Punukulu

Punukula Butta lo Lachchi Talli

• By Satyam Sankaramanchi

(translated into English by Kesava Mallela)

As you sail along Kṛsna, from Amarāvati to Dharanikoṭa, you see a big, shaded, ominous-looking tamarind tree on the right bank. No soul dares to go to the tree when the night falls. Rumors of spirits and ghosts on the tree run amuck in the nearby villages.

The tree must be hundreds of years old, no one knows for sure. But it sure has stopped bearing fruit long time ago. That, of course, never deterred Avadhāni gāru to stone the tree for fruit. He ritualistically stoned the tree after his bath in the river every morning. He then carefully bundled, whatever little fruit the tree bore, in the hem of his panchey and gave it away to his wife. As she gleefully remarked, "Looks like mother river wants me to make some spicy chutney today", he just bantered, "or may be, she wants you to make tamarind lentils tomorrow".

It's a different story with the tree as sun slowly inches towards the midday zenith, though. The tree is practically a clubhouse as the village idlers, sloths and the professional gamblers teed up to play Indian rummy. They had multiple "tables" going all day. Many didn't even care the scorching sun rays piercing through gaps in the branches, it almost looked like a sacrificial yajna with fires burning holes in the pockets of the participants.

Snack hawker Subbāyi understood the seriousness of the stage and knew his savory punukulu would make a killing. He gently fanned the hawking basket with his tattered panchey as he walked around the tree. The fanning only intensified the savory aroma. It rammed through the cloggiest nostrils and raged infernal hunger fires amongst the players.

"Rei Subbāyi! Me first." "Only after me." "Over here first, bud!", the place just echoed with calls to Subbāyi.

"Coming Ayya!" "You are always my special customer" "Rushing in a second, Sir", Subbāyi was just as skilled as a equestrian dashing through a heavy rain.

With his banter and skillful catering around the tree, he just made sale after a sale. But he was super stingy with the chutney that goes with punukulu. He had a series of canned responses whenever people asked for more - "Whaaat sir! Punukulu is the real food! There is nothing nutritious in this diluted chutney sir."

He was equally adept at collecting balance for punukulu from these gamblers. He dillyed the shuffling and dallyed the dealing, until he got his money. He just gently retorted with an uncomfortable smile, "Noo, sir! You guys get too involved in the game and forget about my money sir".

When it was time for the daily ferry that comes from across the river, he dashed to the river banks like an arrow. He hawked his punukulu feverishly, till people who haven't even unloaded their bags, bought a few. When adults avoided him, he buzzed around the kids till they made it impossible for their parents. He thus finished more than half of the basket, running around the tree and river bank a couple of times.

When the going got tough, he sided behind key weak players and cheered them to move on to the next card. They sure returned the cheer with buying more punukulu. When players were on the bench, he lured them to punukulu with extra chutney! But he knew where the real money was. When the gamblers lost everything at their Waterloo, they meekly pleaded for minor loans.

"Subbāyi, i could use a little loan! How about two bucks?".

"I am no uncle Scrooge, Sir! What can this snack hawker in rags loan your honorable?"

"How about loaning from the sale money, Subbi?"

"Ohhh Sirrr! I need them for buying groceries for tomorrow?"

"Subbāyi, you have my word! You'll get it back by evening."

"Sirrr! How else can I buy rice for tomorrow's punukulu?"

"Subbāyi! You can always take your quarter point interest."

"Nooo Sir! I am sure my loan money and the interest are safe with you", with much pleading and begging and beseeching, Subbāyi loaned a bunch of people. He knew he would make ₹ 10 on the loans when he made only ₹ 5 on the punukulu snack. As the night fell, he moved his loan shark business to the local cheap liquor tavern and made a killing there too.

Subbāyi gradually moved up the ladder and started a little grocery store. People pawned their jewelry for loans and left them unpaid many a times. People even pawned and lost their farm fields to Subbāyi. He now easily owned forty acres of fertile farm fields on Amarāvathi river banks! People, outside his community, no longer called him Subbāyi. He found new respect in a new name - Subbā Rāo.

Subbā Rāo lived well with a big family of grand sons and grand daughters. He almost never trusted anyone all his life. He spent an hour every dawn praying behind closed doors. He proudly proclaimed - "his prayer was his wealth."

Subbā Rāo's young-adult grandson was back in town for his summer break. He never liked his given name "Buchchayya" and changed it to Hemanth Kumar. He really wanted to know about his grandpa's prayer and the secret to his wealth. After considerable stalking, and keyhole peeping, he uncovered the secret!

Mr. Subbā Rāo was worshipping the tattered rags of the panchey, with which he fanned the old punukulu basket.