Gunturu's Venkata Ramana

Amulya’s life had changed the day her father passed away. The small pension that came after his death became the backbone of their survival. Her marriage to Venkata Ramana had been arranged in haste, her mother believing a strong man would protect her gentle daughter. But instead of protection, Ramana’s arrogance became another chain around her neck. Vasundhara, his old mother, lived in the same house—silent, sad, unable to question her son’s temper. The little tiled-roof house in the dusty Gunturu village became the stage for Amulya’s daily struggles, each day beginning with fear of what Ramana would demand next. Amulya woke before sunrise, bathing quickly with the chill water from the backyard drum.

Draped in a faded cotton saree, her hair middle parted and tied into a long braid, she stepped into the kitchen. Grinding chutney on the stone slab, lighting the stove, and sweeping the small courtyard. Despite all her efforts, she never heard a word of appreciation. To her, serving the family was duty. Outside the house, Ramana sat on the wooden cot after his morning workout. His muscles gleamed with sweat, and the iron dumbbells lay scattered around him. He took a deep breath and shouted, “Osey Amulya, bring the oil ra! Fast!” She rushed with a small steel bowl, head lowered. “ Rey massage properly and press with strength!” he barked, stretching his arms wide.

Her thin fingers trembled as she rubbed oil on his broad back. “Tie your hair tight, neyamma! Your loose braid is itching my skin,” he scolded, making her shrink further into silence. Just then, Raji, their neighbor, passed by. She adjusted her pallu and called out loudly, “Ayy Ramana garu, looks like Amulya’s massage is weaker than your weights!” She laughed mockingly, pretending it was a joke. Ramana smirked, feeling proud while Amulya’s cheeks burned red. “See, even she can notice, useless hands, chehh ” he snapped, gripping Amulya’s wrist roughly. Vasundhara sat quietly at the doorway, eyes lowered, as if these morning quarrels were nothing new. Amulya swallowed her tears, praying for the massage to end soon.

Ramana’s days followed the same path. After lazing around in the afternoon, he went to the village center, throwing his weight in the card games. People feared his short temper—no one dared argue even if he cheated a little. By evening, he swaggered into the small bar, slamming his hand on the wooden counter. “Sarayi mandhu oka bottle ra!” he barked and within minutes, his voice rose above the crowd and created a scene as if the shop belonged to him. Drunk and stumbling, he returned home late. The moment he entered the courtyard, Amulya rushed to take the bottle from his hands. “Leave it, neyamma!” he shouted. In anger, he pulled her braid hard, “Everyday same crying face… 

Are you my wife or my curse?” he spat. She pleaded, “Please, yevandi, don’t shout, neighbours are listening.” His reply was a sharp slap on her soft cheeks, making her flinch. He then crashed onto the sofa, muttering abuses, breaking the bottle onto their bed as the pieces scattered across the mattress. Amulya lifted his legs onto the sofa, covered him with an old blanket, and finally lay down on the cold floor beside him. Vasundhara appeared at the doorway and whispered, “Amulya… this is common. Don’t take wrong steps, just cope up ma. Men are like this.” Amulya wiped her tears silently, too afraid to speak. Both women swallowed their pain in silence, living under Ramana’s drunken shadow.

One hot afternoon, Ramana stood leaning against the compound wall as Raji came close, smiling sweetly. “Ayyo, look at those muscles…” she made him blush. Her voice was sugary, She praised his strength, called him hero, mocked Amulya as weak. Ramana’s chest swelled with false pride, enjoying every word. Their giggles floated across the courtyard like poison wrapped in honey. Amulya entered the yard just then, carrying a bucket of wet clothes to hang on the rope and she paused for a moment. Raji smirked, “See, she is staring… anamanishtudaani. Women like her always imagine affairs when men talk freely.” “Neyamma! poove, go inside” he roared at Amulya. Raji covered her laugh, enjoying the moment. 

Amulya quietly walked in, heart trembling, while outside Raji’s poisonous words tightened their grip on Ramana’s mind. That night, the compound felt heavy with unease. Ramana staggered in, drunk as usual, his words slurring yet sharp like thorns. People in the street had long grown used to his midnight nuisance, but today his voice carried a different kind of rage. He stormed with eyes bloodshot, shouting, “Amulya! Nuvvu doubt chesthava na meeda?” everyone froze, fearful of what might come next. Amulya, who had been brushing her braid looked up in shock. She hadn’t spoken a word about him or Raji. But before she could defend herself, Ramana screamed “Don’t act innocent…

I can see it in your eyes.” Amulya moved back, “Yevandi… I never said such a thing… please don’t misunderstand.” Balu the village barber who was passing by came forward upon ramana's order, he tried to give small advice But Ramana snapped back, “Shut your mouth Balu! firstu deeniki gundu geeyi” Ramana shouted. Vasundhara, sensing the storm, stepped forward. She placed her hands together, trying to calm him. “Ramana, please… this is not the way. Don’t take such dangerous steps. Gundu or punishment like that won’t solve anything.” Her voice was steady but carried a tremble beneath it. Ramana turned his wild gaze on her, and for a moment it seemed like he might lash out again. 

But her words struck somewhere deep inside—reminding him of the line between anger and madness. Amulya, still pressed against the wall, tried once more. “Yevandi, I respect you. Why would I talk about you like that? Naaku bhayam ga undi….” The raw fear in her tone made a few neighbors peep out from their doors, whispering quietly but staying away. Everyone feared Ramana, but no one respected him. Finally, after minutes of rage and slurring accusations, his voice started to fade. He then stumbled inside his house, slamming the door shut. The compound exhaled in relief. The neighbors, who had been peeking from corners, felt a quiet satisfaction—at least the girl had been spared tonight.

Amulya sank down on the steps, tears filling her eyes but also a small wave of relief passing through her chest. Vasundhara held her hand tightly, That night ended with silence hanging heavy over the gully, but hearts were strangely lighter. Next morning, Raji spotted Amulya near the temple steps. Amulya’s eyes were swollen from the night’s tears. She blurted out everything, voice breaking, “Raji… last night… he… I couldn’t even breathe.” Raji widened her eyes, pretending shock. “What? I wasn’t even in town… ayyo, I didn’t know at all,” she said, acting innocent, stroking Amulya’s shoulder like a caring sister. Slowly, Raji’s tone shifted—soft, careful poison dripping. “Amulya… 

Why are you suffering in this hell? You’re young… you deserve better. Why stay with this rakshasudu? Escape. Go live your own life.” Her words cracked something inside Amulya, nodding faintly, tears running down. That spark of rebellion lit— she hurried home, stuffed clothes into a bag, tucked in some money, and whispered to herself, “Chaalu… I’m leaving now only.” But as Amulya walked out, Vasundhara caught her arm. “Amulya… don’t do this. Once you step out, he will find you… he will burn you alive.” Amulya shook her off, voice trembling, “I can’t stay here, amma… I’ll die inside this house.” She walked away. A little later, Ramana strolled down the gully, spotting Raji.

“Aye Raji… long time, enti? Missed me?” he smirked. Raji smiled slyly, leaning close. “Missed you too, but… your Amulya is not missing you anymore. She packed her bag, said goodbye, and is running off with her boyfriend.” She let the words hang like smoke. Ramana froze, blood boiling. His beedi flared, and he spat, “lanja daana… boyfriend ah?” He stormed off, rage burning in every step. Near the bus stand road, Amulya clutched her bag, scanning for the bus. Then her eyes widened—Ramana. He stood there like a shadow. Her bag slipped from her hands. “Listen, I wasn’t—” she tried, but before words left her lips, his hand tangled into her braid. “shut up... lanjaa daana… running away ah?”

He roared, dragging her. She screamed, “Please, Yevandi, leave me!” Tears streaked her face as her feet scraped against the rough road. But his grip only tightened. He cursed as he yanked her through the lanes. “paapishtudaana… bloody slut… boyfriend tho paripothava? Neeyamma .” Neighbours peeked out— some gasped, others quickly shut doors. Children ran to hide behind mothers’ sarees. Amulya stumbled, begging, “I didnt do anything wrong, please…” But Ramana didn’t hear a word. He dragged her all the way back, braid in his fist, and flung her inside the hall. She crashed against the floor, crying. The house fell into a dead silence, except for his ragged breathing and her broken sobs. 

Ramana staggered to the kitchen, his drunken breath heavy. The metallic clink of utensils echoed as he pulled out a sharp kitchen knife. Amulya’s eyes widened, terror gripping her chest. “Yevandi… please… don’t kill me,” she screamed, voice cracking, clutching her long loose hair like a shield. Hearing her scream, Vasundhara rushed out from the pooja room. “Ramu, emi chesthunav ra? Drop that knife!” she cried, trembling. Ramana death stared at her. “Nuvvu maatladaku amma…This is between me and her,” he thundered. Shaken Vasundhara silently backed into the pooja room, tears in her eyes, pressing her palms together to the idol, chanting prayers in desperation. 

Ramana turned gripping the knife. Amulya stumbled backward, hitting the wall, her body trembling. “Nooo… please...” she begged. But Ramana grabbed a fistful of her thick loose hair, jerking her head back. “neyamma i will destroy your pride pride, beauty, glamour…” He slashed at her hair wildly with the knife, chopping uneven clumps. Strands fell across the floor in messy piles. Amulya shrieked watching her crown of pride fall in jagged tufts. Her long locks were scattered like lifeless snakes around her feet. Tears blurred her vision. Ramana pressed the dull knife flat against her scalp, scraping with brutal force. “Ramanaaa please… aaahhh!” she cried, pain cutting through her skin as the blade scratched and pulled. 

The dry scrape left her scalp raw, patches of red burning against her pale skin. Blood dotted her forehead where the knife tore too deep. She sobbed, “Amma… ahh…abba...” But Ramana didn’t stop. His jaw clenched. “You deserve this!” he roared, forcing the knife across her scalp, giving her gundu. The pain was unbearable, the blade tearing hair and flesh alike, but Amulya just shut her eyes, surrendering to her fate, sobbing uncontrollably. When he finally stepped back, sweat dripping, her head was left in an uneven patches of baldness, jagged tufts sticking out, blood-stained skin exposed. He threw the knife onto the floor with a clang and shoved her away. “Pove bayatiki…

let’s see who will look at you now. Nee pride… nee beauty… all under my foot” he yelled, his voice echoing like thunder. Then, without waiting, he stormed out of the house, lighting a beedi. Vasundhara came out of the pooja room. She fell to her knees beside Amulya, who sat crumpled on the floor, clutching the uneven remains of her hair. “Ayyo paapam… atleast he spared your life and only did gundu” she cried, hugging her daughter-in-law. Soon, Balu arrived by Vasundhara’s trembling call. His eyes softened at the sight of Amulya’s ruined scalp. With calm hands, he shaved her head properly, smoothing out the patches, leaving her bald but at least clean, the bleeding areas gently wiped. 

Amulya closed her eyes, tears streaming silently, each stroke sealing her surrender. That night, Ramana returned, body swaying with saarayi mandhu. He stormed into the room, pulling Amulya onto the bed without a word, his rough palm moving over her freshly smooth scalp. “Now you’re mine… only mine,” he mumbled drunkenly before collapsing into sleep. Amulya lay stiff, her skin crawling at his touch, irritation burning, but slowly her body gave in to exhaustion. Eyes heavy with pain, she whispered to herself, “Ide na brathuku... this is my fate…” before drifting into uneasy sleep beside him being bald and vulnerable .