Telugu original: Ampasayya Naveen
Translated by Rajeshwar Mittapalli

Just after waking up, Aravind brushed his teeth and sat in the drawing room, flipping through the newspaper of the day.

Inside the hall, Aravind’s three-year-old daughter Srujana was crying loudly, wanting something as if she could bring the house down.

“It’s time for school. I can’t find my two notebooks that I did my homework in and put in my bag yesterday, Mom!” Aravind’s seven-year-old son Suman was shouting loudly.

“Hold on! I will come and look for them. But don’t turn the house upside down searching for them,” said Aravind’s wife Anusha, who was preparing Suman’s lunchbox in the kitchen. Despite this, Suman was tearing through the house, scattering neatly arranged items everywhere in his search for his notebooks.

“You took my notebooks! The school bus will be here soon. Give them to me quickly, you devil!” Suman yelled at his sister Srujana.

“I didn’t take your notebooks!” Srujana screamed loudly.

“You did!” Suman said, grabbing Srujana’s hair.

“I didn’t, you dog!” retorted Srujana, grabbing Suman’s hair in return. Listening to their shouting, Aravind, who was trying to read the newspaper, felt like his house had turned into hell.

While the two of them were fighting, a scream was heard from the kitchen: “Oh no, what now?” Anusha exclaims. “What happened?” asked Aravind, pausing his newspaper reading for a moment.

“The gas is finished. What do we do now? I’ll try calling our friends to see if any of them have a spare cylinder,” said Anusha, starting to call their friends one by one, asking, “Do you have a spare cylinder at your house?” Everyone responded with a no. Only Prameela said, “I have one. Send your hubby over, and I’ll give it.”

“Dear, can you do me a small favour?” Anusha asked, coming over to her husband who was sitting in the drawing room.

“With those two fighting and making a ruckus as if they could blow the roof off the house, you come to me for help? What do you need now?” Aravind asked irritably without looking up from his newspaper.

“The gas suddenly ran out in the middle of cooking! Prameela said they have a spare cylinder at their house. Could you go and bring it?” Anusha pleaded.

“How do you expect me to bring it? Should I carry it on my head?” Aravind replied angrily without lifting his head from the newspaper.

“Don’t carry it, just go to Prameela’s house on your bike. On your way, hire an auto-rickshaw and take it with you. Bring the cylinder back in the auto,” Anusha said in a pleading tone.

“As soon as I wake up, it’s become routine for you to pester me with ‘this is missing’ or ‘that is missing.’ I’m not going anywhere now. Leave me alone. First, shut the mouths of those kids who are turning the house into a fish market,” said Aravind very irritably.

“When did I ever say ‘this is not there or ‘that is not there? Why are you saying that? Just this once, go to Prameela’s house and bring the cylinder. I won’t ask you for anything else.”

“No matter how many times I bring things for you, you’re always saying that the gas is finished, or there are no onions, or there are no green chilies, or there is no ginger, or there is no cooking oil. You keep sending me out to get them immediately. You don’t even let me be at peace for half an hour. The kids’ yelling is driving me crazy, and on top of that, you’re nagging.”

“Do you think I’m mad to say that something is missing when it’s not? Will you go to Prameela’s house now and bring the cylinder or not?”

“I’m not in the mood to go out now. Just adjust for this one time.”

“How can I adjust? What should I pack for lunch for him and you? Prameela’s house is very close! It won’t even take five minutes. Hire an auto on the way and bring the cylinder in it. Please!”

“No! Why are you telling me so suddenly that the gas is finished? Couldn’t you have mentioned it yesterday or the day before? We booked for the gas five or six days ago. They said they would deliver in two or three days. It will definitely come today. Just be a little patient.”

“How can cooking be done if I wait? If I don’t pack Suman’s lunchbox, what will he eat during lunchtime?”

“Give him ten rupees. He can buy some snacks and eat them.”

“You yourself have said many times that snacks or fast foods bought outside don’t suit him, that they cause infections or colds. Just the other day, you scolded me for giving him money because he got a cold after drinking a soft drink. Have you forgotten?”

“I haven’t forgotten, but it’s just for one day. Hey Suman, the gas is finished. There won’t be a lunchbox for you today. Buy some snacks and eat them during lunchtime. Your mom will give you ten rupees. Take it,” said Aravind, addressing Suman who was fighting with Srujana inside.

“Dad, there are no snacks available at school! They close the main gate during lunchtime and don’t let anyone go outside. If I don’t have a lunchbox, I won’t go to school at all,” said Suman.

“Don’t go then, don’t go. Missing school for one day won’t be a disaster. You never listen to a single word the elders say. You don’t behave according to the circumstances. Your mom has made you like this,” said Aravind, glaring at Anusha.

“Yes, it’s your mother who has made them like this. Missing school for one day won’t be the end of the world. Well said! If you could put that wretched paper aside for five minutes, it wouldn’t be such a disaster,” said Anusha.

“Yes, think of it that way. I’m not in the mood to go out now. That’s all!” he said, burying his head back into the newspaper.

“It would be better if I died. At least then, your burden would be lifted,” said Anusha as she went inside, feeling deeply upset.

“I found my notebooks, Mom! Srujana took them and hid them in her bag,” said Suman, hitting Srujana on the back.

“How dare you hit me?” shouted Srujana, pouncing on Suman and biting his hand.

“Mom! She bit my hand. It’s bleeding,” cried Suman loudly.

“He hit me first, so I bit him,” shouted Srujana, beginning to cry loudly.

“Both of you go jump into a river and die,” said Anusha as she separated them, giving each of them a slap.

With both of them crying even louder, Aravind threw the newspaper onto the teapoy in frustration. He stormed into the hall and slapped both of them.

“What is this? Is this a house or a hellhole? You’ve been making noise non-stop since I woke up. Chichee! I don’t feel like staying in this house for even a moment. All of you go jump into a well and die,” he said. Now, having been beaten not just by their mother but by their father as well, both children started crying even harder. Anusha too curled up in a corner, and started crying.

“You have no idea how to raise children. What good is it that you passed your degree? You don’t know how to keep the house and the children in order. You have no method, no discipline. Couldn’t you foresee that the gas might run out? Can’t you raise the children with some discipline so they don’t create a ruckus every moment? Do you need your husband for everything? Should I run out in a minute to bring you a cylinder? Should I run out within a minute to bring you vegetables? Should I take the children to the doctor the moment they sneeze or cough? Should I bring whatever they need immediately? I’m also a human being. I leave for the office at nine in the morning and come back at nine at night. Do you know how many tensions there are in the bank where I work? Do you know how mentally and physically exhausted I am by the time I come home? Wouldn’t it occur to you to grant some peace to a man who comes home exhausted? Don’t you have the wisdom to keep the house peaceful? There’s noise before I go to the office, there’s noise when I come back from the office. And if I say anything, there’s this crying, making me feel guilty for making you and the children cry. Getting married and having children is the biggest mistake I’ve made. I’m living every moment with the guilt that I can’t keep you happy. I was content before getting married. My life was peaceful then. I used to live happily, listening to good music, reading good books, watching good movies, doing all the things I loved. Now, I’ve been distanced from all of that. It feels better to join the sanyasis than to continue in this household. All of you pack up and leave. Maybe then I’ll find some peace,” Aravind said, shaking with anger. As he spoke, dressed only in a lungi and vest, he changed into his trousers and shirt, started his motorcycle in the portico, and left.

~*~

Ten minutes after leaving the house, he stopped in front of a hotel. He parked his motorcycle, went inside, had breakfast, and drank a coffee. After paying the bill, he went to the bank where he worked.

Upon entering the bank, he was so occupied with his banking duties that he had no time to think about anything else until he left the bank in the evening. At nine o’clock at night, he left the bank and headed home.

Anusha must have somehow managed to send Suman to school. After crying for a while, Srujana would have either immersed herself in some game or a TV channel. Anusha would have gone to their friend Prameela’s house to fetch the gas cylinder. Or maybe the gas company might have delivered the cylinder they were expecting by now. She always wants everything done in a hurry and made a fuss in the morning about bringing the cylinder immediately within moments. Anusha is always under tension. Not just Anusha, but all housewives like her are always under tension, worried that the gas in the cylinder might run out, whether they will get a new cylinder immediately or not, whether they can send the children to school on time, whether the municipality will supply water at least every two days or not, whether there will be a power breakdown, whether the children will write their exams well, whether they will do their homework properly, whether the children will get better marks than the neighbour’s children, and on top of all that, whether their husbands will listen to them, whether their husbands will drift away, whether they will bring home the provisions. This sense of insecurity constantly haunts them. They are always worried whether things will go as they planned or not. Despite this, they don’t think about how to do a task before starting it. They don’t make a plan. If a mistake happens somewhere, they blame their husbands. To them, their husbands seem like scapegoats or whipping boys. Everyone shows sympathy towards women. Husbands have become the villains. No one cares about the struggles of husbands.

Thinking this way, Aravind reached his house.

The house was locked. Where could Anusha have gone with the children at this hour?

Their neighbour, Shyamala, seeing Aravind, came out with the house keys and said, “Anusha asked me to give these to you when you returned home,” handing him the house keys.

“Do you know where Anusha went?” Aravind asked, taking the keys from her.

“No, she just asked me to give you these keys. That’s all. She didn’t say anything else,” Shyamala said, re-entering her house.

Aravind opened the doors to his house and entered. The question of where she could have gone kept nagging at his mind.

The house was very peaceful. He thought about how wonderful it would be if the house were always this peaceful.

He figured that Anusha had taken the children to her friend Prameela’s home and would be back soon. As soon as they returned, those two little rascals would create some problem, start fighting, and turn the house into chaos in an instant. Thinking this, he changed his clothes, washed his face, and sat down in front of the TV. He turned on his favourite news channel and watched.

When the children were around, they never let him watch his favourite channel. At just three years old, Srujana already knew which channels were available on TV and which ones she wanted to watch. She already had strong preferences. She would not watch anything other than Cartoon Network. If he tried to put on a news channel for a moment, she would cry so loudly that it felt like the whole house would shake. Suman, on the other hand, wanted either cricket or Hindi music channels. The two would always fight and argue over which channel to watch, even wrestling for the remote control. If he tried to put on his favourite channel, Anusha would say, “They are just kids. How can you behave like them?” Anusha always sided with the children. She never once told them, “Let your father watch TV for a while.” For these women, children are more important than their husbands. If anyone were to ask them, “Who do you give more preference to, your husband or your children?” they would immediately answer, “The children.”

An hour passed.

“Why haven’t they come back yet?” he wondered, looking at the wall clock. It was past ten. Why hadn’t they returned home by this late hour?

He called Prameela and asked, “Is Anusha at your house?”

“Why would Anusha be at my house? She asked in the morning if we had a spare cylinder, and I said yes. She said Aravind would come to get it. I waited to see if you would come, but you didn’t,” Prameela said.

“I think our cylinder arrived, so I didn’t come. Anusha isn’t at home. Where could she have gone?”

“Only you should know that. Is anything wrong?” Prameela asked.

“Nothing is wrong,” Aravind said and hung up. Even though he said, “Nothing is wrong,” his conscience told him, “Something must be wrong.”

He called Anusha’s aunt, but she said she hadn’t been there. He then called two more of Anusha’s friends, but they also said she hadn’t come.

Perhaps Anusha had gone to her parents’ place. She might have been hurt by his words that morning. He had said things like the house was peaceful only when she and the children were not around. Unable to tolerate the noise the children made, he had often told Anusha, “You can’t raise the children with discipline.” He had said that getting married and having children was the biggest mistake he had ever made. He had told them all to pack up and leave. Poor Anusha, she must have been very hurt.

He called her father, who lived in her natal hometown, twenty miles away. 

“Father-in-law, have Anusha and the children come there?” he asked.

“They have come. The schools have declared a five-day holiday due to some protests and disturbances. Haven’t they told you?” Anusha’s father replied.

Aravind immediately hung up the phone. How could she go to her parents’ place? What did he say? It was the same thing he always said! Maybe he was a bit harsher today, but would she leave without telling him? Such audacity!

If a woman like her could harbour so much anger, how much rage should he feel? She should come back on her own; he shouldn’t run after her. Can’t he live without her?

He went to the kitchen to check if the new gas cylinder had arrived. Thank God! It had.

He turned on the stove, placed the cooker, and cooked rice. He made an omelette and had his meal. He had to prove that he could live without her.

He put on his favourite English movie in the DVD player and watched it till midnight, enjoying the beautiful romantic scenes. Would they have allowed him to watch such a good movie if they were around? Anusha always preferred Telugu movies. She would say, “Why watch those lousy English movies?” He felt very content now. After midnight, he went to bed and slept.

The next morning, when he woke up, he thought, “How peaceful the house is!” He rolled around in bed as much as he wanted. If Anusha were there, she would have forced him to get up and go fetch vegetables. Later, he got up, brushed his teeth, fetched the newspaper and milk packet from the front door, placed the newspaper on the coffee table, and made himself some coffee. He then read the newspaper for a while and watched TV for a bit. After that, he took a bath, had breakfast with bread and butter from the fridge, and went to the office. For lunch, he ate at a mess near the bank. At night, he cooked and had his meal.

Three consecutive days passed like this. He felt he had achieved the peace he had longed for.

He expected either a phone call from Anusha asking, “How are you managing alone?” or that she would come back with the children. Anusha would usually be very upset if Suman missed even one day of school. The fact that she hadn’t come or called for three days, not even for the sake of Suman’s school, surprised him. He wanted to see how many more days she would stay away.

On the fourth day, suddenly, the house felt overwhelmingly silent. He felt very lonely. The peace that reigned in the house started to irritate him.

While lying in bed at night, Aravind felt a deep sense of loss without Anusha by his side. Many sweet moments he had spent with Anusha came to his mind. The question of whether those sweet moments would ever return shook him. Slowly, an internal conflict began within him.

He had behaved as if raising the children was solely Anusha’s responsibility, forgetting his own. Anusha had often said that he was always lost in his own world and never paid attention to the children. He would retort that she was the one spoiling and pampering them. Anusha would respond, “If I spoil them, you can correct them!” He would argue that a mother has more responsibility for the children than a father. Whenever he lost patience with the children’s mischief and scolded or hit them, Anusha would be deeply hurt and tearful. She would advise him, “Children should be won over with love, not anger.” He would tell her that he got angry seeing the children’s mischief and that she felt so bad when he scolded or hit them, so he decided to stay away from the children. He had very little patience when it came to the children. Poor Anusha! Remembering how much she struggled with their mischief, he felt a lot of sympathy for her. He realised it was his fault for not helping her with the children.

By the end of the fourth day, the overwhelming peace in the house was driving him mad. He felt he couldn’t stay in that house for another moment without the children and Anusha.

Poor Anusha was so good. She patiently endured his impatience and the children’s mischief! His male pride had made him drive her away.

On the fifth day, unable to bear another moment without Anusha, Aravind rushed to her. “Sorry, Anusha!” he said as soon as he saw her.

“You wanted peace, didn’t you? You must have experienced a lot of peace without us. Why did you come back, leaving that behind?” Anusha said very indifferently.

“You only realise someone’s value when they are not around. These four days without you made me understand how much I have lost. This will never happen again,” he said, embracing her.

“Can I believe you when you say this will never happen again?” she asked, looking into his eyes.

“Promise, Anusha! You are my true peace,” he said, gathering her in his arms.

“Peace” (titled in Telugu as “Prashantata”) by Ampasayya Naveen was published in Chinuku, 5th Annual Spl Number, April 2010.

About Ampasayya Naveen

Ampasayya Naveen is an accomplished author and Sahitya Akademi laureate who has to his credit more than 30 novels and 100 short stories in Telugu. The most well-known of his novels are Ampasayya, Antasravanti, Kalarekhalu, and Premaku Avali Teeram. He is a pioneer of the stream-of-consciousness mode of writing in Telugu. His fictional works have been widely translated, including into English. In recognition of his contribution to Telugu fiction, apart from the Sahitya Akademi Award, he was conferred at least two honorary doctorates by universities.