[Again, this is the third of a loosely knit travelogue and reminiscences.]
I wonder how many of you are from villages. I mean, there are several second-generation villagers, and they generally spend their sankranti holidays in villages. Most probably they have seen only the quaint, charming side of the villages.
I lived most of life in my village, enough to remove any romanticism from it. It is a tough life and it is a difficult life. But after being away from that place so much, I naturally impart it the beauty that I was quietly accustomed to. That is why the poet says:
aspashTata andaanni aapaadistundiAnyway, as I said earlier, we crossed Godavari at Devipatnam. Next, we proceeded on to the next village. We were to go to a friend's place and impose ourselves on them. I took comfort in the fact, atithi [telugu/sanskrit word for guest] means the one that comes unannounced!
vishaadaanni aalapistundi
vilaapaagni ragilistundi
In my place, the villages are densely distributed. If I walk 1.5 mile on average, I get to a village with an average population is 1500, not too small. The upper Godavari, the population of villages is not that high. In the lower area, villages are more densely packed, I found out later.
We were received very cordially and made a fuss over. Giri had not seen his friend for 4 years, and while they talked of old times, I gently lazed under the tree. After dinner, we slept under just a roof with the moonlight shimmering over Godavari. We could see the river from the place we slept.
By the way, has anyone of you read Krishna Sastri? In one of the books he describes the moonlight as:
nidra maane vennelalu[ Free wheeling translation: The moonlight did not sleep. The sand dunes by the river, under the tree adjusted into beds for the sighing songs of the sleepless nights.]
nirNidra raaga rEyi
nit't'ooruchu tamaala vRksha moola
saikata vitardikOpari paanupu gaaga nErpad'e tananta.
Next morning we woke up to a quite and magical morning. The dew drops over the grass, walking bare feet over the grass is an exquisite feeling. Especially when you are going to the river to take a bath.
Giri told me that just ahead the river comes through the Papikondalu. It is narrow, but navigable between those mountains. The stretch from Bhadrachalam to Kunavaram is supposed to be very beautiful. I really wanted to go there, but we had no time.
Since it was January, the river was not too full. We walked down to the river and brushed our teeth with a neem twig. Giri got a soap also along with us to take a "proper" bath. He was ever so thoughtful. Next to him, I felt like a city-bred.
The river, in its magnanimity, accepts anything thrown into it, be it the coins thrown from the Rajahmundry bridge or the garbage from industries. Be it the dead bodies of failed lovers, or the devotees singing "gOdaavari gOdaavari anna kalgu tallee bhavya Subhambul!!". That morning, it accepted a 20 year old incurable romantic, along with a wonderful childhood friend, and in midst of kind hospitality of strangers.
Accepting that invitation, I took off my clothes, walked into the water and took a dip.
-- rama