Raja Rao - Collected Stories

Thus both in terms of language and of structure, I had to find my way, whatever the results. And I continued the adventure in lone desperation. These stories therefore have to be taken as the fruits of such an experiment stretching over almost three decades, their main interest being the intellectual excitement it all gave me, and which, I am told, it has given a few others. As such this selection I have made of these stories old and new.

Raja Rao

The serpent is a friend or an enemy. If he is a friend, he lives with you, guarding your riches, protecting your health, and making you holy, and if he is an enemy, he slips through the kitchen gutter or through the granary tiles, or better still through the byre’s eaves, and rushing towards you, he spreads his hood and bhoos, he flings himself at you and if he is a quarter-of-an-hour one you die in a quarter of an hour, a three-fourths-of-an-hour one, you die in three-fourths of an hour, and you may know it by the number of stripes he has on his hood, for one means a quarter of an hour, two half an hour, and three three-fourths, but beyond that you can never live; unless of course there is a barber in the village who is so learned in the mysteries of animal wisdom that he stands near, a jug of water in one hand and a cup of milk in the other, chanting weird things in hoarse voices, with strange contortions of the face, and then Lord Naga slips through the gutter, tiles or eaves, exactly as he went out, and coming near the barber like a whining dog before its frenzied master, touches the wounded man at exactly the spot where he has injected his venom, and sucking back the poison, spits it into the milk-cup, and like a dog too, slowly first, timidly, hushed, he creeps over the floor, and the further he goes the greater he takes strength, and when he is near the door, suddenly doubles his speed, and slips away — never to be seen again. The barber is paid three rupees, a shawl, and coconut with betel-leaves, and, for you, a happy life with your wife and children, not to speak of the studied care of an attentive mother-in-law, and the fitful grumblings of that widow of a sister who does not show even a wink of gratitude for all your kindness. But, never mind, for the important thing is that you are alive. May you live a thousand years!

But the story I’m going to tell you is the story of a serpent when he is a friend. It was recounted to me one monsoon evening last June, by Old Venkamma, Plantation Subbayya’s mother. May those who read this be beloved of Naga, King of Serpents, Destroyer of Ills.

Vision Rangappa, the first member of the family, belonged to Hosur near Mysore, and was of humble parents. His father and mother had died when he was hardly a boy of eighteen, and being left alone he accepted to be a pontifical Brahmin— the only job for one in his condition. People liked his simple nature, the deference in his movements, and the deep gravity of his voice; and whenever there were festivals or obsequies to be performed, they invited him to dinner. And when he had duly honoured them with his Brahmanic presence, and partaken of the holy meal, they gave him half an anna and a coconut, for his pontifical services. But nobody ever suspected that the money was never used, and that it went straight into a sacred copper pot, sealed with wax at the top, and with a slit in the lid. Six pies a week, or sometimes one anna a week, could become a large amount some day. For he secretly hoped that one auspicious morning he would leave this village and start towards Kashi, on pilgrimage. That was the reason why he had refused bride after bride, some beautiful as new-opened guavas, and others tender as April mangoes, and some too with dowries that could buy over a kingdom. ‘No,’ he would tell himself, ‘not till I have seen the beautiful Kashi-Vishweshwara with my own eyes. Once I have had that vision, I will wed a holy wife and live among my children and children’s children.’ Thus resolved, every day he calculated how much money there would be in the holy pot — it would be a sin to open it! — and every day he said to himself that in one year, in nine months, six months, in three months, or maybe in two fortnights, he would leave this little village and start off on his great pilgrimage.

And it so happened that there was a sudden epidemic which swept across the whole country, and nearly every house had one or two that disappeared into the realm of Brahma. So, Hosakere Rangappa — who was not yet Vision Rangappa — made nearly ten times the money in less than a month, and besides, as three rich families offered him a cow each in honour of the departed spirits, he determined to sell them back and pour gold into the holy pot. ‘What shall I do with these cattle?’ he explained to the donors, ‘I have neither field nor byre. I pray you, imagine you have given them to me, and pay me in return whatever gold you may think fit.’ And they paid him in pies of copper, rupees of silver, and mohurs of gold, and he put the copper and the silver and the gold into the holy pot. He lifted it up. It weighed enormously. It weighed as though there was nothing but solid gold in it. He went into the village temple, fell prostrate before the gods, and having asked the blessings of the whole village — who offered him again half an anna each to honour him — he left the village under a propitious star, when the sun was touching the middle of the temple spire. He was happy, he was going to Kashi. He would bathe in the Ganges and have the supreme vision of Kashi-Vishweshwara. And then, purified of all sin, he would return home a holy man. They would receive him with conches and trumpets, and with a gold-bordered parasol. . And as he walked along the road, all things seemed to wake up and weep that they too could not go along to Kashi with him. People passing in bullock carts— for there were no trains then — stopped and fell at his feet on seeing him garmented as one who goes to Kashi. They gave him rice and money, and some even gave him clothes. And thus Rangappa went from village to village, from town to town, towards the holy city of Kashi.

One day he arrived on the sparkling banks of the Hemavathy. He had his bath, did his evening meditation, and having drunk three handfuls of water, he went into the serai to sleep. And as he lay down he saw before him a bare, rocky hill, and the moonlight poured over it like a milk and butter libation. He was so overcome with fatigue that sleep crept gently over him. In the middle of the night he saw in his dream a beautiful vision. Kashi-Vishweshwara and his Holy Companion stood above his head, and spoke thus: ‘We have been touched by your indestructible devotion, and we show ourselves unto you that you may be protected from the blisters of pilgrim ploddings and the pinches of the weary spirit. You are sanctified by our holy presence. Your pilgrimage is now over. But on the top of the hill before you there raise unto us a temple that we may sprout through the earth and live for ever amidst unfailing worship. Your duty is to look after the temple, and generation after generation of your family will be beloved of us. May our blessings be on you.’ And the Holy Couple were lost through a choir of clouds.

The next morning when Rangappa had duly taken his bath in the river and had said his prayers, he went up the hill, feeling purified and exalted. On a rock at the very top, he saw the figure of Shiva as linga and Parvathi with her holy tress and crown, as though carved but yesternight, and yet how old, and shapeful and serene. He sat beside the Udbhavamurti, 1and meditated for twenty-one days without food, fruit or water. A shepherd boy discovered him, and rushing to the town cried out from end to end of the streets that a holy man had sat himself on the top of the hill in rapt meditation. People came with fruits and flowers and with many sweetly perfumed preparations of rice, pulses and flour, and placing them before him, begged of him to honour the humble ones with his blessings. He spoke unto them of his vision, and each one hurried down the hill and ran up back to the summit, bringing copper plates and silver plates and golden plates, and placed them before him. He touched the offerings, and asked them to build the temple. Four walls of stone rose above the rock before the sun had set, and Hosakere Rangappa — now become Vision Rangappa — sanctified the temple with hymns from the Atharva-veda. And the holy pot stood by the Holy Couple. It belonged to them.