Once again, I had to spend two or three months in utter idleness. Nothing appealed to me. I had no inclination to do anything. I didn’t even feel like reading a book. My body was in one place, my mind in another—such was my condition. Now and then, I would go to the fields. There, as I gazed at the lush green paddy fields, the banks of the lake, the ridges between the fields, the flowering plants, and the blossoming creepers, my mind would settle there, while I wandered off to who knows where. I used to wonder, “What madness is this?” Is this experience common to all, or is it my unique fate? I would ponder.

All the dreams I had as a child, all the resolutions I made abroad—once this village girl came into my life, everything turned upside down. She settled into my heart, became my everything, and made herself at home. What a strange thing! Until then, whenever I read about the pangs of separation between heroes and heroines in poetry and epics, they always seemed exaggerated, even a bit comical. Now, though I am not a hero, nor do I possess their delicate sensibilities, I am surprised to find such feelings, such pain, arising in me as well.

To pass the time, I would occasionally visit Narsapur. There, the young men at the bar enrolled me as a member of their club and would invite me to come by now and then. When I went there, I would while away the hours with chatter and games, but upon returning home, everything reverted to its usual state.

While I was in this state of confusion, one afternoon, as I was eating some fruit—

“Well, what are you doing? I have good news for you. Your wife has come of age. The stars and all are favorable, it seems. This evening or tomorrow morning, someone will come to take you there. Your elder brother will arrange for your transport. There’s no escape,” my mother said, and I could even hear the smile in her voice.

As soon as I heard this auspicious news, I was overcome with an inexplicable joy. Though I was sitting, I felt as if I were floating. “Did you hear, boy?” she said, coming over to me with great delight to share the news.

The words, spoken in joy, fell upon my ears. Determined not to let my happiness show, I suppressed it deep within and asked, “Why all this commotion and excitement, mother? Isn’t this what happens to every woman after she is born? You only waited this long for a daughter-in-law, but did you think things would remain the same even after the wedding?” I said this as if I knew nothing.

“Oh, enough of your nonsense! You and your prattle! She’s grown up now. My daughter-in-law is coming home. I’m so happy, I just want to see her walking around the house like Goddess Mahalakshmi herself.”

“Well then, mother, let me ask you something, if you don’t mind. Is she more beautiful than you? To my eyes, you look just like Goddess Parvati herself. Is Mahalakshmi more beautiful than Parvati, mother?”

“Your doubts are endless! No matter how old you get, you never change. Once she comes here, I’ll know who’s more beautiful—no need for you to tell me. You should come with me tomorrow, you hear?”

“Why should I come, mother? If I wander into that crowd of women and end up becoming one myself, it’ll be a disaster,” I replied.

She laughed, saying, “You’re a madman! Always the same!” and bustled away.

Just as my father had predicted, by late evening, a car arrived from Bhimavaram. In it came a relative from my aunt’s side, along with his wife, to take my mother with them. My mother hurriedly cooked, served them dinner, and arranged their beds for the night. They were to leave at dawn. They tried very hard to persuade me to come along as well. I flatly refused. I said I had urgent work in Narsapur in the morning. When they couldn’t get a proper answer from me, they finally gave up and went to bed. I too lay down.

The others fell asleep in an instant, but for me, sleep vanished from that very moment. Countless thoughts began swirling in my mind like whirlpools. I couldn’t have explained a single one of them, even if you’d asked.

At three in the morning, I got up, tidied up all the household chores...

...then, my mother came and arranged hot water for the relatives’ bath and all such necessities. Once they had finished their ablutions and breakfast, they got ready for their journey.

Once again, my uncle and aunt insisted, over and over, that I should at least wake up properly and accompany them, even if only for a short distance. They pleaded so much that I almost felt compelled. But I explained to them that I didn’t have the time to come now, and promised I would visit them at leisure another time, and sent them off. In the morning, I told my father that I had work in Narsapur and slipped away neatly. Poor father, he had to cook for himself and struggle.

On the third day, at sunrise, my mother returned from Bhimavaram by car. Along with her came my aunt’s fifteen-year-old son to help. By then, my father had already left for the fields. I was in the midst of brushing my teeth when I heard the sound of the car and came out into the street. The moment I opened the door and saw my mother standing before me, my heart was filled with relief. If just two days apart made me feel like this, how did I ever manage to spend three years abroad, away from my mother? That very thought struck me, and my heart skipped a beat.

“My dear, I’ve come back,” she said. “They insisted so much that