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    Nana Nadi

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    GRK Murty
    Seethayya’s nanna passed away. It is not that Seethayya is a kid. Yet, Seethayya, though in his thirties and having fathered four children, is overwhelmed by sorrow with the passing away of his nanna. Like a kid, he cried terribly in fits. The minute it dawned that his father is no more with him to share his agonies and ecstasies, he felt alone in the world—felt a void in his heart, an emptiness in life.

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    Nana Nadi

    Uploaded by

    GRK Murty
    564 views8 pages
    Seethayya’s nanna passed away. It is not that Seethayya is a kid. Yet, Seethayya, though in his thirties and having fathered four children, is overwhelmed by sorrow with the passing away of his nanna. Like a kid, he cried terribly in fits. The minute it dawned that his father is no more with him to share his agonies and ecstasies, he felt alone in the world—felt a void in his heart, an emptiness in life.

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    Seethayya’s nanna passed away. It is not that Seethayya is a kid. Yet, Seethayya, though in his thirties and having fathered four children, is overwhelmed by sorrow with the passing away of his nanna. Like a kid, he cried terribly in fits. The minute it dawned that his father is no more with him to share his agonies and ecstasies, he felt alone in the world—felt a void in his heart, an emptiness in life.

    Copyright:

    Attribution Non-Commercial (BY-NC)
    Download as PDF, TXT or read online from Scribd
    Download as pdf or txt
    564 views8 pages

    Nana Nadi

    Uploaded by

    GRK Murty
    Seethayya’s nanna passed away. It is not that Seethayya is a kid. Yet, Seethayya, though in his thirties and having fathered four children, is overwhelmed by sorrow with the passing away of his nanna. Like a kid, he cried terribly in fits. The minute it dawned that his father is no more with him to share his agonies and ecstasies, he felt alone in the world—felt a void in his heart, an emptiness in life.

    Copyright:

    Attribution Non-Commercial (BY-NC)
    Download as PDF, TXT or read online from Scribd
    Download as pdf or txt
    of 8

    Nanna, Nadi

    (Daddy, River)

    Original in Telugu:
    Satyam Sankaramanchi

    Translator:
    GRK Murty
    Satyam Sankaramanchi
    [1937-1987]

    A well-known Telugu writer, was a native of Amaravati in Guntur District, Andhra


    Pradesh, India. This ancient flourishing town on the banks of the Krishna was
    given a hagiographic portrayal by Sankaramanchi in his famous short story series
    Amaravati Kathalu. He captures the glory of this sacred town through a series of
    heartwarming, anecdotal stories about its people—the palanquin bearer, the
    tailor, the village merchant, the temple priest, the fishermen, the newly-weds,
    the rascals, the school teacher, the bus driver and so on. These stories were first
    published in the Andhra Jyoti Weekly. The series ran for two years. The 101 stories
    in this collection—a work of fiction—are inspired by incidents and folk stories
    related to Amaravathi. Amaravati Kathalu has been acclaimed as one of the
    best Telugu short story collections of the 20th century. The book also won the
    Andhra Sahitya Academy award.

    The Translator gratefully acknowledges the permission granted by Sri Sankaramanchi


    Ravi Sankar Garu, S/o the author for translating the story.
    Seethayya’s nanna1 passed away.

    It is not that Seethayya is a kid. Yet, Seethayya, though in his thirties


    and having fathered four children, is overwhelmed by sorrow with
    the passing away of his nanna. Like a kid, he cried terribly in fits. The
    minute it dawned that his father is no more with him to share his
    agonies and ecstasies, he felt alone in the world—felt a void in his
    heart, an emptiness in life.

    Nanna is no more.

    Nanna, who was there yesterday, is not there today. Nanna—who,


    bathing at dawn, wrapping himself in a neatly washed dhoti, used to
    sit everyday in the verandah leaning against the pillar and meditate
    on god—is no more. There is no nanna for him to say, “I shall return
    soon from the market,” while going out. Today, the pillar in the
    verandah is standing alone, all in sadness.

    Nanna, of what time?

    Nanna—who, during childhood, when Seethayya was three years old,


    lying flat on the floor, keeping him standing on his bosom by holding
    his tiny hands, making him recite, “Tharangam, tharangam,
    thandavakrishna tharangam2,” while he was merrily pounding him on
    his bosom with his feet, and rejoicing at it, encouraged him to stamp
    on his bosom again and again, hugging him fondly and kissing him
    longingly—is no more. Nanna, who, as Seethayya had grown a little
    farther, took him to the Krishna river and placing him on its bank
    bathed him, scrubbing all over his body, is no more. Nanna, who,
    when he insisted on swimming, put him in the water and as he
    splashed his hands in water held his belt in the hand, and taught him
    swimming, is not there today. As his nanna then swam across the
    river holding a wooden plank, he, lying on the plank, used to go to
    the middle of the river. It was his nanna who taught him how to
    navigate through whirlpools, how to stroke in strong currents, how
    to avoid gushing water, and how to swim with his hands while lying
    on his back in the Krishna.1

    Nanna got new knickers and shirt stitched for him, distributed sweets
    to fellow students, at the time of his admission to school, and then

    ____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

    1 Nanna—daddy; traditional way of addressing father.


    2 Tharangam, tharangam, thandavakrishna tharangam—a rhyme, usually sung by elders while playing with kids,
    mostly to cheer them and in turn cheer themselves.
    3 Lakshmidevi—Hindu goddess of wealth; a good-looking and graceful young lady is traditionally adored by
    comparing her to goddess Lakshmi.
    4 Sri Ramudu—Lord Rama, known as an icon of Dharma; men with good bearing are normally compared with him.
    5 Tulasamma—Mother Tulasi! Tulasi (Ocimum sanctum), holy basil, a plant revered by Hindus.
    6 Amma—mother.
    7 Pasupu, Kumkum—turmeric powder, crimson powder; together, both are traditionally revered by Hindu women;
    its significance for traditional women can be gauged from the fact that its usage by widowed women is prohibited.
    8 Bottu—the vermilion dot on the forehead of women; traditionally, widowed women are barred from its usage.
    handed him over to the teacher. By noon worrying, “Kid has not
    come home yet,” nanna, without even having his lunch, would come
    forward to meet him and fearing “his feet might burn in sun,” lifting
    him on to his shoulders, used to get him back home. In the nights,
    placing him along his side in the bed, nanna, making him tell
    everything that had been taught in the school, making him recite the
    poems again, used to put him to sleep by patting. As he grew up,
    nanna showing him their fields, taught him ploughing, transplanting
    crops; and thereafter handing over the farming to him, went around
    the village telling everyone proudly, “Nothing to worry, my son can
    take care of everything.” Despite nanna passing on the lordship over
    everything to him, Seethayya was still a kid before him. Every trivial
    event he used to tell his nanna—“Today, we shall put labor for
    weeding in the farm nanna! Isn’t there too much of chilly in the
    coconut chutney, today, nanna?” Saying, “Dhobi is of late applying
    more indigo to clothes,” and setting right nanna’s dhoti, massaging
    his feet, pulling his fingers gently and fondly massaging all over his
    nanna’s body, Seethayya, like a child used to clasp nanna. Nanna
    listened to his every word. Hummed smilingly. As nanna thus
    hummed, he felt as though he was hugged close to his bosom and
    blessed by him.
    Who would now hum?

    Who would now caress his head?

    Someone from the relatives is saying, “Why, he had everything, he is


    the blessed one! Brought a Lakshmidevi-like3 daughter-in-law into his
    family. Seen three grandsons. Caressed a granddaughter. Handing
    over the lordship of the house to his Sri Ramudu-like4 son, passed
    away worriless. Maharaju!”

    These words could not console Seethayya. He has become fatherless,


    he wants his nanna! In the backyard, crying inconsolably, Seethayya’s
    mother faints. Regaining her consciousness, she walks to the
    Tulasamma5 and swoons on Tulasamma’s pot saying, “Amma6!
    painting you yellow everyday with turmeric paste and pasting saffron
    over it, I prayed to you! You snatched away my pasupu, kumkum7
    amma! Wasn’t there a bottu8 on my face ever since I was born? Can I
    see my face that has now become, sans bottu, an epitome of sadness
    in the mirror? How then can I show it to others?”
    Seethayya stares naively. He searches for his father all around the
    house. Someone else is comforting his four children. With the
    passing away of Nanna, he feels at once aged and old. Someone
    among the relatives hurries everyone uttering, “Lucky are those who
    passed away. Come on! Get up! A lot is on hand to do.” After
    performing nanna’s funeral rites, Seethayya comes to the Krishna for
    a bath. It’s the same Krishna! The Krishna in which his father bathed
    him! The Krishna in which his nanna made him swim, made him
    somersault. Saying, “drinking your water all through his life nanna
    passed away, I am also living by drinking your water, I need nanna,”
    Seethayya cries. Seethayya’s body is the Krishna. Seethayya’s breath
    is the Krishna. Seethayya’s blood is the Krishna. Seethayya’s ‘life’ is
    the Krishna. Seethayya’s tears are the Krishna, Krishna is mingling in
    the Krishna. Krishna is asking the Krishna for nanna.

    The Krishna is flowing fully. Listening to Seethayya’s words, it is


    flowing gently. Consolingly moving forward. Flowing away as a sigh.
    Flowing caressingly. Flowing away speedily as though time will not
    stop.

    The great stream, stretching and stretching, is flowing away.

    Humming, “Na … Na …” the stream is rushing away fast.


    Seethayya is saying, “Nanna! Nanna!”

    Listening to him, Krishna is rushing away saying, “Na … Na …”

    Saying, “Na … Na …” fresh water is flowing in.


    Whispering, “Na … Na …” it is moving away.

    Again fresh water, “Na … Na …” Again and again fresh water, “Na …
    Na …”

    The incoming and outgoing water is saying something to Seethayya.


    Heard, “Nanna! Nanna.” That’s not Seethayya’s call. Nor is it his tone.

    Whose tone? Whose call is it?

    Seethayya listens attentively. It is the call of his sons.

    Whispering, “Na … Na”, the water that flows down before him says
    to Seethayya: “Poor father, passed away. Natural! You’re pining for
    the nanna, who is no more. Remember, you are the nanna of your
    sons.”

    “Na … Na …” the Krishna gushes in and gushes out.

    ******

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