“What is this nonsense of throwing tantrums at home, crying ‘I want to go to America, I want to go to London?’ Don’t you know our financial standing? Is everyone migrating there? Aren’t people from far and wide coming here and carving out a living? If one has resourcefulness and a willingness to toil, one can thrive anywhere.”

His mother, Lakshmamma, yelled, her voice laced with a mixture of deep anguish and simmering anger. She knew her son, too, harbored a burning desire to go to America. But she was painfully aware of their financial constraints. Ever since his father passed away, she had been single-handedly running a small eatery to keep the household afloat.

‘Do we even possess the financial means to borrow lakhs of rupees just to fund foreign education, visas, and to run behind consultancies? What is our reality after all? What is this modest little eatery we run in a narrow alleyway? Yet, the youth of this generation always want to soar high in the clouds. The moment they get their wings; they want to fly away to a foreign land! Aren’t people arriving in this city as migrants from far-flung places, with nothing but clothes on their backs, and successfully building their lives? Why can’t we stay in our own homeland, toil on our own soil, and survive? Why look so far away... just look at Shekhar, who rents a room in our house. Back then, he stepped off the train at the Hyderabad railway station without a single rupee in his pocket, wearing worn-out slippers on his feet. Initially, he joined our very own little eatery to wash dishes. That was then! And look at him now... he has built an asset worth five crore rupees. He has built a beautiful apartment complex of his own. By crossing oceans, staying far away from your loved ones, are you going to earn anything more than this? If you are willing to work hard, can you not earn just as well right here in our own city?’

“Many of my classmates and friends are going...” Prakash attempted to explain.

His mother cut him off mid-sentence.

“You and your obsession with degrees! What business do you have comparing yourself to them? No matter how many degrees you earn, there is no job in sight. While the sons of merchants in our village are driving around in cars, you are still wandering about aimlessly like this. Your education has yielded no benefit. If you keep idling away your time on the streets, who on earth will give their daughter to you in marriage tomorrow? How do you expect to survive without any work or purpose? Look at Shekhar, who rose to success right before our eyes, and learn from him!”

To Prakash, who sat inside the house, his mother Lakshmamma’s scoldings felt like blessings in disguise...

Exasperated by the constant arguments over foreign education and the clattering sound of dishes, Prakash covered his ears, thinking, ‘Mother has started playing that old cassette again.’ He stormed out of the house in frustration. He completely ignored his mother’s voice as she screamed after him, “Where are you going again?!”

Deep down, Lakshmamma felt a profound ache for her son. She hoped that if she got him married, he would settle down and find some work to earn a livelihood. Her philosophy was simple; one should never reach for things that are far beyond their grasp. It was a lesson taught by life itself. She vividly remembered every single hardship they had endured when they first migrated from their village to this city to carve out a living. In those initial days, they had shared a cramped tin shed along with several others.

“Is she really your wife? She looks like someone you ran away with,” she had writhed in pain at the vile sneers and judgmental stares of the people around them. Sleep eluded her back then, gripped by the constant terror of what catastrophe the local goons might bring upon them under the cover of night. It was only when they finally stabilized themselves with a small eatery business that she found some peace of mind. Over the years, she had witnessed countless people arriving in the city, wandering helplessly without any shelter, just as they once had. She helped them to the best of her ability. For providing a morsel of food and a small place to sleep, many blessed her as a benevolent mother. Shekhar was one of those who had found refuge under her roof. To Lakshmamma, Shekhar now appeared as a beacon of hope. She dialed his number and spoke to him for a long time.

* * *

Shekhar was now a well-to-do man, having earned a solid reputation as a builder. Yet, when Shekhar had first set foot in the city, he was utterly lost, not knowing which way to turn. His stomach churning with hunger was churning with hunger. Right then, he spotted a tiny eatery run by Lakshmamma in a narrow lane of Secunderabad. Seeing Shekhar standing outside the eatery, gazing indoors with a look of longing and hope, Lakshmamma herself called out to him.

“What is it, young man? Where are you coming from? Would you like something to eat?” she asked.

“Mother... I don’t have any money on me. I have come all the way from Andhra. Please give me any work you have, mother. It would be more than enough if you could just give me a morsel of food to eat at night and a small spot to sleep,” Shekhar pleaded plaintively.

Moved by compassion, Lakshmamma employed him to wash dishes at her eatery. Every single day, as he washed the plates left behind by hundreds of customers, a quiet, fierce determination simmered in Shekhar’s heart. ‘The very village that humiliated me must watch me rise... I must make something of myself in life,’ he would tell himself. At night, he would spread himself out on the dining tables of the eatery, falling asleep while gazing at the city sky.

Sometime later, he found a job as a salesman at a clothing store... it was there that he mastered the art of conversing with customers and earning people’s trust. Shekhar was not content with merely settling down somewhere with a modest, meager salary. The flame of ambition burned bright in his eyes. Even today, Shekhar’s heart grows heavy whenever he is reminded of the environment of his native village from years ago and the piercing stares of those rural folk. The farming his father practiced had completely drowned in debts. When the wealthy moneylenders stood right in front of their doorstep hurling relentless insults, he could do absolutely nothing but stand there with his head bowed in shame. While grinding poverty broke him on one side... the deep love he harbored in the depths of his heart began to wither away on the other.

Shekhar had loved Sujatha, the village sarpanch’s daughter, with his entire soul. It was an inter-caste romance. One night, beneath the tamarind tree at the far edge of the village, Sujatha held Shekhar’s hands tightly, weeping bitterly.

“You know very well how strictly caste pride is policed in my family. Father is already looking for other marital alliances. I have absolutely no one but you. If you say yes, I am ready to run away with you this very moment with nothing but the clothes on my back. We will go to the town and get a registered marriage. Please do not abandon me, Shekhar...” Sujatha wept bitterly, her voice choking with tears.

Shekhar forced himself to think practically. He had already suffered too many humiliations in life.

Hardening his heart like a stone, he looked into her eyes.

Triumph Upon One’s Own Soil:

“Sujatha! You are the daughter of the village Sarpanch. You say you will run away with just the clothes on your back. But look at me; I have nothing but worn-out slippers on my feet. I don’t even have a single rupee in my pocket to buy a bus ticket. Tomorrow morning, where will I shelter you? What will I feed you? How can we possibly survive without any livelihood? When hunger strikes, love cannot feed our stomachs, Sujatha! Please forgive me. You have every right to a comfortable life. If you come with me, nothing but agonizing poverty awaits you,” he said helplessly.

At those words, a torrent of tears welled up in Sujatha’s eyes. Yet, she understood the bitter truth hidden within Shekhar’s reasoning.

Who knows who caught sight of them together beneath the shadows of that night!

The very next morning, the village Sarpanch’s henchmen dragged Shekhar straight to the village square.

“How dare you harbor such audacity? A penniless, wretched beggar... and you dare to love a girl from our household? You and your family possess absolutely no right to remain in this village,” the Sarpanch roared in front of everyone.

Before the entire gathering, he brutally humiliated Shekhar and his father, even spitting on their faces. Unable to endure that staggering disgrace and broken by the cruel mockery of their own relatives, they eventually fled the village with nothing but the clothes on their backs and torn slippers on their feet, arriving aimlessly at the Secunderabad railway station. He was steadily rising in life. He thought he could finally marry Sujatha now. But when he made inquiries—

He learned that Sujatha’s father (the village Sarpanch) had already forced her into a marriage with another wealthy alliance. On the day he found out, Shekhar sat all alone in his office room and wept bitterly. Yet, in the fierce struggle for survival, there wasn’t even enough time to indulge in prolonged grief. As his earnings grew and years caught up with him, the prospect of marriage arose. Eventually, Shekhar was married to Padmavati, a girl belonging to a large family that had migrated from the districts of Telangana and settled in Hyderabad. Despite being raised in the city, Padmavati deeply respected Shekhar’s hard work and honored his past.

~*~

Our Own Soil is Better Than Foreign Lands!

Hearing a faint stir in the front room of his house, Shekhar looked up. He spotted Lakshmamma... and his hands, which were busy sorting through files as he sat on the sofa, froze for a fraction of a second. Shekhar harbored immense affection for Lakshmamma. To him, she was like his own birth mother—perhaps even more than that.

He then noticed Prakash, who was stepping inside after leaving his footwear at the entrance. Prakash seemed to be carrying a heavy blend of frustration, anger, and a strange helplessness. Requesting Padmavati to prepare some tea and snacks, Shekhar walked into the living room.

“Akka! How are you? Prakash has grown up so well. You have visited after ages. Is the eatery doing well?” Shekhar showered them with warm, affectionate inquiries.

Once the hospitality of tea and snacks concluded, Shekhar gently nudged them, saying, “It feels like you have come here on some specific purpose.”

Lakshmamma, who had been nervously pondering how to break the news, suddenly found her courage. To her, Shekhar was like her eldest son. He had arrived from somewhere unknown, with no one to call his own...He had no one to lean on back then. She was the one who sheltered him. She was the one who fed him from whatever little she had. Today, he has risen to such heights. To that mother, his growth brought as much joy as seeing her own son succeed. Looking around once more at the pristine walls and fans of that modern apartment, Lakshmamma finally broached the real reason for her visit.

“He keeps insisting on going to America. It requires a fortune of money. Where could I possibly arrange it at this point? You must somehow protect and support your younger brother,” Lakshmamma said.

Shekhar shifted his gaze toward Prakash.

Prakash smiled expectantly, silently nodding in agreement.

Shekhar understood the situation perfectly. What Prakash needed right now was an anchor, a direction in life! ‘If Prakash leaves for foreign lands, Lakshmamma will be left entirely alone. She had already called and expressed her heart beforehand: She wants Prakash to get married. She wishes to see her son and daughter-in-law build a beautiful life right before her eyes. If a baby girl is born, she deeply desires to name the child after his late father. No debts are wanted, nothing at all. He needs to be shown a path of work. Take him under your wing. Show him a way to build his life just like you did, my son!’ Shekhar vividly remembered those words that Lakshmamma had repeated over and over on the phone. She was asking now just as a matter of formality in front of her son, but she had already laid bare her heart’s truest desires earlier. Comforting them, Shekhar explained various things and placed his proposal before Prakash.

“Look, Prakash! Mother knows exactly how I arrived in this city. She must have told you. I have eaten meals prepared by her countless times! If mother hadn’t embraced and supported me during those dark days, who knows what would have become of me!” Shekhar recounted with deep gratitude. After a brief discussion rolled on, Shekhar spoke with conviction.

“Look, Prakash! When I could arrive from some unknown place with nothing but the clothes on my back and torn slippers on my feet, and still build a thriving life here... can you not survive just as well? Why drown in debts for foreign education? You stay with me. Learn the inner secrets of the real estate business. You have pursued a far higher education than I ever did.

You will soon rise to success on your own,” Shekhar comforted him.

Prakash finally agreed.

~*~

As Lakshmamma was about to leave, Shekhar asked her to wait a moment and went inside the house. His wife, Padmavati, stepped out carrying a traditional gift of a saree and offerings arranged beautifully in a steel platter.

“My husband speaks of you very often and with great reverence,” Padmavati said, bowing her head in respect.

Placing the offerings gently into Lakshmamma’s lap, the couple bowed low and touched her feet to seek her blessings. Since they had visited after a very long time, they presented Prakash with a set of new clothes. Shekhar then wrapped him in a warm, affectionate embrace...

Listening to the raw truths of Shekhar’s journey, a profound transformation swept through Prakash’s heart. For someone who had been throwing relentless tantrums at home for foreign education, his mother’s words combined with the living proof of Shekhar—who had once joined their modest eatery as a mere helper and risen to such heights—instantly opened his eyes to reality.

“Shekhar Anna... please forgive me. I have been troubling my mother, stubborn about going to America. But when you have toiled so hard and triumphed right here... why should I run away to a foreign land, Anna? Being a son of this very soil, why should I remain idle in my own hometown? Even if we are a generation late, we too must conquer the world of business right here, Anna. Please take me into your company, Anna!”

Shekhar stood up and held Prakash close to his heart.

“You are my brother, after all. If Lakshmamma Garu hadn’t fed me a morsel of food back then, I wouldn’t be sitting in this dignified chair today. Instead of crossing oceans to serve someone else in a foreign land, you must rise to a stature where you can provide employment to ten other people right here in our own city,” he said.

Shekhar did not merely offer him a job; he looked upon him as his own biological brother and initiated him into all the inner secrets of the trade. Prakash, too, toiled relentlessly day and night, standing long hours at construction sites to supervise operations. Walking steadfastly in Shekhar’s footsteps, he carved out his own identity as a builder. Sometime later, a wonderful alliance was found for Prakash as well, and he got married.

Watching her son, who once wandered the streets completely aimlessly, rise to such heights entirely on his own merit in Hyderabad and settle down without a single paisa of debt filled Lakshmamma’s eyes with tears of profound joy.

One day, his old classmate Veerabhadram called him. He requested Prakash to look for an apartment for him. Veerabhadram was staring at a grueling 25-year trajectory of monthly loan installments just to wrap up the property registration and interior work.

In sharp contrast, Prakash had already become the absolute owner of a spacious two-thousand-square-foot apartment without a single rupee of debt, and it was even yielding a steady rental income. Prakash reflected with deep gratitude that all of this was made possible only because of his mother’s persistent, tough-love arguments back then.

~*~

The Village Banished Him... The City Embraced Him:

One fine day, a luxurious large car pulled up right in front of Shekhar’s corporate office. The newly elected Sarpanch of Shekhar’s native village, accompanied by a few village elders, stepped out of the vehicle and walked inside. The moment Shekhar saw them, a flood of painful memories from the past—the brutal humiliations inflicted upon him by the former Sarpanch—came rushing back. Yet, showing no trace of resentment on his face, Shekhar welcomed them warmly and requested them to be seated.

“Shekhar Babu... you are a son of our own soil. The entire village speaks of your grand success with immense pride. The walls of our village high school building are on the verge of collapsing. The children are forced to sit under the trees to study. We desperately need your financial assistance for the welfare of our village. You must also get a hospital constructed for us, Babu. After all, one must repay the debt owed to their birthplace, shouldn’t they, my son? That is the very land where your umbilical cord was severed. We will erect a magnificent stone plaque dedicated to your name,” they pleaded expectantly, pulling out a donation receipt book.

There was not a single flicker of emotion on Shekhar’s face. There was no anger in his eyes, nor was there any joy. Leaning back in his chair, he placed the pen in his hand firmly down on the table. In a voice that was perfectly calm yet intensely profound, he spoke:

“I am sorry, elders... I will not donate even a single rupee to that village! Tell me, why should I give a donation to that village? The birthplace merely gives a person their birth. But what did my birthplace ever give me? Nothing but grinding poverty, my father’s debts, and relentless humiliation from relatives! It reduced me to such a wretched state where I wasn’t even considered worthy enough to marry the girl I loved. Where was this debt to your village, elders, when you stood my father and me by the village square, spat on our faces, and banished us from the village with nothing but the clothes on their backs? The very land where my umbilical cord was severed did not even look upon me as a human being. It treated me like an outcast in the name of caste. Even now, the mere mention of that village sets my heart ablaze.

...My true home is Hyderabad! When I had absolutely no anchor, this city took me into its womb and nurtured me. From the desperate days of washing dishes at Lakshmamma Garu’s eatery, it replaced my worn-out slippers and enabled me to ride in luxury cars today. It took a broken migrant who entered with his head bowed in shame and raised him to live with his head held high in society. It elevated me to a stature where I now provide livelihood to countless people.

Witnessing my triumph, the young generation of Telangana, like my brother Prakash, stopped looking toward foreign lands and instead rose to success in business right here in our own city. I am more than willing to dedicate my entire wealth to fund the education of poor children here in Hyderabad — the city that made me who I am. But there is absolutely no question of my giving a single paisa to the village that humiliated me. I am sorry... you may leave now!”

The village elders stood completely frozen, utterly silenced by Shekhar’s uncompromising, razor-sharp words. The donation receipt book they had brought along trembled in their hands. Unable to offer a single word in response, they hung their heads in shame and turned back.

Prakash placed his hand of quiet reassurance on the shoulder of Shekhar, who was gazing out of the office window at the sprawling city of Hyderabad. A profound realization swept through everyone at that moment—that a city is not merely a concrete jungle, but a wish-fulfilling tree (Kalpavriksha) that nurtures every soul who arrives trusting it, just like a birth mother. They realized that the city that feeds and embraces a person is far greater than the birthplace that humiliates them.

Gently asking the elders who had stood up to be seated, Shekhar extended his hospitality and said:

“You are elders. You have come here harboring great hopes. Sending you back empty-handed would be unbecoming of manners. I harbor no resentment or anger toward anyone.”

Saying so, Shekhar placed a bundle of fifty thousand rupees into their hands and bowed to them with folded hands.

Even after the village elders had left, a heavy silence hung over the office room. Though Shekhar was sitting in an air-conditioned room, his mind drifted back to the scorching heat of that old afternoon, remaining frozen by the burning village square.

Drinking a glass of water from the table, Shekhar walked toward the window. Outside, the city was racing ahead. ‘From the narrow alleys of Amberpet to the towering skyscrapers of HITEC City, how rapidly this city has transformed! My life, too, has transformed in the exact same way. This city is a benevolent, cool mother. It is a lush green, magnificent tree that offers shelter to everyone.’ Shekhar thought to himself.