"What's this, dear? Has he been sitting near the mat all this time? He must be thinking we're somewhere far away," remarked one.

"How will you spend another twenty-four hours, boy?" asked another.

When someone came to offer ghee for the meal, yet another would say, "He's finished eating, don't force him again and again just because you think he looks frail."

When the sweets were served, someone else would protest, "Oh dear, please don't trouble him! He can't tolerate anything sweet at all, believe me!"

Thus, in all sorts of ways, with banter and laughter, they somehow made it seem as if the meal was finished. Once everyone had taken their betel leaves and gone their separate ways, even the relatives from Narsapuram—my aunt's people—left immediately. After that, all our extended family, with all the necessary commotion, household chores, last-minute packing, gathering the children, and everyone talking over each other, began preparing for the journey. There was as much bustle and noise as one could wish for, with trunks being packed for the trip. I had no idea what was happening, who was doing what, or what anyone was saying.

Since I thought the journey would begin only after dawn, I couldn't sit still in the midst of all this chaos at home. So, taking along a couple of young cousins, I wandered off towards our fields, chatting away. By the time we returned home, it was quite dark. My mother and the others were worried, wondering where I had disappeared to. The entire street was filled with bullock carts—two for every household. Some carts were already loaded with luggage. Some newlywed couples, each having been allotted their own cart, had even spread out their bedding inside, ready for the journey. Some of the elders, unable to grasp the excitement or perhaps having simply forgotten, were muttering, "How will this work, dear? At this rate, we'll need a hundred carts for ourselves!"

Still, it wasn’t enough.

Without any sense of shame or hesitation, they even spread out mattresses. Are these supposed to be benches, or are they birthing rooms? Costumes! Are these costumes or what?” Shouting thus, they began to raise such a commotion that the whole street echoed with their cries.

Amidst this chaos, I and the young fellows who had come with me managed to reach home. Even at the end of the street, those shouts were still audible to us. I had completely forgotten the present situation.

“What are these benches, man? What’s all this racket that can be heard from here to Narsapuram? What’s this birthing-room hullabaloo?” I asked.

“Why do you ask like that? In another half hour or so, or an hour at most, we have to set out for Bhimavaram, don’t we?” said one of the youngsters. Only then did my senses return.

“Are we leaving right now?” I asked anxiously, and dashed into the house. The moment my mother saw me, she came running—

“What is this, my boy? Where did