This is a tale of woe of Meenakshi, an orphan girl from southern India. Like the thousands of orphans in India, she lives a life in which others determine her every move. For her, every event is predestined. Many of us are fortunate enough to be told and to believe that our destiny lies within our own hands. In the case of unfortunates like Meenakshi, that is not the case. All of their efforts to decide life for themselves are futile. Fate, for them, is the puppet master. No matter how hard they try there is no outwitting Destiny for Destiny always triumphs!

The Diamond Ring

By N. Rajanna

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2010 N. Rajanna
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4490-4779-5

Chapter One

The fire in the hearth burned insistently. Subbamma had risen earlier to light it in the kitchen's sunken mud fire pit. Elsewhere, in the bathroom, she had thrust fronds of dried coconut and dry sticks into cow dung cakes before lighting a match to it. It burned brilliantly. The crackling of burning sticks could be heard even in the kitchen. She wondered upon hearing the sound, for it was surely a sign of someone giving a surprise visit. She believed the superstition as had her ancestors.

But who would come? She had no nearby family. Her closest blood relative was an only brother who hadn't shown his face for nearly eight years. He had written a letter three months back telling her that his wife had given birth to a baby girl, but had given no return address. There had been no further communication.

Tears welled in her eyes as she struck another matchstick. As the fire began to burn she put a kettle of water to boil on the hearth. She went out the door into a large courtyard, crossing to the street entrance to sweep. She tossed a bucket of water onto the stoop and swept away the chalk stencil markings called rangoli that called down blessings upon the home and its inhabitants.

While crossing back to her dwelling a crow perched atop a guava tree in the courtyard cawed out as if heralding someone's arrival. Again, she wondered. The crow cawed again and she waved her hand to shoo it away.

The crow flew away and she turned to enter the home. Suddenly, she heard the sound of a cart halting in the street. The bells tied around the neck of the horse first jingled and then stopped. Subbamma, curious, went back to the front stoop and looked out. A middle-aged man covered in a shawl stepped out of the cart carrying a wrapped bundle over his shoulder.

She became sure the bundle was a baby as the man, having paid the fare, walked towards her. She couldn't yet tell who he was so she stood quietly watching.

As he came nearer he saw her. The stranger grunted and mumbled almost incoherently, "Sister, I have come at last."

She was aghast and stood staring for a few seconds. Her tongue felt tied making any utterance impossible. At last, she spoke. "Is it Subbaih? Why, I didn't recognize you. Come in, dear brother, come in. You will live to be 100 with the luck you have. I just these few moments back thought about you when a crow repeatedly cawed in the courtyard as if to foretell of your arrival. And here you are. How are you?"

"Yes, sister, it is me. Am I not standing before you like a piece of granite, yet alive?"

His response troubled her, so out of character for the brother she knew. He must be exhausted. Welcoming him into the home's interior, she turned with a smile and asked curiously, "Is this the baby? Where is she, your wife, Seethamma? Give me the baby. Why didn't your wife come with you?"

Subbamma put out her arms to take the baby, but Subbaiah stepped back refusing to hand over the child. "Don't touch her," he said sadly. "If you do you'll have to take a bath. Seethamma died. She left us both orphans. She is gone forever, sister." He began to cry quietly. Subbamma stood stunned.

"Why didn't you write to me about her death? You could have dropped me a card, a few lines. What did she die of? You wrote me three months ago and I never heard from you again."

Having said enough, she led Subbaiah to a seat in the courtyard. Instead, he squatted down with the child in his lap. The child began to cry as if she were hungry. Subbamma could not bear to let the child cry so she bent down and took her. The baby, apparently missing the warmth of her mother, snuggled into Subbamma's arms and slept. Subbaiah stared into space. His beard and moustache had grown longer. His hair was gray, his eyes appeared sunken into their sockets and his skin was pale. She wondered where the robust brother she had known eight years back had gone. She pitied him in this condition and, with tears in her eyes, asked again, "What happened to Seetha?"

"It was after the delivery. She was anemic. She was alright for about a month but then she began to suffer with bouts of fever. I got her herbal remedies in the village. We performed many rituals and sacrifices to appease the gods. But it was all in vain. She passed away quietly in her sleep two days back. I left the village and came here."

"Subba, you are so stubborn," said Subbamma. "You should have stayed to make peace with this tragedy. The same happened eight years ago when you fought with your brother-in-law and left us in a fit of fury, never looking back."

Her words pricked his conscience. In a painful tone, he said, "Akkaiah, don't remind me of that instance. It was my cruel fate. Whatever I was destined to suffer I have suffered. But today, I forget it all; I forget everything in the past." Having said this, he bowed his head in grief.

At that moment, Shamanna, his brother-in-law, entered the courtyard. He wondered who was this stranger talking to his wife. And did she hold a baby in her arms?! The child began to cry. He came nearer to his wife and whispered, "Whose child are you holding?"

She tried to smile through her tears and said, "Don't you recognize him? This is my brother, Subbu. His wife, Seethamma, is dead. He has brought their child with him."

At the mention of Subbaiah's name, Shamanna's face contorted with disgust. The old dispute was immediately rekindled. Shamanna turned away and walked toward his home. He was stopped in mid-stride by Subbaiah's grief-stricken voice. "Bhavaiah, I have come to your door, humbled and without guile. Please, let us forget the past."

Subbaiah then stood and respectfully bowed his head. Shamanna's heart was softened and he felt pity for this man who nearly begged his forgiveness. "Come, Subbaiah," said Shamanna, "come to my home which is also yours by virtue of the fact that you are my wife's only brother. I am very sorry to hear that Seethamma is dead."

Not able to say more, Shamanna turned back into the house and went into the bathroom. He felt no grief for Seethamma whom he had despised. He had been opposed to Subbaiah's marriage to the girl from a bad family. Seethamma's mother who was widowed after her daughter's birth had been rumored to have had an affair and was disowned by her relatives. Subbaiah had insisted against the opposition of all of the village elders on marrying Seethamma. This is what had caused him to leave his sister's home and move with his wife a great distance away.

Seethamma's mother, unable to bear the insult, lived with the couple a few months and then died. The couple had been ostracized by all except one or two friends. Shamanna pondered everything and felt a wave of sympathy for his brother-in-law and the orphaned child, just as his wife's heart had melted at the plight of her only brother and niece.

Subbamma sent for a neighbor to help her bathe the baby. By then, Kamakshi, her daughter, had come to see why it sounded like a crying baby. She found her mother in the middle of the room carrying a tiny tot in her arms and holding the infant up to the smoke of burning sambrani incense which had been laid on hot, red coals. This method of drying a child was ages old and believed to protect against colds and influenza.

The fragrant aroma of the sambrani filled the small room. Kamakshi moved quickly to her mother's side, asking, "Amma, Amma, whose child is this and who brought it to you?"

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