An original Telugu-English translation of the short story “Sare Kānivvandi” first published in 1946 by Tripuraneni Gopichand
(First published by hākārā, a bilingual journal for creative expression, on 4th May 2025 https://hakara.in/the-silent-hills-jyoti-kiran-pisapati/)
Siddamma could hear their whispers from the kitchen.
“Let’s just assume he is not born to us.” Venkayya was heard reasoning with his wife.
“It’s easier said than done.”
“Does he care for you?” he couldn’t keep quiet.
“Son of a bitch!”
“Then why cry for such a son?”
“He came from my womb. Goddamit. That’s why.”
“The useless bastard,” Venkayya said.
“Ori Rāma!”
“No, say ‘Ori Maṇedār Rāmayya’,” corrected Venkayya.
“Why has my son not come back yet!” Venkamma sighed.
“Why would he?” Venkayya said dispassionately.
“Why not!”
“So he can avoid taking care of us. That’s why.”
Siddamma was enraged listening to their hushed conversation. She felt it was unfair to speak against their son when all he did was fight against the atrocities of the Maṇedār. The latter stopped their ration completely after that unfortunate incident. He was avenging Seenappa’s violent act. With nothing else to cook at home, she goes to the cemetery every day to get a bunch of Uttareni leaves to cook a meal. How can she nurse her baby if she does not eat food?
Her in-laws who were till then whispering to each other in one corner of the hut, suddenly emerged to get their share of food now.
“Your murmuring is done?” Siddamma lashed at them.
“Ah that’s nothing,” Venkayya said nonchalantly.
“Go and bring some rice from somewhere,” Siddamma ordered.
“Where from?” Venkayya said reluctantly.
“From the netherworld!” Venkamma interrupted sarcastically.
“I heard that the government is distributing free sacks of rice,” Siddamma said.
“We went today morning to bring,” Venkayya murmured.
“Why didn’t you get some then?”
“But the rice is being distributed by…” Venkayya’s voice trailed off.
“Maṇedār Rāmayya,” Venkamma concluded.
Siddamma’s anger changed to helplessness. Her in-laws sound as if she was responsible for their poverty and hunger. They feel that since her husband beat up Maṇedār Rāmayya, their situation is like this.
“Go and bring something edible from somewhere,” she said impatiently.
***
Venkayya leased five acres of land from Maṇedār Rāmayya several years ago and the produce was just about enough for their survival. He always paid his dues to Rāmayya on time. An occupation that was heavily dependent on monsoons, Venkayya was fortunate enough to have experienced good yield year after year. But misfortune befell them. With no rains that year, farmers reeled under severe drought and like many others in the village, Venkayya’s field dried up completely. He promised Rāmayya that he would pay his dues the following year. The latter did not agree and demanded immediate repayment. He then confiscated a pair of bullocks, a cow and her calf, a buffalo and miscellaneous things from Venkayya’s house and told the latter to adjust these as that year’s dues. With the sudden turn of events, the old and helpless man was bed-ridden. Seenappa, his eldest son, searched for work desperately but the drought snatched away all possible avenues of work. People were stricken with famine and unemployment.
One day, some poor villagers walked to Maṇedār Rāmayya’s house anticipating some charity. Seenappa was among those who gathered outside the house.
“What is it?” Maṇedār Rāmayya’s greeting was unapathetic.
“What else?” Seenappa retorted.
“You tell me,” said Rāmayya.
“We are hungry. We want a few sacks of rice,” someone from the crowd called out.
“I don’t have any.”
“Oh! Then if you don’t have, ask your grandfather,” Seenappa replied arrogantly.
“Watch your words!”
“Open your granary” demanded Seenappa.
The moment Seenappa uttered the word “granary”, the crowd went berserk. They barged into Rāmayya’s compound to grab whatever edible they could lay their hands on. Within minutes, police appeared out of nowhere and fired their guns to control the mob. Six people lost their lives that day and the rest ran away hastily.
Beginning that day, Maṇedār Rāmayya kept a lookout for Seenappa and waited to take revenge. The matter grew worse when one day Rāmayya saw Siddamma walking past his house and called her into his house and behaved inappropriately. Seenappa was enraged when Siddamma ran back home sobbing and narrated the incident. He flew to Rāmayya’s house to demand an explanation.
“What’s your story?” Seenappa said looking directly into Rāmayya’s eyes.
“Huh, you tell me,”
“Oh I have many up my sleeve,” challenged Seenappa. “You wouldn’t want to know.”
“Try me you scoundrel,” Rāmayya retorted.
“Do you know the story of the tiger and the lamb?”
“Are you playing games with me?”
“Who do you want to be – tiger or lamb?” taunted Seenappa.
“One roar from me, you would run away with your tail behind your legs,” guffawed Rāmayya.
“Let’s see then.”
In a flash, Seenappa grabbed a fat stick from the vicinity, and before Rāmayya could react, gave him a blow on his head.
“Now that’s the game of the lamb and the tiger for you!” screamed Seenappa.
Rāmayya collapsed in a pool of blood. When Seenappa saw the blood, he remembered the police. Terrified, he ran from the spot and escaped into the hills.
Siddamma was 7 months pregnant then. The news of Seenappa’s disappearance brought on her birth pains early and she delivered prematurely.
With Seenappa’s retreat, his family’s situation became miserable. Police haunted them day and night. People in the village were scared for their lives; they couldn’t even take the name of Lord Rāmā, lest Maṇedār Rāmayya’s people appear at their house. A massive manhunt was launched to arrest Seenappa.
***
As soon as her in-laws went foraging for food, Siddamma picked up her baby and ran into the hills to search for Seenappa yet again. About twenty days back, there was a rumour in the village that Seenappa was seen in Aadavāni Lanka. She immediately sent her maridi, Seenappa’s brother, to look for him around that area. Since then, she has been waiting for her brother-in-law to return and give her some news about her husband. The last six months, Siddamma searched for her husband high and low. It pained her that he did not even know that she delivered a son. She was eager to show him his baby. Everyone in the village said that the baby looked like his father. Oh! He would be so thrilled to hear that! She believed that it wouldn’t be long now for Seenappa to come home to his family. And she yearned to show him a chubby and healthy boy. It was a challenge to do that with the scarcity of food. And Maṇedār Rāmayya herded their cattle the day Venkayya could not pay him his dues. So, she stashed away food to feed herself every day. How can she nurse her baby if she does not fill her stomach first?
When Siddamma reached the top of the hill, she met Seenappa’s brother.
“Have you found him?” Siddamma asked him eagerly.
“Who am I,” he said cautiously.
“Seenappa’s brother, my maridi” she replied.
“Yes, I met him,” he confirmed.
Her joy knew no bounds.
“Did you tell him about his son?”
“I didn’t have to tell him.”
“Why?”
“He only asked me.”
“What did he say then?”
“When he heard about his son, he jumped up with happiness.”
“Olabbo!” she blushed.
And then her eyes fell on his blistered feet. Twenty days of climbing up and down the mounds searching for Seenappa had left him tired and wounded.
Siddamma quickly laid her baby on a flat rock and sat down to massage her brother-in-law’s legs.
“How is he doing?” she asked him.
“There’s a glow on his face. He wants to change the world.”
“The crackpot that he is!” she said lovingly.
As he regained his strength and pulled himself up, he remembered something suddenly.
“He is coming home,” he blurted out.
“What? When?!!”
“This Sunday.”
“Today then!”
Siddamma was reminded of a song from a puppet show that once came to their village some years back. Seenappa often hummed the song. It was his favourite.
In the quiet of the mid-night hour,
A coy smile blooms like a secret flower.
Demure, she stands beneath the sky,
Her heart a whisper, soft as a sigh.
“He is a crackpot!” Sweet warmth crept up her body.
They walked back home with Siddamma humming all the way.
***
When they reached home, Venkamma and Venkayya were sitting in a corner, chewing something from a ragged bundle. They looked at Siddamma like a pair of guilty robbers.
“What’s that in your lap?”
“Bundle of nerves,” they said uncomfortably.
Siddamma snatched it from Venkamma. A bag of rice!
“Where did you get it from?”
“You told us,” Venkayya answered.
“So, we got.” Venkamma croaked along with him.
“Who gave you?”
“Maṇedār Rāmayya…” Venkamma’s voice trailed off.
Siddamma stood there for a few minutes holding the bundle in her hand. She then went out, pulled out a crow’s nest, kindled fire and started cooking the rice.
Her brother-in-law, exhausted from his arduous journey, lay sprawled on the charpai. Venkayya and his wife sat still in the corner of the hut, watching greedily as the rice came to a boil.
Unexpectedly, a police constable pushed open the front door and walked into the hut.
“Why are you squirming in that corner? What’s the story?” he demanded, looking at the old folk.
Venkayya was furious at the uninvited entry of the constable, just when the rice was almost ready to eat.
“Where’s your son?” the constable demanded.
He walked towards the hearth where Siddamma was cooking rice. Venkayya followed him, scared that the constable would break the cooking pot in his anger. Siddamma stood up, startled to see the constable. She looked out furtively to check if there was any sign of Seenappa in the vicinity. He would be coming anytime now. Did the constable get a whiff of his arrival?
“Heeeiyya!! There’s a dog outside!” Siddamma picked up a stick and swished it in the air.
“Oh, you are cooking rice, is it?” he said, moving the lid of the earthen pot with his rifle.
“Did you steal the rice from somewhere?”
Venkayya waited with bated breath, watching the constable’s every move. Oh God! Let him not upset the pot.
“You know where we got rice from?” Venkayya said meekly.
“Maṇedāru…” Venkamma did not complete her sentence.
When he heard the name, the constable turned around and slowly walked out of the door.
“I will see you again.” He looked longingly at Siddamma, poked Venkayya with his rifle and left.
Relieved that the constable left quickly, Siddamma readied a bucket of hot water for her brother-in-law, scrubbed his back and served him a plate of hot rice.
“Don’t tell the old hags,” Siddamma cautioned him when he sat down to eat his food.
“About what?”
“That Seenappa is coming today,” she whispered.
“What if?”
“They will make a racket. They may inform the police too.”
“We will keep it to ourselves then,” he agreed.
Seenappa’s parents sat in the corner, drooling at the sight of their son eating rice. They were worried that he would empty the pot and not leave any food for them both.
“Siddamma,” called out Venkayya.
“What?”
“Aha, nothing.”
After her brother-in-law went back to sleep, Siddamma sat down with her baby on her lap.
“Your father is coming soon my darling,” she cooed with delight as she nursed him.
“Baba-baba-ooo” the baby responded.
“Oh you understand everything then,” she cuddled him happily.
When she put him to sleep and walked into the kitchen, she was surprised to see the old folk gobbling the rice from the pot quickly. She stared at them for a few moments, and to their surprise, she started laughing uncontrollably. Venkayya’s eyes filled up with tears. They did not leave even a morsel for their daughter-in-law.
“Say something,” Venkayya said meekly.
“Not today,” she replied still controlling her laughter.
“But why?”
“I am not telling you that.”
“You either scold us or tell us the reason,” Venkayya said.
“Olabbo! Keep your feet on the ground!” sneered Venkamma.
Siddamma laughed out loud again till her sides hurt.
“Venkamma…,” said Venkayya.
“What is it old man?” said his wife.
“How many years have we been married?”
“Aren’t we married for 40 long years?”
“Then, have you ever seen anything so bizarre as this?” he asked her.
“Nah! And we never will”
***
Siddamma draped the saree she washed that evening, tucked her baby in bed and waited for Seenappa. The old folk were fast asleep.
“Wake me up when annayya arrives,” Seenappa’s brother said before going to bed.
“Yes I will,” she said with a smile.
He stretched his legs on the cot and moaned with pain.
“Vadina!” he called out to her sleepily.
“Hmm, what is it?”
“You know! Seenappa has a gang of young men like him.”
“Oh!”
“They all have one common goal…to topple the world and create a safe place…where there is no famine, poverty or anything like that,” he mumbled to Siddamma.
“The silly bugger!” she said, her heart welling up with pride.
Soon he started snoring. She stood looking out of the window towards the hills beyond. A dog suddenly started barking outside and Siddamma, anticipating Seenappa’s arrival, ran to the door and opened it. A police constable was on his beat.
“Hey Chellappa,” she called out to him.
“Oye Siddamma.”
“We don’t see you around much. Become a big man, eh?” she said playfully.
“None of that! The famine in these parts has increased our workload.”
“Ayyooo!”
“Oh never mind. I am a man of duty,” he said, coming closer and trying to impress her.
He wanted to say something more to woo her. Should he say ‘My love’? What about ‘My dream girl’? He fumbled for words.
“Siddi,” he said finally, taking advantage of the proximity.
“How is vadina?” Siddamma quickly asked about his wife.
“Don’t talk about her now Siddi,” he said, coming closer.
Chellappa married thrice. And his present wife is rumoured to have been seen with some lad in the village.
“Arey sorry about that my dear brother. I feel bad that your nights are spent loafing around thus,” in mock sympathy.
“Shh!” he said looking away uncomfortably.
“Heard that Maṇedār Rāmayya’s Kittappa is…” her voice trailed off.
“Chup…chup!!” he hissed.
“You may not know about this. He has arrived just today,” she continued, pretending to ignore his crestfallen face.
“Areeey!! Chuuuup!” he stomped away angrily.
For many days, Chellappa has been suspecting his wife’s relationship with Kittappa. Siddamma watched Chellappa loiter around for some more time. Soon she saw him giving up his night duty and rushing back home probably to catch his wife red-handed with Kittappa.
Siddamma went back inside, relieved that the area is clear now.
“Where did you go vadina?” her brother-in-law asked her when he saw her entering the hut.
“Chup!”
“What’s up with you?”
“Chup! Chup!”
***
Siddamma waited for her husband anxiously. She cleaned the room again and again. She was excited that Seenappa would be walking into the hut anytime now. What would she say to him? How would he look? Would he take her into his arms? Her mind was in turmoil and she leapt up every time she heard a sound outside. Her heart pounded in her ears and she felt faint. Unable to cope with the suspense, she ran towards the hills, searching for him in the dark. Then, fearing he would come home from another route, she ran back home.
At home, she found her son wailing. She nursed him to sleep and woke her brother-in-law up.
“Tell me the truth. Is he really coming today?”
“Yes, he said he would be home on the 7th day of the week. One – two – three – four – five – six – seven,” he counted on his fingers. “Yes, definitely today.”
“But he is still not here!” she whispered.
“Go and see outside.”
“Yes, I did! Several times!!” she said helplessly.
“Oh…now I remember…he said he would light a lamp in the hills before coming home.”
“A lamp?”
“Yes, indicating to us that he is coming,” he replied.
“The clever bastard!” she said, a new thrill creeping up her body.
Both of them stood by the window looking at the silhouette of the hills in the distance.
“Maybe the light is burnt out?” a new fear filled her mind.
She is reminded of the song she heard from a blind beggar on the train once.
What have you done oh Rāmā…
What can I say to you Sārvabhouma!!
“There it is!!” he cried suddenly.
“What is it?”
“The light from the hills!”
She turned her gaze towards the dark and silent hills. She forgot about the song and looked hard at the flickering light at a distance.
“Oh maridi!”
“Yes vadina.”
“Why is he swaying the lamp?”
“It might mean ‘I am coming now…I am coming now’,” assured her brother-in-law.
“The fucking bastard,” she said excitedly.
Then they both heard a loud bang from the hills. Siddamma jumped up with a start.
“Grrr…glub” the baby cooed in the bed.
“Maridi.”
“Yes vadina.”
“The light.”
“It’s gone!”
“What about my Seenu?”
“Mmmm…ma-ma,” the baby played in the bed.
Then they heard two more bangs in the hill. Seenappa’s brother raced out of the door towards the hills. Agitated with the turn of things, Siddamma stood by the window, rooted to her spot.
“Mmmm…ma-ma”
“Shhh…my darling!”
Hearing the commotion outside, the old folk came out rubbing their eyes. Venkayya was scared to ask Siddamma what the noise was about.
Hence, he started a conversation with Venkamma.
“Venkamma…do you know what that sound is?”
“What sound?”
“That sound some time back”
“Oh, that!”
“Yes, that sound.”
“Oh, do you want to know?”
“Yes, my love, tell me.”
“I don’t want to tell you.”
Again, the sound of rifles…this time they heard six shots. Siddamma was petrified. What happened to Seenappa? And her maridi? In a flash, she picked up her baby and ran into the night towards the hills.
“Venkamma!”
“What is it?”
“You know what that sound is”
“Yes of course!”
“Do you know who did that?”
“Like I don’t know who it is!”
“Then tell me who it is.”
“Those cowardly bastards,” she replied.
“Leave it now. Why do you like ganjeru leaf so much?” changing the conversation.
“Because of Maṇedār, you old man.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I am”
After a while, a police constable rushed into the hut panting for breath. The old couple moved into the darkness of the hut.
“Who’s there?” the police demanded.
“Just some rats,” came the reply.
“Are you Seenappa’s parents?”
“What is he saying?” whispered Venkayya.
“I don’t know either,” Venkamma whispered back.
The police looked annoyed. He removed his cap, and dismounted his rifle from his shoulder. His eyes blazed in the darkness.
Venkamma suddenly understood the reason why the constable came to the house.
“Ayyoo!” she started wailing suddenly.
“What’s the matter?”
“Our Seenappa…”
She hugged her husband and started sobbing. Venkayya looked bewildered.
“Seenappa is killed!”
“Aaaa!”
“And his brother too…” she wailed.
“…”
“Siddamma too…and the baby”
“Is that true?” and he collapsed on the ground and sobbed uncontrollably.
There is no stopping both of them now. They cried their eyes out…they held each other and they cried. Their sobs swelled out like a sea, inundating every experience and every misfortune they endured. They sobbed for begging rice from Maṇedār Rāmayya when their stomach shrunk into their backs; they sobbed for the land they lost and the cattle they raised lovingly. They sobbed for the curses they showered on Seenappa when all they felt was helplessness and fear. They sobbed for the drought and famine which was upon them and the Gods who had abandoned them. And for their grandson who did not even go past his gurgling noises and his mother’s milk. The deluge devoured them both and they lay on the floor for several minutes.
The constable poked them to their feet and led them out.
The police don’t have eyes, only blazing embers.
(An original Telugu – English Translation by Jyoti Kiran Pisipati)
Glossary
- Maṇedār – Landlord and village head possibly during the Nizam’s rule in Telangana.
- vadina – elder brother’s wife in Telugu
- maridi – husband’s younger brother in Telugu
- annayya – elder brother in Telugu
- uttareni – An edible plant belonging to Amaranthaceae family. Siddamma probably cooks the leaves because it grows everywhere.
- charpai – a traditional Indian bed made from a wooden frame with four legs, and covered with a woven network of ropes.
- ganjeru – The linguistic variation can be galijeru; also called punarnava, it is an edible plant that grows widely in India.