-??), a teen child-widow at this time noted a touching account in her autobiographical essay, a short 4-page paper, smruthulu, anubhavamulu [memories and personal experiences] of how women lived with grace under trying social conditions . The gist of it is as follows:
She was a child widow, about 15 years old in 1901-1902, and was living in her relatives’ home. During those days the well-to-do families were observing rigid traditions and customs. Women could not show their faces in public. Kamakshamma was always dedicated to reading books and public service. She was interested in Veeresalingam’s writings and evidently was inspired by his writings. When her family members and other disciples of Veeresalingam tried to encourage her to remarry she resisted. She devoted her life to public service. ..
Her family members did not object to her reading since she was reading epics and gathering other women in her neighborhood for religious discourses also [emphasis mine]. Evidently she had to circumvent possible opposition to her reading the controversial books (69-72).
To me, the article was interesting since it showed how she had noticed the unfavorable conditions, and circumvented the objections in subtle ways. Her account gives us some of the notable details as to how, during and after Veeresalingam period, women managed to process the information they had received and put it to their best use while keeping good relationship with their families. Wisdom lies in working things out. Kamakshamma was a good example. She decided not to remarry but had no problem in helping other widows who wished to remarry. The hurdles from her family did not prevent her from following her heart—that was reading Veeresalingam’s writings and taking only whatever suited her mental disposition.
Another female writer, Nalam Suseelamma, wife of Nalam Krishna Rao , also expressed similar sentiment:
Suseelamma was not interested in her husband’s activities at first. She was hesitant even to talk to Rajyalakshmamma [Veeresalingam’s wife]. But she was following her husband … only to please her husband but not because she believed in his beliefs. Suseelamma added that she was not ashamed of her lifestyle during those days. ‘I am saying this to point out the hold the traditional values had on us during that period.’ In retrospect she felt there was nothing to be ashamed of, she was only sorry but not ashamed. …
“I could not step outside past the front door in those days. Now I am running this Andhra Mahila gaana sabha [Andhra music society for women]. I owe it to the incessant teachings of Veeresalingam garu. ….” (95-96).
Evidently the Telugu men allowed women to read books but within the norms set by the society. And female individuals found ways to circumvent the hurdles. That was and has been the spirit and character of Telugu women. This spirit of compromise or conformation rather than of confrontation has been evident even in the female writers in 1960s. Kamakshamma and Suseelamma reaffirm the evolutionary nature of social values. Change does not happen in one quick move but takes place imperceptibly.
NEWSPAPERS AND MAGAZINES
By 1930s, the women’s education movement gained momentum. The nationalist movement needed an educated woman. National leaders found women to be of valuable asset not only for their strength but also in terms of numbers. A little later, Ayyanki Venkataramanayya started the library movement, once again with educating women as one of its primary goals. As a result of the combined efforts of all these three movements, several women’s magazines came into existence.
Several magazine exclusively for women started appearing soon. Telugu janana was started in 1894 and published from Rajahmundry, the central part of the state with rich literary history. Hindusundari was another magazine for women, started by S. Sitaramayya in 1902. Potturi Venkateswararao quoted the mission statement of the editor:
“Considering that [Telugujanana] is the only magazine currently available for women, and there is no other to compete with, I decided to start this [hindusundari]… hoping to educate women, encourage them to express themselves freely, and without fear. I contacted our sisters who were sending their contributions to my other magazine, desopakari [guardian of our country]. They all expressed great enthusiasm at the prospect, promised to help me to make it a useful magazine for all women. Some of them offered to write and publish themselves, while a few expressed concern. For fear of ridicule by their female neighbors, some of them preferred to use pseudonyms … For all these reasons, we tried to make the women take up writing and running the magazine themselves, but the country has not reached that level yet, I suppose.” (87)
And Venkateswararao commented that,
This rather long editorial is indicative of the educated women’s interest in writing, of their fear of ridicule by female friends, and also, the determination of the publishers and magazine editors to promote the women’s education, to encourage women to act as magazine editors. At the request of Sitaramayya, two women, Mosalikanti Rambayamma and Vempati Santabayamma became editors. In all possibility, these two women were the first female journalists and magazine editors. After a few years, some 7 or 8 years, Madabhushi Chudamma and Kallepalli Venkataramanamma took up the editorial responsibilities of the magazine. It was about this time that the term “sampadakulu” [Telugu term for male editors] came into vogue, and the two women announced themselves “sampaadakuraandru” [female editors]. The magazine was moved to Kakinada in 1917 and later was dissolved.
The first issue of Hindusundari included articles on traditional duties of wives [pativratadharmam], tenets for married women, skills required in the performance of their daily chores, women’s songs, cosmetics, hygiene, biographies of foreign women, and also fiction for diversion. The stories that were supportive of women’s education and literary interest were given priority (87-88).
Notably women were invited to participate in running the magazine and they responded zealously. Interestingly they had expressed their concern that they might face ridicule from their female cohorts [emphasis mine]! Another noteworthy point was that Hindusundari did not differ in its views from Veeresalingam’s on female education.
Tirumala Ramacandra, (1913- ??) mentioned two female writers in his book, Telugu patrikala sahitya seva (1989)–Racamalla Satyavatidevi as the first female editor of a magazine, not for-women-only, Telugu talli, 1938-1944 (61), and Jnanamba as an essayist. Ramacandra quoted almost one page from Jnanamba’s article [non-fiction] on the delicious nature of sitaphalam [winter apple] and its benefits for one’s health (44). Potham Janakamma who wrote an article, “videsi yatra” (traveling abroad) in 1874, published in Andhrabhasha sanjivani, could be the first Telugu female essayist (Lakshmana Reddi. Telugulo patrika racana 58).
Significantly, the magazine Andhrabhasha sanjivani was run by Kokkonda Venkataratnam pantulu, who was a staunch opponent of education for women. The magazine was a “platform for the traditionalists of the old school to revive the long-established social norms, and also to oppose all social and cultural reform movements. The magazine was publishing articles opposing widow remarriage and women’s education” (Lakshmana Reddi. Telugulo patrika racana 57-58).
K. N. Kesari, a nationalist leader, noted philanthropist and journalist, started Gruhalakshmi monthly in 1928 providing a viable platform for women to express themselves. Kesari’s mission was to “improve the health and welfare of women.” Venkateswararao commented that, “although this is intended for women only, the magazine was publishing highly informative articles useful for everybody. There are several articles of lasting value.” Probably this was one of the significant moments when the ‘exclusively for women’ idea started fading. Venkateswararao further elaborated that “Gruhalakshmi provided platform for several female writers… worked for women’s education, women’s voting rights and was keen on encouraging women to work on the spinning wheel at home. Encouraged women to conduct conferences, seminars, etc. and published the news in its pages. In this magazine, the national activist Gummididala Durgabai [later came to be known as Durgabai Deshmukh] published her serial novel, ‘Lakshmi’. The story was about an orphan named Lakshmi who suffers several hardships and later becomes a teacher. At the end of the novel, Durgabai addressed the readers and said, ‘if even one woman learns from this story and improves her life, I will feel blessed.’ … Gruhalakshmi has a special place not only among women’s magazines but all the magazines of that epoch” (P. Venkateswararao 90-91).
In the same context, Lakshmana Reddi observed that, “Several women who had no knowledge of even the alphabet, worked hard to improve their reading skills and rose to the level of becoming eminent scholars.” (Telugu journalism 306). … Kanuparti Varalakshmamma ran a column entitled ‘Sarada lekhalu’ [letters from Sarada] in which she discussed important women’s issues like Sharda Act [Government Act prohibiting child marriages] (307).
Kesari also set up an annual award, “Swarna kankanam” (golden bracelet) to honor female writers of eminence, and this award continues to date.
Pulugurta Lakshmi Narasamamba was also an active contributor to Gruhalakshmi later started her own magazine, Savitri in 1904, “challenging Veeresalingam’s position on widow remarriage and declaring war on several other movements of Veeresalingam. Although she opposed widow remarriage, she was a great advocate of women’s education” (Lakshmana Reddi. Telugulo patrika racana. 121). Venkateswararao noted that, “Although it is not clear how long this magazine existed but evidently has published valuable articles. The articles were published later in anthologies” (P. Venkateswararao 90).
I would like to relate an anecdote that adds another dimension to Lakshmi Narasamamba’s character. One of her granddaughters was my friend and classmate in Andhra University, 1956-1959. My friend had mentioned that her grandmother Lakshmi Narasamamba garu was progressive in numerous ways; and, when my friend wanted to marry a man of her choice the family opposed. Her grandmother however supported and encouraged her to follow her heart. Like Kamakshamma (see page 6), women in those days made choices on a case-by-case basis. Their choices may look like contradictions on the surface but are indicative of the strength of their characters.
While the movements were focused on “educating women”, women with hardly any schooling were writing and publishing in the 1930s and 1940s. One classic example of their success was a scholarly work by Burra Kamaladevi (1908-?), Chhandohamsi (A study of meter). The book was prescribed as a textbook for post-graduate students in Telugu Literature and bhashapraveena diploma (attestation of scholarship in Telugu language studies) in schools. The notable factor was that Kamaladevi received no formal education, and that the academy did not perceive it as an obstacle to treat the book a scholarly work.
These magazines for women published poetry and fiction by female writers. Men openly encouraged women to write. There was no stigma in writing. There was no stigma in publishing their writings in their own names. Unlike in the West, women writers in Andhra Pradesh did not hide behind pseudonyms to conceal their identity
THE SHIFTS IN MALE SUPPORT AND FEMALE EDUCATION
Veeresalingam had stated his goals of female education in no uncertain terms. After the declaration of independence, there was a shift in the attitudes of males at least on the surface. The ‘magazines exclusively for women’ were replaced by special sections for women in magazines for general public. For instance, Pramadaavanam in Andhra Prabha, vanitaalokam in Andhra Patrika, and later vanitaajyoti in Andhra Jyoti with female columnists were such replacements. The topics dealt with in these special sections however remained the same—cooking, sewing, female hygiene and beauty tips. Unlike Veeresalingam, the social activists in later period did not spell it out though. The attitudes have become much more subtle. There was no movement like that of Kokkonda Venkataratnam opposing female education in public. Yet, the reality the women faced in their day to day lives on the home-front was a different story. The double standard some of the male activists evinced, the contrariety between their preaching and practice also went unrecorded.
Eventually, Telugu women took it upon themselves to make that shift to social issues that seriously affected women. The dissent started to surface in other ways like movies and in real life situations. This is evident in the writings of the sixties by women writers.
Statistically, the names of female writers appeared only sporadically in critical works. Potturi Venkateswararao devoted one chapter, acchamgaa aadavaallakosam [exclusively for women] in his book, naati patrikala meti viluvalu (the high standards of the magazines in the past] (86-91) in which he briefly commented on the magazines for women and female writing in the early 20th century. Poranki Dakshinamurti listed over 200 short story writers, as prominent fiction writers between 1910 and 1975 in his book katha vanjmayam [history of short story] and 30 of them were women. Most of these 30 writers were from the 1950s and 1960s decades.
RECOGNITION AND REWARD
It would appear from modern day criticism that the two important questions regarding women’s writing are recognition and reward. Attempting to put these two questions in a social context in India is a complex task. The complexities arise from the caste-oriented social hierarchy as well as multi-layered familial relationships. My intent is to show, not how women were ridiculed and spurned, but how they handled themselves in literature and in society. Human nature being what it is, there is always room for conflicts and confrontation. Wisdom lies in dealing with the conflicts, and, I think, Telugu female writers have handled themselves beautifully.
Let’s first examine the aspect of recognition. Historically, women writers were not appearing in public. Several biographies in Lakshmikantamma’s Andhra Kavayitrulu included comments on the extraordinary talent of female authors, but did not refer to their reception by the public. This custom of not seeking recognition was evident even in the 1960s, to a much lesser degree though.
Women in upper classes have written but did not seem to have sought royal patronage like male writers. During Veeresalingam’s period women began showing interest in publishing articles in the women’s magazines and also books. This could be considered the first departure from tradition. Lakshmikantamma stated that she owed her interest in the women’s writing of the past to Veeresalingam’s works (98). The content and the views expressed in these writings however remained the same as in the past. The works by these female writers carried Veeresalingam’s philosophy—Ahalayabai [story of Ahalya, a chaste woman in mythology], bhaktimargam [the path of devotion], satidharmamulu [the duties of wife], and such.
Among those who deviated from this norm, Molla was prominently featured in the history of Telugu literature. Molla did not hesitate to go to the court despite her lower caste status. The following passage from Pratapacaritra by Ekamranatha, an early historian throws light on Molla’s stature in society [translation mine]:
Molla offered to dedicate her work Ramayanam to king Prataparudra. The scholars present in the court objected to that, calling her work a sudrakavitvam [poetry by a lower class person] and so was inappropriate for the king to accept the dedication. … Molla came to the court and read verses from her Ramayanam. The king, being knowledgeable, and appreciative of her [Molla’s] talent, yet afraid he might offend the brahmin scholars, rewarded her appropriately and sent her to the queen’s palace… (quoted in Samagra Andhra Sahityam 8: 113-114).
This account raises a few questions for me. For instance, how could Molla, a woman from lower class, gain access to the royal court in the first place? How could she read her poetry if her book was considered objectionable? Why did the poets in the court waited until Molla recited her poetry, and then raised their objections? What prevented the King from overruling the objections of the poets in his court? To me, it appears the issue here is more than male versus female.
On similar lines, I would like to discuss another story about Molla, prevalent in Andhra Pradesh. A word of caution is needed here. Both Lakshmikantamma (Andhra kavayitrulu 19) and Arudra (Samagra Andhra Sahityam 8: 113) made brief references to the story but would not go into details. Lakshmikantamma dismissed it as irrelevant. I am, however, inclined to give the story here for a couple of reasons. I will get to my reasons after giving the story.
One day Molla was returning home from the market carrying a chicken and a puppy in her arms, and ran in to Tenali Ramakrishna, a contemporary poet and prankster. Ramakrishna saw Molla, and as was his custom, saw an opportunity for a good laugh. He asked Molla if she would let him have the chicken or the puppy for a rupee. The question was a double entendre. At one level, it was a simple, straightforward question—whether she would sell the chicken or puppy to him for a rupee; and, at the other level, it was an obscenity.
Molla saw where he was going with his question, and replied that she would not sell him anything at any cost. Her response was also a double entendre matching his wits—at one level, her response was a straightforward answer—that she simply would not sell anything to him, and at the second level, her response meant, ‘Whatever your intentions are, you know I am like a mother to you’. The story continues to state that, thenceforth Ramakrishna treated her with respect, like a mother.
The story raises several questions in regard to the status of women in society, in general, and of women poets, in particular. Was this a story of humiliation or success? How could a lower caste woman claim to be a mother-like figure for a brahmin? Wouldn’t that be preposterous? Did it mean that women poets were subjected to ridicule? Or did it intend to show that women equaled men in a battle of wits? Ramakrishna was known to pull pranks on his male contemporaries also, and at times, ended up at the receiving end himself. In that sense, could we say that he treated Molla like he would treat any other poet, irrespective of gender? In my teen years, I read this story as an example of battle of wits.
My reasons for quoting the story are: In Telugu literature, there is a genre called tittu kavitvam [poetry of slander]. For centuries, it has been common practice for Telugu folks to ridicule each other. Personal attacks and defamation of character have been national characteristics. What would be considered an offense in the west would be a trivial matter for Telugu folks. Comments like “scribbling women” (Lawrence), or comparing women’s writing to “a dog walking on its hind legs” (Johnson) are easily forgiven or brushed off in our culture. Regarding the outrageous attacks and insults Venkataratnam Pantulu and Veeresalingam poured on each other in the late 19th centuries, Nayani Krishna Kumari, a respected scholar and critic commented that only persons of their stature [Veeresalingam and Venkataratnam pantulu] could entertain such ferocious personal attacks (Yugapurushudu 173). This trend of personal attacks is widespread in Andhra Pradesh and continued in to 1960s and 1970s. Such sarcasm did not stand in the way for women to write and publish.
The second female writer to make history in the past was Muddupalani (1730-1790). Muddupalani was the first female writer, I think, to cause the scholars raise gender related questions. While Molla’s story was often quoted as an example of battle of wits, Muddupalani’s work was associated with her caste, courtesans.
Muddupalani was a granddaughter of Tanjanayaki, a courtesan in Tanjore court during Pratapasimha rule (1730-1763) (Arudra Samagra Andhra Sahityam 12: 172). Muddu Palani wrote Radhikasantvanam, a poetic narrative of how Krishna set out to pacify incensed Radhika. She included several intimate details and erotic notes on woman’s modus operandi of satisfying a man in the process.
From the recorded history it would appear that questions regarding the authorship of radhikasantvanam were raised and dismissed (Samagra Andhra Sahityam. 12: 171-176), but the details are not relevant for the purpose of this book. What is relevant was the controversy surrounding its publication a century later. In 1910, when Bangalore Nagaratnamma, a scholar and poet in her own right, attempted to publish the book, met with strong opposition. Ironically, the opposition and banning of the book came from the British government.
Among the Indians, Veeresalingam, a champion of women’s movement was one of her harshest critics. He condemned Muddupalani’s descriptions of love-making. Here is the account of Veeresalingam’s objections and Nagaratnamma’s rebuttal:
Veeresalingam commented on Radhikasantvanam as follows: “Several references in the book are disgraceful and inappropriate for women to hear or write about.”
Bangalore Nagaratnamma questioned Veeresalingam’s integrity: “Does the question of propriety and embarrassment arise only in the case of women, and not of men? Is he [Veeresalingam] implying that it is acceptable for this author [Muddupalani] to write about conjugal pleasures in minute detail and without reservation because she was a courtesan, but it would not be so for respectable men? Then my question is: Are the obscenities in this book [radhikasantvanam] worse than the obscenities in vaijayantivilasam, a book which Pantulu garu [Veeresalingam] personally reviewed and approved for publication? And what about the obscenities in his own work, rasikajanamanobhiranjanam?” (Quoted in Arudra. preface. xx).
Apparently, women did not hesitate to rise to the occasion and register their protest when the occasion called for it. Radhikasantvanam was eventually published, as a result of an appeal to the government by some men scholars. They claimed that, “It is unfair to ban the entire book simply because it contains a few, some two dozen, objectionable verses.” The ban was not lifted until after the British rule ended though.
Some of the Andhra elite considered the book deserved to be published and got it published. Yet the stigma continues to this day, as is evident in some of the comments in the 20th and 21st centuries. Lakshmikantamma paid a remarkable tribute to Muddupalani’s poetic excellence and her command of language, and then added in her final note, “With her explicit descriptions of sexual acts, however, she [Muddupalani] made it impossible for scholarly discussion of her work in respectable company. … However, we should not put the blame entirely on Muddupalani for her explicit descriptions [pacci srungaram]. … The country was under military rule. It was a chaotic period.” (Andhra Kavayitrulu 67). Another comment posted on the Internet, as recently as July 2001 is equally subjective: “She [Muddupalani] wrote “Radhika Santvanamu” to prove that women can write lust and sex as well as or even better than men! Being a Vesya (concubine or prostitute) it was not difficult for her to write about lust and sex.” (Vepachedu Srinivasarao Homepage)[Original in English] . There is however a noticeable difference in these two comments. Lakshmikantamma stayed with her subject while Srinivasarao took a jab at the author’s profession and personal life!
SUMMARY:
In summary, historically education was available to women in upper and middle class families. Questions like how and why this happened, and whether it was selective are open for debate. After declaration of independence, and the abolition of zamindaries and princely states, the middle class came into prominence with renewed vigor. Women from royal/ruling class became part of the middle class. Almost all the female writers in post-independent Andhra Pradesh belonged to the middle class in terms of social strata. Their values represented the values of the new emerging middle class. The women started writing about the values of the middle class families, which were changing dramatically because of the social and political changes in the country.
Secondly, the controversies surrounding women’s education was not gender-specific. The dissent was between two groups, each group consisting of males and females, rather than separate groups of males and females. And strangely, the division continues to prevail even in modern times.
A third distinction was between the academy and the public–a modern concept. With the popularization of the adult and women’s education, the non-scholar readership has increased exponentially, and it was responding to the fiction with enthusiasm, irrespective of academic assessment of women’s writing.
Final note: I am examining Telugu female writers of 1960s era against this background. I am looking forward to readers’ comments, suggestions, and stories. I am inviting readers to share their comments and stories that have a direct bearing on this topic. You may email your comments to me or mail to my contact in India. I am planning to visit India briefly and will be happy to meet with readers and writers.
WORKS CITED:
Arudra [pseud]. See Sankarasastry, Bhagavatula.
Dakshinamurti, Poranki. Kathanika vanjmayam. Hyderabad: Andhra Pradesh Sahitya Academy, 1975.
Kamakshamma, Battula. “Smruthulu, anubhavamu [Memories and experiences].” Kandukuri Veeresalingam Smarakostavamula Sangham: yugapurushudu Veeresalingam. Hyderabad: Author, n.d. 69-72.
Kandukuri Veeresalingam Smarakostavamula Sangham. Yugapurushudu Veeresalingam. Hyderabad: Author, n.d.
Lakshmana Reddi, V. telugulo patrika rachana. Vijayawada: Lakshmi Publications, 1988.
— telugu journalism. Vijayawada: Gopichand Publications, 1985.
Lakshmikantamma, Utukuri. Andhra kavayitrulu. Hyderabad: Author, 1953.
— “Naati Vidusheemanulu.” Kandukuri Veeresalingam Smarakostavamula Sangham: yugapurushudu Veeresalingam. Hyderabad: Author, n.d. 97-102.
Narla, V. R. See Venkateswararao, Narla.
Ramachandra, Tirumala. telugu patrikala sahitya seva. Hyderabad: Visalandhra Publishing House, 1989.
Ramalashmi, K. Comp. Andhra racayitrula samacara sucika Hyderabad: Andhra Pradesh Sahitya Akademi, 1968.
Sankarasastry, Bhagavatula. [Arudra, pseud.] Samagra Andhra Sahityam.V.8. Madras: Seshachalam &Co., 1965. 110-118.
— Samagra Andhra Sahityam, V. 12, Madras: Seshachalam &Co., 1968 168-176.
— “pravesika [preface]” Muddupalani. Radhikasantvanam. Madras: EMESCO Books, 1972, xi-xxiv
Salamma, Dudala. “Dudala Salamma of Quila Shapur.” Tharu, Susie and Lalitha, K. ed.: Women Writing in India, V.2. New York: East-West Books, 1998. 216-224
Suseelamma, Nalam. “Pavitra smruthulu [Ennobling memories].” Kandukuri Veeresalingam Smarakostavamula Sangham: yugapurushudu Veeresalingam. Hyderabad: Author, n.d. 93-96.
Varalakshmamma, Kanuparti. “Dharmapatni Rajyalakshmamma.” Kandukuri Veeresalingam Smarakostavamula Sangham: yugapurushudu Veeresalingam. Hyderabad: Author, n.d. 41-44.
Venkateswararao, Narla. Veeresalingam [English]. New Delhi: Sahitya Akademi, 1968.
— “Yugapurushudu.” Kandukuri Veeresalingam Smarakostavamula Sangham: yugapurushudu Veeresalingam. Hyderabad: Author, n.d. 11-18
Venkateswararao, Potturi. nati patrikala meti viluvalu. Hyderabad: Rachana Journalism Kalasala, 2000.
Venkatarangayya, Mamidipudi. “sarvotomukha sanghasamskarta.” Kandukuri Veeresalingam Smarakostavamula Sangham: yugapurushudu Veeresalingam. Hyderabad: Author, n.d. 33-40.
Vijayalakshmi, Arepudi. navala racayitrulu-navalaa udyamaalu. Hyderabad: author, 1996.
[Internet sources]
Vepachedu, Srinivasa Rao Home page. 7 July 2001 .
Source for Works Cited page:
MLA on the web. 2001. Modern Language Association. 6 June 2002
http://www.wisc.edu/writetest/Handbook/elecmla.html.
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