"Why just sit at home? Go beg at a few houses and earn something! All you do is eat and sleep—useless! Your son left you with me and disappeared. He won’t escape my curse—he’ll be ruined! I married him despite his disability, but he betrayed me and ran off with another woman!" Varalakshmi, the daughter-in-law, lashed out at 75-year-old Lachamma.
"The sun is scorching, and I can't go outside. My whole body aches, and my chest shakes with a cough. I just lay down on the cot. Let me go out after sunset, dear," Lachamma pleaded.
"Your sly words won’t work on me. Get up and go to the terrace. I need to clean the house," she insisted.
The terrace wasn’t part of an upper floor—it was an open space without fencing. Varalakshmi had built the house just a year ago, but due to lack of money, she had left the fencing unfinished. Works, like, say, carpentry, and wiring were still pending. She had decided to complete them gradually as finance allowed.
Ordinarily, she wouldn’t have built a house at all. But after her daughter’s recent marriage, she wanted at least one proper room for her son-in-law to stay in when he visited. So, she had demolished their old hut and constructed the house.
Lachamma had become used to her daughter-in-law’s scoldings and taunts. Over time, she stopped reacting. When alone, she found solace in reminiscing about her past, often crying in silence and letting her grief consume her.
Lachamma had once owned ten acres of farmland and four huts. The property was earned by Lachamma and her husband together. After her husband passed away due to a lung disease, their two sons divided the land equally between themselves.
In the beginning, Lachamma stayed with each son for a month. Her elder son, who had four daughters, sold his share of the property to arrange their marriages. Now, he lives in a government-allotted house on the outskirts of the village.
The younger son had only one daughter. Instead of arranging her marriage, he fled with another woman and settled in Veerapanayani Palle. He abandoned his wife and completely neglected his responsibility toward his daughter’s future.
From his share of the property, he sold one of the two huts and gave the money to the woman he was living with.
Varalakshmi filed a police case—accusing him of betrayal and demanding that the hut be transferred to her name. Fearing police pressure, he gave in and signed over the hut to her.
Anger at being abandoned, fear of living alone, and the responsibility of her daughter’s marriage weighed on Varalakshmi. She knew that jackals like men were waiting for her and her daughter. But she never gave in. She worked at the mustard oil mill. Every rupee she earned, she saved for her daughter’s education, ensuring she completes her B.Ed. Eventually, she found a match—a government teacher—and arranged her daughter’s marriage.
Now, only Lachamma and Varalakshmi lived in the house. Varalakshmi, unable to confront her husband, had redirected her anger toward her mother-in-law. She seethed with resentment—he had abandoned her, leaving his mother as a burden on her head. Under normal circumstances, she would have thrown her out long ago, but the old-age pension Lachamma received was the only thing stopping her.
Until recently, Lachamma used to work and hand over her earnings to her daughter-in-law. But ever since she slipped and fell into a ditch, she hadn’t been able to work.
Happy Earth Day!
Now, she hobbled around with the help of a stick, visiting houses of people she knew. She survived on whatever they offered her to eat.
If someone gave her a hundred or two, Lachamma would hand that over to her daughter-in-law as well. As money came in from different sources, Varalakshmi found a reason to let her stay.
Following her daughter’s marriage, she feared living alone. She justified keeping the old woman at home, reasoning that at the very least, there would be someone present—like a guard dog—while she was at work.
Lachamma was given just enough food to survive. She wasn’t allowed inside the house—she had to sleep on the veranda or the terrace. Only when it rained was she allowed a small corner inside.
From morning till night, Varalakshmi never stopped taunting her. Every day, Lachamma was expected to bring in at least a hundred rupees. If she failed, she wouldn’t get food—or even be allowed inside.
Who would give her money every day? Many times, she begged near the Masjid, and other times, she sat on the temple steps, holding out her hand. Once, she had lived with dignity, but now, begging had become a habit.
She often wondered why death hadn’t come for her yet. In her heart, she wept, pleading with God to take her away.
Unable to bear her daughter-in-law’s scoldings, Lachamma went up to the terrace. But even there, the sun blazed mercilessly.
She spread a tattered blanket in a corner and lay down under the scorching heat. Sleep wouldn’t come. Memories swirled in her mind—the moment her husband died, the day her sons abandoned her, the life she once lived.
Scenes from her past flickered behind her closed eyelids, playing like a cruel, endless reel.
Tears streamed from her eyes without her even realizing it—tears as vast as the sky, as deep as the ocean, as endless as her life’s sorrow.
Scenes blurred and overlapped, one after another, with no coherence. Faint images flickered before her—faces, moments, echoes of the past.
Distant screams, cries, curses, and voices calling out to her filled her ears. But nothing made sense anymore.
She felt as.. if someone had called her.
“Huh… I’m coming,” she mumbled, half-opening her weary eyes and rising to her feet.
But instead of walking toward the stairs, she moved in the other direction—toward the open edge of the terrace.
She fell. Or had she jumped? No one could tell.
There was no sound, no struggle—just silence. And then, in a faint voice, she whispered, Amma… Neighbors from the houses beside and across the street rushed over. They lifted Lachamma and helped her sit up.
Not a single wound. No injuries. She was completely fine.
"Couldn't you see properly? You just went up to the terrace! Why did you want to come down so soon?" the daughter-in-law snapped.
"The pain, in my stomach, my back, my whole body," she groaned, wept, and writhed in agony.
Lachamma's sister’s children and grandchildren arrived. Seeing the elderly woman's suffering, they couldn’t bear it and took her to the government hospital.
The doctor examined her and said, "Nothing serious, she just fell down. She's likely stressed. We've given her glucose to regain strength."
"What's wrong, aunt? How are you? Is everything alright?" Lachamma's sister's child asked, reassuring her.
"Sit down," Lachamma gestured with a sign.
"Do my legs and hands still work? Has my waist or any part of me gotten injured? Am I going to end up bedridden?" she asked, concerned.
"No, aunt. Nothing is wrong. They've given you glucose for strength. You'll be able to go home in about an hour," she reassured her.
"My legs feel like someone is twisting them. My hands are being chopped into pieces, my heart feels like it's about to break. Something's blocking my throat. I need my breath. I can't lie in bed.
No.. no.. no..
My son betrayed you, that much is true, but what could I have done about it? Don't curse me, don't hit me, I can't beg anymore."
Varalakshmi, Varalakshmi, Varalakshmi.
"Give me some food, Varalakshmi"
"The heat, the rain, the wind"
"Give me some place in my house, Varalakshmi"
"No, I don't want that house. I'm going to my permanent home."
Whether her breath stopped, or if she herself chose to stop breathing, no one knew.
***
