A short story - She was after all, a woman of fifteen...

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.