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 anyone’s harshness.

“One thing, just between you and me, Manjayya: the whole matter is this—after having the Garuda perform his magic and declaring that Narayanappa had gone astray, now, as a result, his own son has joined the military. And he has even seized poor Lakshmidevamma’s jewelry and coins…”

Though Manjayya was pleased, he said nothing.

“Now, to know who the true Brahmins are, this is the matter—”

Samskara

...I quarreled with him, but I bear no real grudge against Garuda. Does all sin truly burn away in the instant one performs the Panchamudradharana before the Guru once a year? I could never fully accept the way he tried to make you do what he himself would not. Say what you will, Manjayya, but a true Brahmin is our Praneshacharya. What radiance! What austerity! Tu, tu, tu, tu...”

“Indeed, indeed, indeed...” Manjayya agreed, and then asked, “Have you bathed, Acharya?”

A smile of relief spread across Dasacharya’s wrinkled face. “Oh yes, I bathed in the river before coming here,” he replied.

“In that case, please take something, Acharya.”

“I have no objection to accepting food from you. But if any of the mischief-makers in our agrahara come to know, won’t they put a blemish on my Brahminhood, Manjayya?”

Hearing Dasacharya’s anxious words, Manjayya drew close, delighted that another Brahmin from the agrahara had come to eat at his house, and whispered confidentially:

“Why should we tell anyone you ate here, Acharya? Come, come, wash your feet. Hey, girl, bring some uppittu...”

At the very mention of uppittu, Dasacharya’s stomach rumbled and churned with hunger. Yet, when it came to touching the cooked food, he hesitated:

“No, no, uppittu doesn’t agree with my health. Just a little plain avalakki, some jaggery, and milk will suffice,” he said.

Understanding, Manjayya smiled, brought water for the Acharya to wash his feet, and, seating him discreetly in the kitchen, personally served him milk, jaggery, avalakki, banana, and honey. As he ate, Dasacharya, who had arrived weary and deflated, began to swell with contentment.