Potti Sriramulu

Told in English, Telugu.

It was the first of November, and the whole of Nellore seemed to be wearing its best clothes. Flags fluttered over the shops, and a loudspeaker near the bus stand was playing a patriotic song. Sravya held her Tatayya's hand as they walked past a garlanded statue of a thin man with round spectacles and a walking stick.

"Tatayya, why does everyone put flowers on him today?" she asked.

Tatayya stopped and looked up at the statue for a long moment. "Because today is Andhra Pradesh's birthday," he said. "And this man is one of the big reasons we have an Andhra Pradesh at all. His name is Potti Sriramulu. Come, let us sit on that bench, and I will tell you about him."

They sat down, and Tatayya began.

Potti Sriramulu was born in the year nineteen hundred and one, in the city of Madras, the place we now call Chennai. His family's roots were in a village in our own part of Andhra. He was a clever boy, and when he grew up he went all the way to Bombay to study engineering. Then he got a good job with the railways. Think of it, Sravya. A steady salary, a respected job, a comfortable future. Many people would have been happy with that for the rest of their lives.

But life gave him a deep sorrow. When he was still a young man, his wife and their newborn baby both died. He was heartbroken. Some people, when they lose so much, close their hearts to the world. Sriramulu did something different. He asked himself what his life should be for. And slowly, his answer became this: for other people, and for his country.

At that time India was not free. The British ruled our land, and Mahatma Gandhi was leading people to fight for freedom without weapons, using only truth and peaceful protest. Sriramulu left his railway job and went to Gandhiji's ashram at Sabarmati in Gujarat. There he lived very simply. He spun cotton, worked hard, ate plain food and followed the rules of the ashram with great sincerity.

In nineteen thirty, Gandhiji began the famous Salt Satyagraha, and Sriramulu joined it. He was arrested and sent to jail. Later, during the struggle of the nineteen forties, he went to jail again. He was not afraid of prison, because he believed that standing up for what is right was more important than his own comfort.

Gandhiji noticed how stubborn and devoted Sriramulu was. People remember that Gandhiji once said that if he had eleven more followers like Sriramulu, he could win freedom for India in a year.

Sravya's eyes went wide. "Gandhiji said that about him? About this man?"

"Yes," said Tatayya, smiling. "Not because he was loud or famous. Because once he decided something was right, he never gave up."

Tatayya went on. Sriramulu came back to Nellore and worked among the poorest people. In those days, many people were treated as untouchable. They were not allowed to enter temples, or draw water from the same wells as others. Sriramulu felt this was deeply wrong. He would walk through the streets with signs hanging on his body, asking people to treat everyone as equals. Some laughed at him. Some called him odd. He did not mind. He even fasted, going without food, to ask that temple doors be opened to everyone. And because of the efforts of people like him, those doors began to open.

"Now comes the most important part," said Tatayya, and his voice grew softer.

In nineteen forty-seven, India became free. But the Telugu people had a worry. Many of the Telugu-speaking areas were part of a large region called the Madras State, together with people who spoke Tamil and other languages. Telugu people had been asking for many years for a state of their own, where their language could be used in schools, offices and courts, and where their own needs would be heard clearly. Leaders made promises, but nothing seemed to happen.

Sriramulu decided he would wait no longer. On the nineteenth of October, nineteen fifty-two, in a house in Madras, he began a fast. He said he would not eat until the government agreed to form a separate state for Telugu-speaking people.

Sravya was quiet. "Not eat at all, Tatayya?"

"He took only a little water and some juice," said Tatayya gently. "Day after day, he grew weaker. Doctors came. Friends came and begged him to stop. Letters and telegrams poured in from Telugu villages and towns. People prayed for him in temples, mosques and churches. But he stayed calm and firm. He was not angry with anyone. He simply believed that his people deserved this, and he was ready to give everything for it."

The fast went on for nearly two months. And on the fifteenth of December, nineteen fifty-two, Potti Sriramulu's body could not hold on any longer, and he passed away.

Sravya looked down at her hands. Her throat felt tight. "That is so sad," she whispered.

Tatayya put his arm around her. "It is sad, kanna. When the news spread, the whole Telugu land was filled with grief. Shops closed. People filled the streets, crying and calling out his name. It was as if every family had lost one of its own."

He was quiet for a moment, and then he said, "But listen to what happened next. Just a few days later, Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru announced that a separate Andhra State would be formed. On the first of October, nineteen fifty-three, Andhra State was born, with Kurnool as its capital. It was the first state in independent India made mainly for the people of one language."

"So he did it," said Sravya slowly.

"He did," said Tatayya. "And it did not stop there. Other people across India saw what happened and asked for states based on their languages too. In nineteen fifty-six, the map of India was redrawn in many places. And on the first of November that year, the Telugu-speaking regions came together as Andhra Pradesh. That is why we celebrate today."

Sravya looked up at the statue again. The thin man with spectacles did not look like the heroes in her storybooks, with swords and crowns. He looked ordinary. Kind, even.

"Tatayya, why is he called Amarajeevi? I saw it written on the board."

"Amarajeevi means one who lives forever," said Tatayya. "His body is gone, but his courage lives on. Our very district is now called Sri Potti Sriramulu Nellore district, after him. There is a Telugu university named after him. And every time a child in Andhra reads a lesson in Telugu, or sings a Telugu song in school, a little part of what he fought for is alive."

Sravya thought about this. "But Tatayya, I could never stop eating for two months. I get grumpy if lunch is late!"

Tatayya laughed out loud. "Nobody is asking you to do that, kanna. Please eat your lunch on time. What Sriramulu teaches us is something else. He shows us that real courage can be very quiet. He never hurt anyone. He never shouted insults. He simply held on to what he believed was right, and he was willing to give up his own comfort for others. You can do that in small ways every day. When you stand up for a friend who is being left out. When you tell the truth even though it is hard. When you keep going with something good even when others laugh."

Sravya stood up. She took the small jasmine string from her plait, stepped forward, and placed it carefully at the foot of the statue.

"Thank you, Sriramulu garu," she said softly.

Tatayya's eyes shone. Together they walked home through the bright, flag-filled streets, while the loudspeaker played on, and somewhere a group of schoolchildren began to sing in Telugu.

And now, my dear one, the next time you see a picture of that thin, gentle man with round spectacles, you will know who he is. Can you say his special name with me? Amarajeevi. The one who lives forever.