She was after all, a
woman of fifteen.
Close
to the city of Paithan, in a small village called Sauviragram, which lay along
the banks of the great river Godavari, lived a woman named Ilaa. Being cotton
farmers, her family was well to do, but not among the richest in their area. It
was the harvest season, and cotton had to be picked from the plants. The
wholesalers and traders from Paithan would be arriving in just a few weeks,
carrying gold and goods for barter. They would exchange what they carried for
the cotton that the farmers grew. The bales of cotton had to be ready in time!
Work was at its peak!
But Ilaa was not to be found in the fields. She wasn't working. Instead, she
was sitting by the banks of the great river Godavari.
I am sick of this!' she grunted loudly.
She threw the stone that she was
playing with absentmindedly while expressing her anger. The stone cut through
the mighty waters of the river thrice before finally falling to the depths. She
had tried to master this technique for a long time. She had imagined this
triumph in a different way though, with all her siblings around her at this
very moment and cheering for her. She imagined the pride in her brother’s eyes
as he would now teach her other such activities and the amazement in her friends
and parents’ eyes as would hear about it from the local ‘Keertankars’ in the
temple!
The splash of the stone in the
river only made one buffalo move slightly, while the rest of the river bank
continued its activities unaffected. The children were busy diving in the river
and going about their daily ablutions, women were busy washing utensils and
clothes and shouting at some of the kids for splashing water on them. Cow herds
were washing their cattle. It was a simple day in the village of Sauviragram. This
calm environment was belying Ilaa’s demeanour. She had a lot of emotions pent
up inside her waiting to erupt like a volcano.
Yesterday was a special day for
Ilaa, it was her brother Sopan’s marriage. They were five siblings including
Ilaa and she was the youngest of all the four brothers. She was pampered and
loved by all four equally. She remembered how her mother had taken her to the
market just last week and bought her new clothes - a new set of parkar-polka. She did not know what
marriage was all about and who these guests were. She had asked her mother if
just like Iravati, her maternal cousin, someone was going to come and stay with
their family. Iravati was married to her eldest brother Mahaji. Ilaa was
instructed to behave in front of the guests. She had to help her mother with
the kitchen activities and take care of the guests.
But today was no time to sit and
grumble. The harvest season was upon them and soon it would be time for the
traders market to be set up in their town. Traders from all around their
villages and especially Paithan would be coming with their trades and the
entire town would host the visitors for a week. This of course called for extra
work but at the same time, would also mean more and better choices of goods and
services. Ilaa’s family though not the richest were respected cotton traders
and such trade fairs would give them a chance of getting what was not produced
in their village in exchange for the finest quality cotton.
Last year the
produce was good, and the family could get a good pair of bullocks, utensils
for the kitchen and manure. This year too, Ilaa’s father Damodar had hoped the
produce would be more than enough to help the family sustain their son’s
wedding expense. This meant a lot of work in the field and the entire family
had toiled hard for it. Such fairs were not just a platform to exchange goods
and services but were also a rich confluence of different cultures and lives.
They were a medium to exchange knowledge and information. The traders from
Paithan would speak of different ways of cropping and tilling the land twice a
year, of rich silks and of their beloved King – Shivaji.
But Ilaa had known more about the
King, her eldest brother was a Sardar
in Shivaji’s cavalry. Ilaa was but ten years old when her eldest brother; then
all of seventeen; had decided to join Shivaji’s cavalry. He addressed him as “Maharaj” and prided himself in being one
of the few who was in charge of the cavalry planning and strategy. He was a
good horseman and he knew the by-lanes and in-roads of Paithan and the nearby
villages very well. His knowledge on the equestrians was unparalleled.
Of the many stories that he would
narrate to his younger siblings the one that Ilaa loved listening to over and
over again was of how he had defeated three Mughal
horsemen alone in a narrow path outlining the village to the river Godavari.
The battle was fierce, and the men strong. They had encircled him and he was
fighting off blows from all three sides. The shield on his back and his agility
were his only defence. He fought many a strong sword blows and surprised the
enemy with his returns. Then he used his strength - his knowledge of the
geography. He knew the river was not too far behind, and he knew its
depth.
He picked his target horseman and
swiftly moved in his direction. Within three strong strokes of his sword, he
had moved out of the circle – the chrakravyuh
and was now leading all three towards the river. He had trained his horse to
move across the current without getting trapped in the loose rocks on the
riverbed. As the other horses entered the water, the current started pushing
them down the river and into deeper waters, in panic they neighed high and
toppled over the rocky river bed, throwing their riders off their back into the
water. This was the moment Mahaji had been waiting for, within seconds the
water had changed a colour to blood red.
“Shabaas dada, you are so brave!”
all the young tots would shout and then go to bed. Ilaa of course being the
youngest of the lot would be fast asleep by this time, happy in her dreams.
The river Godavari was her village’s
lifeline. She used to pass along it every day while on her way to school, the
fields, the market, and her friend Sharada’s place, everywhere and every time.
The river was the deity in their village and every year during the month of Aashad as the village would get ready to
host Lord Vittal’s festival they would begin by first worshipping the river. Its
abundant water supply meant the fields would never run dry and agriculture,
which was the primary occupation of the village, would not be heavily dependent
on the monsoons. Ilaa always believed that the river watched over their
village. Any calamity and the mighty river would swallow it before it affected
the village, just like a mother she cared for her children.
Sometimes she also dreamt of the
teachings she learnt in the local temple ‘keertans’ – devotional songs. The
‘keertankars’ sang devotional songs in praise of the Lord Vittal. They also
educated the masses on the latest happenings in the capital and acted as the
medium of passing down information from the raja
to the praja. They spoke and sang of
what distinguished the good from the bad, of education, hygiene, keeping high
morals like Lord Ram and of equality in all forms – gender, caste, education
and work level. They gave examples of people from across the river - how they
lived, what they wore, their mannerisms. They spoke of how just their Maharaj was and of the many battles that
he fought against the Mughal
atrocities.
This was education beyond the four
school walls. A ‘keertan’ evening would be an event in the village and enjoyed
by all. Even ladies were allowed to participate as audience. Children would be
prodded to ask questions and the ‘keertankars’ would answer with patience. Ilaa
especially loved the ‘keertan’ by Sant Eknath. She liked the way he spoke to
everyone young and old, wealthy and poor, educated and illiterate, powerful and
weak. His charm had spread across the populace. He would always speak on
equality and education, on patriotism and selflessness. He would always be
found chanting Lord Vittals name and Ilaa had heard that the Lord had showered
His blessings on him on many occasions.
A few days ago post his Keertan; he had spoken on a woman’s
right to marriage and to choose her life partner. As soon as he started
speaking on this topic, there were several sighs and nods of heads in
disagreement. Ilaa sensed the atmosphere becoming a bit tense. She in fact even
saw some of the women folk leave the temple courtyard either out of sheer
embarrassment or because they were asked to by their husbands, fathers or
brothers. Ilaa looked around to find her parents. To her surprise, her mother
was trying to catch her eye and indicate that they too should make a beeline to
their house. Then she tried to find her
father and sought that nod of approval from him to make a move. To her
surprise, her father just smiled and let her sit on. She heard the importance
of marriage from Sant Eknath, of the rituals and their true meaning, of the
story of Lord Vittal and his bride Goddess Rakhumai. She wanted to tell her
mother to continue to sit, but she had left already.
As the father-daughter duo made
their way back home from the temple, her father sensed her urge to ask
questions and lots of them. He prodded her, “tell me Ilaa, what you observed at
the temple?” Ilaa did not know where to start from, she finally said she liked
the story of Lord Vittal’s marriage. Upon further prodding, she trusted that
this conversation would remain between them, lest she would be judged, she
started talking freely, she told him of the references of the Sanskrit verses
on marriage that Sant Eknath recited, on the equal opportunity that marriages
present to both the sexes, the fact that women could choose their husbands. But
then she stopped, she asked her father a question which left him startled,
‘’did Mama ask Iravati if she ever
wanted to marry Dada? And Baba, will you too ask me if I want to get married to
someone?”
Damodar smiled, he knew his
daughter was growing up, he nodded in her direction. He then started speaking
of educating Ilaa first and helping her gain knowledge in the fields. She
needed to understand the cropping and the tilling of the cotton plants too. Damodar
did not discriminate between his sons and daughter. He was proud that his
eldest son was serving the Maharaj
and his middle son was helping him in the fields. He was happy that his
youngest son and daughter were still understanding what they liked. He was a
satisfied man of few words. Yet he knew that Ilaa was a strong headed girl on
the threshold to become a level headed woman.
While he was lost in his thoughts,
Ilaa was referring to equity in property and education rights that Sant Eknath
spoke about. She was trudging at his dhoti, ‘’baba, why doesn’t Iravati go to
school with me? Sant Eknath says, all girls have an equal right to education.
Baba, can she come with me to school from tomorrow, that way, Aai will not need
to drop me to school either, Iravati is older than me and more responsible.” It
then struck Damodar, he only thought of his bloodline while implementing the
policy of equity. And in doing so, he was actually being unfair to his
daughter-in-law.
As the D-day dawned the entire
house was busy in preparations to host the guests. Ilaa’s mother had called on
the neighbouring ladies to help in the kitchen and clean the house. Sharda’s
mother too was lending a helping hand. While the women were busy decorating the
house and setting the food, the men were busy helping Sopan tie the special
dhoti – sovala. Sopan had gotten up
very early today. His body was anointed with oil and turmeric paste first then
he had taken a sandalwood bath.
As he was getting ready, he saw
Ilaa peeping through the window. He called her in, asked her how he looked.
“Like a King” was her reply. He smiled and pulled her cheek. As the muhurta hour drew closer, the activities
in the house increased their speed and at the appointed time Sopan married
Mugdha. As the lunch was being served in the house courtyard, Ilaa over heard
Mugdha’s uncle asking her father about her. By the end of the lunch she saw her
parents and her Mahaji dada talking in a corner. In a few minutes, Iravati came
to her and told her to wear Aai’s navvari
sari. Ilaa did not understand why her silk parkar
polka was not good enough for the occasion anymore.
As she got ready, she heard Iravati
tell Sharada, that Mugdha’s uncle had asked for Ilaa’s hand for his son. Ilaa
did not know what to say. Did she want to cry, was she happy? She had just
heard about marriage yesterday and had spoken to her father for the first time
in it. Was her opinion not important at all? She wanted to runaway; she wanted
to ask questions to her father who she felt had betrayed her trust. As she
climbed down the stairs, she felt all eyes on her. She touched the feet of all
the elders in the house and sat in front of Mugdha’s family.
The next morning as she got up, her
mother told her to quickly get ready and go help her father and brothers in the
field. The cotton was to be picked and made ready for the market. They had less
than ten days to get everything market ready. The fair was to begin in two
weeks time. Sopan anna too was in the fields. As she was preparing to leave for
the fields, she heard her mother say they liked her yesterday and have proposed
marriage. Ilaa was surprised that no one in her family even wanted to know what
she felt like. She ran out of the house and instead of going to the fields went
to the river bank. She was angry and she wanted to cry. “I am sick of this!” she grunted loudly.
In a distant she saw her baba
running towards her. Damodar sat by her side in silence. He watched her twitch
her feet. He sensed her discomfort. The father daughter duo spent some time in
silence before heading home. As they reached home, Ilaa saw all her and
Mugdha’s relatives waiting for them in the courtyard near the tulsi vrindavan. She
wanted to run away and was trying to let go of her father’s hand. But his grip
was firm. He took her to the centre of the courtyard and to her surprise asked
her, “Ilaa you remember what we spoke about yesterday on our way back from the
temple? You had asked me if your opinion was important in deciding your
marriage”. She heard gasps from the other women in the house, someone told her
aai to take her inside, someone told her baba to calm down and stop talking.
Her brothers were coming closer to her and Damodar. While her baba asked her in
a strong voice, “So Ilaa do you want to get married now?” she shivered, did not
know what to speak. But her baba’s voice calmed her down. Her life’s decision
was in her hands. She could say no and but would she say no? She looked up at
her baba, and he smiled back. He told the crowd that his daughter’s silence had
spoken and that he wished Ilaa to study more of mathematics, agriculture and
household chores. He wanted her to understand marriage and companionship and
only then get married. He loved her too much to kill her dreams and her
adolescence. She was after all, a woman
of fifteen.
