Samskara

As she recalled her mother’s words, in the darkness she took up the lantern, brought the thin mattresses, and wondered softly whether she should call out to the Acharya as “Chandri.” Then, suddenly, she was struck by the thought that she was now thirty, and even after living with Narayanappa for ten years, she had not borne a child. She lamented this. If she had a son, she could have made him a great musician. If she had a daughter, she could have taught her Bharatanatyam. She had everything, and yet she had nothing—she sat watching the tiny birds that flitted and settled on the trees.

## Chapter Eight

Dasacharya was afraid that if he did not eat soon, he would die. The smell of the gruel boiling for the children was different, like ghee poured onto burning fire. He swallowed, then spat, then swallowed again—finally, unable to bear it, he got up and went out. Without being seen by anyone, he descended to the Tungabhadra in the scorching sun and bathed, then walked towards Parijatapura. He stood in the shade of the moneylender Manjayya’s verandah. How could he ask for food? Never in his life had he touched water in the houses of this lower row. And yet, he was a Brahmin who must fill his belly for the sake of Brahminhood. What would happen if the others found out? But before he could think further, his feet had already carried him to stand before Manjayya, who was eating avalakki with salted pickle.

“Oh, come, come, Acharya! What brings you here at this hour? Has Praneshacharya come to any decision yet—what’s the story? Poor man, unless that corpse is removed, none of you can eat, isn’t it? Sit, please, rest yourself…”

Let it be, let her put the garland on the Acharya,” Manjayya suggested.

Dasacharya stood there, staring at the uppittu, lost and absent-minded. Manjayya looked at him with compassion.

“Is your head spinning, Acharya? Shall I have some panaka brought for you?”

Dasacharya neither nodded nor shook his head. He simply sat cross-legged on the mat that had been spread, deep in thought. How, how could he ask? How to bring himself to speak? He summoned his courage and began to circle around the subject with words. Manjayya, meanwhile, was eating the uppittu, listening.

“The way our people behaved here yesterday, Manjayya, I did not like it at all.”

“Tut, tut, you mustn’t say such things,” Manjayya replied, for the sake of courtesy.

“If you look at it, Manjayya, in this Kali Yuga, how many true Brahmins are there, tell me?”

“I agree, I agree, Acharya, the times have gone bad—truly.”

“Because—tell me, Manjayya, among all the Brahmins, who is less in observance and discipline than you? When you said, ‘I will perform the samskara without taking any money,’ the Garuda and Lakshmana crows of our agrahara started quarreling over gold…”

“Ayyo, ayyo, isn’t it so?” Manjayya replied, floating above it all, unwilling to tie himself to