The rickshaws swarm like flies in this region of Bengal, especially as the Bengalis who have succeeded in crossing the border between Bangladesh and India work for much less. During the day the bikes go all over the place and don’t stop except when they have to.
The other danger is a breakdown or a puncture. But Badhari has great initiative: if the chain breaks he pushes the bike to the destination. If the tyre bursts he repairs it in a few minutes, for the hire is expensive. And at the end of the trip half goes to Gopal Babu and half to the driver. At three o’clock Badhari has to stop working because the return trip to the village is long and absolutely must be done in daylight.
For a month my brother-in-law works an average of two days out of three. The rest of the time he waits for things to get better. Gopal Babu suggests that he work at night to earn more money. Badhari could double his wages if he worked until eight or nine o’clock. By leaving midway through the day he is missing the customers who leave their offices at the end of the afternoon, people who go shopping in the evening or quite simply need to get around the town. There have been times when he didn’t hesitate to sleep in a corner of the depot, but since the birth of his son he absolutely must return every evening.
For several days I am with the in-laws, and I miss lessons. I have to return to Bararola, especially as I am anxious to get back to school. My sister packs her things – she is going to spend some days at home so that our parents can also enjoy some time with the baby and see how well he is.
At the entrance to the village Josna stops at the temple of Radha. The few metres of concrete seem to be in a state of neglect. No painting has been done; the work isn’t going forward very fast. All the villagers are supposed to contribute to the construction of the temple, but no one really has the means to give even a few rupees. The donations are rare, for stomachs are empty. The funding comes mostly from the Mahatos family, the cousins of the great landowners who have made their fortune in the fresh-water fishing industry. In spite of the state of the temple Josna recites some prayers before coming into the courtyard of the house a few minutes later.
Our brothers and sisters mob Debu. They all want to touch him and play with him. Baba takes the baby in his arms for a few moments before returning him to Josna. He explains that Ma isn’t there but out working in the rice paddies. He himself must go and take the bidis to the dealer and get tobacco and leaves for the coming days. I suggest that he take more of it than usual because Josna and I will be able to help him roll bidis whenever we have the chance to do it. Baba tells me that the teachers have come every day to ask for me. I have to return to school as soon as possible.
I got a scolding from Arjun, the head teacher. Arjun didn’t even take the time to park his bike in the courtyard. He asks me to explain why I missed the three previous days. I explain that I had to help my sister who had just had a baby. He doesn’t want to know about it. Pupils ought to come to school every day except in the case of illness. I promise to stay after school so that my teacher can help me catch up with the lessons I missed.
At the end of the week our teacher tells us about the rights of children. I am surprised to learn that we have rights and that our parents cannot do what they like with us. According to my way of thinking I belong to my procreators and they can do what they want with me until I am married, after which I should abide by the decisions of my future husband. I am fascinated by the idea that we have the right to decide about our lives and that our parents cannot force us to do what they want. If only my sister had been to school she would have had an easier life! Then we go on to a lesson about hygiene in which Atul explains to us that it is important to cut our fingernails regularly. Another discovery! I would never have thought that illnesses could be caused by bacteria on our fingers.
Ma looks after Debu’s every need. She is happy to see that this child born in the middle of winter is well and reassured to know that Josna is capable of bearing a child, even if her daughter, with scars all over her abdomen, will have trouble coping with a new pregnancy.
She can’t take her eyes off him. ‘Fortunately Debu is a boy,’ she says.
5
MARRIAGE OFFERS
My father comes into the courtyard with two big plastic sacks. One contains eucalyptus leaves and the other tobacco. He asks me to bring him a bucket of water to soak the leaves. As he puts out his cushion and the tools of his trade I begin the wetting process while telling him what I do in class. I am happy to learn and to discover new things every day. I inform him that dirty fingernails are carriers of disease and that he needs to wash his hands several times a day. He smiles, he who never really knew his mother and has learned everything on the job.
My paternal grandmother, he tells me, died when he was still a child. He remembers her as a woman whose face was marked with pustules who lay for days at a time in a feverish state. She went blind and then the shivers and the hallucinations became more and more frequent. My grandfather had people come who were able to treat her, notably with Ayurvedic methods. It was said that she had to be inoculated with another virus to cure her. I didn’t understand what that meant, but that didn’t matter because it didn’t work. She died a few days later in terrible suffering. My grandfather never wanted to marry again, so Baba was brought up by his father’s family: his uncles and aunts and his grandmother. He went to school for only a few years. He knows how to count but not to read. When something has to be written he copies out the characters from memory – most of the time without making the connection between the letters. As his family owned no land they all worked as agricultural labourers. Around the age of ten Baba learned to roll bidis, and since then that has been his main activity.
The members of our caste marry around the age of ten. I was nine when my parents suggested finding me a husband. I was furious with my mother who talked about it first and enraged with my father who wasn’t opposed to the idea. My parents wanted me to find a husband just then because my dowry was the best it could be – more than ten thousand rupees! I protested vigorously about this plan and ran to take refuge at my uncle’s a few doors away. My parents came to get me, but I was so angry that I refused to see them and even to sleep at home that night. I was terrified at the idea of having the same experience as my older sister. My uncle agreed that I could spend the night at his house, as I had often done before. He reassured my parents and promised to bring me home the next day. My uncle didn’t ask me what we were quarrelling about. I went home the next day. I was convinced that, considering my reaction, my parents would have given up their idea. But for fear of a new confrontation I left immediately for school.
Our teacher teaches us history, English, mathematics and Bengali literature. I am always chosen to sing the national anthem or the prayers. In spite of my mediocre voice the head teacher insists that I be the one who leads the other pupils. I try hard to make sounds come out of my throat, to keep my mind on the words in spite of the fear that is stifling me.
As always on the last day of the week we get to have a half-day of discussion, in the course of which our teachers inform us about things other than our school subjects. This week it’s not about hygiene but about scientific experiments at the museum of natural sciences in Purulia. I don’t really like this place – except perhaps the workshop where you have to make mixtures of liquids and identify the smells – but the advantage of these outings is that we are with all the other pupils of the school, and that allows us to meet children who began school at the normal age. Pinky is one of those. She is shy and very reserved; she is slim, her hair is almost blonde and she has big, bright eyes. Her parents are as poor as the other inhabitants of the village. Her father went away several years ago – first to Purulia, where he became a bus driver, and then to Calcutta, where he claimed to have a taxi. For years Pinky’s mother regularly received money through intermediaries that the father found in town. He was contacted by an agency that specialized in placements abroad. He left India for a country in the Middle East where he
was supposedly recruited as a private chauffeur. After a few months the mother received no further money nor even any news of her husband. The telephone rings without being answered regardless of the time that Pinky’s mother calls.
From then on she raised Pinky and her other children by herself. She works with my sister in the brick factory. All day long the women dig clay with their bare hands and make bricks using a mould marked with the name of the owner, going back and forth over several hundred metres to dry them in the sun. Pinky and I first struck up a friendship during these school outings. She knows a lot of things, but her reserved manner makes her seem rather stand-offish. She doesn’t have many friends, and very few children like to play with her. During playtime she stays by herself in a corner of the yard.
Arjun, the head teacher, calls us together and asks us to be sure to be at school the next week. I expect another school outing to the museum.
When I get back home the subject of marriage is the centre of the conversation again. The son of one of my uncles has asked to marry me. Ma tries to convince me to meet him.
‘He’s a relative and is ready to accept the dowry that we’re offering.’
‘I don’t care where he comes from and what he’s ready to accept. I don’t want to get married, and that’s final!’
‘Don’t be selfish. Think of your family. You think that your father can keep on working in these conditions? His back hurts constantly and he has trouble breathing because of inhaling tobacco for years, and he does all that to feed you. Do you realize the sacrifices that he has been making all this time?’
‘I’ll help him. I’m quite willing to work after school so that he can make his daily quota of cigarettes.’
‘You understand nothing, my girl. You cost us too much, and if we don’t get you married while you are young and attractive nobody else will want you.’
‘I don’t want to get married, do you hear me? I am enrolled at the school, and I intend to keep going there!’
‘You’re not the one who decides! The Kalindis all marry at your age. If you want to keep on studying you can sort that out with your husband. Our duty as parents is to find you a husband before it’s too late.’
‘I don’t want to get married!’
The conversation breaks down into yelling. My father interrupts us: ‘Stop carrying on like that, both of you! Do you want the whole village to hear you?’
‘Your daughter is stubborn and doesn’t understand her luck in having so many marriage offers. She’s only thinking of herself and her blasted school. As if food was free! I told you that enrolment at the school was a bad idea, but you didn’t listen to me. This is the result. You can deal with it. And then you can go and explain to your nephew that he can’t marry your daughter Rekha, because according to the latest news she’s the one who decides not you!’
‘Be reasonable, Rekha, this marriage offer is a chance for you. You ought to seize it, both for your own good and also for the good of your family. Think of your brothers and sisters, please,’ whispers my father in an affectionate tone.
‘I don’t care! I want to go on learning and working at my studies. That’s what you advised me to do not so long ago. Remember?’
‘Yes, but that was temporary. We sent you to school while we were waiting for you to find a husband. Now you don’t need to study any more.’
‘Temporary? But you know how difficult school is! I am one of the best in the class, and you want me to abandon everything just because a boy who doesn’t even know me wants a wife in his house?’
‘When I married your mother I didn’t know her either. That didn’t prevent us from starting a family …’
‘A family that you have trouble feeding! Is that the kind of future you want for your children?’
I went off in the direction of my uncle’s house, taking the maze of paths among the dried-mud houses to cover my tracks. I pushed the little metal door, praying that it wouldn’t squeak as it usually did. I climbed the half-built stairs while avoiding meeting my uncle’s in-laws. I settled down on the big concrete terrace where I couldn’t be seen. From above I gazed at the well outside the house. One after the other the women went there to draw buckets of water. Some children filled used oil cans. In the distance the workers were digging in their fields. I envied the young boy who was digging near his father. He at least seemed to be master of his own destiny. Down below I saw my uncle’s mother-in-law. Her arms looked like chicken legs. She had only a thin layer of flesh on her bones, but in spite of that she worked the earth of the garden to plant some tomatoes. Since she was a widow she lived with my uncle, and to thank him for his hospitality she makes herself useful all day long. My uncle seized an incredible opportunity when he bought a large plot of land adjoining his house. In theory the well belongs to him, but he lets the villagers use it so that they won’t have to walk several kilometres to get water. His generosity is very much appreciated in Bararola.
I hid away on the terrace as the sun went down. I wondered how long I would have to reject the marriage offers that were pouring in. I went to sleep, but my uncle woke me up to suggest coming to the room downstairs. For fear that I would fall over the side he helped me get down the stairs without a guardrail.
The next day I went straight to school without going to our house. It was out of the question to meet my mother, who I imagined must be furious with me. When I got home after school a boy accompanied by his parents was in the house. My mother introduced them to me. I understood what was being plotted and when they asked me what I thought of the young man I didn’t answer.
‘Are you sure she agrees?’ asked the boy’s mother.
‘Yes, yes!’ replied my mother. ‘She is shy and reserved, but we spoke to her yesterday. She knows what she ought to do …’
I hid out in a corner of the yard, my legs doubled up against my stomach.
‘And how old is she?’ the mother asked.
‘She’s coming up for ten. She is very gifted, you know. We’ve sent her to school so that she will be educated, and she’s top of the class. Her teachers are very proud of her. They say that she is much more intelligent than the other pupils.’
‘Ah! Very good! Nowadays children should go to school. It’s very useful …’
I wonder how this woman can know what is said or done in a school – especially as I suspect that her son has never set foot in one.
‘I don’t know how to cook, and I don’t like children,’ I say in a cold and determined tone.
‘Oh yes?’ replies the mother sharply. ‘But you are going to learn, I’m sure of it …’
‘I don’t think so. I eat very little, and neither my older sister nor my mother has taught me.’
‘She exaggerates. She lacks confidence in herself,’ my mother says, trying to reassure the other woman. ‘She has taken care of her brothers and sisters since she was quite small … I know what she’s worth. She’s very gifted.’
‘Yes, she seems gifted, but my problem is that she’s too dark … You see? Compared with my son, who is lighter … How much is the dowry? I mean, bearing in mind this difference in skin colour?’
I continued to listen to this discussion – or, rather, negotiation, I should say – that was all about me. I felt that Ma wanted a firm commitment on their part. That’s enough. I couldn’t bear this masquerade any longer. I got up and headed for the young man, who must have been be five or six years older than I.
‘You know the story of Kishalaya?’
‘No. What is it?’
‘He’s a brahmin who frees a tiger from its cage and makes it promise not to eat him in exchange for its freedom. It’s a traditional tale of Bengal, but never mind. You know how to sing Baul?’
‘No.’
‘I am always chosen to perform the Indian national anthem and the traditional songs of Bengal. Do you know that most children’s diseases are spread by mosquito bites?’
‘No, I didn’t know that.’
‘I learned all that at
school, just as I learned the importance of hygiene, reading and mathematics, and I can’t see myself abandoning all that to marry you!’
With that I turned on my heel and went back into the room where the parents were still arguing about the wedding and the dowry.
‘Your son is an idiot! I won’t marry him whatever my parents say!’
I knew that my parents were going to be embarrassed and get a bad reputation, but I couldn’t see any other way to get me out of this trap. The family went away. My mother gave me a furious look, and my father took the villagers back home, all the time offering profuse apologies.
As soon as I enter the gate of the school I feel a sense of liberation. I know that here I am protected by my teachers. They are the ones who taught us that in spite of our ages we can refuse to go along with our parents’ plans. I feel like asking for advice from Atul, the teacher, but I decide against it, thinking that my parents have understood the lesson and that it’s not worth embarrassing them any more by letting the incident reach the ears of the teachers. Arjun drops in on the class to remind us that everyone should be present next Friday and that no one should leave the class before he has finished his talk. We try to find out what he is going to say to us, but he won’t say a word. He simply states that it’s important and that he wants to see all of us on that day.
Strength to Say No Page 4
