Daughters Inherit Silence

by Rasana Atreya

  “Hindu philosophy does tell us to question everything.”

  “But society doesn’t. Take your father-in-law, for example. He lives in your house, spends your money, but won’t allow you to question him. Elder or not, I wouldn’t take half the nonsense from him that you do.”

  Jaya sighed.

  “Don’t get me wrong. Ladies are not allowed the same voice men are. I do understand that. I’m also very proud of what you’ve made of yourself. It’s not easy doing what you do, living your life the way you want despite disapproval from half the village.”

  “That doesn’t explain why I couldn’t stand up to Sivanna. He has no authority over me.”

  Madhav raised his shoulders in a shrug.

  Early in her marriage she’d started going for daily walks because that was an acceptable way of getting away from the house. After each walk, the sides of her feet, where the slippers dug in, were raw. When the open wounds bled, she put a BandAid on it, as she did with much else in her life. When your salary and your life were directed by your father-in-law, you learned to make do.

  After she shifted to the village and started up her business, she’d had the money to buy herself better footwear but, for the longest time, she hadn’t. To her, raw feet were the price one paid for wanting to walk: it just was. It was only when her brother bought her a pair of sports shoes that she realised that she had become so comfortable with her pain, taking it for granted, that she hadn’t looked for ways to mitigate what should have been a fixable problem.

  Conditioning made you comfortable with the status quo. Conditioning made you not want to question.

  When she was married off to Anant, it was with a hundred cautions from her mother to never question her in-laws. To compromise, no matter what. To keep the peace at all costs. Each time she opened her mouth, Amma’s cautions ran in a loop: Don’t bring dishonour to yourself. Don’t shame your birth family. Bite your tongue. Swallow your words. “I never realised this before but Amma questioned everything, had fights with pretty much everyone we know but…”

  “Never with her in-laws. Yeah. Because they were the authority figures in her life. She bit her tongue for the sake of family honour.” Madhav nodded. “That’s what you’re doing too. But at what cost? I’m not saying that you should be disrespectful to your in-laws. But you’re not ‘you’ anymore. After marriage, you’ve changed. You won’t stand up for yourself. You’re letting even a roadside snack vendor browbeat you.”

  Jaya leaned against the column, shaken. She hadn’t considered the cost to herself. To her daughter. She’d always taken herself to be a strong person: Look at her—tech-savvy, independent, car-driving businesswoman—supporting her in-laws, supporting her child, supporting herself. Somewhere along the way though, like her brother pointed, she’d lost her voice. She’d lost herself.

  Jaya didn’t speak up because her mother didn’t speak up. Not in ways that counted. Was this the legacy she wished to leave behind for her impressionable young daughter? Was silence to be her daughter’s inheritance, as well?

  With Sivanna, she hadn’t been able to defend herself because of the embarrassment. And the guilt. Guilt that she was betraying her dead husband by being attracted to another man. Embarrassment that she was bringing shame to his family by enabling such gossip.

  She’d been able to take on the village committee because pollution wasn’t an issue that was patriarchical or cultural. For the health of her daughter, she’d been able to overcome that conditioning.

  Madhav cut into her thoughts. “I hope you punched Sivanna in the face.”

  Jaya snorted.

  * * *

  Jaya walked around the large boulder next to the stream, stopping abruptly.

  Kovid leaned against the boulder, his expression serious. “I know I shouldn’t have come. But I wanted to apologise in person. I’m so sorry about what happened.”

  Jaya was mortified. She wanted to drop face-down into the stream below, but it was as shallow as Sivanna’s advice to her. “You didn’t grow up here,” she forced herself to say, “So it isn’t surprising you’d miss a lot of the nuance.” She meant it. He didn’t deserve the scorn he’d faced from Sivanna for what was an honest mistake.

  “I feel terrible for the trouble I caused you. I cannot apologise enough. I will return to the States right away, if it’ll make things easier for you.”

  Suddenly, Jaya was angry. Angry that, after eleven years of living a careful life, with not a stain on her reputation, society wouldn’t allow her this friendship. “No, don’t,” she said, aware that she sounded curt. Madhav’s and Shyamala’s cautions lingered in the back of her mind, but she shoved them aside. She was exhausted from the constant demands life made of her.

  Angry, she sat down with a thump. She curled her hand around a rock, wanting to cause damage to something. Anything. She gripped it harder and harder. It dug into the palm of her hand. Her breath came faster and faster. The scenery blurred. Haze filled her vision.

  “Hey,” Kovid said softly. He took her hand and threw the rock aside, smoothing out the places it had dug in.

  She burst into tears. Burying her head in her knees, she cried for Anant, who would never know his daughter; she cried for her daughter, who would never know her father; she cried for herself, the loneliness, the pressures, the constant judgement; she cried because she wanted to leave her hand in Kovid’s.

  Finally, she sat up. She was drained. Reluctantly, she took her hand back and wiped away tears.

  “You okay?”

  “Hmm.”

  Wordlessly, they watched the brook gurgle. Jaya felt like her life was flowing away from her, much like the water in the stream. The helplessness, the rage, brought fresh tears. Would the Sivannas of the world forever dictate her life?

  “You have more thoughts on Ayn Rand?” Kovid said, sounding tentative.

  Jaya laughed. Wiping her tears, she teased, “That’s what’s keeping you up at nights?”

  “Not that, no,” he said softly.

  Something in his tone made her nervous. She wished she had the courage, even the right, to follow up on it. Instead, she rushed into speech. “Uh, yes, Ayn Rand. It occurred to me only recently that my sister-in-law’s father is a prime example. I’ve honestly never come across anyone like him. My sister-in-law is the nicest person you’ll meet, but her father, he’s quite unlike anyone I know.”

  “Why did it occur to you only recently?”

  “Because no one else I know would be interested in a conversation about Ayn Rand. Individualism is almost a swear word in India, if you don’t already know.”

  Kovid reached across to squeeze her hand and Jaya’s train of thought derailed.

  “I—” She cleared her throat. “I was saying...”

  Kovid smiled. “Individualism.”

  Jaya nodded in embarrassment. “Joint families, with generations living together: that’s the ideal movies depict. I used to resent that my mother hated her mother-in-law so much that we never got to grow up with our grandparents. As a child, it made me angry that we did not live with them. But as I got older, I also saw how much the society thinks you owe the family structure. My brother had pressure to study in a certain college, marry by a certain time, to a girl of our parents’ choosing, to someone who would take care of them in their old age. And don’t even get me started on the pressure to have kids right after marriage. Both my brother and I faced that.”

  “And for not having a male child,” Kovid added.

  He would know.

  “Oh yes,” Jaya said.

  Kovid said, “Something one of my mother’s friends said stayed with me. She was in her forties, and despondent that she was still living with her in-laws.”

  “This was in the US?”

  “Yeah. The friend asked my mother if it was unreasonable for her, the friend, to expect to have control over her own kitchen at the age of forty.”

  “Don’t I know.” Jaya sighed. “No privacy. No control over your own
life. It takes an immense toll on the daughter-in-law because she is the one who is expected to make the sacrifices. Madhav and Shyamala shifted here to live with my grandparents, but it was Shyamala’s choice. She adored them. Before that, they lived with my parents in Hyderabad, which was not a pleasant experience for her, or for any of us.”

  “Many Indian parents I know try to live their dreams through their children,” Kovid said. “A few years ago, a woman of Chinese descent wrote a book about being a tough mom. She called it Tiger Mother. It stirred up a lot of controversy. In the book, the author talked about putting intense pressure on her children to excel. She defended it by saying it was for the children’s good. That’s pretty much the story of most Indian kids growing up in America. Dreams are brushed aside in favour of material success.”

  “The weight of parental expectations. Disappointing parents is never an option, so kids often go the other extreme: give up on their loves and marry someone else because of the pressure from parents; settle for professions that hold no interest, just so their parents are not embarrassed. Madhav married the girl of his dreams, but it badly damaged his relationship with our mother. My mother wanted me to be a doctor because we already had an engineer in the family, and I didn’t comply, either.” Jaya smiled wryly.

  “Mom used to favour Telugu and Hindi movies of the '70s and the '80s,” Kovid said. “Most of them seemed to be about the glory of sacrifice.”

  Jaya laughed. “That pretty much sums up the Indian experience. So, first year of college, someone hands me a book of Ayn Rand. A book that glorifies extreme individualism. This was a concept so bizarre, so alien, that my friends and I fell in love with it. We passed around dog-eared copies of her books.”

  “Huh. I wouldn’t have thought.”

  “Teens aren’t exactly known for their reasoning skills.”

  “I’ve thought about her philosophy, too,” Kovid admitted. “And come to the conclusion that you cannot be an adherent of her philosophy and expect to be part of a society that is kind and just. I read a recent article from PBS that really resonated. PBS is a public television channel in the States,” Kovid clarified. “Like the Doordarshan.”

  Jaya nodded.

  “According to that article, her philosophy tells you that altruism is destructive, that unfettered self-interest is the only way forward. But, really, unfettered self-interest is extreme selfishness disguised as individualism. People forget that the police, the army, firefighters, schools, teachers, public libraries—all of which are essentially socialist—are for the greater good.”

  Jaya nodded. “When my husband died, and I was pregnant and scared, and without a source of income, I wouldn’t have made it without my brother’s support. He fought both my parents and my in-laws on my behalf. He helped me set up my business. In those dark, lonely nights it occurred to me that society’s view of me as a person of no free will, because of my status as a widow, and Ayn Rand’s concept of extreme individualism—both are equally terrible as philosophies for societies.”

  “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

  She smiled back, before turning away awkwardly.

  To society, there could be nothing worse than a female who betrayed her husband by enjoying the company of another man. She hadn’t felt this alive in a long time, and that made her afraid. It was as if the drumbeats of war were getting closer. Swords of condemnation would be drawn, the pointy ends of the spears of gossip sharpened. No matter how she looked at it, this did not bode well for her.

  29

  Jaya

  “Is it true, or is it not, that you’ve been meeting this… this foreigner in secret?” Jaya’s father-in-law’s outrage was such that his rocking came to an abrupt halt. His fingers gripped the sides of his chair hard, leaching them of colour.

  Subbayya, the electrician, leaned against a cemented pillar holding up the ceiling of the veranda, arms crossed at his chest, while Jaya’s mother-in-law huddled in one corner, the free end of her sari clogging her mouth. Those who accused females of being gossipy creatures had never met the bearer of this little nugget of news. Never to be seen when the hot-water geyser stopped working in the bathroom, he could always be found where there was juicy drama.

  “It’s hardly a secret.” Rage and humiliation duelled within Jaya. “All we’ve done is discuss books and politics.”

  Subbayya looked startled at this admission: no lady from a decent family, certainly not one who lived in the village, would admit to doing such a thing with a man not related to her by blood or marriage!

  Her father-in-law started to rock, going faster and faster. “Isn’t it enough that I lost my son? Isn’t it enough that I allowed you to bear a girl-child? At this stage in life, this is what I have to put up with? Secret meetings with men? A complete loss of face?”

  Subbayya nodded in quiet satisfaction.

  “But—” Jaya said.

  “Quiet!” the old man roared. He rose from his chair so fast that the back of the rocker hit hard against the wall. “How. Dare. You!”

  The old lady hurried to his side and grabbed his arm. “You need to calm down. It isn’t good for your heart.”

  He threw her hand aside, his focus lasered on Jaya. “I was right that first time. The ties between us ripped the day our son was taken from us. We should not have shifted to the village to help you with your daughter.”

  “My daughter?” Jaya was incensed. “That’s what the daughter of your only son is to you?” Her heart broke. “My daughter?”

  “You do not deserve to carry our name. You have brought this family great dishonour. We shall be leaving before sundown.”

  Jaya was staggered. They would cut their ties with their son’s only child over this? “Please,” she whispered, “think about Ananta. About how this will hurt her.” The gossip she would face, the sense of abandonment.

  “Were you thinking of her when you took up with that man?”

  “Shouldn’t you talk to the man in question before you accuse him?”

  Jaya whipped around.

  Kovid leaned against his parents’ side of the wall, looking furious.

  Jaya’s head started to pound. The only way this day could get any worse was if Srinivas uncle also made an appearance.

  “How dare you interfere with private matters concerning my house!” The old man’s face got redder as he shouted. “How long have you been here?”

  “Long enough.” Kovid straightened. “What kind of justice is this, when you try a person without giving her the chance to respond?”

  Jaya knew Kovid was trying to help, but, Venkateswara! If he weren’t making things worse. Like that wasn’t bad enough, the maid walked in, a gleeful expression on her face. If there was a saving grace to this, it was that the girls were at school.

  “Oh,” the old man taunted, “You’re going to tell me how to deal with my own daughter-in-law, hanh? You know her that well?”

  “Kovid, please,” Jaya said. “You’re not helping.”

  Addressing Kovid directly only inflamed the situation with her father-in-law, as she knew it would. But what choice did she have?

  “Oh, now you’re addressing him by name,” her father-in-law taunted. “You’re that close, is it?”

  Her shoulders drooped. What was she doing? Anant might no longer be alive, but his responsibilities remained hers. His parents had suffered from a loss of face, and she was responsible; that fact could not be disputed.

  She fell back weakly, the wall between her house, and that of the neighbour on the other side, holding her up. Distress and humiliation worked together to twist the innards of her stomach.

  Jaya’s mother-in-law waved her hand roughly at the maid. “You won’t be needed today.”

  “But—”

  “Go!” Jaya’s mother-in-law shouted, startling both the maid and Jaya. Anger was one of the many emotions the older lady had packed away after the death of her son. “Now! And close the gate behind you.”

  The maid scampe
red out, defiantly leaving open the gate to the compound.

  Jaya was sure the maid had her ear to the wall on the other side.

  “You came into my daughter-in-law’s life,” the old man said to Kovid, “You ruined her reputation. You ruined our lives. How will we show our faces around here?” Drained of emotion, he turned to Subbayya. “Thank you for bringing this to our attention. Thank you for protecting our honour.”

  If Jaya could feel any worse, she didn’t know how.

  It was obvious from Subbayya’s face that he did not want to miss out on the drama. “I phoned her brother before I came here. I left him a message. He should know what kind of female his sister is.”

  “You may leave now,” the old man said.

  The other man nodded. He made his way out of the house as slowly as he could. He didn’t close the gate, either.

  “Come,” the old man said to his wife. “We must leave. There is nothing for us here.”

  As the old couple hobbled into the house, Jaya’s heart broke. She was the cause of this. She bore complete responsibility. She remained frozen, not able to move, not able to look at Kovid. She hadn’t the courage to admit this previously, even to herself, but her dreams at night were of Kovid; of him and her, of them together, making a new family with their respective daughters. She had betrayed her husband. She had let her in-laws down. She had ripped her daughter’s fragile life apart.

  “Jaya!” Madhav bolted into the courtyard. “Seenu called me.”

  Seenu, with his tin-shack shop right across her courtyard. Whose one eye remained pinned on her gate.

  Jaya hit her head back against the wall. So the news had spread. Dread filled her being. She could already visualise the taunts Ananta would face.

  Her in-laws came out, carrying a suitcase each.

  Jaya started to tremble. She had set this in motion. She was the one responsible for ruining her daughter’s life.