Shailaja Reddy's Son in-law

Chaitanya was the kind of young admirable man of his town. He spoke less, but his calmness carried weight. Working alongside his Father in business. Anusha Reddy, on the other hand, was a firebrand in her own way. She loved her art more than anything, confident, a little stubborn, and never ready to loose not even in arguments. Their first meeting had been accidental, but from that day Chai’s steady nature began to balance Anu’s sharp edges. She would tease him, calling him “too decent,” while he smiled back and said, “Maybe that’s why you like me, Anu.” Somewhere between her stubbornness and his patience, prema grew silently. Chai’s father was a proud man, known for his big talk and bigger ego. 

One evening at home, over dinner, he declared, “Let’s fix the pelli right away.” Chai tried to reason, “Naana, maybe we should ask Anu’s family first…” but his father waved him off. “Business and marriages—both need timing, Chaitanya. If you delay, you lose.” Anu, though hesitant at first, couldn’t hide her genuine love for Chai. “You really think I’ll survive without you?” she asked him over the phone, half angry, half shy. He laughed, replying softly, “No chance anu.” Within days, the engagement was arranged with pomp, the news spreading fast among relatives. Far away in her village, Shailaja Reddy heard the news. Her face darkened. “Without asking me? She dared?” she muttered.

Turning to her mens, she ordered, “Go to the city. Bring her back.” That night, as the celebrations continued, her men set out under the moonlight, their arrival in the city marking the beginning of a storm. The engagement night glowed with lights and chatter. Relatives filled the garden, kids ran about, and the sound of DJ set the mood. Anu walked in wearing bright yellow saree, her chin held high, while Chai, in blue blazer, tried not to look too excited. Rings were exchanged, blessings poured, and smiles spread across the crowd. Just as the hall settled into laughter, suddenly turned heavy when a group of men walked in, their presence silencing the chatter. Anusha froze the moment she saw her babai leading them. 

“Amma sent you?” she asked in a low voice, her hands trembling though her face stayed firm. He nodded without a word. Chai stepped forward, confused. “What’s happening, Anu?” She avoided his eyes. “Chai… I cannot continue this engagement, I have no choice.” His heart sank. “But Anu—” Before he could finish, her uncle pulled her gently. Anu lowered her head and walked away with them. He stood helpless, whispering to himself, “Who is this Shailaja Reddy… and why does everyone fear her so much?” The scene shifted to the village, where whispers followed every step of Shailaja Reddy. “Our Ammagaru is like a Queen only,” one woman told another, adjusting her pallu. 

“She never bends for anyone’s words.” Men stood with folded hands when she passed by, children ran behind her, calling her name with awe. Shailaja moved with quiet authority, her eyes sharp, her chin high. She had earned her place not by kindness but by sheer stubborn strength. Years of standing against greedy politicians and village disputes had made her unshakable. To her people, she was both protector and judge. But beneath the respect was also fear. Everyone knew one truth—once Shailaja Reddy made a decision, not even God could change it. When Anu entered the ancestral house. Five years had passed since she had last spoken to her mother. The silence between them was heavier than any words.

The reason: the jathara, their village festival. Anu had rebelled then hurting her mother's pride and from that day both had buried their affection under layers of ego. Chai, restless after Anu was taken, arrived at the village too. But not as himself—he introduced to the villagers as a young doctor surveying the area to set up a hospital for the poor. Smiling politely, he shook hands, but inside his heart carried a secret plan. “I didn’t come here for a hospital,” he thought. “I came here to make Anu and athamma talk again like before.” With that hidden resolve, Chai stepped into the territory of Shailaja Reddy. Chaitanya finally met Shailaja Reddy. With a calm smile he tried to impress her,

saying that the idea of starting a hospital had come to him through Anusha. He believed the trick might soften her, but Shailaja’s nature was different. Her ego and stubbornness never allowed her to digest the thought that her daughter could think like that. Instead of showing doubt, she gave a sharp praise for his decision, as though she was the one who expected such bold steps. When Chaitanya asked if he could stay in the village, Shailaja did not answer immediately. At that time, Manikyam, her trusted assistant suggested that the guest house would be suitable. Shailaja agreed without much thought, and unknowingly the distance between Chaitanya and Anusha began to close. 

That evening, the dinner table became a stage of silent battles. Everyone sat together — Anusha, Shailaja, Manikyam, Chaitanya, and Chari. The food was served, but the conversation was strange. Anusha and her mother never spoke directly, every word passing only through Manikyam. If Anusha asked for salt, it was Manikyam who carried the message across. If Shailaja gave a remark, it was again Manikyam. Chaitanya watched with surprise, not believing such ego could survive even at a family meal. Manikyam teased Chaitanya, “Still time is there… find another girl. Otherwise, your future… ayyo, nobody can save you.” The table shook with an odd mix of tension and laughter, but beneath it all,

The clash of pride between mother and daughter continued silently, sharp as ever. Days later came Shailaja Reddy’s birthday. The temple members visited her house to discuss about the annual jathara. Every year it was the duty of the family to lead the rituals, and naturally the question rose again — would Anusha take part this time? The air grew heavy. For a moment the pride in Shailaja’s face dimmed, but only for a moment. Controlling herself, she gave a calm yet firm reply, “We will find someone else, like every year.” The temple members accepted her decision and left. That night, Chaitanya lay restless in the guest house, thinking about the solution for the ego clash. 

The next morning, he cornered Manikyam and asked. “Tell me the truth, anna… why have they not spoken for five years?” Manikyam hesitated, glancing around before lowering his voice. “It all began with a doctor, Chai. Only one hospital and that doctor insulted madam badly. Our madam swore Anu should become doctor one day. But Anu wanted art first, so a compromise was struck. After Ashok Reddy garu’s death, the ritual fell on madam and Anu. Madam ordered, but Anu refused and said she loves her hair, doesn’t want gundu ritual.” Chaitanya stood surprised. Later, he found Shailaja Reddy sitting alone on the chair. For a moment, she looked less like a lioness and more like a tired woman.

Chaitanya sat quietly before speaking. “Madam… why did you never forgive her?” Shailaja’s eyes hardened, but her voice betrayed a crack. “That doctor spat on my respect Chaitanya. She said I should build my own hospital and make my daughter the doctor. I took it as a challenge. This village, these people… they are my blood. And my daughter denied me, in front of them all. Rivals laughed, politicians mocked. Yet I stood strong, shaved girls’ heads year after year, carried the burden. But when it came to Anu, she chose her hair over me.” Her lips trembled for a second, but she turned her face away. That night, Chaitanya went to Anu’s room. She sat before the mirror, running her fingers through her long, untouched hair.

“You think I don’t love my amma? But she never gave me time. Villagers first, always. Not me. And when she asked for that ritual… I was terrified. All my life, I’ve kept my hair. Not even as a child did they shave me. How can I suddenly sit and give it away? So for five years, i didn't cut my hair as rebel. This hair is my fight.” She broke into tears, and Chaitanya gently held her shoulders. By dawn, he understood both hearts. Pride had chained the amma, fear had chained the kuthuru. If they could not bend, at least they could walk together. Slowly, he spoke to Anu again, this time with patience, with care. and finally she nodded. “I will do it, Chai. I will sit for the ritual.” Chaitanya’s face lit up with relief.

Until she added, firmly, “But only if amma also joins me. If I lose my hair, she must too. Otherwise, vaddu.” The words hung heavy in the air—an impossible condition, sharp as thunder. And yet, for the first time, Chaitanya saw a spark of resolve stronger than ego in her eyes. Convincing Shailaja Reddy was not an easy task. Chaitanya kept trying, again and again, but she stood strong like a rock. Finally, after a long struggle, she agreed with one condition. “First Anu should get gundu… then only I will think about mine,” Chai stood stuck. It was a dead end. Anu wanted her amma first, Shailaja wanted her daughter first. He didn’t know how to move forward. The next few days, Chaitanya tried to bring them closer.

At the dining table, during small outings, even in casual talks, he created chances for them to share a word. But the ego still stood between them. Chai sighed to himself, only this gundu ritual can break their wall. Finally the Jathra day arrived. Early morning, Shailaja Reddy went to the temple and sat near the mandapam, her presence filling the place with authority. She kept waiting. When Chai entered with Anu, dressed in a silk saree, Shailaja let out a small breath of relief. Before the ritual started, Chai called Shailaja reddy aside. “Amma, please… for Anu this is first time. She is scared. She never shaved her head even in childhood. Don’t let her feel alone,” he said softly. For the first time, Shailaja didn’t snap back. 

She listened quietly. Just then, one of the rivals stepped with a smirk. “Madam you know who this fellow is? He is none other than Anu’s fiancé from the city” Shailaja’s anger shot up like fire. She stormed at chai, slapped him hard, and dragged him outside. “Get out! you broke my trust, na family matter. No one else interferes!” she shouted. Anu, sitting inside, had no idea about this storm. Finally, the moment came. After five long years, Shailaja walked to her daughter and sat next to her placing her hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry… amma is here,” she said softly. Anu’s eyes filled with tears hearing her mother’s voice after so long. The barber stepped forward with his razor. 

He loosened Anu’s long braid, poured water over her head. Anu closed her eyes tight, holding her saree pallu in her fist. The barber pressed the razor against her crown and pulled. Scrrhhkk. A thick clump of hair slid down into her lap. More strokes followed. Strands fell on her shoulders, then on the floor, covering the stone steps around her. Anu trembled but stayed still. Shailaja kept her hand firm on her back. Slowly, the thick hair that was her pride vanished stroke by stroke. The barber poured water again, and wiped her head clean. When Anu finally opened her eyes, her head was shining smooth, her hair lying in a heap on the floor. Shailaja looked at her daughter—no anger now, only pride. 

The barber wiped his blade, ready to leave, when Shailaja Reddy’s voice echoed, “Stop. Shave my head also.” The whole temple froze. Anusha, still wiping her bald scalp, stared at her mother. “Amma…  nijamga na?” she asked, trembling. Shailaja reddy nodded with a smile. The barber untied her thick bun, water dripped as he soaked it and pressed it flat. With the first stroke of the razor, a thick patch of hair rolled down her shoulder. Stroke by stroke, the proud crown of Shailaja disappeared. Villagers watched in silence, seeing their strong leader bow to the ritual. Finally, the last strands fell, leaving her head shining smooth. Anusha hugged her mother tightly, tears flowing. “Amma…”she whispered, her voice breaking. 

Just then, noise erupted outside the temple. Goons had entered the jathra to create chaos. Chaitanya tried to block them, throwing punches, but soon he was overpowered, dragged, and beaten to the ground. Blood streaked his face. One villager ran inside, shouting, “Amma! Chaitanya is fighting outside, he is alone!” Shailaja Reddy’s eyes blazed with anger. Without a word, she grabbed a sickle lying near the offerings and stormed out of the temple. Anusha, still bald and shocked, froze for a moment before running after her mother. Outside, the goons circled Chaitanya, kicking him mercilessly. Shailaja Reddy roared, “Touch him again, and I’ll cut you here itself!” The men hesitated, but one laughed.

That was enough. She swung the sickle with raw strength, slashing a man’s arm. She kicked one hard, making him roll on the dirt. Some goons panicked, ran away, while others got beaten to the ground. In the middle of the chaos, Anusha knelt by Chaitanya, lifted his head gently into her lap. “Chai… look at me, levu chai?” she begged, tears streaming. Chaitanya replied with pain “I’m fine… yedavaku,” Shailaja stood, chest heaving, sickle still in hand. She turned to see her daughter cradling Chaitanya with pure love. For the first time in years, her eyes softened. She stepped closer, “Anusha,” she said. Both Anu and Chai looked up at her. Shailaja’s throat tightened, “This pelli… will happen. I agree.”

 Anusha broke down, hugging her mother’s waist, sobbing against her freshly shaved head. Chaitanya folded his hands with gratitude, whispering, “Thank you, Amma.” The villagers, who had been silent all this time, burst into cheers, clapping and shouting blessings. That day, in the same jathra ground, with bald heads shining and egos broken, a family was rebuilt, and love finally won. After the jathra, life slowly settled as Anusha, now married to Chaitanya, shared her days between village and city, but every day she used to call her mother and talk like earlier, Villagers greeted them with respect, whispering about their courage. Yet, the old spark of ego remained. At the dining table, Shailaja would say,

 “Without me, you wouldn’t have dared for gundu.” Anusha replied sharply, “If I didn’t, even you wouldn’t have sat.” Their bald heads shone, their words clashed, but in the middle sat Chaitanya, smiling nervously, trying to keep peace, and failing most of the times. As months passed, soft hair covered their scalps, One evening, when Chaitanya thought peace finally arrived, both mother and daughter declared together, “Next year, we will go bald again.” His face drained. “Again? Amma, Anu… please don’t plan such shocks!” But they ignored him, laughing as they touched their short hair, already imagining the next gundu. For them, it was bond and pride; for him, only tension.