Vedeshwar's Library: Fading Legacies of Gokarna

The hinterlands tucked away from Kudle beach and its environs looked hardly inhabited by humans. Excepting for a handful of scattered hutments posing as 'luxury' resorts, there were hardly any signs of life in the region. A post breakfast morning stroll across a kutcha beaten path lead me to what looked like a deserted house from afar, that I thought, had probably seen better times in the past.

Approaching nearer to it, I noticed a scooter parked in the shade of the verandah. Library and Granthalaya were two words the adorned it's outer wall facing the sea.

A middle aged man sporting a stubble dressed in tees and a half trouser looked up from his vintage chair and looked enquiringly at me. "Is this a library?", I stupidly ventured to ignite a conversation. "Yes...", he answered rather lazily that really did not encourage one to prod any more. All the same, I asked him, "May I see the library". "Of course, you may", he offered, finally becoming a little interested. I walked down the array of books arranged in about 50 wooden and glass enclosures, lined along the wall with heaps of books stacked on tables placed at the inner spaces closer to the centre.

The inside of the building comprised of a large hall-cum-reading room, maintained impeccably clean and dust-free and luxuriously tiled floors. It dawned on me that looks are certainly deceptive and what I see is not always what I get!

Seeing me look over the titles closely, he explained, "My father, in his prime, conceived the idea of an ''encyclopaedic'' library, with a view to encourage our village youth to take to reading voraciously. So this is all the his handiwork. I have no real interest in this library." He continued, "I don't earn anything from the library". As intended by my father, I am offering the services free of cost to one and all who like to read". "But there are hardly any takers today. Every book is available on the net. Besides, today's youth hardly read more than what is mandated by the academic educational system", he lamented.

On noticing a book by Umberto Eco, I curiously picked it up. He cautioned, "those books are all in French. Do you know the language?" I beat a hasty retreat and asked him if there was an English version. He said, "no, these titles and many more that you seen in the racks around are French stuff donated to this library by a firang".

Looking around for my pet literature, I asked him, "Where is your section on wild life and Indology?" His lament continued.."I have no knowledge of library science or how to classify these books. It has been arranged in no particular manner. My father used to arrange them in the manner he best thought fit during his active years". I was getting curiouser, "How did your father develop such deep interest in books and library? Was he a professor in any college?"

He narrated, "My father had not gone beyond high school. But he took a deep interest in books, not just for the sake of reading, but to provide facilities to the village folk to take to serious reading. He formed a "Study Circle" in Gokarna by establishing a private library in the interest of students in the village. He collected books of all kinds from various sources and spent a good lot of time and money in making a large library."

This brought me to my next logical question, "Where is your father, and your mother?" He pointed to a room to the north east corner and said, "My father is bed ridden. He is 90. My mother is also old and walks feebly. They need me to look after them 24/7."

Now I entreated him, "Can I see your parents, I will surely not disturb them"

Ariyama, which I later reckoned, is his name, willingly lead me to the corner room where a Kannada news channel was blaring out sound bytes. Watching it intently was a frail old lady, about 80 years of age . She saw me and beckoned me near her. I met her with folded hands and bent down to touch her feet. She blessed me, asking, "Where do you come from?" I replied, "Tamil Nadu". She smiled and indicated that she knows no other language other than Kannada. I moved over to another corner of the room where the nonagenarian was peacefully asleep. I bent down, touched his feet in obeisance and got up. She was touched by my act and asked me to wait at the reading hall. Presumably, she wanted to give me something.

                                                                                                                                                                                          

Ariyama and I adjourned to the reading hall. I pursued the conversation, "So what do you do for a living?" He nonchalantly said, "Nothing much. I look after my parents and send my little daughter to school located downtown. I have no wife. My brother from Mumbai takes care of our subsistence."

Ariyama had a penchant to pre-empt penetrating questions by stating facts nonchalantly in a summarized way. And then minimum decency in a dialogue doesn't permit one to probe further into a statement. Presently, his mother, after searching through a pile of papers on a table, came up with a photograph of Sri Ganapati Vedeshwar, her husband and herself presumably taken a few years earlier. She told me endearingly, "You can keep this if you like." I accepted it humbly.

A satiated Ariyama was watching this, and having assured himself that here is a person with whom I can open up, continued his story, "This library was built on our land by a French national and donated to me. I used to run a small cafe earlier. You can see a small kiosk in ruins outside the house to the eastern corner. That used to be my day-long pastime about 10 years ago.

Ariyama understood the quizzical look on my face and explained, "The French tourist took a liking to my place and offered to do anything for me. A car, house, or anything else that you want, but not money which mars relationships..was the kind of offer he made me. I, out of my regard for my father and to sustain his interest in the library services, requested him to build a large library that can house about 35000 books along with accompaniments of furniture and other accessories. I also asked him to make a comfortable accommodation for my parents and my limited family in a corner of the building. He readily agreed and this is the result', waving his right hand across the length of the large building. We used to stay in our joint family household sometime back. Ever since this was built, we had shifted lock, stock and barrel to this place. It has been about a decade since we left our ancestral home in town."

Now I had,but to quiz him , "But why would he do this for you?" Ariyama replied with a look of serene wisdom on his countenance, "People don't indulge in largesse for nothing. He honestly told me that he is looking forward to a joint business venture that can be established on my expansive lands behind this building facing the sea. I don't do this much for you for no thing..he quoted his French friend. I was initially circumspect and even kept prodding him to extreme irritation and embarrassment. He finally told me, if you can undosthund me, I am happy. Both if you  misondosthood me, I he no thing to say und leave it to you be happy that way." The French have their own way with English. And Ariyama seemed near perfect in imitating his French friend.

That prodded me to ask him, "How far did you study?" He responded with abhorrence, "Only a degree, from a college in Kumta. There were no colleges in Gokarna those days. And a degree is hardly enough to land oneself in gainful employment"', with an added justification on his current status.

Do people come here to read? He said, "Hardly any. You will get all of them on the net. Sometimes, Europeans come here to relax and read a book. A French tourist further supplemented my already overflowing library by donating another heap of French books, taking the count to 40,000."

He seemed happy to pour out his existential realities to me, finding me a good listener and a seemingly harmless man. I, on my part, was happy to see this place with a legacy dating down to Sri Ganapati Vedheshwar's prime days, and whose blessings I could seek. These are opportunities to seek simple, non-sensational and legacy ridden stories and also to restore humility in the self. Ariyama was on a narration spree to let me know all about him and the library but sadly I had to excuse myself since I couldn't afford to miss my train from Gokarna Road in a couple of hours. He bid me goodbye and I promised to see him and spend a good time in his library during my next visit.

Vettangudi - A Deserted Bird Habitat

Writing about beautiful places, eye catching landscapes, pristine hillsides and exotic places is cliche. Lets also explore the untold stories of natural history that were once occupying the pride of place among the former category. May be this could help to restore the lost glory and in case it doesn't, at least help revel in nostalgia for people who matter in/for such places.
 
Ever since I bought my new Royal Enfield (my first bike experience in half a century), I have been on a plenty of road trips to explore roads less taken, across the state and beyond. This has given me a an unbridled sense of joy and new found freedom.

In a recent bike trip to a pilgrim center, Tirukoshtiyur near Tirupattur (a Divya Desham temple forming one of a chain of 108 temples spread across the South), I decided to explore the surrounding geographies for anything interesting to see and to write home about.


Vettangudi is a place I identified in the maps that is not far from this pilgrim center. This place, I learned then, is a bird sanctuary and preserve that sees a variety of pelicans, herons and similar species of birds flocking together during winters from November to February.

At a rough distance of about 8 km on the state highway from Tirupattur that goes down to Sivaganga, one finds the Vishnu temple mentioned above that is dedicated to the Lord with a special sanctum for Ramanujam (of Sriperumbudur) who popularized the secret mantra of Vaishnavaism. Another road that branches to the right of the state highways takes one to Madurai via Melur. At an approximate distance of about 11 kms on this road from Tirupattur, one comes across an arch to the left that welcomes visitors to the bird preserve, Vettangudi. Alternatively, if one has to travel from Tirukoshtiyur, a village road from this temple leads directly to the TPT-Madurai highway in about 9 kms. From here a left turn and a further ride of about 3 kms, leads one to the same place. I took the latter route to the site for the obvious reason.

A further ride for about 500 metres takes one to the heart of the preserve. To my dismay and utter shock, I notice that the lake is bone dry with hardly any bird in sight. Parking my "chariot of a bike" in the cool shade of a giant jackfruit tree, I proceeded to explore the environs for any sightings. Walking up on a well laid out path along the banks of what was once supposed to be a meandering water body, all I could see was a couple of cows grazing on the bed of the slender shaped lake with a forlorn little egret peering into a damp patch for insects.

Climbing up a watch tower near the lake, I reached the top without much ado. As far as the eye could see, I could only notice large patches of shrubs drying up under the hot sun, amidst parched lands that depicted a tell tale story of woes that the bird heaven must have underwent in the recent past. Climbing down the tower in utter disappointment, I was greeted by an old man idling away on a stone bench on the banks of the dry rivulet.

I went down and sat next to him. I decided to look at the past glory of the reserve through his seemingly omniscient eyes which also seemed to bear testimony to a lifetime of pain and struggle. Striking up a conversation, we went on thus....

Me: Why this state of affairs here, Periyavare?

He: Sir, don't you know that our region has been reeling under severe drought for the last three years or so? How can birds survive here now.... just as my children and grandsons have left this village for good?

Me: Pray, Whats your name, what do you do for a living?

He: I am Madhava Perumal. I used to till my land until a decade ago. At my age, I can hardly engage in any vocation. I am 87.

Me: Tell me about the history of this bird reserve.

He: This place was taken over by the forest department about 40 years ago when a variety of birds started taking refuge in the water bodies that were formed on spilling over from nearby irrigation lakes. Ever since, this place was breezing with visitors and local people who used to flock every weekend for leisure. You would have noticed the sanctuary admin office of the Govt at the entrance of the road, that has now been locked and deserted for years. I haven't seen anyone from the Govt department here for ages! For the past 3 to 4 years, scanty or no rain has put paid to our place.

Me: What kind of species flocked here in the past?


He: The sanctuary has since gone dry and is bereft of any bird species now. We used to see a wide variety of birds...Neelachiruvi (Blue winged teal), Karandi Vayan (Spoonbills), Vellai Mookan (White Ibis), Saambal Kokku (Grey Heron) and a plethora of other birds that converged here during the cold season.

Me: Did you study? You seem to be familiar with Tamil Literature (He often quoted lines from Tiruvachakam and Thevaram, medieval Tamil texts of the Sangam period that dwelt on religion and ethics)

He: I studied up to the 6th Form. During those days, we studied, not to pass exams, but to gain awareness of our history, geography and literature, the last being our guiding principles in life.

Me: Where are your children and the grand ones?

He: Some of them are in Madras. They earn enough to feed themselves. I had been there recently for a month, but came back here. This is a place I love, whatever be the state of affairs here. I have seen life here through vicissitudes of time and certainly hope for better days to come.

Me: Whats the nature of the village economy now?

He: This village abutting the water bodies is known as Kollugudipatti. Farming was our only vocation until sometime back. With no rains, we have abandoned the lands. Earnings from tourists was a mainstay for sometime. Now this is also gone. Some have sold their lands to eke out a living. Some of us depend on doles from our children and grand children....Life goes on irrespective of our struggles for existence!

He: There are about 70 houses here, half of them occupied, the rest peopled but they, hardly occupied!

Me: Why can't you dig bore wells to source water for farming?

He: The Costs are too prohibitive and we cannot bear the electricity charges as free energy is available only upto an inadequate limit...and then resources are hardly available to till, sow, upkeep or harvest. We cannot afford the machines. Hence we are attuned to be content with a sqaure meal or two if we are sometimes lucky.

As I bid farewell to him after parting with a "Red Fort" note (he was pleasantly surprised), Madhava Perumal thanked me, not before looking up into the sky, sighting a heron bypassing the reserve.I was reminded of the Salil-Majrooh composition......Life seems to be..."Maya"!

 jaa re, jaa re ud jaa re panchhi
 bahaaron ke des jaa re
 yahaan kyaa hai mere pyaare
 kyun ujad gayi bagiyaa mere man ki
 
 naa daali rahi naa kali
 ajab gham ki "Sookha" chali
 udi dukh ki dhool raahon mein
 

 jaa re ye gali hai birhan ki
 bahaaron ke des jaa re
 yahaan kyaa hai mere pyaare
 kyun ujad gayi bagiyaa mere man ki
 jaa re....

...And mulling over Mahakavi Bharathiar's eternal lines.. 

காண்பதெல்லாம் மறையுமென்றால்        
மறைந்ததெல்லாம் காண்பமன்றோ           
நானும் ஓர் கனவோ                                           
இந்த ஞாலமும் பொய்தானோ....                   

Muthulakshmi

I first saw Muthulakshmi about a decade ago as a lean but an active woman in her early seventies, trying to eke out a living by running errands for people who temporarily employed her or by resorting to odd jobs in the vicinity of her hut, masonry being one of them.

During those times when the economy was driven by recessionary trends, I had identified a piece of land measuring about 8 cents by a village road, not far from another piece of half-an acre farmland, both of which had come up for sale in the rural district of Tiruvallur, about 50 kms from "Singara Chennai". Having not much to do in the city after the devastation in the markets, I decided to 'do' what I had wished to do for a long time ever since I had had enough of city life. I decided to move to the rural countryside and do 'nothing' in the guise of 'looking after my farm' and 'taking care of my aged mother'. I could fancy myself enjoying a siesta after a sumptuous meal on a jute woven cot under the shade of a neem or a peepal tree at a corner of a paddy field on a hot sunny day! This, I thought is bliss one could die for!

Having purchased the land, I proceeded to build a small house by the forlorn road, overlooking the paddy fields. Within a week of commencement of construction,  Muthulakshmi accosted me as I was about to leave the site in my car and bade me to get down to talk to her on some "serious business".

She took me on by asking, "I come from my place that is across and beyond those paddy fields. How can you employ non-locals for a civil construction in our locality when we people from this village hardly have any means of livelihood?" I retorted, "Pious lady, I need more people for the job, please bring a half a dozen of your tribe for the odd masonry work." Muthu blinked and looked at me in the eye, "What do you think of me? Don't you see that I am fit enough to help build great homes? Look at the double storey construction opposite to the Panchayat office...I was the most  indispensable person responsible for the cool comfort that this corrupt Sarpanch has been basking in for a good time now." I then asked my contracted engineer to accommodate her and left.

On an occasion when I had once come on a weekend visit to monitor the progress of my new home under construction, I found Muthu haggling with the contractor over wages payable to her for the week. On enquiry, I surmised that her demands were legitimate and that the contractor was trying to stick to a shoestring budget by squeezing work out of her and trying to make a fat margin from the project. I promised Muthu that I would compensate her for such shortages at the end of the project and brought peace with her.

The house was soon completed and was nestling beautifully amidst the coconut and neem trees and overlooking the paddy fields which brought in fresh paddy scented air into the parking area and the tiny garden.

As is the custom in rural TN, all workers were presented with new clothes during the house warming ceremony and I did not forget to get a nice saree for Muthu. She took it gleefully but reminded me of my offer to compensate her work, notwithstanding this gift, considering the fact that all and sundry were given such gifts by default on such occasions.

Thereafter, every time I visited my countryside house, Muthu, if she spotted me, would come running after my car and ask for the promised gift, and I would get away by making some excuse and that I would get it done during Diwali. Diwali came and went  and then it was promised for Pongal but all I did was forget my promise, yet Muthu very optimistically but tirelessly kept reminding me about my unfulfilled obligation.

A few years later when I had shifted lock, stock and barrel to the village, I found Muthu squatting in front of my house in a pitiable condition. She looked frail, sick and weak, fighting for breath, holding on to a twig of a walking stick with tattered clothes and tears welling down her cheeks that told a thousand words about her agony. Her son and daughter-in-law had reportedly driven her out of her native home!

I asked my cook to give her some food and satisfy her hunger. I also pushed some money into her palms. She then left bidding me, "Mavarasana iru Raja, Ne nalla irukkanum" (Approximate translation: I bless you a king's life, you will do well). She then made her way to a nearby free medical dispensary run by a Hindu religious mission.

The next time when I saw Muthu, she was begging for alms at the Sarpanch's house where she was rudely turned away by the women folk of the house. She turned around and on seeing me, tears welling down her eyes, rushed to my car and beseeched me for some money or to buy her food. I sent her to the local restaurant and called up the cashier to do the needful. From then on it was a common sight to see her languishing hither and thither on Vinayak Temple Street, begging for alms. I had given standing instructions to my cook to feed Muthu whenever she knocked at our door.

Strangely, for an interval of time lasting about six months, Muthu seemed to have disappeared. I was wondering whatever has happened of her...had she abruptly left the village for an old age home run by the Hindu religious mission?  or had she left for the local taluk headquarters where one of her brothers had a vehicle repair and maintenance shop? or Was she..?

Then finally last week, she made a sudden reappearance at my door,  squatted as usual and was trying to communicate with me in sign language as I was removing the car from the portico. This time she was on all fours and had seemingly crawled all the way to my door. The emaciated lady had noticeably lost her speech. I did not respond as I was in a hurry to reach a place where I couldn't afford to be late or so I thought. She was desperately trying to communicate something to me (as I reckoned after the episode) It did not seem to be about alms or food. I had ignored her, but called up my cook and asked her to feed Muthu.

The next day morning, a bright Sunday (20th March), I got up to the sounds of drum beats and "Oppari" * coming from a distance from across the paddy fields.

(* Oppari...Google...)

The OCC Market & Beyond : Games Unheard of.

Scene: A group of 5 boys aged about 8 to 12 years.

Circa 1974
Time: About 11 in the morning

Venue: G Zone – the triangular piece of land within the intersection of three roads...1. The perpendicular arterial road from the rear gate of the HAL hospital going down to H Zone, the primary vernacular school via G Zone, 2. The road adjacent to the Nursery (later the deer park) winding in to the G Zone to merge with the former, 3.  The ‘blind-end’ road from the type IV quarters (that then housed the Tiwaris, the Singhs, the Sahas, the Madhava Rao’s, the Kadagatturs, the Heatons et al) converging into a kutcha path cutting across the ‘Hospital road’ and the ‘Nursery Road’…….(uff..! identifying the venue is good as writing an entire episode, wonder why the roads were never named in the township!....on the flip side this at least necessitates the need to rekindle one’s memory, thereby drawing interest from some of the named constituents!)


The smell of the rain-soaked earth after a bountiful downpour is typical of a hill region. I loiter barefoot around surveying the triangular piece of land. My olfactory nerves seemed to be overworking on my cerebellum so much so that my salivary glands adamantly reciprocates back to the brain. I stop short of picking up a handful from the ground, thanks to the prying eyes of Mahinder who just descends on the scene. Mahi is the unquestioned leader and a “proclaimed” dada of the mohalla. Mahi and I show up in front of G-125 and yell out for Madura Venu to join us. Venu, ignoring a frown from his mom, gladly jumps out of his verandah again ignoring his mom’s warning, “Orey donga, vellu..vellu..malli ikkada vachina tarvata champestanu". While Mahi enjoyed an unbridled freedom to roam around the neighbourhood like a sacred temple bull, I found it generally convenient to slip out noiselessly without anyone noticing at home. We then go further down the road in the direction of the nursery and stand in front of Ravi’s place like carol singers, pull him out and walk back. We soon meet Ashish, a thin lanky bhadralok neighbor, who pleads company for whatever the gang was planning to do.


The boys gang up and arrive at the scene. One could notices the boys trying to pound something to shreds on the flat ground, each of them religiously taking turns to decimate it using a sharp slender iron rod by flinging it on the damp surface. Drawing oneself closer to the boys, one notices that there is no specimen of any insect or any reptile for that matter. The boys, one after another, seemed to be merely trying to deeply embed the sharp weapon within a circle marked for the purpose into the ground with all their might. One of them, Venu, fails to secure a hold on the ground as the rod falls flat on the ground, much to his chagrin. The others in the gang yell out victoriously and rejoice by dancing around the poor guy whose face turns pale on the prospect of undergoing something not very pleasant. Venu, a short stocky boy of 9, nevertheless looked sporty enough to take up an unseen challenge.

Mahi, the well built and muscular 'Punjabi Puttar' instantly took charge, picked up the rod from the ground, looked menacingly at Venu, bullying him, “Ab ayega mazaa, dekthe raho…tu aaj ghar nahin lautega”. Venu: “Abe chal chal…mere paanv mein utna hi dam hai jitney tere haath mein”. Mahi now goes about his job seriously, pricking away with the rod into the earth as he walks mechanically in the direction of the OCC market. All others follow him hurriedly in awe, struggling to keep pace with him until they are confronted with a road running up to the sub post office. The gang advises him to take the footpath running to the post office to avoid the macadam road. But Mahi is not the one to step back…he first issues a stony glance at the gang then turns around, sets his sight on the sparse grassland across the width of the road, and takes aim. Hurling his body into the air, he releases the rod mid-air with all his might, falls about three feet short on the road, slightly injuring his knee in the process. But Lo and behold…the rod stuck deep into terra firma about two feet from the edge of the road at a saving gradient of 20 degrees from the surface. Hurrah!, exclaimed the gang, giving a well deserved pat to Mahi, who held his head high despite the injury. Mahi, now, brimming with over-confidence, speeds away his way to the road overlooking the K Zone. He stops here at the next obstacle, does a repeat of his earlier stunt…..but fails miserably this time!

The ferrous weapon landed on the road a little short of the footpath and pathetically rolled back bringing a couple of speeding cyclists to a sudden halt. They gave a strange look at the boys, gesturing warnings by waving their forefingers in air and cycled away.
Now Ravi, a sober guy of few words, picked up the relay rod, walked back to the edge of the road from where Mahi flung it, and took position. He surveyed the earth across the road, held the rod at its edge and unassumingly flung it across the road. Hey presto! The weapon stuck on the ground across the road like a javelin at a 45 degree angle from the surface. Shabbash Ravi….all of them jumped and yelled in chorus. Now Mahi was acutely embarrassed, but hid his emotions and instructed the boys to get going with the marathon. Nobody dare compare this feat with his long jump stunt for fear of being thrashed by the bully!

Ravi went about his work mechanically, much to the dismay and panic of Venu, worked along the nursery border, took a detour from OCC market and set his sights in the direction of the factory siding. But as luck would have it, he faltered in his next step, fell flat on the ground but not before releasing the rod. It rolled down after hitting a stone.

It is now my turn to work the baton away. Venu heaved a sigh of relief, now that the stalwarts of the game are out. I am not a known expert in the game nor had I a physique like Mahi to boast of. All the same, I trudged about 300 metres before I slipped on a marshy land with the baton being unable to secure ground in the process.

Ashish, a slim and lanky tailender, finally took charge of the relay. He sped away in the direction of the sukku railroad.  Surprisingly, he emerged a dark horse as he worked his way professionally for a good distance. Worry was writ large in Venu’s countenance when he started to plead with Ashish to stop and declare!  But Mahi intervened and refused to relent and ordered Ashish to carry on, all the while holding Venu by the scuff, lest he runs away! Finally Venu begs of Mahi to stop the process with tears welling up in his eyes! The noon siren then blows out from the distant Sunabeda HAL factory premises, signaling the obvious!

Mahi, after all, had a soft heart hidden within a tough and cantankerous outer demeanour. The leader calls off the onslaught finally at an approximate distance of a kilometer and a half from the “G Zone Capital”.

Venu now was faced the onerous challenge of literally hopping back all the way to the “Circle” whence the onward journey commenced. Embarking on the hop-trot, he initially covers a distance of about 300 metres before he tires himself out and pleads for a few minutes of rest. “ok”, says, Mahi, “but don’t ever dare to rest your other feet on the ground until we reach the game circle”.  The poor victim meekly agrees.

After a few minutes, Venu is back on track, Mahi leading “responsibly” from the front and with the rest of the gang bringing up the rear. Shortly before reaching the “OCC market bend”, the burly husk of Mahinder panics all of a sudden and retraces his steps towards the gang!

The gang then looks above their shoulders across the landscape and are shocked! Venu’s dad is seen walking down hurriedly from the OCC (with his eldest daughter in tow). This is a surefire promise of a disaster looming large in front of the gang! This short elderly no-nonsense person soon accosts the gang. Seeing the plight of his only son, he swiftly delivers a resounding slap on Mahi’s face with a reprimand marked by the madrasi-telugu slang…”tum kya samjta apne ko..tumara baap ko bolke aisa peetega…tum gar ka bahar kabi neiy ayenga”. Then turning towards me, he warns in tamil (slang) “unga appa ta solliduvaan, nalla adi vaangi taruvaan” (meaning…will tell your dad and ensure that you are adequately beaten up by him). He seemed to be unaware of Ravi’s identity. Ashish hid behind some bushes well in advance and hence escaped the wrath of the aggrieved father.

Pulling away Venu, catching hold of his large locks, he is dragged away with intermittent slaps and kicks all the way back home!