Barrister Parvateesam

Thanking you all for having listened to my insipid speech with such patience and attention, I concluded my address with heartfelt gratitude. Uttering a solemn “Vande Mataram” and bowing, I sank into my chair, feeling as if I had accomplished some great feat, while the audience’s applause thundered around me.

Once the applause had died down, the president of the gathering rose and, on behalf of the audience, expressed their delight and blessings for my grand oration, thus bringing the proceedings to a close. Afterwards, the organizers and the secretary of the Lord Council too conveyed their appreciation and gratitude, formally ending the meeting.

When the hustle and bustle of Narsapur had finally subsided, for about a week, students, teachers, lawyers—whoever found the time—would come to chat with me, ask about my experiences there, and then take their leave. In this manner, I managed to while away some time. But gradually, even this pastime faded away. With nothing to occupy me, I would go to the fields, but there, not knowing how to converse with the workers or get any work done, and at a complete loss, after two days I decided I must go somewhere—anywhere—for a change.

Since returning from abroad, that is, from foreign lands, I had not seen any of my extended family. Not far from Narsapur, in a small village, lived my maternal aunt. Curious to see her, I told my mother and set off early in the morning to visit.

It was a remote village, with very little in the way of civilization. Someone had informed the villagers that I was coming. The moment they heard this, the entire village poured out onto the street. Especially the womenfolk—eager to see what a man who had crossed the seas looked like. Did he, too, turn as fair as a white sahib? What did he wear? Did he dress like us, in a dhoti, or had he adopted the sahib’s style with suit, hat, and boots? Did he speak our language like us, or had he forgotten his mother tongue and now spoke only English? All sorts of wild questions plagued their minds, and they hoped that by seeing me, at least some of their doubts would be put to rest.

Mokkapati Narasimha Shastri,

Meanwhile, everyone was eagerly awaiting my return, placing bets on how much my appearance and speech might have changed. Whether someone actually told him or not, a solid rumor had reached him that I had married a lady from the zamindar’s family in the Rayalaseema region, brought her here, and hidden her away in Madras. Apparently, some clever fellow had started this gossip, and so everyone was even more anxious for my arrival. Who knows, perhaps that lady herself might accompany me! Would she be fair-skinned? Or, after marrying an Indian, had her complexion faded a little? How would she dress? Would she be just like our own women, or completely different? In any case, the young men’s hearts were pounding