Write India Contest - Story 1

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. Deep in her thought, she sat firmly clasping her legs by her hands, her chin resting on her knees. She started sobbing uncontrollably, and this time, she let her tears roll by. After a spell of sobbing and sighing, she got up. Ilaa wiped her tears, turned around, and started walking straight ahead – resigned to her fate.

She entered a field, where some kunbis (workers) were still picking up the cotton. Some womenfolk looked at her with scorn. Ilaa didn’t care, and kept walking straight. She climbed on the wall at the edge of the field, continued walking straight till she saw a silhouette of the only one-storeyed house against the setting sun. This used to be Ilaa’s home, now only a place where she lived.

Suddenly, Ilaa turned left leaving the main road, and continued walking until she came to the backdoor of this large house in their small hamlet. Before she entered the house, she washed her hands and feet. An old woman had already started the preparations for dinner. The jowar-flour was being kneaded, the stove already burning the wood. A well-dressed woman sat on the floor dicing the brinjals and cutting the drumsticks, her bangles making the clinking sound every time her hands moved.

Old Goda-mai silently motioned Ilaa to join them. No sooner Ilaa sat down than Krishnabai threw the remaining vegetables towards her. The flames in her eyes did not hide her hatred towards the tonsured young one.

Two brothers, two Brahmins, Vedic chants, yagnas – in the uncertain days of loot, pillage and rape from the Sultanates of Ahmednagar, or Bijapur, people sought help from the heavenly gods, and what other better place than Paithan to perform the rituals? One day, Goonaji, and his brother Somashankar ran into the austere Eknath. Both the brothers considered it a bad omen. After all, feeding the Shudras, reciting the poems for the common folks, and tying it with the concept of Atman-and-Brahman, Dvaita-and-Advaita – Goonaji and Somashankar both felt was below the dignity of a pure Vedic Brahmin.

Younger Goonaji had one more skill – he was a Brahmin, who could as well have been a Kshatriya – a master at using swords, and riding horses. Goonaji decided to join the army of Malik Shah Ambar to end his penury. He was soon sent away to fight a battle. His bravery and good services earned him the robes of honor. He was given the mansab of a fertile village called Sauviragram near Paithan, and appointed as a Deshmukh, with a right to collect the taxes. Beaming with pride, Goonaji returned to a somber home. He felt uneasy. Tentatively, he knocked the door. A tired looking woman opened the door, startled to see Goonaji. Somashankar lay coughing in the corner, his two daughters sat beside him, worry written all over their faces. A little girl hid behind the woman.

Goonaji learnt that soon after he left home, tragedy had befallen – his wife was lost to an unknown disease, and now Somashankar had contracted the same. Somashankar had performed the last rites on Goonaji’s wife. Godavari – Somashankar’s wife – took in Goonaji’s daughter Ilaa under her care. Now Somashankar himself was battling for his life. Goonaji was stunned, grief-stricken….

Eventually, Somashankar passed away too. Goonaji decided to move to Sauviragram to take over the ‘deshmukhi’. He took the remaining family along with him. “Vahini, my Ilaa needs a motherly figure; she is so attached to you. I have a mansab. I will take care of the fields, you take care of the household” – Goonaji spoke with Godavari earnestly. The hapless, lonely lady did not have an alternative. Godavari became the ‘mai’ for Ilaa, and Goda-mai for the village.

No one spoke a word. The dinner was cooked, and the men of the house sat down for their meal – Goonaji, and his sons Balwant, Kulwant and Raghav. Krishnabai ate alone after the men of the family ate. Ilaa, and old Goda-mai now sat down for their meal – eating a stale ‘bhakari’ from the morning, and whatever morsels of the vegetable that were left. No one noticed a child that was already asleep in the corner of the kitchen but Ilaa. Saraswati was the only reason why Ilaa was even alive today.

Post dinner, Goonaji asked Balwant to bring in the records of that day’s farm work. Balwant, a mediocre immediately pointed out how Ilaa was not on the fields today, roaming around the banks of the river. Krishnabai also added a word to fuel the fire. She even considered the lower cotton output this year as a sign of Ilaa’s bad presence. Goonaji looked up, first at Balwant, then at Krishnabai; thoughtfully he went back to the record book.

“We go to Paithan tomorrow at sunup. Keep the horses ready. It is better we fix the rates for cotton before the traders in Paithan do. Kulwant, you will take charge of the farm tomorrow. Balwant and Raghav, you come with me.”

The father and the sons sat together tallying the records, and noting the wages to be paid to the kunbis.

Ilaa was distraught. She put down the ‘ghongadi’ (a coarse multipurpose blanket), and lay on it. Goda-mai took out her rosary and started whispering her prayers in the dimming lights. It was the first time in almost 18 hours that Ilaa’s body was at rest. Her mind was not. She was not ready to accept the changed circumstances. Goda-mai sensed that, and whispered, “God won’t be so hard on you my child.” Ilaa lay motionless and speechless – unconvinced of what Goda-mai had hoped.

Godavari’s thoughts went back to how the sands of time shifted –

Godavari was a brilliant woman, and just by listening to the chants of her father and husband, had understood many things about the Vedas. She could neither read nor write, but had come to understand Sanskrit well. She had surprised Somashankar a few times by asking tough questions. But after Somashankar’s death, she led a life of an ascetic.

True to his words, Goonaji had taken good care of Godavari and her daughters. He married the girls off in the neighboring villages, acting as their guardian. He established himself as the Deshmukh, and earned respect from the village elders for his just and care-giving attitude. He negotiated deftly with the rulers on taxes during the days of draught. The kunbis were ever ready to work in his fields.

One day, Goonaji returned home to find his relatives waiting for him. They wanted Goonaji to get married again. Goonaji agreed reluctantly. Soon Krishnabai took charge of the household. She started lording over the homestead staff, Godavari was relegated to the kitchen, and household duties. Krishnabai had bluntly reminded Godavari that she was an ‘ashrit’ (refugee) and should be careful lest she lose the roof over her head. Godavari took this rather stoically, and started spending most of her time in prayers.

Ilaa was up before the sun rose. She cleaned the kitchen, the courtyard, brought in the wood, and started the boiler to heat the bathing water. Before Goda-mai was up, Ilaa had made the breakfast and packed it for her father and brother. She then took the clothes and washed them over the moat, and got ready to go to the farms.

Today, Ilaa reached the farm on time – not giving Kulwant any reason to complain. She worked hard, she put the cotton in the bags, got it down to the weighing machine. She cleaned the channels on the west side of the farm, so that water could flow well in the irrigation system.

At the day end, all the kunbis gathered to find out their share, and the wages. But there was one unpaid worker who had worked hard – Ilaa. It was her father’s farm, so there was no question of the wages. Her social and familial status did not give her an opportunity to complain. Yet, she lingered around. Kulwant started weighing the cotton that was accumulated. His careful calculations turned out incorrect thrice. Even when Ilaa’s mental math was correct, she earned a disgraceful look from the village Mahajan. As a woman, she wouldn’t get any formal education. As a woman who survived her husband, she shouldn’t have any respect – thought the Mahajan. Even her shadow was impure.

Within years Krishnabai gave birth to three sons – Balwant, Kulwant and Raghav. The house now became ‘home’ with the kids playing in the courtyard. It kept both Godavari and Krishnabai busy through the day.

Ilaa grew up in Godavari’s tutelage. Ilaa heard many stories of the Vedas and Upanishadas from her Goda-mai, sometimes deriving Krishnabai’s contempt. Ilaa learned about how the ‘ahuti’ was taken by the ‘agni’ to the Gods; how Varun blessed the earth with rains, and bountiful crops. She learned about the complex observations of stars and constellations, how the rains in ‘Swati Nakshatra’ brought boon to the crops, and how the thunderstorms of ‘Hasta’ helped in water conservation.

Ilaa’s sharp mind picked up the contradictions quickly. If Yajnavalkya could take Maitreyee as his student, why you don’t have a guru, Goda-mai – Ilaa would ask! If Arundhati could argue and quiz Vashistha, why does mother not even look in father’s eyes while talking? Why did my brothers get to learn Vedas and liturgy, and I am even as much as prohibited to let the chants fall on my ears? Ilaa’s questions had no answers. She often cited contexts based on Goonaji’s liturgy. But Goonaji chose to avoid her rather than answer her questions. After all times had changed…. Ilaa was being introduced to the status of a woman in the society. And her step-mother ensured she was kept under the thumb.

As the shadows got longer, Ilaa started her walk back home. As was her habit now, she entered her house from the backdoor. The mere opportunity to cross her father and mother brought disgust in her mind. After all, she was dead to them…she was alive only because she wasn’t physically dead. Ilaa bathed, and wore clean clothes – today’s meal was to be offered to the moon and lord Ganesh. Her family fasted for the ‘chathurti’. Balwant sat in front of the homestead temple, and was chanting some mantras loudly. After his rituals were over, the men sat down to eat.

Today little Saraswati was awake, and hugged her mother warmly.  Goda-mai would now tell her the same stories that she did to Ilaa. But Saraswati’s childhood did not bring joy to the family.

Years went by. By now, Goonaji was a respected figure in the hamlet. As soon as Ilaa came of age, the Kulkarni family from the neighboring village came to ask her hand in marriage. Ilaa was married off with pomp, and started a new life. With her charm and good manners Ilaa brought joy to her new family, and earned their respect. At the same time Ilaa longed for a better understanding of the world. She wanted to learn the scriptures. She wanted to know why people followed Eknath, when her father thought that his message was considered contrary to what the Vedas said. And she questioned, did Eknath’s message even contradict, when so many other contradictions abounded the world.

But Ilaa was pushed into being a wife. Soon the news of Ilaa’s motherhood followed. Goonaji got his beloved daughter home for the delivery, and a little doll came into the world one rainy night. On the fifth day, goddess Pachavi was worshiped for the baby’s health and long life. On the twelfth day, the baby was named Saraswati. Ilaa hoped that this child will be a learned one like the goddess and bring her much joy. The gods had thundered their blessings the day Saraswati was born, but Niyati had something else in mind. A pandemic followed, and Ilaa lost her husband. Ilaa was devastated. With an infant barely a month old, she had nowhere to go….

What shocked her was how much her world changed. Her in-laws no longer wanted her back. Her parents now considered her a burden and a bad omen. They confined her to the backrooms of the home. She could no longer witness the rituals of Pooja or hear the Vedic chants. She could no longer speak with her friends or roam around playing on the banyan trees. Her clothes turned coarse, her head tonsured, her company avoided. Only Goda-mai seemed to understand what Ilaa was going through. The two luckless ladies spent much of their time in the menial household labor and helped with the farm activities. As years passed, Ilaa still couldn’t accept the vagaries of time. Her toddler grew up under the shadows of her misfortune and was prohibited from having any companions. Ilaa was now nothing more than a worker who need not be paid, or fed. The chatty and sharp Ilaa soon turned inwards – as if looking into an emptiness that knew no ends.

After the usual cleanup, and other household chores, Ilaa sat beside Goda-mai. Both the women stared at the clear sky from the benches in the backside courtyard. Ilaa seemed to seek some sort of answers, but couldn’t ask the questions. Goda-mai sensed her vacillation. 

“Tell me mai, who was Arundhati?” – Ilaa asked looking straight ahead, staring at the Saptarshi that rose on the western horizon.

The only woman to have attained ‘star-hood’, Arundhati was the devoted wife of the sage Vashistha. Her devotion, intelligence, and reverence had earned her a place among the seven respected sages of the Vedic times. She even guided the seven sages and brought them unique insights.

How the times had changed – today, an intelligent, sharp girl was confined to her house, not allowed education and considered a bad omen – for circumstances beyond her control. Both the women sat holding hands, comforting each other, as if waiting for their emancipation.