Raju's Final Journey

Raju lay dead on the bier in the cellar of the sprawling residential complex. His wife Saraswathi, in her late seventies, sat beside the body, weeping silently. 

He was a journalist and a blogger who wrote voluminously in his hey days in both English and Telugu. Even a day before his death, he was active on his desktop. He typed an article on the eternity of the soul and forwarded it to like-minded friends.

 A few residents of the apartments in the complex gathered there. “We have celebrated his 90th birthday recently,' a resident said. “Yes, I remember the event," another resident recollected. "None of his near and dear attended his birthday function.” A woman joined them. “He used to say that he had two sons who bear their expenses.” “They are a most venerable couple. I frequently drop into their flat to enquire about their welfare.”

The caretaker, who had been attending to the aged couple for a monthly salary of thirty thousand rupees at the unfurnished single bedroom flat, looked on blankly. 

Shortly, two cars pulled up at the main gate. Raju’s two sons, Anil and Sunil, got down from their vehicles and walked towards the bier. They did not beat their chest and cried. Nor did they burst into tears. They discussed in hushed tones about the funeral rites. They did not take notice of their mother sitting near the corpse. She looked at her sons and burst out suddenly, "Your father is gone.”

Anil and Sunil did not reply. They kept silent.

Meanwhile, half a dozen priests arrived on the scene to carry out the funeral rites with the mantras. “Begin the mantras quickly." Anil and Sunil said, “All the rites, including the cremation, should be completed within three hours.”

Soon, another batch of priests arrived there. They guessed that Anil and Sunil sitting on the chairs near the body must be his sons. They approached them. "Sirs", they said, "we, the priests, belong to a voluntary association of Brahmins. Your father had already paid for his cremation.”

“Yes,” Saraswati added, "what they’ve said is right. “Your father paid for his funeral expenses long ago out of his savings.”

Saraswati controlled her sobs and continued, "Of course you’re responsible sons, but not loving sons. Every month you both credit the amount necessary for our survival. I write the banker’s cheque, and the watchman brings in the money from the bank."

Meanwhile, Raju’s spirit rose up from the dead body. Though the spirit was hazy, it was a replica of Raju. It sat on a vacant chair beside Anil and Sunil. He put its hands round Anil and Sunil. Raju’s sons did not feel the touch, however. The spirit smiled to itself. It was not angry with its sons.

The spirit walked up and down the cellar, where it took strolls every day in the morning till the day before. Most of his acquaintances in the residential complex passed away in their late eighties. A few surviving ones are bedridden and terminally ill. The spirit stood near its body for a while, watching it while the priests recited the mantras.

Anil and Sunil bathed the body mechanically. Then they offered wet rice to the mouth of the body, which was already rigid due to rigour martis. Saraswati broke down when it was her turn to put rice at the mouth of the dead body.

“Sirs”, the priests of the voluntary Brahmin association spoke to Anil and Sunil. “Your father had also paid for his 12th day purification ceremony and immersion of his bones in the confluence of the Ganga, Yamuna and Saraswati rivers within a month. We will perform those rites also on your behalf.” Then they paused for a while and continued, "Your father asked us to tell you to read the last post on his blog after we had finished his purification ceremony.”

They looked at their mobile phones for the id of their father’s blog. But it was deleted long ago. The priests noted the changing expressions in their faces. "Sirs", they said, “we saved it for you.”

They passed it on to the WhatsApp numbers of Anil and Sunil.

Anil and Sunil saved the id of the blog nonchalantly. They heaved a sigh of relief when the priests said that they would carry on the 12th-day purification ceremony and later the task of immersing the bones of the body in the confluence of Ganga, Yamuna and Saraswathi.

Raju’s spirit was fully aware of the busy schedule of its sons. Anil had to preside over the board of directors meeting soon. Sunil, being the CEO of a software company, had to tour the US extensively to attract projects. But his spirit was not convinced by its own reasoning. Even the president and prime minister of a country could have more urgent engagements. Yet, they might not hand over the responsibility of the funeral rites to a priest. The spirit was confused at its own thoughts.

Saraswati beat her bosom and wailed when the body was shifted into the funeral van, ‘the final journey'.

 At the crematorium there were three cement benches, each a few feet apart from the other, on the way to the funeral pyre. A sloka from the Bhavadgita which says that it is the body which perishes but not the soul because the soul is indestructible was inscribed on a huge marble plaque under a tree.

The priests who were bearing the Raju’s dead body placed it on each of the three cement benches and requested Anil and Sunil to whisper ‘father’ in the body’s ear, as there was a hope that life might be revived. 

After the body was consigned to flames, the head priest said to Anil, "Sir",  "you brothers can go now, as the bursting of the skull (kapala moksham) is over. Your father has taken care of your mother’s relocation to a Brahmin shelter home. We will do the needful for her. Your father has wanted to spare you that trouble too.”

 Anil and Sunil turned back after the cremation was over.

The spirit took a last look at the burnt body, which was Ruju till a few minutes ago.

Though Raju’s dead body was reduced to ashes, the memories, good and bad, haunted his spirit still. The shackles of karma did not leave him yet.

Raju’s spirit sat on a bench at the tank bund, overlooking Hussain Sagar, a tributary of the river Musi. He gazed at the tall monolithic statue of Lord Buhhdha. “Hinduism believes in reincarnation and says that every living being which will die must be born again. This chain of rebirth is endless unless one is released from one’s karma. But Buddhism says there is only a vacuum after death.”

The spirit was confused. It did not know which theory to believe and which one to reject.

Raju’s spirit clocked its life back to times when he was twenty-five and contracted his first marriage with Rani, a tall and lean girl of twenty.

 But his marital happiness was short-lived, as his young wife suffered with irreversible neurological disorders. She passed away after a decade of a troubled married life during which Anil and Sunil were born.

He contracted a marriage again, which was a marriage of convenience. He was badly in need of a caretaker of his children, as he lacked the means to get them accommodated in a decent hostel. He had to satisfy his biological urge also in an ethical way. The woman, Akhila, who was in her late thirties, was the oldest daughter of a gentle, hand-to-mouth man, who had ten children to feed. The woman in question did not want to be a burden on her ageing father with a large family.

This marriage too did not last long, as she died of failure of both kidneys just a week before kidney transplantation.

Time heals any mental affliction. Now he was in his late fifties. He was in need of a woman for companionship. A beautiful woman with a wheatish complexion, in her late forties, a child psychologist by profession, responded to his advertisement in the matrimonial column of a newspaper. He met her in a park on an appointed date. “Hi I am Lalitha,” she greeted him. She convinced him that her divorce with her husband was just a formality, and the papers were expected any time. She hugged him even though it was their first meeting in the park and whispered into his ear that she liked him from the bottom of her heart. She said that he had a magnetic charm in his demeanour which drew her to him.

But fate willed it otherwise. Her husband, who stalked her into the park, caught her when she was in Raju’s embrace. So, he delayed the divorce proceedings wantonly.

The next day she rang up to him and said that the proceedings of her divorce case would be delayed indefinitely. Then she vanished from his life forever.

Now in his early sixties, he yearned for the companionship of a woman again, this time not to satisfy his biological urge, but to cook for him and talk to him.

By the time Saraswathi entered into his life, she was already in her early fifties. She was rather short and stout. Though she was ill-tempered, she had a heart of gold.

Again, he had undergone the routine ritual of the wedding at a local temple. She was forced to marry Raju, as she was very ill-treated at her parental home, as she remained a spinster for long. 

Soon after his marriage, he got his elder son, Anil, married to a suitable girl within the Brahmin community. But his younger son, Sunil, loved and married a non-Brahmin girl. Raju and his new wife solemnised both the marriages.

Barely a month after the weddings, both the daughters-in-law brainwashed Anil and Sunil to set up separate families. 

Raju’s marriage with Saraswathi had lasted for more than three decades till he died. 

As Anil and Sunil had set up their own families, the old couple’s hopes for a lovely joint family with grandchildren and great-grandchildren were shattered.

Raju and Saraswathi had never experienced the feelings of warm hugs by their grand and great-grandchildren.

But God is great. He listened to the couple’s prayer for a grandchild. Raju’s divorced brother-in-law asked him to raise his ten-month-old daughter until she grows up. The couple taught the child to call them ‘grandpa' and 'grandma' instead of 'uncle' and 'aunty'.

 Now Raju’s spirit desperately wanted to see the departed souls of his two former wives, Rani and Akhila. He was also curious to know about the existence of the soul of Lalitha, who jilted him. He heard that the departed souls would visit their favourite haunts occasionally. He was no more afraid of the chaotic traffic on the road. Auto mobiles of various descriptions passed through him. But he was not hurt, as he had no mortal body. He crossed the tankbund road and entered the park, which was already closed because night fell. Next, his spirit found itself at a corporate hospital in Balanagar. He searched there for Akhila in vain. It flew to a hospital at Royapeta, Madras, in a jiffy, in search of Rani. But he couldn’t find her. May be, her soul was waiting for her next birth on the astral planet peacefully, his spirit thought.

It visited the sprawling residential complex where Raju had died the day before. His wife Saraswathi was still sobbing in a corner of the bedroom. He hugged her and wanted to assure her that he was by her side. But he realised that his wife could not feel his touch as he was out of his body.

Raju’s spirit looked on with satisfaction at the way his wife had been relocated to a Brahmin shelter home by the Brahmin voluntary organisation he had entrusted with.

When he was seated on his favourite easy chair, three spiritual forms in dazzling light appeared before him. “We are helpers from the astral planet," they said. "We have come here to take you to your ancestral home in the astral planet. Your three wives, the woman who jilted you, were indebted to you due to their karma in their previous births. Now, you have to absolve yourself of these karmas and prepare for a better birth soon.”

But Raju’s spirit shook its head. “I want to multiply my soul into many forms and possess the lawyers positively who argue in the courts of law, on behalf of the ageing and dying parents who crave for the love of their sons, daughters-in-law, grandchildren and great-grandchildren."

The astral helpers realised his firm resolve to achieve a purpose he believed in, and disappeared.

I, the blogger, conclude my rather lengthy sketch on Raju by assuming that his spirit will possess the lawyers who argue the cases of doomed parents selflessly, right from the apex court down to the district-level courts.

He was Othello – Mark Antony too.

He played the lead roles of Othello and Mark Antony in the Shakespearean tragic play 'Othello' and the historic play ‘Julius Caesar'. He was also equally famed for portraying various other lead roles in many other plays by Shakespeare.

I had the great fortune of watching the performances of this great Shakespearean actor at the Sri Venkeswara Kalyana Mandapam auditorium at T. Nagar, Madras, on festive occasions like Ugadi (the Telugu new year), Sankranthi (the harvest season) and Dasara (a nine-day festival marking the victory of good over evil). I had watched his shows at the Andhra Social and Cultural Club, Vijaya Raghava Chary Road, T. Nagar also.

This versatile actor was none but Rallabandi Kameswara Rao. He entered the stage in the make-up of Othello and delivered the principal character’s dialogues in a sonorous voice. He was Mark Antony too. His mono action in this character was wonderful. He rolled a bedsheet on the stage, lifted it into his arms and made us believe that it was the corpse of Julius Caesar.

When he cried out in suppressed rage, his eyes rolling in anger and lips trembling, “Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears," one is mesmerised by the times of the Roman Empire and the pulpit at the market square. His histrionic talent while delivering the speech, which ultimately turns public opinion against Brutus, was appealing. When he articulated, 'Yet Brutus is an honourable man,' while citing examples of his villainous nature, we cheered in thunderous applause.

We shed tears, forgetting that Rallabandi was just acting the role of King Lear when he delivered the dialogues, keeping away his youngest daughter, Cordelia, who loves him truly but falls prey to the machinations of his two other older daughters, Goneril and Regan. 

He lived in the role of Hamlet, where the character procrastinates his plan to assassinate his paternal uncle for marrying his mother after killing his father, the king of Denmark.

He had his own style in delivering Hamlet’s opening lines of the famous soliloquy 'To be, or not to be. That is the question, i.e., whether to go on living suffering the humiliations or die and end all sufferings.

He was also noted for his role as Sherlock Holmes, created by the great crime writer Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

 He portrayed the roles of King Lear in the play with the same title, Copulet, Juliet’s father, who disapproves of his daughter’s love for Romeo, and many more character roles in the great dramatist’s plays.

The principal flaw of many Indian actors who portray Shakespearean roles is that most of them inadvertently slip into the accents of their native languages while delivering Shakespearean dialogues. But Rallabandi was an exception who maintained the English accent of the British actors throughout his performances.

His acting talents were not confined to the Shakespearean stage alone. He was equally popular on the Telugu screen too. He played the character roles like zamindar, doctor, lawyer, judge, etc. He shared the stage and the screen along with stalwarts like Mukkamala, Mikkilineni, etc. He was with the tinsel world for about two decades, from the 1960s to the 1980s.

The noted director, V. Madhusudhana Rao, aptly used the Shakespearean talents of Rallabandi in his movie ‘Manchi Kutumbam' by offering him the role of Paris, a noble man who seeks the hand of Juliet in the bard’s play ‘Romeo and Juliet'. Paris is assassinated by Romeo in the climax scene of the tragic play. This scene was inserted in a song, ‘preminchuta pillala vanthu, deevinchuta peddala vanthu', to highlight the sublimity of love.

His notable movies during the 1980s were Eenaadu (1982), Puli - Bebbuli (1983), Aadapuli (1984), Mugguru Kodukulu (1988) and Ayyappa Swamy Mahatmyam (1989). Though his dialogues were very few in the movies, he played key roles which were essential for the main story.

But he did not make much money through acting like some actors of yesteryears. Yet a chance meeting with the hero Krishna changed his fortunes to some extent. While Rallabandi was resting on the sands of

Marina Beach, he saw Krishna wandering along the seashore. He recognised him and beckoned him. When Rallabandi asked Krishna about his acting career, Krishna replied that after ‘Kanne Manasulu', his first movie, and 'Thene Manasulu', his second one, he had a long break. He said that he was dejected and even toyed with the idea of returning to his native place.

"Krishna," Rallabandi said encouragingly, “you’re young and dynamic. My sixth sense says that the sky is the limit for you. You will have a brilliant career in the film world. Try your luck. Don’t be disheartened."

As Krishna rose gradually up as a hero, producer and owner of a studio, he remembered Rallabandi’s blessing and offered him suitable character roles in his movies. Krishna’s magnanimity was well known, and he needed no second saying.

Rallabandi used to frequent the residence of renowned Telugu and Sanskrit scholar Yamijala Padmanabha Swamy at Vivekananda Street, T. Nagar, Madras, and discuss with him the poetic beauty of Shakespeare. Once I had met Rallabandi at his residence and requested him to get his inimitable roles in Shakespearean plays recorded on video cassettes for future generations. But I was nonplussed when he said, "Who will shoulder that responsibility?" Anyway, the suggested project had not taken flight.

Rallabandi hailed from Pamarru village, Krishna district, Andhra Pradesh, and settled in Madras city. But he maintained active cultural links with his native village and the nearby town of Machilipatnam.

I am an ardent admirer of Shakespeare for his portrayal of various facets of human nature, and Rallabandi simply lived in the varied characters of the great playwright as a monoactor.

The Madras Shakespearean Society honoured him with a suitable reward.

But I am sad that Rallabandi is less remembered today for his Shakespearean roles. 

I would be very grateful if anybody could send me this great actor’s photo in a Shakespearean role to my WhatsApp ID 9948099156.

My Premier Padmini

One pleasant evening when I returned home from the office, my little son Vishnu, who was always reprimanded for being a chatterbox, ran to me and broke the news that our old, dilapidated house was sold and the sale was to be registered shortly.

My tiredness due to hectic work at the office was gone in a jiffy. I gave him a rupee to buy a toffee of his choice. “Visehnu”, I said in an expansive mood, “today you can go out and play till it will be very dark.”

I was on Cloud 9 because my dream of buying a pre-owned Fiat car of the Premier Padmini model was going to materialise.

I had already got my driver’s licence and dreamed of sitting in the driver’s seat of the car of my choice.

Of course I had learnt the basics of driving a car when I was fifteen years old. I used to handle the steering of our Baby Austin car while my father was driving near the Sir Thomas Munroe statue on the island area of Mount Road, Madras. I controlled the steering carefully while my father took care of the clutch and the accelerator.

"Dear," my wife said, serving me a cup of steaming coffee, "the vexsome issue is over." Ram Yadav’s finally agreed to buy our house and paid an advance of one lakh rupees too.”

I finished drinking the coffee in quick gulps and ran upstairs to demand my elder brother some part of my share of money even before the sale was completely effected.

I demanded him to give me forty thousand rupees out of my expected share of two lakh rupees.

My brother gave me the required amount without asking me any questions. He knew what I would do with the money.

The next morning I met Murugadasan, a dealer and a mechanic in pre-owned automobiles. “Das,” I said,” I want to buy a pre-owned Premier Padmini car within forty thousand rupees.”

Das nodded positively and took me to famous Telugu comedian Rajbabu’s house in Kodambakkam on his two-wheeler. He said that the actor’s lady wanted to dispose of their Premier Padmini car as her actor husband passed away recently.

It was a double joy for me. On the one hand, I was going to buy a car which was owned by my favourite comedian, Rajbabu. On the other hand, it was a car in my favourite colour, 'white'.

I must speak a word of praise about the great actor’s philanthropic nature, who never flaunted the benevolent aspect of his personality. Apart from getting constructed houses for weaker sections, he had donated large sums of money to the needy on condition of anonymity. 

When Rajbabu’s lady fixed the price of the car at Rs. 37,000, I was too shy to bargain. I paid the amount and got the keys and the book of registration certificates. It was registered on the actor’s lady’s name, Lakshmi Ammulu.

It was fine with the car for a few months. I went to the office in my car at least twice a week, since the cost of petrol was prohibitive to use it every day.

I used to visit Marina Beach, Lord Murugan temple at Vadapalani and Amman temple at Mangadu, in the outskirts of Madras city in my car. My wife and kids, Siva and Vishnu, enjoyed the weekend trips by the car very much.

But my happiness with my Premier Padmini was short-lived.

I was transferred to Hyderabad from Madras. Then my financial and mental troubles began. My elder son, Siva, was in the second year of his graduation course, and my younger one, Vishnu, in the final year of his pre-degree course. So I could not move my family from Madras to Hyderabad immediately. I had to support myself in Hyderabad and maintain my wife and kids in Madras financially. I had done a rough arithmetic calculation of my budget and decided to continue to own my car despite my financial woes.

I brought my car to Hyderabad via the roadway. I and the automobile mechanic Dasan drove the car alternatively, as it was an arduous journey of about 650 kilometres. It was too much for the ageing car to undertake the long journey at a stretch. So, we had a night halt at Ongole.

We refreshed ourselves at daybreak, continued our onwards journey and reached Hyderabad at six 'o'clock in the evening.

It had been proving financially very difficult for me to maintain my car, inspite of meticulous budgeting. 

I had to dispose of the car for a pittance Rs.15,000 after shelling down about Rs. 20,000 towards the repairs. I signed the papers of the sale with tears streaming down my cheeks

I have some sweet memories about my Premier Padmini to date. I had escorted my elder niece Madhavi to her in-laws' house in my car soon after her wedding.

On another occasion, I drove my wife, kids and in-laws to Keesaragutta, the Saivite pilgrim centre, in my car.

My grand-niece Padmini, who is settled down in life as an AI engineer now, used to think when she was ten that the Fiat Automobile company had named the model as Premier Padmin after her.

Of course, Padmini is always premier to me.   

 My Brother, Janakiram –

A Beautiful Blend Of Opposites

My brother Janakiram, the eldest of our seven siblings, was a mix of opposites from his childhood itself. He had his regular schooling, but he passed every class with just the minimum grades because studies were his bête noire.

He evinced curious interests in diverse fields of activities and gave least importance to studies. Though my father often rebuked him for his lack of interest in studies, those scoldings had the least effect on him.

He collected some utensils from our mother’s kitchen and imitated my father in manufacturing Ayurdevic medicines. He assumed multiple roles as my father, as the son and as the servant while preparing the medicines when he was seven years old. 

While we, the other children, were playing normally with our toys, he used to look at the toys critically, then disassemble and assemble them again. The same habit continued with him when he grew older and learnt to bike on our old Rally bicycle. He used to fix the chain and seat when they got old.

While he was in his third form (now eighth standard), he chose carpentry as his vocation in the class. He made a beautiful cricket bat out of freshly cut wood, with which we children played cricket for a long time till we passed out of our teens. This bat had brought us luck. When we brothers played a cricket match with this bat against our rivals, we had always scored the highest runs.

He tried his hand at repairing our pre-owned Baby Austin automobile also when he was around twenty years old. We had a car mechanic, Rathinam, with a slightly curved mouth, who descended on the scene whenever our car gave mechanical trouble. My brother befriended him by handing him spanners and screwdrivers. While he slipped under the chassis of the car, he yelled out, 'Pena kudu samy, bolt kudu sami’ (Sir, give me the spanner; give me the bolt).

My brother learnt much of the mechanism of our vintage car in no time. Once, our car gave major trouble, the engine did not ignite, and our regular mechanic failed to turn up. My brother rolled up his shirt sleeves, lifted the bonnet and buried his head into the engine. He got busy tightening some bolts and nuts for some time. But it was of no use. The engine did not start.

Then he got under the car and got busy repairing it.

On that fateful day, Chandriah, our newly joined manservant, removed the bolts of the front wheels to please our father and show off his knowledge of automobile mechanisms too.

As providence would have it, my brother just then got out from under the car to get a spanner before it crashed with a heavy thud. Otherwise, my brother would have been crushed and died under the car.

Then my father flew into a rage, beat Chandraiah severely and necked him out.

This ghastly incident happened during the morning, and towards evening my mother visited the local Muppatthaman temple and worshipped the goddess there for the longevity of my brother.

Once my friend Mahesh and I wanted to service our old bicycle. We removed the wheels successfully but did not know how to fix them again properly.

Then my brother admonished us both and fixed the wheels and the chain.

His penchant for mechanism continued even after he bought a motorcycle and later a Standard Herald automobile. He used to repair them for himself and rarely called a professional mechanic.

Despite these diverse activities, he continued to suffer poor health in his childhood and teens. He was a living example of the proverb that a cat has nine lives. My brother has also successfully passed through critical health issues. When he was in his fourth form (now ninth standard), he suffered from pleurisy (inflammation of the lining of the lungs which causes sharp pain of the chest while coughing and breathing). My father, being a physician, cured him of his disease successfully.

Again, he developed a huge lump just below the medulla oblongata which even threatened his very existence. He was operated on for the abscess at the Madras Government General Hospital in the presence of my father.

He was operated upon for tonsils also when he was through his school final course.

He was also affected by typhoid and paratyphoid later.

All these health issues had their ill effects on his health. His thyroid gland was affected due to these repeated illnesses, as a result of which he could not grow tall. He had to be satisfied with a short stature.

He pampered me very much when I was a boy and bought me whatever toffees I demanded, out of his pocket money given by our father. 

Once my brother and I wanted to watch 'Jimbo', a Tarzan-inspired Tamil-dubbed movie. But by the time we reached the film theatre, a ‘House Full’ board greeted us. But my brother was not disheartened. He offered the doorman one rupee instead of twelve annas, six annas being charged for each ticket. He relented after a little persuasion, pocketed the one-rupee coin and let us in. We dusted the floor with our hankies in front of the screen and happily settled down.

He was meek in his nature but stood firm in what he believed to be right. He liked his maternal cousin when he was a boy, and that intense feeling developed into an ardent love in his youth. Despite tough opposition from her father (for reasons best known to him only), my brother married her and was later blessed with a good family. 

His interest in parapsychology impelled him to attend a session of seance (communicating with the departed souls) in Ahmedabad while he was on an official tour. Later he told me that he succeeded in his attempt.

On another occasion, he sat in meditation and tried to communicate with aliens in other galaxies. But our maternal uncle Sharma came to know of it and wired my brother to desist from such a practice. My uncle explained in a letter which followed the telegram that such a practice would drive a person with family responsibilities insane. My brother obeyed my uncle out of respect for him.

On the joint family front, we, the siblings, fought a lot about sharing the money got from the sale of our ancestral property – a dilapidated house. But it never broke the bondage among our siblings, and those quarrels died in no time once a compromise was effected.

He worked as an oil technologist at an oil refinery in the public sector, and his passion for his profession made him begin a consultancy service after his retirement from service.

After a few years, he closed down his consultancy service and devoted his time to bring profits to the nearby temples which were incurring loses. He earned profits for the temples by plugging the loopholes of corruption.

Now at eighty-seven, with mellowed wisdom, he spends most of his time meditating, interfering least in the family's affairs.

We, The Jonnalagaddas: Six Generations

 

We, The Jonnalagaddas:

  Six Generations

One may think, 'Why should one read about the family tree of a person quite unrelated to him"' My explanation is – the pedigree which I attempt to write is a long story of human successes and failures, which is universal in nature. Hence, the story of my family tree with a difference may interest one across the globe. I repeat modestly it is not a narration of a family tree having roots, stems, branches, sub-branches and leaves with a list of names of persons and their occupations. It is more than that. It is a tragi-comedy with an undercurrent of humour.

I have heard a lot about Alex Haley, who researched deeply into his origins to write his stupendous work 'Roots'. He is the motivation for me to write my roots briefly.

I am conscious that I cannot step into his shoes to write a wonderful book as the 'Roots'.

Yet I modestly trace my Jonnalagadda roots from the 1820s.

Though there are three Jonnalagadda villages in the Andhra region – two in the Guntur district and one in the Krishna district – I presume that our genealogy begins from the third one. Maybe our ancestors migrated to Avanigadda from Jonnalagadda, a village of the same district, for livelihood.

It is a quiet rural settlement now located in the Nandigama mandal of the former Krishna district (now part of the NTR district) in Andhra Pradesh, India. Now this village is home to fewer than 2,000 residents; its history is deeply tied to local agriculture, regional freedom movements, and community-driven rural development..

Freedom Struggle: The village holds historical significance as the home of the late Patibandla Venkaiah, a notable Indian freedom fighter. His family and local descendants later contributed significantly to educational development in the area. 

Growth and Infrastructure

1950s Expansion: The mid-20th century marked a period of social growth for Jonnalagadda, highlighted by local philanthropists (such as Lagadapati China Ramaiah and Lagadapati Chinna Raghavaiah) donating land in the 1950s to build a Zilla Parishad High School (ZPHS) with a large community playground. 
Education and Institutions: Over the decades, the village expanded its educational infrastructure to include multiple primary and elementary schools, alongside missionary-backed educational and pastoral institutions set up on local green hills. 
I have given due importance to the pedigree of the Yadavallis, as this surname is interwoven with that of our Jonnalagaddas through matrimonial alliances

The First Generation

I could trace our pedigree from the first quarter of the 18th century only.

Sriramulu was our great-grandfather, and his wife Nagamma was our great-grandmother.

We, with the surname Jonnalagadda, are Vaidiki, Velanadu Brahmins of the Kaundinyasa Gothra (clan). 

I have no idea about the exact number of children he had. But his two sons Bhushaiah and Lakshmi Narayana were on record.

Second Generation

Bhushaiah and Lakshmi Narayana were our grandfathers. While Bhushaiah had inherited large tracts of fertile land from his father at Challapalli, Machilipatnam, Krishna district, my grandfather Lakshmi Narayana had not got his due share in the ancestral property.

Though he was advised to approach a court of law to claim his rightful share in the ancestral property, he was too proud to beg for his share in the property. He thought that his older brother Bhushaiah should have given his share of the property out of brotherly love.

Lakshmi Narayana, our grandfather, had a great passion for the classical dance art of Kuchipudi. This dance art came in handy for him to eke out his livelihood to support a large family of a wife and six children. He taught Kuchipudi dance art to devadasis (temple dancers). Though he lived in the Avanigadda village, he toured the nearby villages like Mellamarru and Kodali to give dance lessons to the temple dancers.

He insisted on the devadasis that they should learn the dance items from Sri Krishna Lila Tarnigini in a complicated and dedicated way. They were taught to dance with their feet on either side of a bronze plate with water to the brim. The skill of the dancer depended on dancing on the borders of the metal plate without spilling the water on the stage.

I was given to understand that my grandfather, who had a handsome figure, maintained a strong character, though some of the beautiful devadasis lost their hearts to him. He was content with a monthly fee of three rupees and some provisions like pulses and rice.

As a purohit (priest), he also officiated in rituals like house-warming ceremonies, etc.

He was a stage artist too and played the roles of comedians. He was noted for his role as a comedian in the court of the French governor Charles Joseph Patissier de Bussy-Castelnau, who destroyed the Bobbili fort. The audience, especially the groundlings, whistled ‘once more’ for his obscene dialogue, the governor demanding a harlot and sumptuous food every day.

Matrimonial Alliance With the Yadavallis

We Jonnalagaddas had entered into a matrimonial alliance with the Yadavallis in the second generation of Jonnalagaddas when our grandmother Yadavalli Janakamma was given in marriage to our grandfather Lakshmi Narayana.

Yadavalli Janakamma had three brothers – Subba Rao, Gopalakrishna and Prakasam. Subba Rao was a brilliant student with a good knowledge of English literature and language. He passed D.Com. (Diploma in Commerce). He tutored the Commerce subject even for B.Com and M. Com students. He had a short stint as a cloth merchant too. Gopalakrishna was a poet and writer and penned the following books: Rohana Charitra (3 parts), Prajahita Charitra, Sita Kalyanam, Rani Sataka, Moudhya Murthy, Vidhyarthi, Santhi Koukhyam (a play), Jyothi Ringana (a play), My Pedigree, Subba Rao Charitra, Bharatha Desa Swatantrya Samaram, Gandhi Mahatma Charitra, Desa Bhakthi, Vaidhya Grantha (in 3 parts), Kalamana Sthithi, Silabhedi, Athma Sthuthi Doshamu, Nana Neethi Sathakamu, Neethi Padyamulu and 1va Tharagathi Vachakamu. It is not clear which of these books were printed and available now. He had an imposing personality with a grey bushy moustache.

Prakasam, the last one among the three Yadavalli brothers, was rather eccentric. Those were the days when the Second World War was raging fiercely. Whenever he listened to the radio news that the soldiers of the Allied Powers had fallen in large numbers at the hands of the Germans, he rushed out and sat under the blazing sun during summer. He used to observe that his gesture was in solidarity with the soldiers of the Friendly Powers killed by the Germans.

Thus, the Yadavallis were the cousins of the Jonnalagaddas.

The Third Generation        

Jonnalagadda Lakshmi Narayana had six children, five sons, Lakshmi Narasimham, Sriramulu, Nageswara Rao, Satyanarayana and Venkateswara Rao, and a daughter, Rukmini.

Our eldest paternal uncle, Lakshmi Narasimham, was a clerk to a lawyer. He qualified himself as a commercial correspondent and bookkeeper. He had a short stint as a subcontractor and incurred heavy losses.

Nageswara Rao and Venkatalakshmi

My father Nageswara often told me that his older brother played Shakesperean roles. The complete works of Shakespeare in small font, from which he byhearted the dialogues, is still with me in a brittle condition.

Though he did not live for long, he was brilliant academically. When he was through his fifth form of high studies (now 10th class), he contracted diarrhoea and could not attend to two exams. But the principal arranged for special exams for him. He passed the exams in flying colours.

He was a gourmand, and even on Saturday night when he was supposed to fast in the name of Lord Venkateswara and take only fruits in small quantities, he would eat at least ten black gram cakes. Then he would drink a long tumblerful of milk and belch, though he was a diabetic.

On that fateful day, he visited a hair-cutting saloon as usual. After the cutting of the hair was over, he asked the barber to cut the hair in the nostrils of his nose. But the barber’s scissors cut the soft tissue of the nostrils unfortunately, and the tissue began to bleed profusely.

Soon the nose was infected and began to swell due to his diabetes.

My father was a qualified doctor by then. He rushed his older brother to the municipal dispensary and treated him. Despite the best medical care provided to him, he succumbed to the incurable infection. 

Sriramulu was the second son of Lakshmi Narayana. He had been a school teacher and started his life with a salary of twenty-five rupees a month.

He was a good drama artiste too and was acclaimed for his role of a widowed sister-in-law who derived sadistic pleasure in torturing her brother’s wife. He was a diabetic and died in his late sixties from a carbuncle on his back.

He had a pleasant surprise when he was about to retire from his job as the government allotted him a house site free of cost, but he had no money to build a terraced house, having spent all the retirement money to marry off his two daughters.

I played in the hut with my cousins happily when I visited Machilipatnam during summer vacations. My paternal uncle treated his hut as if it were a palace. Possibly I inherited his trait when I, who lived in a large house with all comforts, had to adjust to a single-bedroom, dingy apartment in my old age.

Near his hut was a very small dwelling, just big enough for two persons. A Carnatic vocal musician, Rama Sastri, lived in it. His rivals exercised black magic on him in his hey days, as a result of which he had almost lost his voice. He was incapacitated to sing any symphonies. But he could stretch a raga to any length of time. On a memorable day, my uncle asked him for an alapana of the atana raga. It was so mellifluous that I recollect it to this day. He received alms from many households by singing the alapanas of various sweet ragas.

After the birth of my elder paternal uncle Sriramulu, my grandmother Janakamma had no child for many years. Then she worshipped god Nageswara for a child. Hence my father was named Nageswara Rao when he was born.

My father was a physician by profession and was the third son of Lakshmi Narayana, a rags-to-riches story. He settled down in Madras and died a natural death in his early eighties.

He was often scolded for his pranks. My father had a shepherd friend when he was a boy of ten years old. The shepherd boy's mouth watered for a grand meal at a Brahmana Samaradhana (a feast for Brahmins) at the bungalow of the Challapalli Raja. My father made a yajnopaveetham (sacred thread) out of a long cotton string. He put it across the shepherd boy's shoulder and asked him to behave like a Brahmin boy. He should only grin at whatever question he was asked. If he spoke, his rustic accent would have given out his real identity.

My grandfather later came to know of my father's prank, and he was given a good beating.

The fourth son of Lakshmi Narayana was Satyanarayana, who was rather mentally deranged. One day his mental illness was discovered when he was giving a serious lecture on a lesson to an electric pole. He was also seen smashing the glass frames of photographs on the wall of the hall. My father treated him and cured him.

He was drawn towards a group of Aghoris who came to Machilipatnam. He requested the Shakti worshippers in the crematorium to initiate him in the worship of Mother Kali.

They warned the young man that this kind of worship could be complicated, because Mother Kali might test his power of self-control. But he was obstinate. The supreme guru of the team of Aghoris pitied him and initiated him into the worship of Kali.

He was fine with the Goddess appearing to him in his dreams as a little girl of ten and playing with him.

But his concentration was disturbed when she began to appear in his dreams as a beautiful young girl with alluring looks.

He stopped worshipping her and was attracted to her sexually. He gave up all rituals and began to roam around the town like a mad person in search of his dream girl.

Suseela, Venkateswara Rao

Again, my father cured him of his hallucinations by treating him with a combination of allopathic and Ayurvedic drugs.

The last one among the sons was Venkateswara Rao, who was an Ayurvedic doctor and a fun-loving person. The moustache of one of his patients looked like that of a cat. When the patient visited his clinic, he winked at my father and observed in chaste Sanskrit, 'Hey sodhara, bidala smasru agachhati', which means that the patient with the cat moustache has come. He laughed and told the patient that the Sanskrit word meant a ‘good person'.

He also studied Amara Kosha, the Sanskrit dictionary, to some extent. He used to embarrass a swamiji during religious discourses by asking questions in Sanskrit. The swamiji begged my uncle behind the curtains to speak in Telugu only since he did not know Sanskrit. My uncle enjoyed the swamiji’s discomfiture very much. He was such a font of fun. He had a sudden death due to cerebral thrombosis in his early seventies.

Lakshmi Narayana’s sixth and last child was a daughter, Rukmini. I was deeply attached to Umamaheswaram among all her children, whose hobby was creative writing like mine. God claimed him to be His own when he was barely sixty years old.

The Fourth Generation

Lakshmi Narasimham had a daughter and a son, Janaki and Sankara, respectively. Janaki was married decently. But Sankara died an early death in his early twenties due to the health complications which arose due to the amputation of his leg. On a tragic day, he kicked a knife with a wooden base (katthipeeta in Telugu and aruvamani in Tamil) on the floor of the kitchen. When he sustained a deep cut, he pressed the wound with rice bran instead of seeking treatment from a doctor. Again, my father tried in vain to save his life. He was brought to Madras and admitted into the government general hospital. But by then, the leg was dangerously infected. The surgeons at the hospital told my father that the leg had to be amputated from the foot to the knee joint. He returned to Machilipatnam with the amputated leg and died soon, possibly due to juvenile diabetes.

Sriramulu had three children: Lakshmi Narasamma, Janaki, alias Chanti, and Hanuman. All three were no more by now.

Narayana Rao, Surya Varalaxmi

Nageswara Rao (the blogger’s father) had seven children – Janakiram, Narayana Rao, Lakshmi Narasimha Rao, Manga, Vijaya Lakshmi, Sumathi and Madhusudhana Rao. Now, Manga, Narayana Rao and Vijaya Lakshmi were no more.

Satyanarayana had two daughters. His wife was

a cook and supported the family with her meagre income While the elder daughter disappeared from the town mysteriously, the younger one eked out her living by begging after a broken marriage. All four died a forlorn death in their eighties. Venkateswara Rao had five children – two daughters and three sons: Sujatha,

Sulochana, Lakshmi Narasimha Rao, Santharam and Muralikrishna. Lakshmi Narasimha Rao died due to cardiac arrest in his early fifties.

Madan Mohan, Sumathi

Murali Krishna, Kamakshi Devi

Fifth Generation

Janakiram has three sons: Venkata Nageswara Sarma, Krishna Kishore and Srikanth.

Narayana Rao has two children – a son and a daughter: Sridhar and Sri Sudha. They had their early schooling in Madras. Later they migrated to the United Kingdom. Narayana Rao's son Sridhar married Pallavi, born in Ireland and settled in the U.K. But she had her roots in Machilipatnam. Sri Sudha, alias Bonny settled in the U.S.A. Her husband Uppuluri Venkateswara Rao had his moorings in Kakinada, Andhra Pradesh, India.

Sri Sudha, Uppaluri Venkatesh

I, Lakshmi Narasimha Rao, the blogger, have two sons, Sivakumar and Vishnuvardhan.  My elder son was graduated from Madras University, while my younger one obtained his degree from Usmania University. Both Siva and Vishnu settled in Hyderabad, Telangana

.Madhusudhana Rao has a son and daughter, Krishna Praveen and Sravani, respectively.

Sumathi has three children, Madhavi, Sandhya and Prasanth. Please pardon me for stepping out of the timeline for the time being. I will return to the mainstream shortly.

We Jonnalagaddas entered into matrimonial alliances with reputed surnames as Yadavalli, Malladi, Bulusu, Pillalamarri, Maddur, Sishtla, Chitta, Uppaluri, Pisupati, Sarva etc. My grandfather Lakshmi Narayana paid four hundred rupees KANYASULKAM (dowry to the bride), and Janakamma was married to him when she was four years old.

Sriramulu arranged the marriage of his elder daughter Lakshmi Narasamma with Malladi Ramamurthi, a well-established gentleman of Anandatheertha Agraharam, Guntur town. Among Lakshmi Narasamma’s children, her son Malladi Venkeswara Sarma, alias Venkati, now in his late seventies, was a highly successful person, holding many posts in the government and private sector as well, and has been a good friend of mine.

        Sridhar, Pallavi

Siva Kumar, Padmaja

Vishnuvardhan, Sarada

His younger daughter Janaki alias Chanti was given in marriage to Josyula Chandrasekhar. The couple had no children. Hence, they adopted Sriramulu's grandson (son's son). The details of Hanuman's marriage were not available.

My father, Nageswara Rao, tied the nuptial knot with Venkata Lakshmi, who was the nine-year-old daughter of Kuchibhotla Ramaseshaiah, a schoolteacher and purohit. By the time my father married my mother, it was the market of the bridegrooms, and my father was paid a grand dowry of six hundred rupees and a silver vessel as a customary gift to my paternal aunt Rukmini, called 'AADAPADUCHU LAMCHANAM' in Telugu.

Again Alliance With The Yadavallis

Venkateswara Rao married Susila, the elder sister of Yadavalli Chakradhara Rao, and had five children – Sujatha, Sulochana, Lakshmi Narasimha Rao, Santharam and Venkata Muralikrishna. Muralikshina married Kamakshi Devi, daughter of Sivalenka Mallikarjuna Rao. Lakshmi Narasimha Rao and Santharam have no male issues.

Santharam and Mrs Santharam

They have two daughters each: Radhika, Chandrika, Sravani and Sravanti. Venkata Muralikrishna has a son, Bhargav, and a daughter, Madhuri.

Once More, An Alliance With The Yadavallis

In the fourth generation of our Jonnalagaddas, we again entered into a matrimonial alliance with the Yadavallis. when my younger sister Sumathi was given in marriage to Yadavalli Madan Mohan, son of Yadavalli Chakradhara Rao.

Nageswara Rao’s elder son, Janakiram, married his maternal cousin Anasuya, the eldest daughter of Kuchibhotla Venkatapaiah. Younger son Narayana Rao (who was no more now) married Surya Varalakshmi, daughter of Dr Sarva Adisesha Sarma.

The fourth son, Madhusudhana Rao. married Venkata Krishna Bharathi, daughter of the late Sishtla Sitaramaiah, an astrologer at the royal court of Bobbili.

Now I return to the timeline again.

Sixth Generation

Janakiram has three sons, Venkata Nageswara Sarma, Krishna Kistore and Srikanth. Naheswara Sarma has two daughters, and Krishna Kishore has a son and daughter, Manikanta and Niharika. Srikanth has three daughters.

Narayana Rao has a son Sridhar and daughter Sri Sudha. Sridhar has two daughters, Maya and Arya.

I, the blogger, have named my sons after Lord Siva and Lord Vishnu, as I wanted to live up to the spirit of a Smartha Brahmin. When the Saivites and the Vaishnavites were cutting each other's throats and there was terrific bloodshed on the streets in the Middle Ages, the Smartha tradition, which maintains that both Lord Siva and Lord Vishnu are one and the same, originated. Hence, my sons are Sivakumar and Vishnuvardhan. While the elder one married Padmaja, daughter of Cherukuri Muralikrishna, and the younger one was wedded to Sarada, daughter of Tirumala Srinivasulu. Both my sons have two daughters each – Shruti, Swetha, Anvita and Ananya, respectively.

  

Anvita and Ananya

Swetha, Sruthi

Sravani, Sravanti

  

Brother Bhargav, Sister Madhuri  

In the sixth generation of our Jonnalagaddas, Muralikrishna’s son and Krishna Kishore’s son Manikanta are the only ray of hope for continuing our pedigree further since all other Jonnalagaddas of the sixth generation are girls. Their surnames are bound to change when they get married to boys of other surnames. 

Madhuri Jonnalagadda, now Madhuri Kamaraju, has been happily married to Sandeep Kamaraju, and the couple were blessed with a boy, Abhijit Krishna. They are settled in Georgia, Atlanta, in the US.

Seventh Generation - ... ?

I pray to God for a male issue to Muralikrishna’s son Bhargav and Krishna Kishore's son Manikanta so that the seventh generation of our Jonnalagaddas will continue unhindered when they get married, sooner or later.

So far, this is our genealogy in a nutshell. My failing memory might have left some names of our kith and kin and their achievements among our Jonnalagaddas. If such forgotten people send me their biographical details, I shall insert them humbly. 

The Jonnalagaddas of Vaidiki Velanadu Brahmins of Kaundinyasa gothra are not to be confused with those of the Haridasa gothra of the same surname and sect. 

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