“Gayatri…Gayatri, where are you?” Visvanathan Iyer rushed in excitedly, waving a letter furiously in the air. His face was flushed with excitement.
“Gayatri, the letter is here from Nilakantan Ayyar.” He spotted his daughter slouching on the floor, exhausted by the hair braiding ordeal and pinched both her cheeks.
“Dharmu, you lucky girl I have got the best varan for you. Gayatri, this letter is from Nilakantan Ayyar from Nagarcoil. Remember, I told you I sent Dharmu’s horoscope to him three months ago? Well, he replied saying he will arrive next week to see her. We have to go to Mayavaram station and receive him. Can you get better news on a Friday morning?” beamed a hyperventilating Visvanathan.
Gayatri smiled, “Slow down. Is this the boy who is going to study in England? Is it all right to proceed with this varan? You know how we feel about crossing the seas. My mother will never agree to it. Nobody in our family has ever married someone who has crossed the oceans.”
“Then we just must not tell your mother. Gayatri, we must have gained good karma for seven generations to receive an alliance from such an illustrious family. I will not let any of our traditions or taboos spoil Dharmu’s future. If he crosses the seas, then we will do some prayers to avert any misfortune. Don’t you cross me now. Come on, there’s lots to be done. The house has to be ready in six days. Don’t sit, get up and let’s get things ready.” So saying, an exhilarated Visvanathan Iyer ran out, leaving everyone puzzled and confused.
Gayatri looked at her daughter with mixed emotions. Only eleven years old and blissfully unaware of what was happening around her. She put her hands around Dharmu’s face and then cracked her knuckles against the sides of her own forehead, a gesture designed to remove any bad luck that may prevent this alliance from resulting in marriage. Yes, Dharmu was truly lucky to be considered for the position of the first daughter-in-law for this illustrious family. The alliance was brought to their notice by Jameen Amma, the Jameendar’s wife, who loved Dharmu like her own daughter. Visvanathan had sent Dharmu’s horoscope to the Ayyar home months earlier and every day they waited for a response. The first step in the marriage preparation was to check and see if the horoscopes matched. They waited for the family astrologer to look at both horoscopes and make predictions about the couple and their lives together, and only if he agreed the match was good would matters be taken further. Visvanathan Iyer already got an okay from their family astrologer, who called it an excellent match but according to protocol, they had to wait until the boy’s party consented.
Nilakantan Ayyar and his wife, Sitalakshmi, lived in Nagarcoil deep in the south close to Cape Comorin. He had a lot of land, some awarded by the Raja of Travancore, and the rest which he purchased. Highly educated, Nilakantan was the Chief Engineer for the princely State of Travancore and received the title of Rao Bahadur from the British. Rao Bahadur Nilakantan Ayyar. A title meaning ‘the most honorable prince,’ in recognition for his outstanding service to the British Empire. His son Mahadevan was studying at Presidency College in Madras, finishing his M.A. at the young age of twenty. Dharmu was truly fortunate to be even considered as the first daughter-in-law for this family. She would soon be twelve years old, the perfect age for a Brahmin girl to be married. In any case she would remain home until she got her period and only after that, move in with her in-laws, which could mean an extra couple of years at home for Gayatri to pamper her.
Dharmu stared vacantly at her mother. She was too young to comprehend what her parents were talking about. She picked up her Gilli Danda stick and ran out of the house to play when she bumped full tilt into Jameen Amma, who was just stepping into the house.
“Dharmu, love of my life, where are you running off to? Are you so eager to embrace me you can’t wait till I enter your home? Come on, give me another hug without knocking me over.”
Dharmu snaked her arms around Jameen Amma’s ample waist, her head nestled in the cushiony comfort of Jameen Amma’s generous belly. Dharmu had a special soft spot in Jameen Amma’s heart. She would run over to the big bungalow, ‘the Bangla,’ every time she had a chance. The Bangla was exciting with so much to do. She loved to lie on the branches of the old knotted trees around the house and spend hours gazing through the leafy foliage at the sky above. Jameen Amma always took her around the garden to pick flowers for the pooja, telling her stories about the gods, or just chatting about nothing in particular. No matter when Dharmu went over, Jameen Amma welcomed her with a smile, a warm embrace and a smacking kiss on her forehead. Jameen Amma played games with her for hours on end. Dharmu’s favorite was Palaangozhi, mainly because she loved the sound of the shells hitting against one another as she gingerly dropped them into the carved cups on the ornate wooden board. But Jameen Amma drew the line at playing Pandi. She was too fat, she said, to hop on one leg, so hopscotch was totally out.
Jameen Amma always dressed perfectly. She wore beautiful colored Kanjeevaram saris, always with a red velvet jacket. On her nose, she had the double mookuthi, her oversized nosering set with pigeon-egg sized diamonds. At least four gold chains coiled round her neck, including her thaali. What was more striking was the huge coin-size pottu she wore in the center of her forehead in bright red kumkumam. That her husband was the Jameendar and Visvanathan worked for him did not stop the two women, Jameen Amma and Gayatri, from being close friends. And it certainly didn’t stop Dharmu from being a constant visitor at the Bangla. Jameen Amma loved Dharmu’s visits because it added a spark of excitement to her otherwise boring day. Her sons were studying in Thanjavur and her older daughter had married. It was always enjoyable when the grandchildren came to visit but that was only for a few weeks in the year. Her younger daughter, Sita, was of marriageable age but was not given much to conversation. In fact, Dharmu initially tried to engage her in dialogue and gave up after Sita replied in monosyllables. Being with Dharmu made Jameen Amma feel young again. She would miss Dharmu’s visits when she got married.
Gayatri welcomed Jameen Amma, talking excitedly about the alliance. Visvanathan joined in, adding to his wife’s narrative and soon Jameen Amma’s head swiveled from side to side as she attempted to understand what both of them were saying. Gayatri began talking about Dharmu and then Visvanathan interjected with something about the boy’s family. Jameen Amma was only getting snatches of each conversation but realized they were very excited and she didn’t want to spoil their moment. After all, this was going to be the first wedding in the family. Finally, she smiled and asked a very potent question, “What does Dharmu have to say about all this?”
“Dharmu? Why, we haven’t asked her opinion on the matter. She should consider herself blessed to have this opportunity,” Visvanathan insisted. Jameen Amma realized in the midst of all this excitement that no one had paused to explain to Dharmu what was happening and what it meant for her. The young girl had no idea that in a few months she was to leave the security of her home and become part of another family. No more Amma, Appa and Jameen Amma. In a few months Dharmu’s entire life would change. In a few months she would dramatically metamorphose into a woman. No more Pandi and Palaangozhi. No more idling around playing with her kitchen choppus, tiny replicas of kitchen utensils. Now she would be in charge of her own kitchen and the pots and pans would become magnified and real, leaving her play choppus behind as a distant memory. No one was going to explain anything to the poor child. Her thoughts and feelings were never going to be considered. She was a child after all and it was her duty to do what her parents told her to.
Jameen Amma walked out into the yard. In one corner Dharmu was intently playing Gilli Danda. She placed one small stick on top of the other. When she hit the bottom stick, the top one popped up, allowing her to catch it in midair; then with a swipe she hit it into the distance. Her brother Venkat was an expert at the game and could hit it much farther than Dharmu. Jameen Amma watched as Dharmu concentrated, the end of her tongue sticking out from the side of her mouth. Plop! Whack! The stick flew up into the air landing almost in the
same spot. Patiently, Dharmu retrieved the stick, gingerly placing it on the ground to make another attempt. Jameen Amma called out to her.
“Dharmu, come here. I want to talk to you.”
“Varen,” Dharmu cried out, making one last futile attempt at whacking the stick, before running across the yard to Jameen Amma. They walked together and sat on the shaded parapet under the enormous banyan tree. The sun was high in the sky and it was difficult to be in the open sunlight for a long time.
“Dharmu,” Jameen Amma suggested softly. “You are going to get married. Do you know what that means?”
“I know,” said Dharmu cheerfully.
“You will have to leave this house. Do you know that too?”
“Leave this house? Why? I want to stay here with Amma and Appa.”
“I know. That would be nice but this is the destiny of all girls. We are guests at our parent’s house till the time we get married. Your Amma and Appa found a very nice boy and he and his parents will be coming next week to see you. At the Ponpaakal, if they like you, then a date will be fixed for the marriage.”
“Will the boy come?”
“Of course.”
“And if I don’t like him?”
Jameen Amma squirmed as she thought carefully about her reply. “You will. Eventually. It is possible that you don’t like him immediately but you will learn to like him, even love him. But first, you must respect him and his family.”
“What if he’s ugly with marks on his face?”
Jameen Amma laughed. “Don’t worry; I heard he looks like a prince. You will like him,” she said aloud, thinking inwardly it didn’t really matter what Dharmu thought. No one asked for her opinion when her own marriage was fixed. In fact she did not even meet the groom’s family till the day of the wedding. But she kept her thoughts to herself.
“Let’s make a deal. If he has pock marks on his face, then I will stop the wedding proceedings. I will make sure of that but otherwise, you have to marry him.”
“And then? Do I have to go with this man to his house?”
“Not immediately,” said Jameen Amma. “You have to wait until you matureand then they will perform another ceremony called the Shanthi Kalyanam. After that, you will have to leave this house and go to live with your in-laws.”
“Mature? What is that?”
“You know how Amma stays in the back room for a few days every month?” Dharmu nodded. “That is because all women get their period. They bleed for three or four days, so they have to rest.”
“Bleed?” Dharmu looked horrified as the intricacies of womanhood unfolded for her in a single five-minute lesson.
“Don’t worry. It doesn’t hurt, at least not initially. Every woman must get her period; otherwise they can’t have babies. As a wife, it is your duty to have children so the family line can continue.”
Dharmu stared at her toes, now curling them, now uncurling them. She didn’t really understand any of this: boy, period, bleeding, children. What was worse, the less she understood, the more frightened she became. Suddenly, apprehension gripped her as she struggled with the unknown. She realized one thing and one thing only: she would have to leave home and the future became a dark scary abyss waiting to engulf her.
“I don’t want to… l…l… leave,” she stuttered, and the tears began rolling down her cheeks. “I don’t know those people. How can Amma send me away forever to their house?” Jameen Amma held Dharmu close, gently calming her quivering body. She understood Dharmu’s fears. She had experienced them herself and knowing how painful it was, she had willfully imposed the same condition on her own daughter. And now, she was watching the same heart-wrenching event play out with Dharmu. This was every woman’s lot; there was nothing to be done. It was this which eventually made every woman strong, giving her the ability to face unknown challenges.
“Don’t worry Dharmu. You won’t have to leave for a while, so don’t fret about it now. We’ll cross the bridge when we come to it. Think of this — you are going to get many new clothes, beautiful silk pavadais in any color you like.”
“Can I get one in blue? With matching ribbons for my hair?”
“Of course you can, my sweetness. What kind of blue?”
“This kind,” said Dharmu pointing to the blue cloudless sky. “I want the blue of the sky.”
Dharmu stared out through the window at the evening Rangpur sky.
It was not blue. It was an ominous grey and orange.
CHAPTER 13 – DHARMAMBAL
RANGPUR –1934
Dinner was served and the evening proceeded without a hitch. While the men retired to the living room to enjoy some port and cigars, Dharmu returned to her room thoroughly exhausted. She sat down on her bed and listened to the conversation wafting in from the living room. Kandu, who should have been asleep, was obviously with the men.
“Are you a real Englishman?” asked Kandu, a bit too frank and curious. From the awkward silence that followed, Dharmu could sense Mahadevan’s embarrassment but there was no controlling children.
“From England?” continued Kandu, oblivious to his father’s discomfiture.
“Yes. Absolutely, son. Maybe one day you will visit England.”
Dharmu couldn’t hear much more as the conversation began fading out.
Her memories of childhood gave her solace in this alien world. She missed home terribly. Maybe in the winter she would make that arduous journey back to the south. Amma and Appa lived alone now that her brother Venkat had married and moved to Madras.
Dharmu thought to herself, ‘Jameen Amma’s life had probably become routine since her sons had all married and were living in cities all over India. She must be so relieved that her younger daughter, Sita, also got a fine alliance. That poor unfortunate child had suffered a lot. And Jameen Amma did not deserve this grief.’
Dharmu had been very young when Jameen Amma’s daughter was raped at the tender age of five. When Dharmu learned about this after she had grown up, it made a lot of things clear. Why Sita never spoke. Why Jameen Amma never let her out of the house. Why, in spite of laughing and cheerfully tackling her chores, Jameen Amma would turn suddenly gloomy, her eyes wearing a faraway look and her face sad for no obvious reason. Being the mother of three, Dharmu now understood that pain. Thinking she had let her child down, Jameen Amma must have felt an overwhelming sense of failure, unable to protect her. She probably felt terrible wondering how this would affect the child physically and mentally in the future. The gardener, like many men afflicted with syphilis, had raped the child because of the belief that you could get rid of the disease if you slept with a virgin.
But how was it possible to rape a five year old? Apparently he had sliced open the child’s vagina with a knife. Just thinking about it made Dharmu weak. She felt a sympathetic pain in her genitals and moaned. Bending over, she placed her fists between her legs to ease the sensation. The gardener ran away but was caught and beaten up by the servants at the Jameen. They could not report the crime because that would bring untold shame on the family. No one from a decent family ever reported a rape. Death was preferable to dishonor, and rape brought dishonor to the family. Three other children needed to get married and the smear of rape would disgrace the family. They would have no face to talk to their neighbors, let alone arrange a marriage for any of their children. Nobody ever reported rapes. They would deal with the situation with as much secrecy as possible and all family members kept their secrets well. The servants talked in hushed whispers but they knew the harsh consequences of leaking this information to outsiders. Jameen Amma wondered if she should involve the English doctor or rely on the local Vaidhyar. Would his herbs and salves have good results, or would it make her worse? And then what if she died? Many did, and with their merciful release their families were actually relieved.
A maidservant found Sita in the early evening under a tree, a small crumpled heap in the corner of the garden, resting on a pool of oozing blood. She was unconscious for a long time
and for the next few years not a word escaped her traumatized lips. The Jameen was such a safe haven. All the servants who worked there had been with the family for generations and their loyalty was unquestionable. The possibility of a vagrant out-of-work gardener on the prowl for a young virgin never crossed their minds. But bad things happen when you least expect it, to people who least deserve it, for reasons nobody understands. Karma catches up with you sooner or later in life and even makes you pay for misdeeds in past lives. What else could cause such untold suffering on an innocent child and a God-fearing family?
Jameen Amma never really forgave herself. She had been on the thinnai watching her daughter play in the garden when the cook summoned her inside. She was inside for a short while and was about to return to the thinnai when the pleats of her sari got caught in a stray nail and ripped. She went into her room to change and got distracted by the state of her closet, so she busied herself reorganizing her almirah. Perhaps an hour had passed when she heard the piecing shriek of the ayah calling out to her. Running out, she saw the distressed ayah setting Sita down on the sofa, screaming, “Jameen Amma ayayyo Jameen Amma ayayyo!!”
Perhaps it was this scene that Jameen Amma’s mind reverted to when her eyes wore that distant look. The servants gathered and Visvanathan was summoned to deal with the crisis. Besides being the estate manager, he was a close confidante of the family. In a few hours, the assailant was captured and brought before the Jameendar. The servants beat the ingrate with sticks and bare fists, till his face and body were a bloody mess. But they did not kill him. The disease would take care of that.
The Vaidhyar arrived and began the treatment. But the herbs and salves could not soothe the child. By morning, she had a high fever combined with convulsions. Jameen Amma was like a ghost of herself. She was unable to think clearly but she kept praying to Kamakshiamman. Her faith in the goddess was firm and she made it a point to visit the temple in the village every Friday. She promised that if her daughter improved, she would offer flowers, fruit and one hundred coconuts to her family deity. If Sita recovered, she would give twenty-one silver coins every full moon day to worshippers at the temple for the rest of her life. She knew in her heart that her bhakti, her devotion, was sincere and the Goddess would never let her down. And she didn’t.
When the Lotus Blooms Page 8
