Get up, O
Woman, to the world of living;
thou liest by this one who is deceased;
come! to him who grasps thy hand,
thy second spouse,
thou hast now entered into
the relation of wife to husband.
-Atharvaveda-
************
Thesis
It was the Fourth marriage of Shah Jee, the Tycoon.
To combat the derision of the people of the village,
in view of his age difference, he wanted to make this
an even more lavish affair than the previous three.
Every man and woman coming to his house to celebrate
the occasion had been given a new cotton suit, a
turban, a sari or a scarf to wear on the day, and to
keep.
The garments distributed
were of varied and very bright colours.
Outside the Haveli, the Mansion, huge Marquees had
been set up. The chefs
were busy there, and food was doled out in abundance.
Inside, the courtyard had been extravagantly
decorated with bunting and
balloons; people were sitting cross-legged on the
carpets scandal mongering
in low tones. Just besides the main door of the
Mansion, a huge Mandap, a
colourful canopy with four posts had been set up. The
posts were covered
with gold and silver trappings, and topped with a
highly embroidered red
brocade vignette.
In the middle of the canopy
a Havan Kund, a small portable Fire Pit was
laid. The pleasant smell of burning of the
sandalwood, camphor, and Ghee,
the butter oil, was creating a cataleptic atmosphere.
Pundit Jee, the Priest, in a sparkling white Kurta
and Dhoti, was sitting in
a yogic-posture, and chanting the Mantras,
Vedic-hymns and incantations. Now
and then he was pouring Ghee on the kindling wood.
The Bride, Malti and the Bridegroom, Shah Jee were
sitting juxtaposed on the
opposite side of the Priest. The Bride looked like a
small bundle of
clothes, wrapped in a red and gold embroidered
vignette. Her long veil
touched the ground.
The Bridegroom wore garlands on the front of his
turban. Hardly any part of
his face was visible. No one could see the ever
increasing pain and anguish
on his face.
`The stupid Hakeem hadn't given me effective medicine
this morning,' Shah
Jee thought pressing his chest to suppress the pain,
`I'll teach him a
lesson after the marriage ceremony.'
* * *
Shah Jee had summoned the Hakeem, the Ayur-vedic
Doctor, early in the
morning. When the Hakeem walked in his room, Shah Jee
was still lying on his
bed.
"What's the matter now?" asked the Hakeem.
"Nothing much really. I am feeling a bit
unsteady and some congestion here,"
he pointed to his chest.
The Hakeem felt the spot with his fingers, and then
massaged his chest and
belly for a few minutes. "You have been eating
too much during all these
festivities in honour of your marriage today. You
don't seem to comprehend
that you are over fifty-five now. You are, I fear,
nervous of handling her
after the Phere, the marriage ceremony. She is just
sixteen. Even my herbal
love potions have a limit.... Not only are you
marrying a sixteen year old,
you have also been bedding daughters of almost all
the low-caste people
under your debt... I know everything.... You are
killing yourself." The
Hakeem was blunt.
"I did not want to marry Malti, silly! I am just
trying to save her father's
life," Shah Jee refuted the Hakeem.
Malti's great grandfather had borrowed a few hundred
rupees from Shah Jee's
grandfather; he wanted the money so that his daughter
could marry into a
very rich family. The interest rate charged was
exorbitant. Even though
three generations had been paying on the debt the
amount now due was much
higher than the original loan.
Malti was only thirteen when Shah Jee had first asked
her grandfather for
her hand in marriage to forgive all the interest.
Although poor landowners,
they were caste Hindus, and were acceptable to Shah
Jee's Biradari, the
Brotherhood. The old man did not survive the shock,
and one morning he was
found dead in his bed with aching secret in his
heart.
Malti's father was the only male left in the family
to manage the household,
tend the fields, and repay the loan. The work load
was wearing him out, he
started coughing and running a temperature.
Malti had grown into a very delectable girl of
sixteen. As she walked around
the village, she stirred feelings in Shah Jee's
heart.
After a lonely visit of Shah Jee to the Temple, the
Priest entered Malti's
house in half faked trance. "You have seen all
the hakeems, and have been to
Devi Mata, the Mother Goddess, a number of times but
your condition is
getting worse," the Priest told Malti's father,
"You cannot be cured, there
is patrial curse upon you. I was awakened last night
by the afflicted souls
of your father and grandfather. They are leading the
lives of wretches up
There because they died with debt of Shah Jee's
family on their heads. They
are further tortured by their conscience, for you
seem not able to pay back
the debt before you join them. They see no hope of
emancipation now that you
are on your death bed."
Malti's father lamented, "But what can I do, I
am sick man, I am dying.
Please Pundit Jee help me, conduct some Sankalp, some
resolve. Please take
some steps to rid all of us of the spell. I don't
want to see them suffer...
I don't want to die with a bad conscience too....
Please... please help me."
Pundit Jee suggested, "Go and see Shah Jee, he
may help you.... But how can
he help you? You haven't got enough land or property
to pay off all those
arrears. You will have to offer him something else...
something... I don't
know what.... You go and see him. He alone can
indicate what he can accept
to get the souls of your forebears liberated.... You
go... go, and see him."
He packed his pouch, and without giving Malti's
father a chance to ask
further question, he left.
When Malti's father visited Shah Jee, the Priest was
there too. He sighed
with relief when Shah Jee very `kindly' accepted
Malti's hand in marriage to
forgive not only the interest but also the principle.
Taking his hand out of his bag the Hakeem said to
Shah Jee, "Now here, take
these two potions, one now, and one before you go out
for the ceremony....
They will set your stomach right," and with a
sarcastic smile added, "You
better get ready, the place is already teeming with
the people to enjoy your
spendthrift hospitality at your marriage."
* * *
The Priest stopped his Mantras, and waved the
Bridegroom and the Bride to
stand up. Shah Jee had to lean on the shoulder of his
friend to get up.
"Now, following each other, you are going to
pass near these four posts of
the canopy seven times; `each post denotes the mind,
understanding, thought,
and pride....' Seven times you are going to be
reminded of these ethics,"
and he proceeded with his long soliloquy.
The couple went round the Fire Pit very slowly. The
Priest continuously
chanted the Mantras and put the oil on the
smouldering wood drop by drop.
Every round weakened Shah Jee. At the end of the
fifth round, he stopped in
front of the Priest, ferociously tore the garlands
away, looked at the crowd
absently, and collapsed.
The Hakeem rushed to check his pulse. "He is
gone," he said, and closed Shah
Jee's eyes.
All the bunting and balloons had been ripped, and
thrown on the ground. A
few children--without the usual interference from
their parents, and unaware
of the incident--played at the back of the courtyard.
The canopy had been
dismantled. Most of the people who had come to attend
the marriage were
still sitting on the carpets, gossiping with
pretended grim faces. The
motionless body of Shah Jee enshrouded in a white
sheet was lying on the
dais, his feet towards the congregation. Malti still
in the wedding dress
but wrapped up in a white sheet was seated on the
right side of the body.
Her mother was sitting on one side holding her tight
in her arms. Malti's
left arm encircled the waist of her friend Savitry,
sitting beside her.
People were waiting for the Priest to come and
proceed with the funeral
rites. Two hours ago he had gone inside the building
to `console' Shahni,
Shah Jee's wife, and seek her `final approval' for
the funeral.
The door of the Mansion opened. The Priest, clad in a
white sheet, came out
led by a Sevak, an attendant who was sprinkling Holy
Water on the ground
before him. Another attendant emerged, slowly, behind
the Priest holding a
large hessian bag, and evasively walked round the
corner.
The Priest sat down cross-legged at the feet of the
body with his back
towards the crowd. His hands--with index finger and
thumb joined to make a
circle, and with the remaining fingers wide
apart--rested on his knees. He
started reciting the Mantras while bobbing his head.
As the speed of his
recitation increased, his head shook all the more
energetically. His whole
body started to tremble after a few minutes.
With arms spread, he started gyrating his body
vigorously. He fell flat, and
started rolling left and right, moving his hands over
his body from place to
place as if trying to protect it from beatings. He
began shouting, "No...
no, Malti is innocent... it can't be done....
Please... please forgive
her... forgive the village people... they are
innocent too... please...."
And his defensive display became much more dynamic.
He continued with his
babbling, "Whole village... no... no... please
no.... Achha... Achha, O.K...
will be done... yes... yes... Agni, fire... it will
be done... please spare
the village... it will be done."
His movements became sluggish. In a few minutes he
was quite calm. The
attendant with the jug came forward, and sprinkled
Holy Water on his face a
few times. He opened his eyes very slowly. Two of the
attendants gently
lifted him up to sit down, and very carefully
unwrapped his white sheet.
"Hey Bhagwan, Oh God," the crowd exclaimed
in astonishment--his body was
full of lashes, many dripping red blood. Everybody
was spellbound. An
attendant sprinkled water on his body. One of them
brought a new shirt, and
helped him put it on. Then he was cloaked in a new,
thick white shawl.
He stood up softly, faced the crowd, and raised his
hands, "There is a curse
on the whole village."
"Hey Bhagwan." The crowd expressed the
grief with loud shriek.
The Priest commenced his pronouncement,
"Dharmraj, the Lord of
Righteousness, has declined Shah Jee's soul. It has
been repulsed.... It is
roaming around the village.... It is going to bring a
curse on the village
and its people.... ensuing a catastrophe .... The
whole village and all of
its inhabitants are going to be condemned."
"Kindly conduct a resolve, save the village from
the curse," someone shouted
from the middle of the assembly.
"The soul can be accepted by the Lord only if it
has completed its
assignment, and has been purified by the Agni, the
fire...."
"Please... please, save us... save us...
enlighten us with the resolution,"
a howl rose on the other side of the courtyard.
"It is written.... In Atharva-veda it says, it
is a widow's ancient duty to
ascend the funeral pyre and lay by the side of her
husband, and this way she
is rewarded with property and progeny. The Rig-veda
directs the widow to
rise from her funeral pyre and go forth in
Agni...."
"Sankalp, Maharaj sankalp, Lord, please,
resolve?" Loud voices emanated from
a number of places.
"First of all Malti must complete her vow... two
more circumambulations to
complete her marriage allegiance.... Then... then
purify her body along with
the body of her husband in Agni... she must sit on
the pyre with her husband
in her lap.... Then, and only then, the souls will
attain moksha, salvation.
They will be accepted by the Lord, and the curse will
be revoked...."
The crowd was aggrieved.
"Wait a minute... wait a minute." Master
Jee, the School Teacher stood up,
and went up to the dais, "Bhaiyo aur Behno,
Brothers and Sisters, Do you
realize what my respected Pundit Jee is saying. He is
suggesting that to
remove the curse Malti should become a Sati. She
should sit on the pyre, and
immolate herself, burn herself to death with the dead
body of her so-called
husband."
The audience started murmuring.
One attendant stood up, and was going to shout but
the Priest stopped him.
The Priest covertly waved all the attendants to come
near him, and started a
whispering conference.
Master Jee kept on with his expose, "Pundit Jee
has told you about the
writing in the Veda imparting the ritual of Sati. It
is absolutely distorted
and deviated. The Rig-veda asks a widow to rise from
the funeral pyre and go
forth in Agre, the front. Brahmins and the primeval
Priests altered the word
Agre to Agni to make fool of the people. The Rig-veda
says `come! to him who
grasps thy hand, thy second spouse....' The Veda
specifically permits a
widow to re-marry."
The Priest stood up with both the hands up in the air
requesting calm and
quiet. "Brothers and Sisters, Master Jee is
right." There was a pun in his
pronouncement. Silence prevailed. He resumed in an
aggravated tone, "Is that
what he is paid to teach our children?" He
paused for a few seconds, "He
wants us to defy the centuries old Manu's Law, he
wants the widows of our
village to be remarried. That is how he is preparing
our next generation.
There are a number of unfortunate widows in our
village. Would you like them
to get married again?"
"No... no." A few people roared.
"Master Jee is ruining our Sanskriti, culture.
Do you want him to carry on
like this?"
"No... no."
"Teach him a lesson, a real lesson,"
somebody screamed. An attendant slyly
pushed him off the dais.
"Throw him out," somebody added. The crowd
leapt forward with fists and
kicks. By the time he was picked up and thrown out of
the main gate, he was
totally unconscious, a mere lump of flesh.
The Hakeem who was standing on one side raised his
hands and pleaded,
"Please... please be calm, listen...
listen...."
"Hakeem is Master Jee's sycophant and
stooge." The Hakeem heard this
threatening pronouncement. Luckily no body took
notice of the call.
Anticipating what would be coming, he ducked down and
zigzagging his way
through the crowd went out of the gate.
An attendant walked in with an earthen pitcher on his
head. The pitcher
appeared to be very dusty and had yellowish smudgy
cloth-cover tied on its
neck. It seemed to have been stored in a cellar for a
long time. The
attendant opened the neck and poured the liquid into
two copper bowls.
"Beti," the Priest addressed Malti,
"you will have to fight the devil to get
the curse on the village rescind."
The congregation responded imitating the attendants,
"Hari Om, Hari Om, God
Almighty, God Almighty."
"You need courage." The Priest stressed
"Hari Om, Hari Om."
"The Rig-veda proclaims, `invigorated and
emboldened by the Soma-juice, the
gods, then found courage and strength to engage in
cosmic battles against
the powers of demons and other enemies.... We have
drunk the Soma-juice
(and) have found the gods! What can hatred and malice
of a mortal do to us
now?... The splendid drops I have sipped have set me
free.'" and he
continued with his long discourse on the miraculous
power of soma-juice.
"Hari Om, Hari Om."
Then a Senior Dasi, a female attendant, in bringing
the copper bowl full of
liquid to Malti, noticed Savitry sitting next to her.
"What is this ugly
girl doing here?" she asked and shouted,
"Out... out... you go away from
here." Looking at other two junior attendants,
she ordered, "Go drive all
those children out of the Mansion. It is none of
their business." She handed
the bowl to Malti.
Priest continued, "Drink it my child, drink it.
It is the juice from the
Soma plant; in the ecclesiastic times this plant was
lying in the Heavens; a
high-flying heroic eagle carried some of it to earth
where it took root in
the high mountains and was discovered by the Vedic
Pundits.... By drinking
this you will be half absolved of all the sins, your
merger with the
Ultimate will be smooth.... You will save the whole
village and its people
from a curse. Your father and your mother, everybody
who loved you from the
childhood will be saved. You are going to be the
saviour of your little
community..." The attendant pressed the bowl to
Malti's lips. The strong
smell of fermentation and its bitter taste made her
choke and cough. "No,
Beti no, you must not stop drinking. You must not
leave even a drop in the
bowl, it makes the gods wrathful," the Priest
added. The attendant pressed
the bowl hard and Malti swallowed the entire contents
in one go.
An attendant shouted, "Sati Mata Ki...Jai, Glory
to... Mother Sati," and
everybody joined in.
The whole crowd chanted, "Sati Mata Ki... Jai,
Glory to... Mother Sati."
Her mother was totally perplexed. Her mind was back
home with her ailing
husband. She did not comprehend all the rhetoric.
Without posing any
objection, she took the other copper bowl when
offered and willingly drank
it down.
An attendant came from the outside and conferred with
the Priest in
whispers. The Priest stood up and pronounced,
"Now, Brothers and Sisters,
the time has come for the marriage party to depart.
The Bride would lead us
to the ultimate goal."
Two female attendants, who were holding Malti, forced
her to walk. She was
drowsy, and staggered. A third attendant was walking
backwards, holding a
mirror in front of her face and continuously
repeating, "You must look into
the mirror, keep your eyes open. You are ultimately
going to meet your
husband, you must not show any grief; grief makes the
gods indignant; you
must not earn their displeasure.... You are our
saviour, you are going to
save us, save humanity from a calamity."
Four men from the crowd carried the bier and an
attendant sprinkled Holy
Water in front of the procession. The Priest,
chanting the Mantras very loud
followed behind. The people trailed, chanting, `Hari
Om, Hari Om' in unison
with the attendants. From time to time the crowd
joined them in raising the
slogan, `Glory to Mother Sati.'
A very wide platform had been built of the split
pieces of wood, set
crisscross in layers, They had been abundantly doused
in butter oil.
After going round the pyre twice, Malti was helped up
onto the platform
where she sat cross legged. She was half conscience
and an attendant had to
hold her from falling.
Her mother roused herself and asked, "Why are
you making my daughter sit on
the pyre?" A crowd of attendants surrounded her,
one of whom hit her over
the head and knocked her unconscious. Two of the
attendants picked her up
and took her outside as another announced, "Mata
Jee has collapsed, she has
fainted." They rudely dragged her away and
dumped her in her house where two
of the attendants were already looking after Malti's
father.
The attendants put wood around Malti's knees to make
them in level with the
platform, and placed Shah Jee's body in her lap. They
stacked more wood on
top of the dead body and around Malti until they
reached her chin. They
soaked each layer with butter oil.
Induced by the attendants, people continuously
chanted, `Hari Om, Hari Om'
and `Glory to Mother Sati' at their loudest pitch.
With long ladles, the attendants poured oil on
Malti's body; she often tried
to open her eyes but was heavily under sedation;
absolutely insensible.
The Priest lit a torch and went round the pyre seven
times.
`Hari Om, Hari Om.'
`Glory to Mother Sati.'
The Priest thrust the torch into the bottom of the
platform at a few points.
Just one loud shriek came out of Malti before the
silence of the death
enshrouded her humanity.
* * *
Shahni was barely eighteen when she had entered Shah
Jee's mansion as his
bride, followed by a dowry of seven cart loads of
household goods and trunks
full of personal effects. Within a few weeks she
observed her husband
philandering with other girls and women in the
out-house. She pretended not
to notice; as had her mother and the wives of her two
brothers before her.
In a high caste well-to-do family chasing after
low-caste women was a man's
prerogative. Her mind had been conditioned to accept
this dangling since
from the day she had learned about the birds and the
bees.
Eight years passed and Shahni had not conceived. Her
mother took her to many
famous doctors and hakeems, and the places of gods
and goddesses--but to no
avail. Her infertility gave a certain amount of
latitude to Shah Jee to
persuade her parents' household to agree to his
second marriage.
Shahni had determined, child or no child, she would
not accept a Sautan, a
co-wife in her life time.
Shah Jee's second wife had run away with a young
servant a few months after
the marriage. Shahni instigated a plot by giving the
servant sufficient
money to start a new life a long way away.
The Third wife had died from bleeding during her
pregnancy. Shahni forbade
any servant from calling medical help. Shahni had
told them that she was
just pretending to be sick to avoid house-work. No
one knew that the milk
Shahni had `affectionately' been giving the
mother-to-be for her nourishment
was boiled heavily in special herbs secretly obtained
from a lay-doctor.
Shah Jee had been conveniently made absent from the
house at that time.
Shah Jee would have gotten rid of Shahni a long time
ago if he was not so
afraid of her very rich and influential family. Above
all she would often
bring expensive gifts of jewellery and household
goods at Diwali, Dusehra,
Karwa Chauth, and other religious festivals.
On the day of his fourth marriage she had kept
herself aloof and confined to
her room--the way she had behaved on the previous two
occasions. When a
servant informed her what had happened, she rushed
out. After wailing over
her husband's body for a few minutes, she pounced
upon Malti, "You... you,
the witch... you have eaten my husband, you are
harbinger of bad luck, you
are a curse, there is no place for you in my
house.... I will kill you."
The Hakeem with the help of a few sympathizers pulled
her away and dragged
her inside the house. He tried to pacify her and
advised her not to come out
till the funeral arrangements were complete.
"Funeral? To attend his funeral, he was a wicked
man, I don't want to see
his face again.... You all go away.... Leave me
alone." She shouted and then
diverted her attention to an old maid-servant,
"You... you all the
servants... get out of this house.... You all were
his Chamchas,
sycophants... his spies and stooges.... Never ever
show me your faces
again." The four servants left the room one by
one. After persuading her to
keep calm the Hakeem went out leaving her alone.
When she saw the door opening again after sometime,
she rapidly pulled her
veil down and started wailing, "Vey, you left me
alone in this world.... How
will I live among all these wretched people?"
The Priest, who had entered the room put his hand on
her head and said,
"Patience Beti, patience."
Surreptitiously she looked at the door, it was
closed. She threw the veil
back, jumped up to the door, put the bolt on, and
said, "Pundit Jee what
will happen now? You are not going to let this witch
give me headache rest
of my life."
"She has completed five rounds out of seven and
according to the Books and
the custom she is Shah Jee's widow, your Sautan,
co-wife," he informed her.
She slipped out one gold bangle from her arm and put
it in his hand,
"Pundit, do some resolve.... I would rather die
than live with this crone."
She did not use `Jee', the reverence had dissipated.
The Priest closed his eyes and chanted, "Hari
Om, Hari Om" and mumbled
Mantras for few minutes. He said, "Done... it
will be done," and opened his
eyes, "but Beti, it will take much effort and
the cost will be very high."
She got up and moved a painting away from the rear
wall, a steel vault was
visible. She pulled the corner of her sari from her
waist; a bunch of keys
was tied there. She inserted one key in the vault and
rotated the knob
looking at the numbers. She opened the vault, took
out two thick wads of the
currency notes and extended her hand to give them
over.
The Priest caught site the inside of the vault; piles
of currency notes and
jewellery boxes sparkled in his eyes. He pushed her
hand back, "No, Beti
no... not yet. When the work is Sampoorn, complete,
we will come back. It
all will be a charity for the temple. Relax Beti,
relax."
She put the wads back and closed the vault.
The Priest called two of the elderly attendants in
and conducted a
whispering conference with them. In a few minutes an
attendant brought the
hessian bag and they all went into Shah Jee's
bedroom. For more than two
hours, a number of attendants scurried in and out.
Shahni just sat and
watched in curiosity.
* * *
Late in the evening, after the funeral, the Priest,
along with a couple of
attendants, returned.
"Beti, she can never bother you again," the
Priest announced, "now you can
do the Daan Pun, give the Temple whatever you like in
Charity."
She walked up to the vault, put the key in, fiddled
the knob and opened it.
Bang and she was in void
She opened her eyes very slowly and found herself
lying in her bed. An
intense pain at the back of her head caused her to
reach back to touch her
neck. Something was missing. She immediately felt her
ears; there were no
ear-rings. She jumped up and looked at the back wall,
the painting was on
one side but the vault was closed. She felt the
corner of her sari, the keys
were still tied there. Thank God, she thought. She
got up and went to the
vault, inserted the key, rotated the knob, and pulled
the door open, "Hey
Parmatma, main to loot gayee, Oh my God, I am
robbed," she screamed and was
passed out on the floor.
Antithesis
Savitry was only two years younger than Malti but
being thin, lean and small
of stature, she did not look more than nine or ten.
The day she was born her
two brothers were caught in a landslide and killed
instantly. She was blamed
for having brought ill-luck to the family. On top of
that her skin was of
the darkest colour, splotched with white patches on
her face, and had
squint-eyes. She was frequently made a laughing
stock, not only of her age
group but also of the elderly. Whether mocked or
ignored, she was always
determined to find out what was happening around the
village, and if she did
not understand she would persistently force others to
explain matters to
her.
Everybody tried to drive her away except Malti.
Malti, her only consolation,
would talk to her, play with her, and try to teach
her the alphabet.
Savitry had not anticipated what was going to happen
to Malti when she was
shunted out of the Mansion along with the other
children. She was standing
at the far end of the field where funeral pyre was
set up; a few other
children were there too.
Good, Shah was dead, she thought, she didn't like him
any way, soon Malti
would be coming home. It was all a play for her until
they started putting
wood around Malti. "Why were they doing
that?" she muttered to other
children.
The attendant heard their cacophony and shouted,
"Be quiet; otherwise I will
drive you away from this place. The gods get angry if
anybody disrupts their
concentration at this juncture"
When the Priest gave fire to the wood, Savitry could
not bear and ran
forward, "Don't do that.... Don't do that, Malti
will be burned." An
attendant leapt forward and caught her. Her father
ran back and grabbed her
by the neck.
"Bapu, Bapu, father, please father save her...
she is burning." Savitry
tried to shout.
Instead, her father gave her hard slaps on the face,
"You witch, you are
making the gods angry. Do you want us all to die of
the curse. You are
becoming too big a nuisance. I'll lock you up, that
will teach you a
lesson...."
Except for half hour in the mornings, Savitry was not
let out of the room.
With persistent pleading and moaning, her mother won
her freedom after four
days. Savitry showed no regret and no remorse; this
was not the first time.
Any way, she was happy as she was fed, through the
window, more than normal,
at odd hours, by her mother.
The whole world was changing in and around the
village. The High Priest had
come from his lofty headquarters in the North of the
Country and was staying
in Shah Jee's Mansion. Every morning and evening
hundreds then thousands of
people started to congregate to hear his sermons.
Outside, the fields abounded with motor vehicles,
especially vans with very
long antennas and dishes on their roof tops. People
of all colours--pink,
brown, black, and white--with huge cameras on their
shoulders, ran around in
frenzy.
A few Federal Ministers and almost all the Provincial
Ministers came to pay
their homage to the High Priest. The Police,
including the Chief
Commissioner and other high Government Officials,
were running around like
errand boys.
Shahni was taken away for investigations by the
Police. She was let go free
after a few days on the indulgence of the High
Priest. Because the keys were
still tied to the corner of her sari and since none
else knew the
combination of the vault, nobody believed her story
of being robbed. She was
ridiculed, especially after the High Priest had made
it known that one
bangle, one necklace, and a pair of ear-rings, which
she had very kindly
denoted to the Davy Maa, Mother Goddess, were still
on the Moorty, the idol,
in the Temple itself. The Police Minister had nodded
in agreement.
Shahni's influential and affluent brothers eventually
came and took her
away. The Mansion and the adjoining land were denoted
by her to the Temple
Trust and she appointed a Munshi, a scribe, to manage
the rest of the land
and deal with the money matters.
The Police vigorously tried to find the Priest who
had performed the Sati
rites, and his accomplices . They abruptly suspended
the investigation when
they were informed by the Chief Commissioner that all
were located,
punished, and banished by the High Priest. No body
dared to ask how or when.
A big car followed by an ambulance with two Americans
and Master Jee stopped
in front of Malti's house. Both her parents were
hustled into the Ambulance
and taken away. They had been talking with Americans
through Master Jee for
a long time. Afterwards, townspeople were frequently
seen studying
foreign-language newspapers and magazines with
pictures of Malti's parents.
The village folks constantly talked how lucky both
were to be kept and
treated in such a big hospital.
Workers started digging up the earth around the site
of the funeral pyre.
Huge truck loads, of bricks and building materials,
were delivered. Soon the
Mandir Sati Mata Ka, Temple of Mother Sati, was
complete. Its architecture
was magnificent of rare marble.
Busloads of people came endlessly. Pilgrims entered
the Temple after
donating `voluntarily' and `generously' into the cash
boxes outside the main
gate.
Malti's parents returned very healthy and happy after
a year. They were
accommodated in Shah Jee's Mansion along with the New
Priest, a few
disciples, and the attendants. Their life style was
quite luxuriant now.
Their clothes were always sparkling white and a car
with a chauffeur was
always at their disposal. The mother was hardly seen
in the kitchen; two of
the junior attendants did all the cooking and
household work.
Their old house was elaborately refurbished. The
attendant sitting outside,
perpetually reminded visitors of the costs for
preserving the place and
encouraged them to donate profusely. Malti's parents
were often called to
stand outside the house and inside the rooms for
photographs to be taken by
visitors. Most of the visitors were Europeans and
Americans, always
extravagant in handing out currency notes.
Everything changed except for Savitry's father, he
was continually abusive
to her. As she grew older, the treatment became even
worse. He always
reprimanded her,"Who would marry you, the ugly
duckling? I wish I had enough
money to get you a husband with a sufficient dowry. I
wish you were a boy to
help me in the fields and earn more money, or I wish
you were simply dead
rather than a burden on my household."
Amidst all this sordid fanfare, life passed quickly
and soon Savitry was
eighteen.
Savitry was passing through the bazaar one day, when
she saw Laaloo coming
out of the Hakeem's shop. As usual he was on
crutches. By the time she
approached the shop, the Hakeem emerged talking to a
visitor.
"I am sorry for Laaloo," The Hakeem was
saying, "he was only two when his
mother died of the shock of his father's sudden
death; he had fallen of a
mule into a mountain ditch. Laaloo practically grew
up on the floor of the
Temple. He became an ardent and most devoted
attendant of the Temple. An
Army Recruiting Officer visiting the temple was very
much impressed by his
religious fervour and sturdy body. He enlisted him in
the Army as a Sepoy, a
private. A year later, he came back home with one leg
missing and a meagre
pension. And now the poor man has just a few months
to live. He is in the
last stages of the T.B...."
Savitry quickly withdrew. In a contemplative mood,
she could not stop
thinking about Laaloo. One morning, as soon as her
father left for the
fields and her mother got busy in the farmyard, she
sneaked out of the
house. She was used to her mother's scolding for
skipping the housework.
Laaloo was still in the bed coughing when she
arrived. "Can I make tea for
you?" she asked. Without waiting for a reply,
she put herself to work in the
kitchen area. By the time the water boiled she had
organized most of the
kitchen gadgets in the corner.
"Is this the medicine the Hakeem gave you?....
Don't talk, it will make you
cough more.... Just take the medicine and tea."
She did not give him a
chance to speak. In about an hour, the whole room was
spic-and-span. Then
she cooked Dal, lentil curry, and made chapattis for
his lunch and dinner.
"Laaloo I am going now. You must eat at the
proper time, Acha, O.K." She
instructed him and walked towards the door. At the
door ledge she stopped,
stood there for a few minutes, spun round and said,
"Laaloo I... I... want
to marry you."
He coughed hard, while trying to suppress the
outburst he said, "You...
you.... gone mad? .... Crazy?... You know I'm...
I'm... going to die soon."
"No, you are not going to die. All you need is
somebody to look after you
properly. Don't say no.... O.K., O.K." and she
left the place.
Her mother was flabbergasted, as was her father--but
for a few minutes only.
He asked Savitry to go and wait outside.
"Who else is going to take this ugly and
frightful creature in marriage?" He
continued in a whisper, "Laaloo is the guest of
this earth for only a few
more months. Savitry will get his widow-pension and
... and moreover, his
little land and mud-house will be quite handy to her,
and to us as well."
Her mother had to acquiesce although she could not
conceive his intention.
After a week Savitry moved into Laaloo's house as his
wife. She was a very
skinflint house-wife. Her cooking was confined to
lentils, chapattis, and
tea with a very little milk. Every penny she saved
she spent on buying wood
and oil.
After six months, Laaloo's condition had not
improved. Just before midnight
Laaloo started coughing interminably, spitting blood
on the floor with each
seizure. She put the kettle on the stove. By the time
the water boiled, the
place became soundless. Laaloo was imperturbable
forever.
She picked up a piece of charcoal, took the kerosene
lantern in her hand,
and went out. The platform with split pieces of wood
was quite high by now;
nobody paid attention as it was a common practice to
keep wood in the sun to
dry for the winter.
With great effort, she dragged Laloo's body out and
placed it on the
platform. She, then, brought out three tins of oil,
which she had collected,
one by one from the innermost dark room. She poured
two tins over the body
and thoroughly soaked the wood. Then placed the third
tin on one corner of
the platform and put small metal box, in which she
used to keep money, next
to it. She climbed the platform and with great
exertion slid the body onto
her lap. Opening the third tin, she discharged the
whole lot on her head and
clothes. She picked up the small metal box, slipped
the lid back and took
the match-box out.
And she lit a match.
The sun had been shining more than an hour. The
villagers stood around the
now smouldering `pyre' and lamenting.
Savitry's mother, sitting on the ground, was still
wailing. From time to
time, she was beating her breast with her hands.
Her father had his head buried in his knees when
somebody tapped his
shoulder, and pointed him towards the writing on the
mud wall:
Bapu
Soon you'll be a rich man
The End
