Venkamma

Venkamma was born on October 28, 1156, in the flat, hot country near Pedavegi, where Telugu was spoken in every lane and field. Local headmen collected revenue for whichever dynasty held the upper hand that season; the Kakatiyas were rising in the north, and officials changed when their armies pushed through or when rivals contested their reach. For her household it meant grain dues, occasional labor demands on tanks and bunds, and visits from messengers who spoke in clipped phrases. At home the year was counted by rains, transplanting, harvest, and the festivals when women carried offerings to the village goddess.

Her mother, Ankalamma, died after the birth. Her father Kondayya had already raised four children. Bhairava, the eldest at nine, laughed loudly and lifted Venkamma onto his hip. He brought her mango pieces in season and teased her about her short legs, making her chase him to get the last slice. Ranga, seven, spoke less; he listened to adults, repeated what they said, and corrected Venkamma when she miscounted handfuls of paddy for the chickens. Between them had been Sattamma, who died as an infant. Mallamma, three years older than Venkamma, took on the daily work of carrying and feeding her. She had help from a neighbor with milk and from Kondayya’s sister Narsamma.

Venkamma grew up with the smell of wet rice husk and smoke from the cooking fire. She was very small even as a toddler; when she carried a pot she used both hands and walked slowly. Her father did not linger in the yard. Kondayya farmed what he could and took seasonal wage work when harvests demanded more hands than one family could supply. He came home with mud on his calves, ate quickly, and lay down. He remarried a woman named Lakshmi, and two years after Venkamma’s birth, Lakshmi bore a son. The baby brother Chenna died within months. Lakshmi died the following year. The women tied a length of neem leaves over the doorway and took a small plate with turmeric, ash, and a pinch of rice to the grama devata shrine. Mallamma held Venkamma’s wrist to keep her from stepping into the wet paste smeared before the stone. Venkamma learned rules early: where to step, when to wash, how to keep the cooking area clean.

When Venkamma was ten, she began going to the fields with other women to pull weeds and carry bundles of seedlings. She kept her eyes down when men passed on the path. At dusk she liked the moment after the cooking was done, when she could sit on the threshold and eat rice with thin tamarind broth while the air cooled. She preferred that quiet to festival crowds. Mallamma sometimes hummed while grinding millet, and Venkamma joined in under her breath; she never sang loudly.

A year of heavy rain damaged some houses and flattened banana plants. Men were called for bund repair and tank clearing, and Kondayya’s seasonal work lasted longer. When he returned he spoke of officials and dues, but he could not explain them clearly. Venkamma listened and nodded without understanding the terms. She remembered only what mattered: how much rice to set aside and how quickly it would run out.

Her marriage was arranged in 1169, when she was twelve. The groom, Gopayya, came from a nearby village and worked a small plot but also hired himself out in peak seasons. On the day she left, Mallamma pressed a small ball of jaggery into her palm and told her to eat it later, when she was alone. Venkamma walked to her new village with a small bundle, keeping close to the women. She did not look back until she could no longer see the stand of trees near her father’s house.

The early years in Gopayya’s household were crowded with tasks. His parents had died before the marriage, so the house held only the two of them at first, then their children as they came. She rose before dawn, swept the yard, drew water, and set rice to boil. She placed a little lamp and flowers before a small household image and then went to the fields. When there was extra time, she ground spices carefully, keeping the stones clean. She disliked idle talk; it slowed the hands. Gopayya accepted that. He wanted food ready, clothes washed, and his children kept quiet. He did not beat her in anger, but when she failed to have the gruel on time he slapped the back of her shoulder once and called her slow. After that she woke earlier.

Her first son, Narayana, was born in 1171. A few months later news came that Bhairava had died at twenty-five. The message reached the village through travelers; no one from her natal home came. Venkamma sat with her baby in her lap and pressed her thumb hard into his heel while she listened. When her father Kondayya died in 1171, Ranga sent word through the same routes. Venkamma cried in short bursts while cooking, then washed her face and served food.

Kesava, her second son, was born in 1173. After that, fevers began to return each rainy season. They came with chills and aching limbs. She still went to transplant rice when the overseer called for women, but on some mornings she could not stand without gripping the door frame. She chewed ginger with salt and swallowed it with water before leaving. Her pay depended on being chosen at the field edge with the others.

A daughter, Peddamma, was born in 1176 and died within days. Pochamma the midwife washed the baby and placed a small amount of rice at the goddess stone. Venkamma did not speak while this was done. She folded and refolded a cloth until it sat in a neat square.

Sītamma was born in 1178. Venkamma liked the child’s small hands and the way she stared at the fire without blinking.

The following year, during harvest work, Venkamma slipped on a wet bund. The sickle caught her lower leg. Blood soaked her cloth before she could tie it. The wound swelled and oozed. For weeks she could not walk to the fields or carry water. Suri, a neighbor woman, brought rice gruel and helped clean the cut with boiled water and turmeric. Venkamma lay on a mat and listened to the sounds of other women leaving for work. When she could stand again, she returned too soon and the leg hurt for months. Her third daughter, Rudramma, was born the next year.

During a season of sickness after the rains, Sītamma’s belly swelled and she could not keep food down. Venkamma stayed up to wipe her mouth, then went to the fields anyway because she needed the wage. Sītamma died in 1181. After the cremation Venkamma moved slowly for weeks. She forgot to eat until the afternoon. She sat staring at the yard while the children played, then suddenly cried and could not stop. Gopayya told her to keep her head and get on with it. She did not answer.

In 1182 Gopayya died after a short illness. The village spoke of what a widow should do and where she should sit at rituals. Her aunt Narsamma visited and warned her to keep her head covered in public and not give anyone cause to talk. Venkamma cut her spending down to bare food. She took day-work whenever it was offered. Erranna, the overseer, put her with the women who weeded and gathered stray sheaves. Her height kept her from the heaviest loads, and her pay stayed low.

She ran her household with tight routines. She measured rice by handfuls and tied knots in a cord to remember small debts. When a local grain merchant advanced rice during a lean month, she did not understand his terms and had to ask Suri to repeat them. Once, when the children were hungry, she hid a small handful of husked rice before the day’s measure was checked. The next week Erranna watched her more closely, and she kept her hands visible.

In 1184 Rukmini, a kinswoman by marriage, died in childbirth. The infant, a girl named Kamakshi, lived. Venkamma took Kamakshi into her house in 1185 and nursed her with thin gruel, rocking her with her foot while she pounded grain. She carried the toddler to the field edge and left her with Suri during the hottest hours. Her own sons grew old enough to fetch water, and Rudramma, now five, followed her mother everywhere—to the well, to the field edge, clinging to her sari when strangers passed. Narayana learned to sit still beside the grain pile to keep birds away. Kesava fought with other boys and came home bruised.

The fevers kept returning. Some seasons she missed days of work and lost wages. At times she stopped speaking except to issue short instructions. She lay down during daylight even when there was rice to grind. When Mallamma visited from the natal village once, Venkamma did not greet her at the threshold; she sat inside until Mallamma came in and touched her shoulder.

In May 1188 a cough spread through the village. Venkamma began coughing and could not keep up with field labor. She stayed on her mat, drank hot water when it was brought, and tried to rise to sweep but sat down again. She died on the twenty-fourth, at thirty-one. Her family cremated her outside the village, then placed rice and flowers at the household shrine and at the village goddess stone.