The Invincible Moonsheen
Part – 34
(Telugu Original “Venutiragani Vennela” by Dr K.Geeta)
English Translation: V.Vijaya Kumar
(The previous story briefed)
Sameera comes to meet her mother’s friend, Udayini, who runs a women’s aid organization “Sahaya” in America. Sameera gets a good impression of Udayini. Four months pregnant, Sameera tells her that she wants to get a divorce and the circumstances are conducive to it. Udayini asks her to listen to the story of “Tanmayi” and pursue her to make her own decision after listening to the story. Tanmayi and Shekhar, who met at a wedding ceremony, go to marry with the permission of their elders. After the marriage they started their new life in Visakhapatnam. A boy was born to the couple in a year of their marriage. Tanmay engages in her studies deeply and enjoys the friendship with her colleagues forgetting all about her household disturbances. Her parents came to stay with her for a month while Shekhar is away on his long-term camp.
***
The words of Shekhar’s mother echoed in Tanmay’s ears as she returned to Visakhapatnam.
“He is a man. He can be with as many women as he wishes. As a woman, you must depend on his whims and fancies. Don’t think my son is weak. Don’t forget that he is the father of this child, and remember that all rights to this child belong exclusively to us. He is our heir, and I will never allow you to claim him under any circumstances!”
Tanmay suddenly felt a shiver, acutely aware of the weight of those words. They made her sick. All these days, she had endured nothing but misfortune in her journey with that man. Just as she was about to set her life back on track, why did these people interfere, creating more obstacles?
No, such things shouldn’t happen! They must not happen! She prayed silently.
She felt herself sweating, despite the cool breeze blowing through the open window. Suddenly, she thought of meeting her lawyer immediately.
The idea of being separated from her son felt like a sharp, twisting pain in her stomach. She had never imagined such a terrible outcome when couples divorced, and she never dreamed it would happen to her.
Her thoughts seemed endless.
Her mind was a storm of past and present bitter experiences as the bus struggled to move forward. She suddenly remembered her son, left at home with no other options, and felt a pang of worry about his loneliness. She had taken the early bus to avoid him, but now tears welled up in her eyes at the thought of him.
He was both her weakness and her strength.
Whenever she hugged him, she felt a surge of energy, a resilience to face any adversity. She couldn’t bear to be apart from him, yet here she was, forced to leave him behind.
She had earned the opportunity to pursue her Ph.D. after investing so much hope, effort, determination, and tenacity into securing the JRF. However, hostel rules didn’t allow children to stay with scholars, so her son had to be left with her parents.
Living away from him was a struggle, a courageous feat, especially with no money to her name. She needed her scholarship to secure a rented house or enroll her son in school.
She looked out the window and wiped her tears.
Her son had easily learned the alphabet at Vivekananda School while attending kindergarten. He was bright and sharp, but now he was kept away from school.
As she was leaving, her mother had said, “Don’t worry, I’ll send him to the tuition teacher nearby for now.”
***
As soon as she reached the hostel and put her books and clothes away, Tanmay fell into a deep sleep on the bed. She woke up groggy when Mary shook her.
“You seem completely exhausted,” Mary exclaimed.
Tanmay felt a warmth at Mary’s affectionate tone and nodded, smiling.
Mary led her to the dining hall.
The surroundings were filled with the chirping of crickets. The dim, gloomy lights added to the dreariness. The dining hall was filthy, and the stench was unbearable. It seemed a kitten had made the place its permanent home, leaving a lingering, unpleasant smell. Tanmay couldn’t hide her disgust and covered her nose with her saree. The dining table was dirty and stained, and the kitten, which had been lounging there, jumped off into the shadows.
A middle-aged woman approached and asked Mary, “Is this the newcomer?”
“Yes,” Mary replied, then turned to Tanmay. “This is Kondamma.”
Tanmay smiled at the woman. The room held two dented aluminum meal carriers, a water pot, and a few steel plates and glasses.
Kondamma led them to the table, removed the lids from the plates, and poured water into the glasses silently. The foul smell made Tanmay nauseous, and she couldn’t bring herself to eat, despite having had nothing since morning. The exhaustion from her journey and the whirlwind of thoughts had shattered her peace of mind. Still, she tried to eat something. The rice was cold, the curry bland, the chutney tasteless, the dal watery, and the buttermilk sour. Tanmay found nothing edible, though Mary ate casually.
When Tanmay picked at her food, Mary remarked, “Are you okay? If you want, we can take the food to our room.”
Tanmay nodded, grateful for the suggestion.
***
The next day at noon, Tanmay invited the maid with the meal carrier into her room.
“Ma, Mary ma’am told me to bring your food here,” Kondamma said politely, holding out the plate.
“Thank you… but what about Mary’s meal?”
“Mary only eats at night in the hostel, Ma. You can call me anytime. That’s my cabin over there,” Kondamma pointed to a small corner cabin.
Kondamma was lean and lanky.
Tanmay said, “Kondamma, you don’t have to bring food for me. I can come and get it myself.”
“Oh, it’s no trouble, Ma. I have an errand boy, Simhachalam, to help with such tasks. He’s gone to his village but will be back soon.”
Tanmay was reminded of her grandmother. Kondamma’s dialect and slang were identical. She sighed, thankful her grandmother wasn’t there to see her in such a pitiful state, or she might have been bedridden with worry, like her father.
Mary returned half an hour later. She hurried to the pitcher, gulped down a glass of water, and exclaimed, “It’s so horrible outside.”
Tanmay looked up from her book and asked, “Mary, have you eaten lunch?”
Mary glanced at the food on the plate and said, “Haven’t you?”
“No, I haven’t felt hungry. Let’s share this. Come!”
“I’m sorry, Tanmay. I usually skip lunch. You go ahead.”
“Are you dieting?” Tanmay laughed.
“Not really. My scholarship doesn’t cover two meals a day. I usually cook if I’m hungry or just eat some biscuits.”
Tanmay’s heart ached. She quickly walked over and said, “Mary, from now on, we’ll share lunch. You don’t need to pay for dinner either. This meal is enough for both of us.”
Mary hesitated.
Tanmay insisted, “If you don’t eat, I won’t either!”
Mary finally relented. “You’re a godsend! I love you, dear. Thank you!”
***
The next day, Tanmay got ready for the department. She decided to wear her favorite white Bengali cotton saree with brown edges. The saree brought back memories of Vivekananda School, Murali, and Venkat.
She suddenly felt the urge to write them a letter.
Mary, who was also getting ready, glanced at her through the mirror and asked, “Who are you writing to?”
Tanmay realized she had spoken her thoughts aloud. She smiled and said, “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you in the evening, dear!”
“Oh, I can’t wait that long! Let’s walk together. The sociology department is next to yours, and I know the way.”
Mary looked at Tanmay and exclaimed, “You look gorgeous! I’m envious,” then laughed.
The weather outside was warm and humid. Devotees were performing rituals around the Vinayak temple opposite the hostel. Garlands, coconuts, and other offerings were scattered around. Despite the bustling crowd, Tanmay enjoyed her conversation with Mary. She thought of Vanaja and Ananta.
Mary was the perfect blend of the two. Tanmay had always wanted to live with Vanaja as a child, but it never happened. Now, being with Mary felt just as comforting.
When Tanmay finished recounting her story about Vivekananda School, Mary exclaimed, “I feel like I should visit there immediately! Shall we plan a trip?”
“Of course! But can’t you tell me a bit about yourself now?”
Mary’s expression darkened, and she grew pale.
Tanmay quickly added, “Only if you’re comfortable…”
Mary sighed. “It’s not that… I just didn’t want to bring it up and make it painful again.”
“I’m sorry,” Tanmay said.
“Don’t be. Sharing it with you might lighten the burden. We’re in the same boat, after all. The only difference is that my child was granted to him by court order. The most painful part of my divorce was losing my baby.” Mary choked back tears.
Tanmay silently took Mary’s hand and squeezed it reassuringly. A sudden shiver ran through her legs.
Did this mean she would lose her case too? Did women have no rights over their children? She didn’t want to dwell on it further.
Besides, she had an appointment with her lawyer, Viswa, that evening. She remained silent, determined to find out everything. She reassured herself that no one would take her son away from her.
***
Tanmay signed her name in the scholar’s register for the first time. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring the page.
This was a significant moment, a step closer to her dream of earning the title of “Doctor.”
She suddenly remembered Mary’s words: “I’ve been here for five or six years as a research scholar, but who knows when I’ll finish? Everything depends on the guide…”
Tanmay’s thoughts drifted to finding a good guide and a suitable research topic.
The department already had a positive impression of her intuitive research skills, as evidenced by her JRF selection. Many professors she met that day expressed interest in working with her, even the one who had previously discouraged her with negative comments. She found it ridiculous but understood that she needed to handle the situation carefully to avoid unnecessary complications. She decided to join Professor Chidambaram, who had supported her since her college days.
Professor Chidambaram welcomed her warmly. “You’re most welcome,” he said, blessing her.
Once the formalities were complete, Tanmay felt a wave of relief. She walked out of the department and sat on a bench, letting her mind wander. Memories of Karun, Ananta, Raju, Divakar, and others flooded her mind. She sighed deeply and thought, “If I had known I’d get here eventually, I might have been happier back then, despite all the struggles.” She laughed at her own whimsical thoughts.
“May I ask what’s making you so happy?”
Tanmay looked up at the familiar voice. She recognized him instantly—it was Prabhu, her MPC classmate from intermediate college. He looked the same, except for the mustache.
“You’re Prabhu!” Tanmay exclaimed.
“Great! Thanks for remembering me. I recognized you right away.”
Prabhu smiled and said, “Glad to see you here. What brings you to our department?”
Tanmay laughed. “That’s my question! What are you doing here?”
“Oh, I came to meet a friend in your department. For your information, I did my MCA here and now work in Hyderabad.”
Tanmay said, “Why don’t we grab a coffee and catch up?”
“Sure!”
They walked to a bench with coffee cups. Prabhu remarked, “I’m so proud of you for chasing your childhood dream! You’ve finally made it, Tanmay!”
She glanced at the tree where they had once gathered for JRF preparations. Suddenly, her eyes fell on Karun, who looked stern and melicious.
Tanmay quickly looked away.
Prabhu noticed her discomfort. “Is something wrong?”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” she said, shaking her head.
“Well, my friend is here. I should go. But if I’d like to meet you again…?”
“This will be my address for the next five years,” Tanmay said, waving her hand and laughing.
***
Tanmay lost her appetite after leaving lawyer Viswa’s office. A knot of anxiety tightened in her stomach. The lawyer’s words echoed in her mind:
“After five years, guardianship of the child is assigned to the father by law. Once the child turns nine, they can choose their guardian.”
What kind of law was this? Was the father the natural guardian, not the mother who carried the child in her womb?
Whether it was five years or ten, a child always needed a mother. Could anyone raise a child alone? A stepmother would inevitably step in. Would a child ever return to their mother after being raised away from him for so long?
Her mind was tormented by thoughts of her son. She felt utterly wrecked, and a severe headache gripped her as these chaotic thoughts swirled in her mind.
*****
(Continued next month)
A post graduate in English literature and language and in Economics. A few of my translations were published. I translated the poems of Dr. Andesri , Denchanala, Ayila Saida Chary and Urmila from Telugu to English. I write articles and reviews to magazines and news papers. To the field of poetry I am rather a new face.