Tag: Sahitya Akademi award

By Naramsetti Umamaheswararao

Near a small Indian village stood a peaceful pond, with a lush green pasture stretching beside it. Cattle from the village often gathered there to graze.

One morning, an ox that worked at a traditional oil press was enjoying fresh grass. Since no customers had arrived with oilseeds that day, its owner had untied it and allowed it to graze freely.

Just then, a man who travelled from village to village with his performing bull happened to pass by. Seeing the green pasture, he untied his beautifully decorated bull and let it graze too. After washing his face in the pond, the man sat down to eat his lunch. When he had finished, he stretched out under a shady tree and enjoyed the cool breeze.

As the ceremonial bull grazed, it noticed the oil-press ox nearby. It walked over and began a conversation. When it learned what kind of work the other ox did, it looked at it with contempt. It had always considered oil-press oxen inferior.

With a mocking smile, the ceremonial bull said, “So, you are an oil-press ox! I have heard about your kind. You spend your entire life blindfolded, walking round and round a heavy stone mill. You never get to see the world beyond that little circle. You remind me of a frog in a well, unaware of the vast world outside. My master often sings about Gandhari, a woman from the great Indian epic Mahabharata who chose to remain blindfolded. But you have no choice at all! Tell me, don’t you ever get tired of living such a dull and confined life? What kind of life is that?”

The oil-press ox felt hurt by the insulting remarks. But it decided that arguing with an arrogant creature would serve no purpose. It quietly continued grazing. Its owner could call it back at any moment if a customer arrived, so it wanted to make the most of its free time.

The ceremonial bull was irritated by the silence. It knew the oil-press ox could hear perfectly well. Perhaps, it thought, the other ox was too proud to respond.

Determined to show off its own importance, it continued boasting. “When I walk through a village, people welcome me with great reverence. They wash my feet with turmeric water, perform aarti[1], and touch the sacred flame to their eyes. They drape beautiful new clothes over my back and apply vermilion to my forehead. Mothers bring their children to touch my face and seek my blessings.

“During Sankranti, the harvest festival, people welcome me as a sacred symbol of Nandi, Lord Shiva’s divine bull. When I leave, they feel sad, as though a divine guest were departing. My master even lies on the ground and asks me to place my hooves on his chest as I perform my trained steps. Such is the respect I receive! Tell me, what honour do you ever receive?”

The oil-press ox continued chewing the grass without responding.

Its indifference made the ceremonial bull even more impatient.

“Do you know something?” he said scornfully. “When people want to describe someone who leads a dull, uneventful life, they compare that person to an oil-press ox. Your life has become a symbol of monotony! And your children will probably spend their lives just as you do, going round and round that same mill.

“Life is meant to be enjoyed. It’s meant for travel, celebration, and new experiences. Look at me! I travel from village to village, meet different people, and receive their love and admiration. That is what I call a grand life!”

The oil-press ox had patiently endured the insults, but when the ceremonial bull began speaking contemptuously about its children, it finally raised its head.

“Friend,” it said calmly, “you seem to mistake admiration for true worth. The respect you receive during festivals is a beautiful tradition, and there is nothing wrong with enjoying it. But that does not make my life inferior to yours.

“Yes, I work at an oil press. I walk in circles, and my work may seem monotonous to you. But the oil I help produce is useful to many families. My labour supports my owner and serves the community. There is dignity in honest work, even when it is difficult or repetitive.

“Think about it. Many humans spend their days working within four walls. Does that make their lives meaningless? Does the nature of their work determine their worth?

“I do not feel ashamed of my work. I earn my food through my labour, and that gives me a sense of self-respect. I have no reason to look down upon myself or anyone else.”

The oil-press ox paused for a moment and continued.

“You take pride in the honour people show you during festivals. But every kind of work has its own value. You too have a skill, and people appreciate it. There is no need to belittle another creature to feel proud of yourself.

“And in your eagerness to boast about your grand life, you seem to have forgotten why you came here. You have hardly eaten anything. Look! Your master is coming to take you away.”

The ceremonial bull turned and saw its master approaching.

“You will have to leave before you have had a proper meal,” the oil-press ox added gently. “Our elders say that we should pay attention to the task before us. While you were busy praising yourself and mocking me, you forgot to enjoy the very thing we both came here for.”

The ceremonial bull lowered its head. For the first time that morning, it had nothing to say.

Without another word, it followed its master away from the pasture.

The oil-press ox returned to grazing peacefully, content in the knowledge that honest labour needed no grand praise to have its own worth.

[1] A ritualistic worship with flowers, fruits, incense and lighted lamp

Naramsetti Umamaheswararao has written more than a thousand stories, songs, and novels for children over 42 years. he has published 32 books. His novel, Anandalokam, received the Central Sahitya Akademi Award for children’s literature. He has received numerous awards and honours, including the Andhra Pradesh Government’s Distinguished Telugu Language Award and the Pratibha Award from Potti Sreeramulu Telugu University. He established the Naramshetty Children’s Literature Foundation and has been actively promoting children’s literature as its president.

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PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Click here to access Wild Winds: The Borderless Anthology of Poems

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

By Naramsetti Umamaheswararao

Every morning, the people of Greenvale woke up to the songs of birds, the rustling of leaves, and the cool shade of giant trees. The village looked fresh and beautiful in every season.

Much of this greenery existed because of two people — Mr. Ravi, the village teacher, and Grandpa Hari. They loved nature deeply. Wherever they found an empty piece of land, they planted saplings. They also encouraged everyone in the village to do the same. Soon, trees began growing in front of houses, beside pathways, and around the village pond.

One year, the government decided to build a factory near Greenvale. Officials soon arrived with a plan to widen the narrow village road and build a smooth tar road for large trucks carrying machines and goods.

But there was a problem.

Many huge neem and tamarind trees stood along the roadside. To widen the road, all of them would have to be cut down.

Some of the village youngsters said, “Roads and factories mean development. Why should we stop it?”

But Grandpa Hari stood silently beneath the trees, sadness filling his eyes. Just then, Mr. Ravi arrived.“Is cutting down so many trees the only way?” he asked the officials calmly. “There is another road around the village that can be improved instead. Development should not destroy nature.”

The officials replied, “The factory will bring jobs to your village. Why are you opposing this project?”

“We are not against progress,” Mr. Ravi explained. “We are only asking you to save these trees and use the other road.”

“That decision is beyond our control,” the officials answered. “If you wish, speak to the Minister or the District Collector. We can stop the work for two or three days. After that, we must continue unless new orders arrive.”

That evening, Mr. Ravi called for a village meeting.

“Cutting down fully grown trees,” he told the villagers, “is like destroying children we have raised with care. The world is already growing hotter. Summers are becoming harsher, rainfall is decreasing, and our ponds and wells no longer stay full throughout the year. If we lose these trees, our future will suffer even more.”

The villagers listened carefully.

“Let us request the authorities to improve the alternate road instead,” he continued. “I will prepare a petition. Together, we can protect our village.”

After many discussions, the villagers finally agreed. Everyone signed the petition, and it was sent to the Minister and the District Collector. A few days later, there had news and it was good.

The alternate road would be developed, and the trees in Greenvale would remain safe.

Mr. Ravi and Grandpa Hari were overjoyed.

Months later, the village elders decided to build a community hall. However, a large tree planted years ago by Grandpa Hari stood exactly where they wanted to build it.

“We may have to remove this tree,” the elders said.

“What difference will one tree make? The hall will help everyone.”

Grandpa Hari quietly went inside his home and returned with an old diary. Inside it was a faded photograph of him as a little boy planting the tree with his father.

“This tree is a memory of my father,” he said softly, tears shining in his eyes. “Please let it live. Build the hall around it if you wish.”

Mr. Ravi smiled and supported him.

“He is right,” the teacher told the villagers. “If we keep cutting down trees, will air conditioners save us from the dangerous heat of the future? Your parents once played under this tree. Let future generations also enjoy its shade.”

The villagers respected Mr. Ravi greatly. At last, they agreed to protect the tree.

Not long afterward, a young boy in the village developed severe breathing problems. His family rushed to town searching for an oxygen cylinder.

Watching this, Grandpa Hari called the children closer.

“Did you see that?” he asked gently. “People had to travel far for one oxygen cylinder. But trees give us fresh oxygen every single day, free of cost. That is why we must never destroy them. If we continue cutting trees, one day people may have to buy oxygen just to survive.”

The children fell silent.

Then one little girl suddenly said, “Let us plant more trees!”

“Yes!” the others shouted excitedly. “Let us plant one hundred saplings near the village pond!”

The children worked together happily. They planted the saplings and cared for them every day.

Years passed.

The tiny plants slowly grew into strong trees, and Greenvale turned into a beautiful green paradise.

Rain fell regularly again. The ponds and wells overflowed with water. Birds from distant places filled the village with cheerful songs and bright colours. Farmers harvested healthy crops because water was plentiful. The cooler weather reduced the need for electrical appliances, helping families save money. Most importantly, the villagers became healthier because of the clean and fresh air.

One pleasant evening, Mr. Ravi and Grandpa Hari sat beneath the trees, watching the children play nearby.

“Look around,” Grandpa Hari said with a smile. “The small saplings we planted have become giant trees. They brought rain back to our village. Birds returned because of this greenery. Even community meetings are now held under the cool shade of trees.”

Mr. Ravi nodded happily.

“Always remember,” he told the children, “true development means growing together with nature, not destroying it.”

“We will protect every tree,” the children promised together.

And the trees of Greenvale danced softly in the evening breeze, as if blessing their promise.

Naramsetti Umamaheswararao has written more than a thousand stories, songs, and novels for children over 42 years. he has published 32 books. His novel, Anandalokam, received the Central Sahitya Akademi Award for children’s literature. He has received numerous awards and honours, including the Andhra Pradesh Government’s Distinguished Telugu Language Award and the Pratibha Award from Potti Sreeramulu Telugu University. He established the Naramshetty Children’s Literature Foundation and has been actively promoting children’s literature as its president.

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PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Click here to access Wild Winds: The Borderless Anthology of Poems

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

By Naramsetti Umamaheswararao

Charan was three years old. His mother and father both had jobs. Every morning they woke up early, hurried through all the household work, and rushed to their offices. Because of this, they hardly had any time to spend with Charan.

They would make him sit in front of the television. A maid was hired to take care of him. After finishing the household chores, she too would sit in front of the TV. Charan spent the whole day watching the programs on television along with her.

The colours on the TV kept changing. Scenes changed. Cartoon characters jumped around. Strange sounds filled the room. But not a single character on the screen ever asked Charan, “How are you?” The maid was happy just watching the TV and hardly paid attention to him.

Because of this, Charan could not open his mouth and speak. Even though he was three years old, his world stopped at gestures. It had not reached the stage of words.

One day Charan’s grandmother and grandfather came from their village. They were surprised to see that the house was filled only with the sound of the television. Charan smiled when he saw them, but he did not greet them.

With the help of the maid, they managed their work. It was already dark when their daughter and son-in-law returned home from work. As soon as they arrived, the grandparents asked about their grandson.

“He still hasn’t started speaking. That’s why he just smiles,” their daughter said.

Grandfather felt a sharp pain in his heart. How could a three-year-old child still not speak? he wondered. Right then he made a decision in his mind: “The television in this house must stop. Instead, we must spend time with our grandson.”

Grandfather began to think about how to help Charan start speaking. Soon he came up with a few ideas, and from the very next day he started putting them into action.

Every morning he took Charan to the garden. There he showed him the birds, squirrels, ants, flowers, leaves, and branches, and told him their names.

When a tiny ant was walking by, Grandfather said, “Look, Charan! This little ant is carrying a piece of laddu for her baby. Another ant is carrying a piece of jaggery. Call them and ask them to stop. Say, ‘Ant, please stop!’”

When a squirrel climbed a tree, he said slowly and clearly, moving his lips so Charan could see, “Look at the squirrel… see how fast it climbs the tree! Call it. Say ‘Squ-ir-rel… squirrel… stop!’”

Then he pointed to a parrot sitting on another tree branch and said,

“Look, Charan. Its colour is green. It blends with the leaves of the tree. And see its beak—it’s bright red!”

Charan watched the ants, the squirrel, and the parrot with great interest. For the first time, he tried to stop an ant and made a sound, “Aa… aa…”

Another time a crow was cawing. Grandfather explained, “Look, that’s a crow. See how black it is. Listen… it says ‘Caw… caw…’”

Sometimes he made Charan stand in front of a mirror. “Look, how handsome you are in the mirror! Where is Charan’s nose? Here is Grandfather’s nose. Where is your nose?”

Charan would touch his nose and laugh.

“Say it… no-se…” Grandfather would say slowly, moving his lips clearly.

Watching these movements, Charan slowly began to imitate them.

Grandmother also thought of a clever idea. She would purposely stay in the kitchen and give Charan a small task.

“Oh dear! I forgot to give Grandfather his medicine box. Can you take this to him and say, ‘Take it’ with your mouth?”

Charan carried the box to Grandfather. As he handed it over, and with Grandfather encouraging him, he said his first word: “Ta…k…” (Take it).

Days passed like this.

One evening it began to rain. Charan stood near the window watching the drops fall outside. Until then he had only seen rain on television. Now the cool breeze and the smell of wet earth felt new and exciting.

Standing beside him, Grandmother said, “Charan… it’s raining!”

Then she began to sing a playful rain song, acting it out with her hands.

Holding Grandmother’s hand, Charan pointed to the falling raindrops outside and tried to sing along, saying softly and unclearly, “Rain… rain… come…!”

A few more days passed. One day, Charan clearly called out, “Grandma!”

The moment they heard that word, everyone’s eyes in the house filled with joy. Charan’s parents finally understood something important: compared to the artificial sounds from the television, the first word from a child’s mouth is far sweeter.

Grandfather said thoughtfully, “Children who grow up in a joint family don’t need to be taught how to speak. Words come to them naturally. That’s because everyone around them becomes like a teacher, talking and chatting with them. Mobile phones and televisions may give information, but they cannot teach conversation. That is why Charan started speaking late. Now do you understand where the real problem was? From now on, we must raise Charan without such mistakes and make sure he grows well.”

Charan’s mother realised that Grandfather’s words were true.

From then on, Charan’s parents never left him alone at home. Either his paternal grandparents or maternal grandparents would stay with him while they went to work.

And slowly, Charan forgot about the television.

With his new words, he began to talk, laugh, and fill the house with happiness.

Naramsetti Umamaheswararao has written more than a thousand stories, songs, and novels for children over 42 years. he has published 32 books. His novel, Anandalokam, received the Central Sahitya Akademi Award for children’s literature. He has received numerous awards and honours, including the Andhra Pradesh Government’s Distinguished Telugu Language Award and the Pratibha Award from Potti Sreeramulu Telugu University. He established the Naramshetty Children’s Literature Foundation and has been actively promoting children’s literature as its president.

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PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Amazon International