HERE I AM and other stories-4 City of Spells and City of Charms (Part-2)

HERE I AM and other stories

4. City of Spells and City of Charms (Part-2)

Telugu Original: P.Sathyavathi

English Translation: Lakshmi Gudipati

          One morning, Anasuya was resting on her bed by the window with her daughter’s childhood slate on her chest and her eyes half-closed. Her husband was about to step out to go to work. Suddenly, Krishnaveni confronted him and asked, ‘Why did you make me quit school, father? I am going to return to school starting today, for I am getting bored.’ All the while she looked straight into his eyes. For some reason, he felt a sharp chill go down his spine. He was so angered by her that he hit her hard on her neck. Immediately, she became a replica of her mother with a bent head.

          Becoming aware of the commotion, Anasuya was aghast to see her daughter’s posture, with the head bent, and shut her eyes tight with fear, never to open them again. She was cremated with the slate tucked in between her frozen, lifeless hands.

          Krishnaveni felt utterly humiliated at having to walk with her head bent. Every time she tried to look up or look ahead, she felt unbearable pain, so she kept bobbing her head up and down, compelled by the undying hope that she would not have to give up. Onlookers thought that she had a nervous condition that made her move her head in an uncontrolled fashion.

          Two years passed and her father married Krishnaveni off to Girisam, who was twelve years older than her. He was worried that no one would want to marry her, in her condition. Girisam had a minor job in the city. He preferred to marry the girl because she was educated.

          On the first day of their married life, Girisam devised a solution for his wife’s habit of bobbing her head. He brought a long screw and drove it through her neck so that she would always look straight ahead and not up, down or left and right. Now her view was limited only to a view of his face and the moustache on his upper lip. She couldn’t even move her head high enough to look at his eyes. Then he tried to comfort her by giving her tools for hobbies: twelve rolls of crochet thread and a needle, a book of designs and a small radio. She tried to forget her pain by pursuing hobbies – crocheting curtains, drawing designs for muggu and embroidering on pillow covers. Alas, the pain remained as it was, regardless!

          At first, her main worry was that if she gave birth to a girl, her husband might put a screw through her neck too. She had nightmares about this possibility. To distract herself from these scary thoughts during the day, she began to read the newspaper and listen to the news on the radio, especially after Girisam went to work. She began to understand and digest the various happenings in the country and society. Once, she set fire to a silk sari that her husband had brought for her. Outraged, Girisam hit her hard. Another time, she saved money from the household budget and bought a spinning wheel to weave cotton cloth. She gave away her gold jewellery for the cause of the freedom struggle led by Gandhi. Through these cycles of rebellion and punishment, she became pregnant and gave birth to a baby girl.

          Girisam wanted to name the baby after his mother, but Krishnaveni wanted to name her Jhansilakshmi. He would call her by his preferred name and Krishnaveni would call her Jhansi. The matter was settled when the child was taken to join school. She told the headmaster that her name was Jhansi. Krishnaveni rated that event as her first victory. Raising Jhansi in the way she wanted had proven to be a tight-rope walk for Krishnaveni. She was a tall and healthy child, and Krishnaveni intended that she continue to be so. Her primary task was to keep the father and daughter away from engaging in arguments and debates.

          On an otherwise normal day, something happened.

          Rambabu, a young man from her town, knocked on her door. He told her that the police were looking for him with an arrest warrant and begged her to hide him for the night. He was very tired and was running a fever. She knew he was a communist activist; and that her husband did not like the communists, and if he found out she would be in great trouble. She took him to the home of one of her friends and arranged that he should receive shelter there for a couple of days. She made sure he got medicines for his fever and proper food to regain his strength. When Girisam eventually found out what she had done, all hell broke loose. He told her to go to her parents’ home and not return. A few weeks later, one of her brothers brought her back and apologized profusely on his sister’s behalf. Girisam took her back. She never dabbled in politics after that. She embraced the goal of raising her daughter as the sole purpose of her life.

          As Jhansi grew older, she got into more and more arguments with her father. He would always tell her, ‘Behave like a girl.’

          Jhansi would retort with, ‘What does it mean to behave like a girl? Who said a girl should behave in a certain way? There are no set standards for a woman. It is only you who are imposing these arbitrary rules on me. I am not my grandmother or mother to meekly accept your orders.’ This was when Krishnaveni realized that her daughter needed no protection from her or anyone else. She was now relaxed that the daughter could defend herself.

          Girisam continued to advocate and preach his doctrine of women’s liberation without losing a single opportunity – a woman should be educated and allowed to work and earn money, but must get married and make her family the centre of her existence. She must be mindful of the fact that the most important person in her life is her husband.

          Jhansi responded with her beliefs: My body, my mind, my heart, my sensibility and my feelings are my own.

          Jhansi had come of age. One fine day, she took her mother to the doctor and had the screw that her father had driven into her neck removed. She attended to the wound by applying soothing lotions and healing balms, and made her mother whole again. Krishnaveni breathed her last in her daughter’s hands, knowing that she was free at last!

          Jhansi made it her life’s work to spend her time with books and like-minded friends and on socially conscious discourses and debates. She joined the groups that fought to redress the wrongs done to women in culture and society.

          She came to believe that with all the progress she and her generation had made, her daughter Gita and her generation would reap the benefits of her struggles and victories. She believed that every daughter like her own would inspire a hundred other women to pursue their and their peers’ freedom. She strongly believed that there would no longer be women who walked with bent heads or screwed up necks.

          Her generation had seen so many movements! These would not be necessary now, she believed. If all the Gitas assert themselves, dowry would disappear, so would atrocities against women. She thought the future was theirs.

          The town had already changed a lot. Every house had windows and instead of oxen, there were tractors. There were a number of two-storeyed houses. At that time, a man arrived in the town. A blue-eyed man, he was very fair and looked like a marble statue. He brought a rucksack full of expensive and luxurious products with him. He sat in the public square and began playing tunes on a musical instrument he had brought with him. The sweet melodies spread far and wide, touching the ears and fancies of the young women in the neighbourhood. Gita’s friend Sangita was the first to approach him. Soon, Gita and several of her peer group gathered around him. They wanted to know who he was and what he was all about.

          He struck up a conversation with them and provoked them with his arguments. He asked Gita, ‘What do you do?’

          ‘I teach young girls and women how to live and prepare lessons on adding quality to women’s lives.’

          ‘Where did you learn these ideals?’

          ‘From my mother.’

          ‘Does your mother live a good life? Does she own a big house? Can she buy a car? Does she live in comfort? Does she have wealth to spare and share? Life is “good” only when an individual can easily eat what they desire, create a comfortable life for themselves and have plenty of leisure.’

          ‘Our ideals are to attain independence, and have selfconfidence and self-respect, and to be able to love and fight for self-assertion. These are needed for a life with quality.’

          With a shrug of his shoulders and a twinkle in his eye, he continued, ‘Without material comforts, one does not have peace; a person devoid of peace cannot serve others in need. Let us stop this discussion today, please accept my gifts.’

          He offered them expensive and luxurious perfumes, cosmetics, lotions and electronic gadgets, and urged them to try to experience the reality of his message. Slowly, the young women who gathered around him discarded their hesitation and accepted his free wares. Then they took the further step of inviting him home for dinner, tea or just for a visit.

          He took the opportunity to continue advertising his wares and his values.

          ‘Beauty is important for women. They need a constant companion for support. They need a family of their own. Their salvation is their home. No matter how highly educated you are, no matter how much you earn, your husband, who should be a step higher than you in these respects, is the most important person in your life. This is an age-old truth. Please get higher education, earn well, acquire and enjoy comforts and luxuries with your wealth. The secret to happiness is to be pleased with yourself, feel and look beautiful – then you will feel beautiful both inside and outside. I have many products that will help you enhance the quality of your life. Please buy and use them.’

          For some reluctant and sceptical minds, this wasn’t enough. Gita challenged him again.

          ‘What a great attitude, sir! In this world, there are millions without food; there are innumerable inequities, abuses and violent events. Who needs beauty lotions, cosmetics and other beauty-enhancing tools?’

          ‘That’s where you are misled, my dear. Don’t worry about others. Take care of yourself. If everybody takes care of himself or herself, there won’t be a problem in the first place.’

          ‘Not everyone gets such an opportunity, dear blue-eyed sir!’

          ‘Those that do will survive and the others will perish. That’s the principle of the “survival of the fittest”. You’ve probably read about it.’

          Gita was visibly upset. She raised her voice and questioned him angrily, ‘You mean that all one needs to do is take care of oneself and forget the others?’

          He continued, ‘All right. Let’s look at it this way. You liked all the products I gave you, did you not? Are you using them or not? Do you or don’t you wish to be able to buy them all? As a matter of fact, money brought this whole world together. So we need to honour money. We must respect ourselves and work hard to earn self-respect. Do I have to tell a smart girl like you that “self-interest” drives the world? The “I” is the ultimate responsibility. The “I” is the be-all and end-all. The “I” is the universe.’

          The indoctrination continued until all the women that he had attracted towards himself were speechless.

          In the course of time, one of the girls, Vandana, hesitantly suggested, ‘Let us buy and use these products that help us live well and save time; then during our leisure time, we can help those less fortunate than us!’

          He said, ‘Your leisure time is your own. You can do whatever pleases you.’ At the same time, he also gifted her a television set and suggested that she must not exhaust her brain by thinking and working too hard. ‘I am here to think for you,’ he said. He told her that she really did not need to exercise her brain, but could spend her free time entertaining herself with television dramas, and take life easy.

          This way, he wooed each girl to his side.

          Call it the effect of brainwashing or self-gratification, or any other term you deem fit, the fact of the matter was that no girl remained unaffected by this man and his products and theories.

          One of them even said that Gita’s mother Jhansi belonged in the mental hospital! ‘Jhansi’s father might have screwed her mother’s head on her neck straight; but that does not mean all men are like that. My father was such a nice man; he bought so much jewellery for my mother,’ said another girl.

          ‘True, why should we be bothered about social problems? We have politicians to address those. We cannot accomplish anything on our own. We don’t want to have anything to do with politics. It is not part of our life. We need to change with the times. This man is our guide and mentor.’

          The man was pleased with himself. He adjusted the rucksack on his shoulder and began to walk away, playing tunes on his charming instruments. Soon, young women – from bungalows, high-rises and huts, came running to him and began following him like the mice ran after the Pied Piper. He turned around and asked, ‘Are you going to join me and go to the City of Charms with me?’

          The young women paused for a moment and exclaimed, ‘What if we are not able to return to our homeland where our parents live? What if we miss our homes, orchards and farms?’

          ‘Well, your religion is the safe haven that drives away your feelings of unrest, fears and insecurity. You can perform your daily prayers and special rituals freely. You will find everything you need to eat – dishes of your regional cuisine. You can even build your own temples and perform poojas.’

          So saying, he moved forward and the women ran after him; they didn’t care if they stepped over flowerbeds, or crossed the cemeteries where the likes of Anasuya and Krishnaveni were cremated. It didn’t matter that Jhansi stood there, dumb-founded.

          The story thus went to Kentucky Fried Chicken, but no telling where we are headed!

*****

(to be continued..)