Greentext · 4 minThe Name Under The Tamarind

>be me, 11 years

>summer 1997, ammamma's village near tenali

>last bus from tenali drops you at the cement shelter

>then two kilometres of cart road to the village

>halfway on that road there is a tamarind tree

>very old, very wide, roots coming out of the ground like elbows

>no house near it, only fields

>every child in that village knows one thing about that tree

>after the sun goes, you do not walk under it

>ammamma told me the first summer i came

>"something sits in that tree"

>"in the day it sleeps"

>"in the evening it watches the road"

>"if it calls your name, you do not answer"

>"you do not turn"

>"you keep walking and you say rama rama"

>she said it while picking stones from the rice

>i asked what it was

>"who knows" she said

>"something that was not finished"

>my cousin bujji is with me that summer

>he is 13, from guntur, he has seen everything

>he says it is a story to keep children from the tamarind

>"the pods on that tree are the best in the district" he says

>"that is why they made a ghost"

>tatayya used to laugh at it also

>tatayya used to walk that road every night at eight

>with a torch and his towel on the shoulder

>coming back from the panchayat office

>he said the tree was his friend

>he said "it never once called me"

>tatayya died in the october before that summer

>first summer in that house without him

>his chair is still on the verandah

>nobody sits in it

>his towel is still on the nail

>ammamma has not moved it

>tatayya was the only person who called me by my full name

>my real name is venkata subrahmanyam

>after his father

>everybody calls me chinna

>amma, nanna, ammamma, school, everybody

>only tatayya, every time, the whole thing

>"venkata subrahmanyam, come and eat"

>"venkata subrahmanyam, bring my spectacles"

>it took him four seconds to say it

>he never shortened it once

>bujji has a plan

>the tamarind is ripe, brown pods hanging low

>"we go at seven, we fill the shirt, we come back"

>"seven is not night" he says

>"seven is evening"

>i say ammamma will kill us

>he says ammamma will be at the temple till eight

>it is the ekadasi bhajan

>so at quarter to seven we go

>sky is orange, then purple

>crickets start on both sides of the road

>the tree is black against the sky when we reach

>bigger than in the day

>bujji climbs the low branch

>i stand below with my shirt held out like a bag

>he shakes, pods fall, i collect

>he is laughing

>"see, nothing" he says

>"your ammamma's ghost has gone to the bhajan also"

>i am laughing a little also

>then it is dark

>very fast, like somebody switched it off

>bujji is coming down

>one foot on the root

>and from inside the tree

>from up, from the dark part

>somebody says my name

>not chinna

>"venkata subrahmanyam"

>slow

>the whole thing

>four seconds

>bujji is looking at me

>so he heard it also

>he is not laughing

>i do not answer

>i do not turn

>i do not say rama rama also, i forgot

>i just run

>pods falling out of my shirt the whole road

>bujji running behind me

>we do not stop till the village well

>we do not talk

>ammamma comes back from the bhajan at quarter past eight

>she sees our faces

>she sees the two pods still stuck in my shirt

>she does not shout

>"did it call" she asks

>bujji says "no"

>i say "it called me venkata subrahmanyam"

>ammamma stops

>she was taking off her slippers, she stops with one on

>she looks at tatayya's chair for a long time

>then she goes inside

>she does not say anything that night

>next evening at six

>she takes a lamp, some turmeric, and tatayya's towel from the nail

>she walks to the tree

>alone, she said do not follow

>we followed till the culvert

>she ties the towel on the low branch

>she lights the lamp at the root

>she sits there till the lamp finishes

>talking

>we could not hear what

>bujji says it was a bird

>there is a bird that copies sounds he says

>he said it for many years

>he has never once said it in front of ammamma

>i do not know what was in that tree

>i was 11, it was dark, i ran

>i know ammamma went every evening that summer

>i know the nail at home stayed empty

>and when i went back next year the towel was still on the branch

>grey by then

>and i walked under it at seven o clock

>and i waited a little