Chapter - 1: A mouse is born

Beginning my life story with the phrase “A mouse is born” might surprise you. I can understand that reaction — it’s not how most stories begin. But life is full of such unexpected events, unfolding without our knowledge or effort. Who can tell why this mouse was born, how long it will live, or what purpose God has destined for it? Its birth is just one more mystery among many — a small event in a tiny, remote village called Adavi Ravulapadu, nestled in the Nandigama mandal of today’s NTR district (formerly Krishna district) in Andhra Pradesh, India.

Even after seventy years of independence, the village has changed very little. Electricity and water have arrived, but little else. If this is its condition today, one can easily imagine how it must have been in 1957, just ten years after independence. Back then, darkness ruled the nights, and fear lingered in every corner. The silence was broken only by the chirping of crickets or the distant barking of street dogs. Occasionally, a lone lamp flickered to life on the street — a brief spark against the overwhelming night.

It was January 26, 1957. The cold season had settled in, and by 5:30 p.m., darkness had already wrapped the village in its quiet embrace. Even cattle had retreated to their shelters, seeking warmth and rest. Then, amid the stillness, a faint cry pierced the silence — from a small room at the back of a modest house.

A few moments later, a middle-aged woman, the midwife, known as Erradi, walking with her familiar wobbly gait, emerged from the room. With a mix of excitement and amusement, she announced, “Eluka puttindi!” — “A mouse is born!”

Grandma's words: 

“Oh, you were as small as a mouse when you were born! You would cry incessantly, and we had to struggle to bathe you. Your legs would flail about, and you would slip away like a fish!” Our grandmother, Annapurnamma, lived for over a hundred years. She was a powerful lady in her own way, with a commanding voice that could summon anyone in the village. Grandma would manage the farm work and household chores with authority, and her generosity was boundless. My childhood was a constant struggle, with illnesses and diseases lurking in every corner. The village had no proper medical facilities, and we relied on traditional remedies. I was a sickly child, prone to asthma. My mother would stay up all night, tending to me, and would even apply a poultice of warm raw salt on my chest to calm my illness. We were a family of five children, but two of them succumbed to illnesses. My mother was determined to save me, the youngest. This mouse-like child(me) grew up, studied, and even earned a Degree. After graduating in Telugu medium, this mouse went to Bombay to pursue his Masters. I'll continue the story in the next chapter.

 

Foot notes:

 

1. Erradi: We don't know her real name, but everyone in the village calls her Erradi (woman with a fair skin colour). I remember her as a very old woman. Despite her age, she had a charismatic appeal. I never thought about how beautiful she must have been in her youth. People used to say she was our village Mantrasaani. She would solve delivery cases (childbirth) in the absence of doctors. Most of her time was spent in the Brahmin sector of our village. Gradually, her attire, speech, and behaviour became like that of Brahmin women. I saw her only once or twice after I gained awareness.

 

2. Adavi Ravulapádu: This is a village of Agraharikulu (Brahmins who received land grants). Initially, four Brahmin families lived here, and over time, the village grew to accommodate their needs. Now, those Brahmin families are slowly dispersing. Today, a good tar road connects Nandigama to our village, but in my childhood, it was nothing more than a muddy track. During the rainy season, the streams would swell and overflow, making travel difficult and uncertain.

My father, Turlapati Venkata Mallikarjuna Varaprasada Rao, worked in the Endowments Department and would get transferred to different places, so we lived in various towns like Mangalagiri and Guntur. In the summer months, when we visited our village, our grandmother would send a bullock cart to fetch us from Nandigama. The entire village would buzz with excitement, knowing that her grandchildren were coming home. She had stayed behind in the village to tend to our keeping the family roots alive amid the soil she cherished. She would be thrilled to see us. She would decorate the bullocks' horns with colours, put garlands around their necks, and adorn them with shiny belts. People could tell from a distance that it was our cart arriving.

 

3.My Mother and Prosperity:

My mother, Swarajya Lakshmi Kanuri, is the daughter of Bhairavanandam of Kankipadu. Our grandfather gifted a cow to our parents. People would say that our house was filled with milk and milk products due to the cow's presence. The cow's offsprings grew, and soon we had eleven cows, four buffalo calves, and two pairs of oxen. I knew how to take care of them. I loved the calves so much, and they loved me too. 

When I left the village, one calf followed our cart until the village outskirts. It was hard for a young boy to send it back. I'm sharing this because our grandmother would say that our mother's arrival ushered in prosperity to our family and our agricultural