What Tomorrow Holds: A Powerful Short Story on Aging by Nadella Anuradha – English Translation of రేపటి చింత

“Mani!”

The sound of her name pulled Mani from deep sleep. She did not move at once.

Slowly, she turned toward the other side of the room, where Peddamma garu slept. In the dark she could make out the old woman sitting on the edge of her bed.

Oh no. I hope she doesn’t fall.

It was not the usual soft call. Peddamma garu’s voice carried a sharp edge of impatience. Something felt different. For a few seconds Mani stayed quiet and simply watched.

Then she got up slowly, switched on the light, and went closer.

Is she alright?

“Amma, do you want to go to the bathroom?” she asked the woman.

She squinted at the clock. It read ten.

That’s it? Has it only been an hour since we had gone to bed?

“Just call him!” the old woman said hurriedly.

Mani stood still.

Who? Her son was not even in the country.

She looked at Peddamma garu, confused.

The old woman grew impatient. “Don’t you understand when I tell you something? Tell him to come now.”

Suddenly, Mani recalled an incident that had happened four or five months ago.

One evening, Peddamma garu had begun talking about her parents and insisting that she had to return to her village to see her family. For two full days she spoke of nothing else — the house where she was born, her brothers, the familiar streets. She would not eat properly or sleep. No one was able to persuade her otherwise.

Her son took her to the doctor, who said it was not uncommon at her age. Old memories often returned with sudden force. “Let her talk,” the doctor advised, “even if she’s just talking to herself.”

During those restless stretches she asked again and again to sit among the plants in the backyard or on the front porch where people used to gather in the evenings. At night she stayed awake. Her son and daughter-in-law kept close watch, afraid she might try to rise alone and fall.

“You’re tired, Amma. Please lie down,” her son would plead.

“If you’re tired, you go and lie down,” she would answer irritably.

Only after two such days would Peddamma garu finally give in to exhaustion and drift off to sleep. She would sleep through the whole day. Her son and daughter-in-law would not even dare wake her to wash her face or offer her a cup of coffee.

When she finally woke, she was herself again, as always — calm, loving, as though the storm had never passed through her.

Those episodes made her son realize that he and his wife, both now in their seventies, could no longer manage caring for her on their own. He had heard of different service agencies that would send people, but as he inquired more, he did not like the fact that they would keep changing the people assigned to provide care. He wanted to find that one person who would look after his mother attentively and patiently for as long as she lived.

He asked Mani, the cook who had been with the family for more than twenty years, to find someone who could stay with his mother through the day and night.

Mani, too, had personally witnessed the changes in the elderly woman and the distress she would go through in her episodes.

Peddamma garu had always treated her like a daughter. Mani’s own daughter was married and settled elsewhere. She had no pressing responsibilities of her own. So she offered to take care of Peddamma garu herself.

The family felt relief at her words. Mani was very dependable, and patient and caring by nature. Above all, she was someone they had all known and grown accustomed to.

In a few months, they would need to travel to America for the birth of their grandchild. Until Mani stepped in, the daughter-in-law had worried that one of them would have to stay behind to look after her mother-in-law. Her sister-in-law had recently undergone bypass surgery and was still struggling to recover. Her brothers-in-law were already preoccupied with their own responsibilities and difficulties.

But with Mani there full-time, both of them could go. They had left ten days earlier.

Every day they video-called. Peddamma garu had seemed cheerful, telling them she was looking after the plants with Mani beside her.

The old woman’s voice cut through Mani’s thoughts.

“Come here and help me. I need to get up. We have to get everything ready for the puja. Everyone will be here before dawn. Did you set the curd? Boil the milk and get the coffee decoction ready. Come on! How will we get anything done if you just stand there?”

“I’ve already got everything ready, Amma. It’s not even dawn yet. Please lie down a little longer. You can get up when the alarm goes off.” Mani said, trying to reassure her.

“No. How can we sleep when there is so much to do? Get some hot water ready for my bath,” she said, trying to get up on her own.

Mani started to panic.

How was she going to get through this night? Peddamma garu was in no mood to listen to anything.

Slowly, she composed herself and brought a stool next to the old woman’s bedside.

“Amma, you said your legs were hurting. Let me massage them a little.” She began rubbing her feet and legs gently.

Peddamma garu kept talking, her voice rising, the same instructions repeating. She kicked her legs restlessly. Mani felt a quiet distress watching the soft-spoken woman she knew become so insistent. Her thin ninety two year old body trembled with the force of her words.

Where did that frail little woman find such strength?

Mani listened, answered patiently, and glanced now and then at the wall clock.

“Why are you looking at the wall when I am talking to you?”

“It’s nothing, Amma,” Mani said with a small smile. If Peddamma garu noticed the time, she would only grow more anxious.

The old woman kept talking. She began recounting things from decades ago, starting with stories from the time of her wedding. Then, all of a sudden, she moved on to an accident that had happened at her daughter’s wedding involving a cooking stove.

She jumped from one memory to another and grew irritated when she felt Mani was not paying close enough attention. Every so often she asked for water, saying her mouth was dry.

Suddenly her tone sharpened.

“My mother and father haven’t come by lately. Where is my husband? Tell him I want to go to my village. If I tell him, he will make arrangements. Ask him to come here.”

“Ayya garu…” Mani began, but struggled to find the right words.

“What is it? Isn’t he here? Where did he go?”

Mani decided that it would be better to tell her the truth.

“He’s not here, Amma. It’s been many years since he… ,” she said sadly, looking at the old woman with concern.

The old woman was quiet for a moment. “Oh. Why didn’t anyone tell me? At least you could have told me. I would have gone and seen him one last time. Who will take care of me now?” She paused. “Then I’ll go to my mother and father. Are they still there?”

Mani’s chest tightened. What had happened to this gentle woman? Would she be able to keep her calm through the months ahead?

“What is it, Mani? Why are you crying? Are my mother and father gone too?”

Peddamma garu looked steadily into Mani’s face.

Then, she spoke as if to herself, “Yes, of course. Once people grow old, who is there to look after them? My sister-in-law said even old-age homes won’t take you if you can no longer manage on your own. Then who will look after my mother and father? Who will look after my husband? Perhaps it’s better that they’re dead.”

Four days earlier Peddamma garu’s sister-in-law had visited. She had praised Peddamma garu for managing so well at her age with only the cook to help her.

“Sister-in-law, you’re very brave. And you seem to be in great health. You can even manage on your own without anyone’s help. Anyway, in another three or four months, your son and daughter-in-law will be back,” she had said.

She then spent the rest of the time complaining about her own daughters-in-law. “There are plenty of old-age homes,” she had said, “but they don’t want you if you can’t take care of yourself. If you become bedridden, forget it. They won’t take you. I never used to worry about it, but these days I can’t help feeling anxious about what the future holds.”

After she left, Peddamma garu had fallen silent for a long while. The next morning she had asked, “Mani, why don’t we ask my sister-in-law to come and stay with us?”

Mani had agreed, though she wondered what had prompted the thought. Peddamma garu seemed to understand Mani’s silence. She murmured something under her breath, looked around the room in mild confusion, and then grew quiet.

Now, in the middle of the night, her face looked drained from talking and from the lack of sleep. Mani felt a deep sadness settle over her as she looked at the old woman.

Isn’t it true that as we grow older, we are left with the worry of what tomorrow holds?

She made a quiet promise to herself that she would not leave the old woman. She would make sure Peddamma garu never had to carry that worry alone. But almost immediately, another thought came to her.

And what about me, when I grow old?

She shook her head at that thought and looked at the clock again. The night had nearly passed. It was five thirty.

“Would you like some coffee, Amma?” Mani asked, pulling back the curtain.

Peddamma garu seemed to return to the present. “All right. Help me, Mani. I’ll wash my face and have some coffee.”

Mani sprang to her feet. She took Peddamma garu’s hand and led her toward the bathroom. As the old woman sipped her coffee, Mani half-expected her to say, as she often did after a restless night, “I’ll take a small nap, Mani. You go and finish your work.”

She smiled to herself. Through all the confusion and restlessness of the night, Peddamma garu had never once forgotten her name.

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Glossary of Telugu words: 

Peddamma garu: A respectful Telugu word for the elder matriarch of the household

Ayyagaru: A respectful Telugu word for the elder patriarch of the household.

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Read The Original Story: రేపటి చింత ~ అనూరాధ నాదెళ్ళ (మల్లెతీగ కథల పోటీకి ఎంపికైన కథ – 2025)

Translated By: Rachana Somayajula

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This Translation Was First Published on Muse India

In Two Parts, HERE and HERE.

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