Telugu Short Story ‘Mouna Bhashyam’ by Akella Sivaprasad, AP State Nandi Award winner - English translation by Seshu Chamarty

‘Silent Eloquence'

First published in  Sahithi Sravanthi (a Telugu literary monthly) as ‘ Mouna Bhashyam,’ a short story written by Akella Sivaprasad,   AIR National Drama competition Awardee in 1996 and AP State Nandi  Awardee in 2003.

--Translated into English by Seshu Chamarty

My uncle and I were waiting for the train. The train was due to arrive shortly. The announcement came. Only then did my uncle speak. I came to see him off at the Railway Station. Though he was with us for a week, he didn't speak much. It was not strange. For two days it was small talk: “How are you doing, Uncle?” “I am good.” “How was your pilgrimage?”

“It went off well. I gave your wife Suseela a few pictures of the deities and Prasad.

Other than a few exchanges like that, we hardly talked about anything seriously.

My uncle spent much of his time reading alone. He carried a few books in his shoulder bag. They were a collection of books for children and some on philosophy. He would pick one randomly, and start reading even as talking and laughing to himself.

One day, after I returned from my office I asked him, “Uncle, what is new?”  He answered me with a question, “Well, what is new?” At the weekend his responses became fewer. Offhand, he would say, “The swami preached well.” That was after he returned from a sermon at the local Ashram. Never had he expanded on his one-liners. 

It was hard to keep up a conversation like this. It was the reason why I never started anything new to talk about, most of the time. It was because He never seemed to bother. We used to finish our meal without a single word passing between us.

Last evening I switched on the TV as I was disinclined to ask him as to how he was doing. Anyway, I would draw a blank.

Some visuals came on the TV about the havoc left behind by the tsunami. He too was watching them. Suddenly he began speaking to himself. I couldn’t get what he was saying. I never troubled myself to understand either.

Being unable to resist myself, I began giving a rundown on the news: “ Pity, you see, in Japan… blah, blah…..”  I drew no response from my uncle Sundaram. I wondered if people like him existed who could remain so stoically unmoved even after watching such a big catastrophe unfold before their eyes. Maybe he had swallowed the essence of Gita in Japanese straight. Then and there, he appeared to be in a dilemma whether to say something or not.

Now the train was just arriving on the platform.

He managed to say, “…..such kind of stoicism is required from every one of us, you see, Mr. Sankaram. Success is not found in the usual textbook lessons.  Only our setbacks teach us that something extra. Look, my boy, life is so strange. Even after we have said so much, there would remain something more to say. On the other hand, even after we spoke little, we still think we should not have spoken at all. It will be like this always, be it in Japan or Manasarovar, and even on the banks of the sacred river Godavari.

I wondered how he could connect the current disaster in Japan, his upcoming trip to Manasarovar, and his place in Rajahmundry where we spent together some quality time that was talking almost nothing to each other.

Soon his train arrived. I looked at my uncle as he appeared to add something more. But he smiled enigmatically and swiftly stepped into the train like a kid unable to wait to step into the train for the first time. The train moved, and I went home.

My uncle is known to speak very little right from the beginning.

Long ago I visited his house in Kakinada. My aunt was alive then. She invited me inside heartily and cooked my favorite dishes for a memorable lunch. 

She said, “Hey, Sankaram, if you keep coming once in a while there is a good chance that we will keep our good relations. You know it was quite a while before you visited us. And, it was the reason why I cursed under my breath for not placing me right away. You know I never hide my feelings. You assume your folks have no love for us because your uncle married me without your grandpa’s consent. Paying a visit to one another in the family is never a sin. I am happy you came by. Next time you please bring your wife and kids along.” She was going on, talking nonstop.

I wondered how my otherwise silent uncle fell in love with an eloquent lady. How could he propose to her in the first place, and continue his love story to its logical end against the wishes of the elders those days? When I asked him this, he said laughingly, “How can I disclose all my tricks in love?” His answers are hidden behind his broad smiles as if he was challenging me to find the details myself. Thereafter my aunt passed me the usual betel leaves and nut powder to chew them for better digestion and ruminate good memories. She looked up at the moonlit sky and started telling me about my uncle reflectively.

—- —////——

“At first your uncle laughed at me sheepishly. You know he played many pranks. He waited for me on the edge of the lake for two to three hours. He offered me those freshly plucked flowers from the shrubs nearby. He looked like a good boy with his close-cut crop replete with vermillion on his forehead. He took me to the newly released movies despite huge crowds on the first day at the cinemas. During the show, he made me eat the snacks sold at the theatres. . Despite the rain, he forced me to drink coconut juice straight from the green coconuts.”

I stopped her and asked, “Ok… but did he talk with you then…did he at all, Aunt?”

“Oh…that was another matter and I still wonder about it. When we were together he used to say very little. But as we were about to leave for our respective homes, he talked extensively like he was in a fit. There should be some magic in those parting shots, and so I fell in love with him. Maybe I am not telling you the story cogently. But I remember the moments when he said that the stars had joined the moon. In those phrases, I found some magic that made me fall for him.  In a way of speaking, your uncle has got the uncanny way of winning my heart even without talking to me. That emboldened me to fight against my maiden home and marry him. Well, I forgot to say this to you. Your uncle wrote me many love letters.” 

If you asked me what clicked between them, I would say it was the moment when stars joined the moon. I half-understood the phrase and their love affair.

But I understood a thing very well. If one understood one’s love for the other, he or she could as well understand the love of the other. I discovered a new home truth that day.

My uncle and aunt bore no children. Even so, there’s no reason for them to be sad. Our folks kept them away in the early days of their marriage. But, our families became closer to each other gradually. Maybe it was due to the talkativeness of my aunt or the silence of my uncle.

The next time, when I visited the Durga temple in Vijayawada during the Dasara festival I met my aunt. “Hear this Sankaram! Yesterday night, your uncle and I talked to each other for a long time and he did not leave me despite being sleepy.  I was surprised to notice we had talked a great deal for a lifetime. She started sharing what my uncle was saying to her. My uncle who was next to her did not say a word nor tried to stop her.

That night my aunt died in her sleep. When her soul left her body like the talking parrot in her, my uncle did not say a thing as usual. He remained a mute witness.

During the last rites at the burial ground, he talked something in her ear as if that was a personal secret between them.

After her demise, my uncle did not stay for much longer in that house. Their home was in the lane just behind ours. He gave away the premises he lived with my aunt for an asylum for the poor. But he kept for himself a room. In that room, he stored the pictures of my aunt along with his books and clothes.

He hopped from one pilgrimage place to another. When I was around, he visited me for the affection he had for me. His latest pilgrimage on cards was to Amarnath cave temple. 

Before he left our house I broached the topic of my aunt, “The absence of my aunt turned you into a vagabond, uncle.” I blamed him. 

“I don’t know, my boy. But she used to talk with me and listened to her every word. Now it looks as if she is still talking to me. I heard her saying every small feeling she had. And we showed our respective egos.  When the words are unexpressed they will carry more value.  But she grasped the essence of joy in something well said. But can anyone describe what should be the right measure for words to express one’s joy?”

He did not elaborate on ‘Sat’ and ‘Chit’ and their difference in philosophy. But what I understood was also too little.

But I realized there is a chasm to be scaled, that is between sound and silence.

His health deteriorated due to his continual tours.

He set upon one more pilgrimage and it was for Manasarovar.

He told me, “Lord Shiva appeared in my dreams. Now, I can say I am finally leaving. I cannot say I will return. I knew it. When I was reciting the prayer to the Mother Goddess, it looked as if the goddess mentioned your aunt’s name. That is the reason I am talking so little. There is a thrill in talking to someone. But it is in the excess, it tastes sour.  I lost my taste for sweetness and so I limited my talking too.”

He told me his trip would last twenty days.

Even after two months, there was no word about him.

Two groups that left for Manasarovar got involved in accidents due to avalanches.

I never knew which pilgrims group he was with.

I contacted the Press, Radio, and TV, and notices were released seeking his whereabouts. Also, I lodged many complaints at the surrounding police stations about my missing uncle. Still, I don’t know anything about his whereabouts.

One fine day, a  clerk came to me from the asylum. He disclosed he possessed the duplicate key to his private room in the asylum. Then I wanted to remove all his things from there so that they could be made available for the use of the asylum. I went there one weekend to do the chores myself.

I opened the room.

Since it was two months after he left, the room was filled with dust.

There were cobwebs all over.

My aunt’s photo greeted me as if she was alive and ticking behind the frame and trying to say something to me about my uncle. 

There were few other things. The books were neatly piled up in rows. I cleaned the room thoroughly. When I was dusting the books I found a clothbound package behind the row of books. I opened it with curiosity. I found his love letters written to my aunt. I wondered what he must have written. Maybe they would remain masterpieces in the history books on love—what he wrote at length when he could not say so much as a word in the spoken form. In the meantime, the caretaker from the asylum arrived with tea. I wanted to share with him so much about my uncle. Alas, the spell of the place made me spellbound! I did not say a word.

My son came running to me shouting, “Just now I found a letter in our mailbox written by Sundaram Grandpa!” I opened it eagerly to learn the contents. The letter was blank, except for his signature at the end.