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 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

Introduction

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. 

The First Generation

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

Sriramulu was our great-grandfather, and 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 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. Gopalakrishna was a poet and writer and penned some books, but they did not go to print except for a Sataka, published by his son, Yadavalli Narasimha Rao. He had an imposing personality with a grey bushy moustache. The last one among the three Yadavalli brothers, Prakasam, 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        

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 school teacher 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.

My two sons, Sivakumar and Vishnu Vardhan, married Padmaja, daughter of Cherukuri Muralikrishna, and Vishnu Vardhan 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. 

                                            ***********************************

 My First Photograph

The Blogger's First
 Photograph

Our house was enveloped in a festive atmosphere. Everybody in the house was busy. Our father was telling time and again, “Chimbi, get ready, quick.” Our manservant Balakrishnan was also running here and there, calling me, “chinna saami seegram wango" (little sir, come quick)

My mother was also running after me to catch me for a head bath, which I tried to avoid as far as possible because the sheekai shampoo with which my mother washed my long hair irritated my eyes.

She caught hold of me at last and dragged me into the bathroom, though I struggled to get free.

She dried my hair and plaited my hair in the front of my head and left the remaining hair loose at the nape of my neck. She decorated colourful flowers on my plaited hair.

Next it was the job of Balakrishnan and his sister Radhqa to dress me up. I was put into black half-knickers, and the tapes fastened across my shoulder so that the knickers would not slip down.

It was that memorable day when I was to be photographed for the first time in my five years of life. I had to be photographed on that day at any cost because we were to visit Tirupati for my tonsuring ceremony before having a darshan of Lord Venkateswara. Of the seven holy hills. 

My older brothers Janakiram and Narayana Rao, who were fourteen and twelve years of age by then, were also dressed in their best clothes.

My father ordered Balakrishnan to lock the doors properly and took out our Baby Austin car from the garage.

We trooped to Vadivelu Photo Studio in Pondy Bazar in our car.

The photographer of the studio accorded us a royal welcome. He seated me on a wooden seat and enveloped himself in a huge black cloth. "Smile!" he screamed from the black mask.

I gave an ear-to-ear smile displaying my uneven teeth, some of which had recently fallen.

The photographer must have been shocked. Maybe he saw the gateway of a huge cave with scattered little boulders when I opened my mouth. “Little sir” hold your mouth as tight as possible," he cried impatiently from the black mask.

I was aware that I looked ugly with a wide smile. 

I pressed my lips together as tightly as possible.

It was a five-minute nightmare.

After our return from the photo studio, my little brain was tormented with the thoughts of the outcome of my photo. I could neither eat well nor sleep well. Three days elapsed with that state of mind.

Finally came the day I had been waiting for.

After our return from Tirupati, I was happy to see my first photograph, which came out good.

Looking at my photograph with pride, I gave a wide-open-mouthed laugh.

 Our Alcoholic Servant Murugan

Murugan was the black sheep among our servants Annasaami, his wife Govindammal, their son Balakrishnan and his sister Radha. Balakrishnan married Radha’s daughter Chinnaponnu, his niece.

The boozer servant in question, Murugan, was married to Radha. Murugan was not our regular servant. He was an odd-job servant.

Our father built a big hut in the large courtyard of our house where all our servants lived.

Murugan used to drink a lot when he was off his job. Quarrels used to take place when Murugan was in an inebriated condition.

Our father had not bothered usually about the din they would make then. But our father would shout at Murugan if he had turned up for any job when drunk.

When our father wanted him to get lost and not to turn up again, he would weep like a woman. He would show his belly and say, “Vaithu mele adikade, Saami… Muduvu mele adi, Saami. (Sir, don’t hit my stomach. Hit on my back).

Our father’s heart melted down immediately. He would take pity on Murugu and deliver a long sermon to him about the evils of drinking.

Our father’s sermon would not last long. Soon he would fall into his bad ways again.

One day my father summoned him to do an errand. He was inebriated as usual. Before my father began his usual sermon about the evils of drinking, Murugal collapsed at my father’s feet. He was panting for breath. 

My father was alarmed at his health condition. He did not waste a single minute. He took out his Baby Austin car and seated him on the back seat, his mother Govindammal and wife Radha sitting beside him, weeping.

My father rushed him to the government. general hospital opposite to the Madras Central Station. My father spoke to the hepatologist there and got Murugan admitted into the hospital.

Murugan's health condition deteriorated day by day despite the best treatment being provided at the hospital.

One day an ambulance brought him home from the hospital. His kith and kin were crying inconsolably. Our father was handed over the discharge summary of the patient by Balakrishnan, Murugan’s brother-in-law, where the hepatologist said the patient in question was terminally ill and there was progressive failure of his liver due to excessive drinking. “Doctor saar, en magan pozhakka maatenaa. Asupathiri doctor sonnar (Doctor, sir, the hospital doctor said that my son will not live)," Govindammal cried.

My father sympathised with Murugan’s mother and wife. But his sympathy did not stop at formal consolation or a few rupees of money. He sat on the brittled ancient Ayurvedic textbooks, stuffed in an almirah in his study.  

The next day, he ordered Balakrishnan to dig a four-foot pit in the backyard of our house and incinerated some herbs in it. After the PUTAM was over, he treated Murugan with those Ayurvedic herbs. At the same time, he had taken care to administer the prescribed allopathic drugs too.

Two months passed by. Murugan began to put up weight. A month later he could walk briskly.

One day after his rebirth he touched my father's feet and promised that he would never touch spirits again. He kept his word. My father was very pleased with him and appointed him a full-time servant.

Annasaami, Govindammal, Balakrishnan, Chinnaponnu, Radha and Murugan served our family till my parents passed away. Their memories linger on to date.

 My Sister Turns Into a Crow

Jonnalagadda Vijaya

Please don’t raise your brow either in disbelief or in scepticism. Yes, my younger sister turned herself into a crow. But don’t jump to the last paragraph and spoil the tempo of my narration. Please hold your breath in suspense till the last. It is a short piece only.

My sister Vijayalakshmi was born a healthy baby and grew up into a lively girl till she was two years old.

She ate well and played like any other girl of her age till then.     Thenceforth, her life began to take strange turns. On a bad day she refused to eat cooked rice. When she was spoonfed cooked rice, she did not open her mouth. She said that it was not a morsel of cooked rice but a swarm of ants.

No amount of logic could convince her little brain that it was cooked rice only.

My father, being a doctor, took her to child psychologists They tried their best to diagnose her problem and treat it in vain.

Then my father took her to the Parthasarathi Temple in Triplicane, Madras, on my mother’s suggestion, and met the chief priest there. He explained to him about the problem of my little sister.

The priest recited some mantras and tied a talisman around her neck. He also advised on Ayush Homam (a ritual for longevity).

Later there was considerable improvement. Now she stopped seeing swarms of ants in the cooked rice and started eating as usual.

But alas! She began to grow into a dullard, contrary to our expectations. Her learning skills were impaired. She always stuttered in her speech.

Her formal schooling was stopped at fourth grade as a result of these problems. She was very lean and short too.

To add to her woes, she got primary complex (childhood tuberculosis) when she was twelve years old which was successfully treated by my doctor brother. 

But in spite of all these shortcomings, she developed into a practical woman. She was very shrewd in day-to-day affairs. She counted currency notes correctly and bombarded the maidservant when the latter scrubbed the vessels clumsily. She was also very alert when the milk vendor tried to mislead her about the monthly account. 

My parents tried in vain to secure a matrimonial alliance for her. But, unfortunately, her horoscope did not match tthat of any groom. Yet, the astrologers who scrutinised her horoscope assured my parents that my sister would live a decent life and there were even chances of her going abroad.

She developed an affinity with my brother's family and reared their children as her own. She went to England twice to spend her time with my brother’s family.

But times changed as she began to grow old. She developed rheumatoid arthritis, which entered into her bloodstream and gradually found its way into her heart. The rheumatologist who treated her said her days were numbered.

This disease gave her uncontrollable stomach aches. The gastroenterologists, without bothering about her rheumatoid arthritis,  diagnosed that she suffered with gastric problems and treated her accordingly. 

After a short struggle and convulsions, she breathed her last. When life was about to ebb out of her body, she enquired about the welfare of my late brother’s children feebly. These were the last words she uttered. 

I performed her last rites with tear-filled eyes.

Now I come to the beginning of this piece. when I said that my sister turned herself into a crow. Yet it was true. In Hindu religion, on the 12th day of death ceremony and all subsequent death ceremonies on each annual death day, the departed soul takes the form of a crow (vayasa rupena) to partake the offering of a moong dhal (green gramme) morsel.

Now, on the day of the death ceremony of the year, a crow, considered to be the soul of my sister, would appear at the door of the house where my late brother's family resides and partake of the offering of a morsel of moong dhal.

Then the crow would gaze at the family members of my late brother, shedding tears. The ornithologists say that crows do not have tears of emotion. But this crow is not an ordinary crow. It's my sister.