Brown Worms
Updated: Sep 28
For ages above 18 only.
Every Sunday, as soon as Raghav came back from Lord’s Bungalow, he and his three-years-younger sister, Lakshmi, would go for a walk. They would turn left, cross the paddy fields, and take the path to Lord’s other bungalow, called Guest House.
They walked as if on a march, and when the thatched roofs grew rarer and rarer, they picked up the pace and settled on the shore of Champavati. The river, his mother told him, was to be worshipped and his father’s livelihood till he was hanged or killed by the Lord. Raghav never knew how his father was killed or on what charges, but when a couple of White police officers, accompanied by Indian guards, came to his home, he knew he would be working for the Lord for a very long time.
The brother and sister were small and thin for their clothes. Raghav had to wear whatever he got at the bungalow, and the little money he saved went to buying things for his sister. They both had brown eyes and brown skin, and whenever Raghav worked in the fields of the Lord, he was usually covered in mud up to his hips, and the Lord would bark, “You brown dogs, look at the colour of the mud and your skin, fitting jobs you all got, didn’t you?” and walk away.
Raghav and Lakshmi never spoke during these walks to the shore, because they always saved the words for the nights. They would sit at the shore, playing with the water, and Raghav would try his best to catch fish. Lakshmi built sand castles every week, but none lasted until the next week. When it got dark and Raghav lit the lantern, Lakshmi would say, “It’s like with Amma and Appa, just like in the home.”
“Just like those days”, Raghav would affirm.
Then they would trace the same path side by side, often Raghav holding Lakshmi’s hand, their minds full of warm memories of the past.
One week, Raghav would work on the farm, or if he got any luck, he would work in Lord’s Bungalow. Lord Andrew Silverman was the Special Collector sent from England to the Visakhapatnam agency to curb the eschewing militancy. It’s been some four months; the last militant was shot and killed, so Andrew took up torturing the Indians he could set his eyes on, and the lot is composed mostly of his workers.
Andrew would pass comments of loathing and his disgust at Raghav every time he saw him, but Raghav had no choice, as he would never get any work on any farm if he angered Andrew. But one fine day, Andrew came out of his room, saw Raghav cleaning the chandelier light, and asked, “What do you want to do when you grow up, you brown worm?”
“I... I would like to buy some land, my Lord. If that’s not possible, there’s always my father’s net and the river”, Raghav said, curtsying.
“I would give you the money if you prove to be faithful”, Andrew said and walked away.
Raghav was faithful, if not loyal like a hound for two years, but never again did Andrew think of his promise. Nor did Raghav have the guts to ask his master. He was content with his life, content but sad.
During one of those walks, Raghav and Lakshmi found an earring, something other than gold; when Raghav took it to Andrew, he said it was some copper and paid him an Ana. The next week, Lakshmi was surprised to see her sandcastle standing tall on the shore. They both stretched themselves out on the grass side by side, without speaking, listening to the birds. As they were about to leave, Raghav saw something moving in the bushes, and when he walked toward the crossing at the other end, he saw a young woman crossing the river. She was tall, draped in a saree; for Raghav didn’t see anything covering her shoulders or the skin below her neck.
As soon as she saw him, she covered herself properly and smiled. Raghav returned the smile and walked towards his sister before asking, “Lakshmi, shall we leave?”
The next week, Lakshmi saw two of her sandcastles as if they were built with rocks. She asked her brother, “Cows or buffaloes do not stamp them, nor do the winds ruffle them. How is it possible?”
“I do not know”, confessed Raghav.
Soon they would lie on the shore, losing themselves as they watched the sky and the river. The woman seen last week appeared again, and this time she wore proper attire. Raghav was pleased to see her, though he didn’t know why. Lakshmi and Raghav never spoke of her, but they felt glad for her company, without a clue why.
The woman was tall and freckled, her eyebrows perfectly aligned; her feminine presence was unmistakable.
“A girl typical of Tanda”, Raghav thought.
Lakshmi asked her, “Do you always come here?”
The woman replied, “Yes, I do. In fact, I had to”, she added. “I see you every week. Who are you?”
Raghav, more daring than his sister, looked into her eyes as he said, “I work for Lord Andrew, and she’s my sister, and very soon Lord Andrew would give me some land.”
“Lord Andrew?” She smiled bitterly. “I am called Ragini. I tend to the garden of the guest house. We both work for one man, an outsider.”
A moment later, she added, “I saw you cleaning the chandelier one day.”
Raghav didn’t utter a word as he saw two black marks on her wrists, curved and the length of matchsticks.
That was all; Lakshmi and Raghav turned their backs and walked away. But the following Sunday, when she saw them, her lips widened into a smile.
Approaching them, Ragini asked, “What do you do here, coming every week?”
Lakshmi replied, “Take rest,” before laughing.
Ragini opened the cloth bag she was carrying and gave them two laddus, “From Andrew’s house; he always gives us some.”
Lakshmi began to eat, and Raghav wrapped it in his shirt. All week, Raghav and Lakshmi thought of her and spoke of her.
This continued for some weeks; she gave them whatever she brought, and they talked. The three of them sat there side by side, eyes on the river; they talked about everything they knew.
One day, when Raghav was mopping the floor, he overheard something Andrew spoke: “Just like his father... yes... yes… toils every day expecting that I’d give something someday.”
Raghav knew his master was drunk, so he shook it from his mind and continued the work.
A few weeks later, the Lord’s Lady visited him. Her name was Meghan, and she never spoke to anyone except Andrew. Every sigh of hers was cold, and whenever she crossed Raghav, she tried her best to express her disgust by twitching her lips, scowling and calling him names. That Sunday, Raghav and Lakshmi waited for Ragini, but she never came. So they went home and did not speak of her.
The next week too, she did not show up. Raghav came again and saw her coming from the bushes, hooded and sauntering across the road to avoid being seen. He didn’t dare confront her and ask her; he regretted it later.
Only a couple of weeks later, Lakshmi was convinced that Ragini had left the village and that none of the sweets Raghav bought made her happy. Lakshmi longed for their friend, not for the sweets. The next week, Lakshmi did not even come for the walk, but Raghav did. She was never seen again.
Raghav couldn’t sleep that night, so he ventured out to the shore, expecting nothing but dogs. But people were on the shore, shouting and talking loudly. A woman lay on the grass, and Meghan kicked her.
“You shameless wench!” she shrieked. “How dare you confound my husband?” Andrew stood there, helpless and not interfering.
“You slept with a brown whore?” she turned to Andrew. “What kind of man are you? Has she got anything better than me?”
Andrew Silverman, the Lord, stood there with his mouth shut, gaping at his wife. “Oh, nice, round and firm, right?” Meghan barked in disgust.
“Break her legs”, she commanded, and one of the police standing next to Andrew obeyed and switched her.
“Now, now... no one from this wretched village should come and save you”, she roared in anger. “You will crawl to death here in this cold.”
Andrew said nothing, clearly outvoiced by his woman. Then Meghan kicked her again, and all the company left.
A couple of hours passed until sunrise; Ragini lay on a cot, and Raghav warmed her injuries. Lakshmi was still asleep, unaware of what had happened.
“Why did you save me?” Ragini asked.
“Because you’re my friend”, Raghav said honestly.
“But if they know”
“I can hide you for a couple of days, and after that”, Raghav hesitated.
“After that?” Ragini added. “Do you know who I really am?”
“I know”, Raghav blurted out, “I know who you are. A devadasi pledged to all the men in the village.”
He stood there, looking at his feet and feeling guilty for spitting it in the face.
“How do you know?” Ragini asked, surprised.
“The black marks, I mean the black snakes”, Raghav added. “Father told me once what they are.”
They did not speak to each other for hours, and it was only after sunrise that Ragini uttered a word again, “Do you know why your father was killed?”
“No”, Raghav said honestly. “He was spying on the Congress or for someone, I was told.”
Ragini smiled coldly.
“Your father loved a woman”, she said, setting her throat straight, “And Lord Andrew wanted the same woman.”
“Who was she?” Raghav asked absently.
“The one you saved yesterday.”
The void rocked in Raghav’s mind. His mouth went dry, and he suddenly felt restless. His knees were pulling him down, and he knelt before saying, “So my father was killed because Andrew wanted you?”
“After your mother died birthing Lakshmi, your father loved me, and I loved him back. But Andrew, who came to the village and understood its customs, said he would have a claim on me. But your father didn’t budge. So he was shot”, Ragini finished, trying to hide her anger.
“So, what do you want me to do now, Ragini?”
It was the first time Raghav uttered her name.
“We are going to Visakhapatnam”, she said, “away from this wretched village and evil people.”
“We don’t have any money,” Raghav was about to say, but Ragini continued,
“Whenever I pleased Andrew, he used to pay me, and I hid all of that in the guest house itself.”
“Where?” Raghav gasped, opening his mouth.
“You know it; you held it and cleaned it more than anyone did”, Ragini said, knowing Raghav got this.
“Tell Lakshmi we are leaving this afternoon.”
Raghav walked to Andrew’s guest house one last time. He cleaned the chandelier for one last time. Emotions filled him, and he couldn’t even walk properly if he had known.
Credits
This story was written by Harsha Modukuri, edited by R. K. Chamarla & Tarun Chintam.
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