The Grammarian by Annapurna Potluri Read Free Book Online Page A

Adivi’s wife, a lovely woman in purple and blue, with a refined and womanly bearing and a long, aquiline nose; and lastly, two females not yet women, no longer girls—in those few, tender years after childhood. The first of these was a young woman of a beauty so intense that upon seeing her, Alexandre caught his breath. Her sister had the shadow of her father’s strong features though they did not suit a woman—she had an intelligent and suspicious air and was leaning her weight heavily on a cane.
    “Dr. Lautens, I presume.” Adivi held his hands up together in the customary Hindu greeting, his English refined with British tones.
    Alexandre mimicked the gesture, to which he too had become accustomed, and bowed slightly to the women. Then Adivi smiled widely and offered Alexandre his hand. Their palms met in a hearty shake. Behind them, near the gates, the servants continued unloading his cases from the coach. Subba Rao stood at the entrance of the garden, and Adivi told him to caution the other servants to be extra careful with Alexandre’s books. Bowing, Subba Rao left the garden area and walked toward the gates of the home. Adivi turned to his family, introducing him.
    “A great man of letters, Dr. Alexandre Lautens. Dr. Lautens, this is my mother—”
    “My name is Kanakadurga,” the old woman interjected. She smiled, proudly, broadly. Her English was fluent and deliberate. Hers was a bright and astonishingly open face, and Alexandre smiled, boyishly and unguardedly, as he looked at her.
    Adivi continued, “She is our daughters’ nainaamma , grandmother; it literally means ‘father’s mother’—we have this distinction that doesn’t exist in English.” Adivi chuckled, “In some matters we Indians are superior.” The old woman smiled sweetly and pressed her hands together. Alexandre had been told old women were referred to in Telugu as amma garru , “respected mother.”
    “Welcome, Dr. Lautens,” Kanakadurga smiled, and she walked toward Alexandre and took his smooth white hands in hers, which were wrinkled and the color of cocoa. “It is our family’s great fortune to have you here,” she continued as Alexandre blushed.
    “My wife, Lalita, and these are my daughters,” Adivi continued. Now closer than at his first inspection, he took in the beautiful girl’s face—the perfect gold skin, the large, dark eyes and delicate nose and mouth. About her face were thick knotted plaits of deep, inky black. “This,” Adivi cupped the girl’s face in his hands, his eyes warm with paternal pride, “is Mohini, my younger daughter . . . and this,” he continued, still holding his younger daughter’s face and motioning with his chin, “is my elder daughter, Anjali.” The women all pressed their hands together once more, and he stepped back. “Oh and this,” Adivi pointed to a sleeping sheepdog in the shadow of a tree, “is Byron.” Adivi’s mouth pursed as he heard harried clanging in the kitchen. “I apologize for the noise, Dr. Lautens, one of the peasant families nearbyhas had a death in the family, and my mother,” he gave a sidelong glance at Kanakadurga, “has asked the cook to send over some rice and milk.”
    Adivi came eye to eye with Alexandre and smiled deeply and warmly. “My home is your home, Dr. Lautens, my family is your family. Your presence here is a very high honor for us. The servants will show you to your quarters, and after you have rested, you will please join us for our evening meal.
    “Prithu!” Adivi called, and a boy servant answered from the outer corridor. The little boy listened to Adivi’s instructions in wide-eyed, emotionless silence.
    Prithu showed Alexandre to his room—it was splendid and simple, with a bed and dresser and desk made of teak, a deep and intricate rug in colors of burgundy and brown on the floor. The walls were left blank, which gave the room a light and spacious feeling. Alexandre lay down on the bed, stretching his tall body for a few