The Man Who Tried to Save Everyone | Ponmanipudi Story

The Trouble with Shivappa

The first thing Shivappa rescued on the Monday morning was a goat.

Next was Ramaswamy’s reputation.

The third nearly cost Shivappa his shop.

By eight-thirty, half of Ponmanipudi had gathered around a roadside drain, where a particularly stubborn goat had slipped in and refused to come out. Its owner was shouting. Three men were offering advice. Two boys were laughing....

Shivappa arrived as usual, kicked his chappals aside, climbed into the drain and lifted the animal out.

“Why didn’t you call the fire brigade?” someone asked.

“Because they might rescue the goat and leave the owner behind,” Shivappa said.

The crowd laughed. The goat bleated. Its owner thanked Shivappa profusely and left without offering him even a cup of tea.

Shivappa watched him go.

“Good fellow,” he remarked. “Very grateful. I must remember to borrow money from him.”

That was Shivappa......middle-aged, slightly balding, charming, without making an effort. He owned a small fabrication cum black smith shop at the edge of Ponmanipudi. He was a man who could weld a broken gate, repair a pump frame and talk an angry man out of a fight. And yes, Shivappa could also turn a minor inconvenience into a personal responsibility....

If a dog was injured, he stopped and rescued it...

If a tree was about to be cut, he intervened.

If someone was in trouble, Shivappa appeared as a saviour...

Usually, the trouble began when he arrived.....

As Shivappa arrived at his shop, Raghu was waiting for him with a broken pump frame.

“Just a small repair, Shivappa. I’ll pay you next week.”

“You said that last week.”

“Last week was different.”

“Of course. The calendar has changed....”

Shivappa smiled and repaired the frame anyway.

By afternoon, he learnt that Raghu had bought a new mobile phone.

When Shivappa mentioned it, Raghu looked offended.

“A man must keep up with the times.”

“Certainly,” Shivappa said. “Only the people who repair his pump must remain in the past.”

Shivappa laughed, Raghu too laughed, and the bill remained unpaid....

A few days earlier, Shivappa had prevented a neighbour from cutting down a neem tree that leaned dangerously over the road. He arranged for its branches to be trimmed instead. The owner complained about the expense, the workers complained about the branches, and the neighbours complained about the noise.....

Of course, Shivappa paid for this work....

At home, Samanthe, his wife had several of her own....

“Where were you?” she demanded as Shivappa entered.

“Near the neem tree.”

“Of course. Where else would you be? God forbid you should come home and do something useful.”

Shivappa put down his bag....

“The tree was leaning over the road. I thought.....”

“You thought!” Samanthe gave a short, contemptuous laugh. “That is precisely the problem with you. You think about every stray dog, every useless fellow and every tree in this village. But you cannot remember to pay the electricity bill.”

“I’ll pay it tomorrow.”

“You said that three days ago. ......The tap is leaking. The shelf is broken.... Basavaraj is waiting for his wages. Your own house is falling apart, but you’re busy playing saviour to the entire village.”

“I’ll see to them.”

“When? After rescuing another goat?”

Shivappa said nothing....no point....

Samanthe stepped closer glaring...

“Look at you, Shivappa. A grown man, and everyone in Ponmanipudi knows how to use you. They flatter you, make you do their work and laugh behind your back. And you stand there grinning like an idiot, proud of being the village clown.”

“Samanthe.....”

“No. Don’t start that gentle voice with me. You may fool the whole village, but you don’t fool me. You can repair everybody’s gate, except the mess inside your own house.”

Samanthe turned away, then shouted over his back....

“If you're such a wonderful man, why is your own house always waiting for you? Try keeping a promise to someone who actually lives here.”

Shivappa picked up the leaking tap washer from the table.

“I’ll fix it,” he said.

“Keep your promises to someone for a change.”

He put the washer back.

That night, Shivappa lay awake long after Samanthe had fallen asleep......

The next morning, it rained heavily in Ponmanipudi....

On his way to the shop, Shivappa heard a puppy crying from a roadside drain. He climbed down before anyone could stop him.

The puppy was frightened, the sides were slippery, and the water was rising. Shivappa managed to lift it out, but as he climbed back, his foot slipped. His shoulder struck the concrete edge.

By the time, someone helped him to the road, his face had gone pale.

At Dr Chari’s clinic, Shivappa sat with his arm supported, trying to make light of the affair.

“An impressive rescue,” Dr Chari said. “Did the puppy at least thank you?”

“It tried to bite me.”

“Then it has excellent judgement.”

Shivappa laughed, then winced in pain..

Samanthe arrived a bit latter. She looked at his injured shoulder, then at him.

“Another animal?”

“It was only a puppy.”

“Of course. A puppy. Always somebody else’s problem to solve.”

“Samanthe, I’m all right.”

“Do you ever think about your own family? Every person in Ponmanipudi has a problem, and you run to save them. But when your own family needs you, you’re nowhere.”

Samanthe lowered her voice, but there was no softness in it....

“Do you think this makes you a good man? You’re not a hero, Shivappa. You’re just a man who doesn’t know how to say No.”

Shivappa looked at the floor, not meeting her eyes....

“If you spent half as much time looking after this house as you spend looking after strangers, perhaps I wouldn’t have to manage everything myself.”

She left before Dr Chari could say anything.

For once, Shivappa had nothing to say...

That evening, after Samanthe had gone home, Dr Chari found him sitting quietly on the clinic veranda.

“Does she always speak to you like that?” he asked.

“Not always.”

Shivappa paused.

“Only when she’s awake.”

Dr Chari smiled faintly. Shivappa did not....

After a while, Shivappa said, “Sometimes I wonder whether I married her because I wanted to save her, or because I needed someone who could never say no to me.”

Dr Chari turned towards him.

“That is a difficult question.”

“I know.”

“Do you have an answer?”

Shivappa shook his head.....

Dr Chari had known Shivappa for years. He also knew the story nobody else in Ponmanipudi knew.

Samanthe had come from a home where there was little money and no kindness. There had been abuse, humiliation and a future that offered her very little hope.

Shivappa had stepped in when Samanthe had nowhere else to turn....

He married her....Not because he was in love with her, but because he believed he could give her a safer life.

In the beginning, Samanthe had been grateful. They had managed well enough. Shivappa worked, Samanthe ran the household, and the years passed without any great unhappiness.

Then gratitude slowly turned into resentment for Samanthe. Resentment became contempt. Words that once would have wounded her began to wound Shivappa instead.

Shivappa never told anyone. Not even when people wondered why a man who could charm the whole village seemed to shrink whenever he entered his own home....

Only Dr Chari knew.

“You helped her when she needed help,” the doctor said. “But marriage is not a rescue operation, Shivappa. You cannot decide what another person needs and then spend the rest of your life expecting the decision to be enough.”

Shivappa looked out at the rainwater gathering in the courtyard.

“I thought if I made her life better, she would be happy.”

“And did you ever ask her what happiness meant to her?”

Shivappa said nothing....pondering it.

Three days later, a young pretty woman came to Shivappa's fabrication shop carrying a stainless-steel tiffin carrier.

“Are you Shivappa?”

“Depends. Who is asking?”

“My name is Meena. I need you to come with me.”

He wiped his hands on a rag.

“Is someone in trouble?”

She looked at him for a moment.

“My mother is ill. She refuses to see a doctor.”

“Who is your mother?”

“Samanthe.”

Shivappa stared at her, not understanding....

Meena opened her bag and took out an old photograph. It showed a much younger Samanthe standing beside a little girl.

“I am her daughter.”

He looked at the photograph again....

For years, Shivappa had believed he knew Samanthe’s past. He knew about her childhood, the cruelty she had endured and the circumstances that had brought them together.

But he had never known about the child.

Meena explained that, before marrying Shivappa, Samanthe had sent her to live with her grandmother. She had never brought her back. Meena had grown up elsewhere, with occasional news of a mother who remained distant even when she was near.

“Why are you telling me this now?” Shivappa asked.

“Because she is ill, and she has nobody she will listen to. I thought perhaps you could make her come.”

Shivappa set down the hammer...

He had rescued strangers without knowing their names. He had interfered in lives he barely understood. Yet he had lived beside his own wife without knowing that an entire part of her life existed beyond him.

He looked at Meena.

“I’ll come.”

At the clinic, Dr Chari examined Samanthe and explained that she needed treatment. She was unwell, but there was no reason to assume the worst.

Samanthe sat on the examination bed, her face drawn with fatigue.

When Shivappa entered, she looked away.

“You brought him?” she asked Meena.

“She was worried about you,” Shivappa said.

“I didn't ask anyone to worry.”

“No. You rarely do.”

For a moment, the old sharpness returned to her eyes.

Then she looked tired.

Meena stepped outside to speak to Dr Chari, leaving them alone.

“Why didn't you tell me about her?” Shivappa asked.

Samanthe stared at her hands.

“Because I didn't want to.”

“Were you afraid I would send her away?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

Samanthe took a long breath and whispered....

“Because you would have tried to fix it.”

The words hit really hard... Shivappa sat down.

“Perhaps I would have.”

“You would have found a school, arranged money, spoken to people, made plans. You would have decided what was best for everyone.”

Shivappa wanted to deny it. Instead, he remembered the goat, the pump, the neem tree, the puppy. He remembered the many times he had stepped into a situation before asking whether anyone wanted him there.

“I might have,” he said.

Samanthe looked at him, almost surprised.

He continued, “I thought saving someone meant I knew what they needed. I never stopped to consider that I might be wrong.”

Samanthe said nothing....

“I don't know how to put right what has happened between us,” he said. “But I still care what happens to you.”

Samanthe turned towards the window.

It was not forgiveness. It was not a reconciliation. Neither of them was ready for either.

But for the first time in a long while, Shivappa had not offered to solve her life. He had simply told her the truth.

Over the following weeks, Shivappa returned to his shop.

He paid Basavaraj his wages on time. He collected the money Raghu owed him, despite the elaborate story involving a cousin, a bank and an unfortunate goat. He stopped promising to fix every broken thing in Ponmanipudi.

When someone came asking for help, he began asking a question he had rarely asked before.

“Have you tried fixing it yourself?”

Sometimes he still helped. Some things genuinely needed help. A child in danger could not wait for a philosophical discussion.

But he was learning to tell the difference between a need and an invitation to interfere.

One afternoon, Raghu came to the shop with another broken machine.

“Just a small repair, Shivappa. You know how it is.”

“I do,” Shivappa said. “That is why the advance comes first.”

Raghu stared at him.

Then Shivappa grinned.

“Don't look so shocked. I haven't become a bad man. I've merely started charging for my goodness.”

Raghu paid......

It was a small victory, but Shivappa enjoyed it immensely.

A week later, Meena returned to the shop.

She carried the old photograph and a folded note from Dr Chari.

Shivappa read it....

*You have spent your life rescuing people who could not stand on their own. Perhaps the next thing you must learn is to stand beside someone without carrying them. And perhaps, for once, you must allow someone to stand beside you.*

He read it twice, then folded it carefully.

“Your doctor talks too much,” he said.

Meena smiled. “He says the same about you.”

“Then he is clearly a man of poor judgement.”

Meena laughed...

Before leaving, she placed the photograph on his worktable.

Shivappa watched her go. He wondered what might have happened if he had known about Meena years earlier. Whether he would have helped, interfered, made promises or tried to become indispensable.

He would never know.

That evening, Shivappa closed the shop on time.

On the way home, he passed the neem tree he had once fought so hard to save. A small green shoot had appeared on one of its lower branches.

He stopped to look at it.

For once, he did not call anyone. He did not offer advice. He did not decide what the tree needed.

He simply stood there for a moment, watching the new leaves move in the evening breeze.

Then he went home.....quietly...

Dr Chari, passing the road a little later, saw Shivappa walking towards his house. He looked neither particularly happy nor particularly troubled.

The doctor wondered whether the old saviour was finally learning something.

Perhaps Shivappa would always stop when he saw someone in trouble. Perhaps he would never quite lose the instinct to help.

But maybe, just maybe, he was beginning to understand that love was not always about saving someone....

Sometimes it was about standing beside them...

And sometimes, the person who needed rescuing was the one doing all the rescuing.

Welcome to Ponmanipudi... where nothing is as it seems.

*About Ponmanipudi*

Ponmanipudi is an original village created by Sriranga V.N. Here, ordinary lives become extraordinary stories, and the everyday moments of village life reveal the humour, tenderness, contradictions and quiet mysteries of being human.