Vemana: Small troubles, big bother

Told in English, Telugu.

In a small village near Kadapa, the whole house woke up early on the morning of the jatara. The village fair came only once a year, with bangle stalls, a giant wheel, and sweet jilebi frying in big black pans.

Chinni was eight. Her cousin Bujji was seven. Most days they were the best of friends. But this morning they were not.

"That red pinwheel is mine," said Chinni, holding it high. "Ammamma gave it to me."

"She said we should share!" said Bujji. "You always take everything."

"I do not!"

"You do!"

And so they quarrelled, all through breakfast, all through putting on their new clothes, until Ammamma sighed a long, tired sigh. Thatha just smiled under his white moustache, picked up his walking stick, and said, "Come. The fair will not wait for angry children."

The road to the fair was long and dusty. Chinni walked on one side with Thatha. Bujji walked on the other side, kicking little stones and not looking at anyone.

They had not gone far when Bujji began to limp. Hop, step, hop, step.

"Ow! Something is biting my foot!"

Thatha bent down and took off Bujji's chappal. He shook it, and out fell a tiny stone, no bigger than a grain of rice.

"This little thing?" said Bujji, surprised. "It felt like a big rock!"

They walked on. Soon a fly came buzzing round Chinni's head. Bzzz, bzzz, right into her ear. She waved her hands. She shook her head. She jumped up and down.

"Go away, go away!" she cried. Bujji almost laughed, but then he remembered he was angry, and he looked away.

Then a little breeze came, and a speck of dust flew into Thatha's own eye. He stopped, blinking and blinking, with tears running down his cheek, until the speck washed out.

"Thatha, are you crying?" asked Bujji.

"No, kanna," said Thatha, wiping his eye. "Only a speck of dust. So small you cannot even see it. And yet look how much trouble it gave me!"

They had reached a big tamarind tree beside the road when Chinni suddenly cried out and sat down hard on the ground.

"Thatha! My foot!"

A thorn had gone right through her thin chappal into the bottom of her foot. Her eyes filled with tears. "I can't walk," she whispered. "Now I will miss the fair."

Bujji stood very still. He looked at Chinni crying. He looked at the long road ahead. For one moment he thought, good, now she knows how it feels. But then he saw her face, and the angry feeling melted away like butter in a hot pan.

He knelt beside her. "Hold my hand," he said. "Squeeze it hard. Thatha will take it out."

Chinni squeezed. Thatha gently, gently pulled out the thorn. Chinni gasped, and then she let out a big breath. "It's out," she said. "It's really out."

Bujji gave her the pinwheel he had picked up from the road. "You hold it," he said. "It will make you feel better."

Chinni looked at him. "We can take turns," she said softly. "I'm sorry I grabbed it."

"I'm sorry I shouted," said Bujji.

Thatha sat down in the cool shade of the tamarind tree and patted the ground beside him. "Sit, both of you. Rest your feet. Let me tell you what a wise man named Vemana said, a long, long time ago."

Vemana, Thatha explained, was a poet who wandered from village to village. He wrote short, simple poems that even farmers and children could remember, and many of his poems end with the words Vishwadabhirama vinura Vema.

Then Thatha closed his eyes and said the poem slowly, the way his own grandfather had said it to him.

Cheppulona raayi, chevilona joreega, kantilona nalusu, kaali mullu, intiloni poru intintagadaya, Vishwadabhirama vinura Vema.

Can you say the first line with me? Cheppulona raayi, chevilona joreega.

"What does it mean, Thatha?" asked Chinni.

Thatha counted on his fingers. "A stone in your chappal. A fly buzzing in your ear. A speck of dust in your eye. A thorn in your foot. And a quarrel inside your home. Vemana says these give you more trouble than you can measure."

Bujji's eyes went wide. "Thatha! That all happened today! My stone, Chinni's fly, your dust, and Chinni's thorn!"

"Yes," laughed Thatha. "All four came to teach us. Each one was very small, wasn't it? But each one stopped us on the road. We could not walk happily until we took it out."

He looked at the two children, sitting close together now. "And the fifth one, the quarrel at home, is the worst of all. Your fight this morning was about one small pinwheel. Small, like the stone. But it made Ammamma sad, it made breakfast sour, and it made this walk long and lonely. A quarrel is like a thorn inside the heart. The only cure is to pull it out quickly, with a sorry and a hug."

Chinni and Bujji looked at each other, and they both began to giggle. Then Bujji hugged Chinni, and Chinni hugged Bujji, and the red pinwheel spun round and round in the breeze.

That day at the jatara, they rode the giant wheel together. They shared one plate of hot jilebi. And they took turns with the pinwheel all the way home.

When they came through the door, Ammamma looked up and saw them holding hands. Her tired face broke into a big smile.

"What happened on the road?" she asked.

"A stone, a fly, some dust and a thorn," said Bujji.

"And Vemana," said Chinni. "Vemana happened."

So, little one, the next time a small quarrel pokes you like a thorn, what will you do? Pull it out quickly, say sorry, and walk on happily together. Sleep well.