For Want of a Nail…The Kingdom was Lost

On 30th March 2010, I had to travel from Chennai to Hyderabad to represent my own case Writ Petition W.P.3231 of 2010 before the Andhra Pradesh High Court where I was to argue as ‘Party in Person’ on the next day. Being my first case to argue before a High Court, I was already very tense. My anxiety intensified into fear that I might not reach at all and that I would miss the hearing, so without any reservation I got into the Charminar Express, which was the last train leaving to Hyderabad from Chennai. I was hoping that the Conductor would somehow, even though late, accommodate me, and to my luck, I was given a berth in First Class AC. I immediately tendered the ticket fare, even though it was dear in those difficult times. As I entered the cabin, I found that there was only one gentleman and he was talking on the phone in a soft tone. I settled down first and then opened my case file to review my notes for the next day and started to make additional notes as my co-passenger continued to converse on his phone.

After he was done with his phone call, he looked at me and smiled, and I acknowledged. He asked me who I was and I introduced myself and informed him that I was an entrepreneur with an export business at Ranipet near Chennai and I was going to Hyderabad to argue my case in person at the High Court the next day. “Oh, I see,” he said and introduced himself, “I am Vijayendra Prasad, father of Rajamouli.” There was no sign of recognition on my face, he was surprised. “Don’t you know Rajamouli?” I was clueless and said “No.” “My son, Rajamouli, is the Director of Magadheera, an all-time blockbuster in the Telugu film industry.” He was perplexed that I was not aware of the famous movie. “Films were my past, despite my family being the pioneers in the film industry,” I said in a monotone. “I don’t see any Telugu movies anymore,” I stated, not with any pride, but with despondency of the legacy that I lost. “Oh!” he exclaimed, “Pioneers!” not at all in mockery but as if I was not aware of its definition. “Yes, Sir,” I repeated, “Pioneers of cinema in Andhra Pradesh,” and then I properly introduced myself, now with my family name and background. I could observe the slow change in his facial expression and the recognition with respect as I narrated the roles of my grandfathers, both in cinema and in the freedom struggle. Thereafter, Mr Prasad and I spoke in a friendly manner for some time and then he invited me to be his guest for dinner and to enjoy the home-cooked food in his carrier. I refused, but he insisted, stating that there was enough for the two of us and showed the large canteen at the corner. I couldn’t refuse. I enjoyed the very authentic Andhra food and, later, I thanked him. But when I went to sleep, I felt a little dejected as if I lost something precious and I knew it was the legacy of my grandfathers. The super-fast Charminar roared at thundering speed and so did my memories of the past.

I recollected the unforgettable day in my life during the end of the year 1971 when I was 15 years of age. I was doing my plus-two then at Andhra Loyola College and I was at home for the holidays. As usual, I was browsing through the cinema section in the daily newspapers in the drawing room and my grandfather was also present in his usual place on the sofa and next to the phone, reading some magazines. At around 10 am, a pack of journalists arrived from Madras and I moved to the chair at the corner of the room to know what it was about. These journalists were sent by the legendary Chakrapani of Chandamama Publications at Madras, the cofounder of Vijaya Vauhini Studios. The journalists announced that they have been assigned by their boss to interview my grandfather on the eve of 25th Anniversary of their famous film magazine, ‘Vijaya Chitra’ of Chandamama Publications, started in 1947. It was only then I came to know that my grandfather, Pothina Srinivasa Rao, was the first exhibitor of Andhra Pradesh who established Maruthi Cinema in the year 1921. I sat throughout the interview and learnt many facts about his adventures and the struggle he endured in his extraordinary journey. I keenly listened to every word of the interview, which is stored in my memory permanently.

The struggle narrated in the earlier blog with regard to silent movies was also part of the said interview. The subsequent saga is as follows.

The advent of the ‘talkies’ was a revolution and it paved the way to a new era of jubilations. Many movies ran for hundred days and some for 25 weeks and 50 weeks and, at this juncture, Rao brought the jubilant celebration mood by inviting the stars and the film crew in order to spread the publicity of cinema. Rao was closely associated with stalwarts like Prithviraj Kapoor and Sohrab Modi who had their own drama companies and who conducted several plays in the silent movie era. Hence, the Bombay culture of celebration and jubilation attracted Mr Rao very much and he introduced the same at Maruthi Cinema. The very first movie that celebrated 100 days was Mangamma Sapatham in Tamil that starred the famous Ranjan and Bhanumathi. Even the first film that celebrated its silver jubilee was the Gemini Studio’s Tamil film, Chandralekha. It was a great moment not only for the citizens of Vijayawada but also an unforgettable milestone recognised by the great SS Vasan, the founder of Gemini Studios, who praised Mr Rao in Tamil newspapers and journals. Apart from these were iconic movies such as Rojulu Marayi, starring ANR, and the first colour movie in Telugu, Lava Kusa, starring NTR, that ran for 365 days. That was a golden period.

Apart from being a film exhibitor, Rao, having immense experience in writing screenplays while conducting stage shows, was assigned to direct the film Prithvi Putra in 1932, for which he wrote the story and dialogues too. He was also one of the founders of Vel Pictures Studios, which produced the earliest versions of Seeta Kalyanam, Maya Bazaar and so on. In the initial days, he was also given the reins of Sobhanachala Studios, which was later renamed as Veenus Studios. I still have the four-page article from the journal and I have possessed it since 1971 in an almost tattered condition, preserving it as a prize.

Mr Rao built another theatre, Srinivas Mahal, in 1958, which was constructed patiently for over ten years but was an extraordinary theatre on a larger land of 2,000 square yards. Mr Rahim, the father of one of my friends, who owned a business at Labbipet, Vijayawada, once narrated to me the profound character of my grandfather, which he stated was a “great inspiration”. Mr Rahim was involved in the casting and moulding of brake-drums to be used in large transport vehicles, hence, he sourced old iron from scrap merchants as raw material. He was amazed to witness Mr Rao coming every day in a rickshaw and segregating uniform grilled frames for windows and balconies. Mr Rahim informed me that the perseverance of Mr Rao to choose those items from the scrap and use them for a new construction, such as a cinema theatre, was astonishing. Rahim was curious to see the end result, hence, he did not miss watching the first movie, Madhumathi, a Dilip Kumar-starrer screened at Srinivas Mahal. Rahim was not only amazed with the construction and utilisation of scrap placed in an extraordinary manner in the construction of the cinema hall, but also he thoroughly enjoyed the first Hindi film Madhumathi, which subsequently ran for 50 days at Srinivas Mahal. Apart from it, Rao built another theatre at Rajahmundry in a partnership with an exhibitor friend from Gudivada, but later exited from it.

I woke up from a disturbed sleep and found that Vijayendra Prasad was also awake at the same time. We pleasantly bid goodbye to each other as the train reached our destination. I had a mission now and I hurried to the hotel to get ready and attend my case at the High Court. The case was posted before the Bench of Justice Shri Goda Raghuram and Justice Naushad Ali on that day, the 31st of March 2010. This time, backed by research of my own, I was ready for the arguments in a big way. The Hon’ble Judge looked at me while I began my arguments and listened patiently, giving me opportunity with concern, and finally, after being convinced with my arguments, looked at the Bank’s Counsel. The other side’s counsel wanted time. The Hon’ble Judge wasn’t happy and passed the required order “There shall be an Interim Direction as prayed for.” I couldn’t believe it. That was a great moment that gave me confidence and led me to immense success. The greater part of the success was from the urge to bounce back that spurred me since the earlier night. I slept well on the return journey to Chennai.

To both brothers, recognition and awards were of no value. They just acted for the good of society. Both my grandfathers are an inspiration to me, but it was my fellowship with my elder grandfather during his last days that I recall when in destitute circumstances. It is the entrepreneurship of my elder grandfather and the upright attitude of my younger grandfather that were in me but I never used them to full throttle. Ganapathi Rao’s quintessential quality was his sacrifice and selflessness. He sacrificed his entire life for the sake of the freedom struggle. His elder brother Srinivasa Rao’s extraordinary traits were to build an enterprise that was much more modern for his time. He was an entrepreneur who loved action, always aware where the first step is going to be and where the end of the road is. Like all great entrepreneurs, Rao followed his dream but had a clear idea of how to turn it into reality. His intuition played a key role in his entrepreneurship and he trusted the power of his inner voice.

He created a benchmark that none in the generations thereafter made efforts to emulate from. The descendants, including myself, indulged in a legal battle to settle their meaningless differences, destroying not only the legacy but also the colossal monument that was Maruthi Cinema that belonged to all the citizens of the state. Srinivasa Rao, as a mark of respect and love, placed his brother’s photo at the entrance of both the cinema theatres and it was the first act of destruction in the partition after the legal battle, that’s how the scores were settled. So also is the fate of the statue of Ganapathi Rao in Vijayawada’s old city, battered and broken beyond recognition. The virtue, integrity and social service of both brothers had disintegrated to dust and their reference washed away by tidal heat waves; and so does the history rest. Today, Maruthi Cinema doesn’t exist, except for the legacy of Srinivasa Rao on record.

At this juncture, I recite the notes written long ago in my personal diary, the famous quote of Benjamin Franklin: “For the want of a nail the shoe was lost; for the want of a shoe the horse was lost; for the want of a horse the rider was lost; for the want of a rider the battle was lost; for the want of a battle the kingdom was lost; and all for the want of a horseshoe-nail.” The despise and ego between the descendants of the joint family destroyed the legacy of both legendary brothers to dust.