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Authors: Amulya Malladi
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you know what? Being with them, standing next to them, you seem like a failure as well.”
“This ashram is a safe haven for lost souls,” Ramanandam said defensively.
“Including yours,” Vineetha said in full agreement.
“Charvi is a guru, but you’re probably too blinded by bitterness and rage to see the light of divinity within her,” Ramanandam said angrily. “But one can’t blame you. Women like you, women who have no God, no husband, no children, and no family, tend to be bitter and dried-up old maids.”
Vineetha gasped. He had revealed what some had suspected were always his true feelings. The last threads of friendship holding them together unraveled.
“I came here with the good intention to help you, God knows why, but I can’t stand to be with you and be party to your pitiful life. And yes, Raman, it is a pitiful life. Living off scraps left by visitors and anointing your own daughter a guru so that she can be the breadwinner, pretending to be open and kind but truly condemning those around you to a life of restriction and poverty—all of it is depraved,” Vineetha said, and wondered why on earth she had come here in the first place.
“You are nothing but a whimsical rich bitch,” Ramanandam said, furious with her.
“There is no reason for name-calling,” Vineetha said calmly. “Here is some money for this stay. Isn’t that what visitors leave behind?” She hadn’t meant to give it to him—she had intended to give it to Subhadra, who took care of such matters—but pride propelled her and she threw the heavy envelope on the bed.
It was the last and only time Vineetha came to Tella Meda.
1967 12 March 1967 . Indira Gandhi became the prime minister of India for the second time.
13 May 1967. Dr. Zakhir Hussain was elected the third president of India, the first Muslim to hold the post.
The Goddess
E ventually time healed the wound Vidura had inflicted on Tella Meda and even though the wound itched at times, it didn’t bleed anymore.
Charvi missed Vidura but as the years passed, his memory started to fade just a little. She felt some guilt for not remembering him as she used to but that passed as well.
Charvi’s relationship with her father improved after Vineetha Raghavan’s departure. Ramanandam never asked Charvi why she thought he knew the reason for Vidura running away and she never told him about her suspicions either. Till the day he died, Ramanandam claimed he knew nothing and Charvi never questioned him.
It was during the monsoon season, when rain was slamming the coast and the threat of a hurricane loomed large, that the white man with his signature American backpack and Levi’s jeans arrived. Mark Talbot was a photojournalist for Life magazine and was taking a vacation in southern India. A friend of his mentioned Bheemunipatnam and Tella Meda, and Mark wrote a letter to Charvi and asked for an invitation to visit.
He had been to other ashrams of famous Indian gurus and had seen their opulence, the numerous devotees, and the religious following. He was surprised by Tella Meda. It seemed barren, normal, like a home, just as Charvi had told him in the letter.
“This is my home,” she had written, “and you are welcome to come and visit. I am not an Amma or a goddess, I am just Charvi. My home is open to anyone who is in need and by need I don’t mean in need of salvation, for I do not know how to provide that. My home is a refuge for those who need a home, for those who are looking for some peace in their lives. It is by the Bay of Bengal and at night when you look at the waters, the waves look like white frothy birds frolicking on the night-darkened sand.
“My home is a place of religion but I don’t believe in imposing my beliefs on those who come here. My God is not everyone’s God and I believe that religion and prayer are private matters. You are welcome to pray with me and I will be happy to include you in my sermons about my God, but if you are not
“This ashram is a safe haven for lost souls,” Ramanandam said defensively.
“Including yours,” Vineetha said in full agreement.
“Charvi is a guru, but you’re probably too blinded by bitterness and rage to see the light of divinity within her,” Ramanandam said angrily. “But one can’t blame you. Women like you, women who have no God, no husband, no children, and no family, tend to be bitter and dried-up old maids.”
Vineetha gasped. He had revealed what some had suspected were always his true feelings. The last threads of friendship holding them together unraveled.
“I came here with the good intention to help you, God knows why, but I can’t stand to be with you and be party to your pitiful life. And yes, Raman, it is a pitiful life. Living off scraps left by visitors and anointing your own daughter a guru so that she can be the breadwinner, pretending to be open and kind but truly condemning those around you to a life of restriction and poverty—all of it is depraved,” Vineetha said, and wondered why on earth she had come here in the first place.
“You are nothing but a whimsical rich bitch,” Ramanandam said, furious with her.
“There is no reason for name-calling,” Vineetha said calmly. “Here is some money for this stay. Isn’t that what visitors leave behind?” She hadn’t meant to give it to him—she had intended to give it to Subhadra, who took care of such matters—but pride propelled her and she threw the heavy envelope on the bed.
It was the last and only time Vineetha came to Tella Meda.
1967 12 March 1967 . Indira Gandhi became the prime minister of India for the second time.
13 May 1967. Dr. Zakhir Hussain was elected the third president of India, the first Muslim to hold the post.
The Goddess
E ventually time healed the wound Vidura had inflicted on Tella Meda and even though the wound itched at times, it didn’t bleed anymore.
Charvi missed Vidura but as the years passed, his memory started to fade just a little. She felt some guilt for not remembering him as she used to but that passed as well.
Charvi’s relationship with her father improved after Vineetha Raghavan’s departure. Ramanandam never asked Charvi why she thought he knew the reason for Vidura running away and she never told him about her suspicions either. Till the day he died, Ramanandam claimed he knew nothing and Charvi never questioned him.
It was during the monsoon season, when rain was slamming the coast and the threat of a hurricane loomed large, that the white man with his signature American backpack and Levi’s jeans arrived. Mark Talbot was a photojournalist for Life magazine and was taking a vacation in southern India. A friend of his mentioned Bheemunipatnam and Tella Meda, and Mark wrote a letter to Charvi and asked for an invitation to visit.
He had been to other ashrams of famous Indian gurus and had seen their opulence, the numerous devotees, and the religious following. He was surprised by Tella Meda. It seemed barren, normal, like a home, just as Charvi had told him in the letter.
“This is my home,” she had written, “and you are welcome to come and visit. I am not an Amma or a goddess, I am just Charvi. My home is open to anyone who is in need and by need I don’t mean in need of salvation, for I do not know how to provide that. My home is a refuge for those who need a home, for those who are looking for some peace in their lives. It is by the Bay of Bengal and at night when you look at the waters, the waves look like white frothy birds frolicking on the night-darkened sand.
“My home is a place of religion but I don’t believe in imposing my beliefs on those who come here. My God is not everyone’s God and I believe that religion and prayer are private matters. You are welcome to pray with me and I will be happy to include you in my sermons about my God, but if you are not
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