Pedarasi Peddamma's story

Told in English, Telugu.

Long, long ago, at the very edge of a little village, where the dusty road went off towards the hills, there lived an old woman. She was poor, so poor that her hut had only one room and one lamp. But everyone loved her, and everyone called her Pedarasi Peddamma.

Why did they love her so much? Because whoever came walking down that road, tired and hungry, Peddamma would call out, "Come, come, babu! Sit down. Have some rice." And after the rice, she would tell a story. Oh, her stories! Travellers said they forgot their tired feet when Peddamma began, "Anaganaga..."

One evening, the sky turned dark and grumbly. The wind shook the coconut trees, and big drops of rain began to fall. Peddamma looked into her rice pot. There was just enough for one small meal.

"Well," she said to herself, "this will do for tonight."

Just then, there was a knock at the door. Knock, knock, knock.

Peddamma opened it. A young man stood there, dripping wet, his cloak covered in mud. "Ammamma," he said, shivering, "I have walked all day. May I take shelter here until the rain stops?"

"Of course, nayana! Come inside, quickly," said Peddamma. She gave him a dry towel and sat him by the fire. Then she cooked her last bit of rice, added some pappu and a spoon of ghee, and put the whole plate in front of him.

"But Ammamma," said the young man, "where is your plate?"

Peddamma smiled. "I ate already," she said. But that was not true. She simply wanted her guest to be full.

Now, while the traveller ate and the rain went drip, drip, drip, something else was happening. Someone had crept in through the back door, very quietly, while Peddamma was busy cooking. It was a thief! He had thought, "An old woman living alone at the edge of the village. She must have some hidden coins." And when he heard Peddamma coming, he had squeezed himself under the big grain basket in the corner.

But Peddamma had sharp eyes. As she sat down, she noticed two dusty feet sticking out from under the basket. Her heart went thump for a moment. Then she looked closer. The feet were thin. The toes were cracked. Those were the feet of someone who had walked a long way with very little to eat.

Peddamma said nothing about it. Instead, she turned to the young traveller and said, "Shall I tell you a story, nayana?"

"Oh yes, please," said the young man.

Peddamma spoke loudly, loud enough for the corner to hear. "Anaganaga, there was an old woman who lived in a little hut. One rainy night, a hungry man crept into her house and hid under a basket. He thought she had gold. But do you know what the old woman had? Only one pot, one lamp, and one big heart."

The basket gave a tiny wobble.

"And the old woman thought," Peddamma went on, "this poor fellow is not wicked. He is only hungry. So she took her last handful of puffed rice and some jaggery, and she put it on a leaf, right beside the basket. And she said, 'Come out, child. Nobody should eat hiding in the dark.'"

And as she said those words, Peddamma really did get up. She put puffed rice and a piece of jaggery on a banana leaf and set it beside the basket.

For a long moment, nothing happened. The fire crackled. The rain pattered. The young traveller held his breath. Can you guess what happened next?

Slowly, slowly, the basket lifted. Out crawled a thin young man with a messy head of hair. His face was red, and his eyes were full of tears.

"Ammamma," he said, "I came to steal from you. I am so ashamed. I have had no work for many days, and I was so hungry."

Peddamma patted his head. "Eat first, talk later," she said. And the thief ate every single grain, while the traveller laughed and made room for him by the fire.

That night, all three of them slept in the little hut, warm and safe, while the storm blew itself away.

In the morning, the sun came out, bright and golden. The young traveller stood up and took off his muddy cloak. Underneath, he wore a shining silk shirt with a royal mark on it.

The thief's mouth fell open. Peddamma's eyes grew wide.

"Ammamma," said the young man, bowing to her, "I am the king's son. My father sent me out in plain clothes to find the kindest house in the whole kingdom. I have walked through many villages. Some people shut their doors on me. But you gave me your very last plate of rice, and you were kind even to a thief. Tell me, what reward would you like?"

Peddamma thought for a while. Then she said, "Babu, I do not need gold. But travellers on this road often go thirsty. If there could be a well here, and enough rice so that no one who knocks on my door goes hungry, that would make me the happiest grandmother in the world."

The prince smiled. "It will be done."

And it was. Soon there was a cool, deep well beside Peddamma's hut, and sacks of rice in her corner, right where the grain basket stood. And who do you think helped her draw water and cook for all the travellers? Yes! The young man who once hid under the basket. He never stole again. He became Peddamma's helper, and she taught him all her stories.

That is why, even today, when grandmothers in Telugu homes begin a story with "Anaganaga," people say it is a story from Pedarasi Peddamma, the kind old woman whose door was always open.

Now close your eyes, and maybe tonight you will dream of her warm little hut by the road.