Pindaruch
Pindaruch
(Diary of a Maithil girl)
is Meena Mishra's eulogy to the quaint village Pindaruch, situated in the middle of modern-day bustling Bihar but has ancient links to the kingdom of Videha.
It is her world, her home that she grew up in; she presents her precious little universe with its hidden treasures of myth, legend and culture that is as old as the hills around Pindaruch in a novel blurs and blends pop culture with the mythical. The novel explores both the mystical and fantastic perspective of everyday life in a flowing 'stream of consciousness' style through the experiences of the young and feisty protagonist Sitakshi Thakur.
Sitakshi, a young history graduate from an ivy League university, is a restless soul. While nursing a heart break in LA, a serendipitous meeting with the eclectic Sharlene changes the course of her life's journey ...
She finds herself curious about her cultural history and home sick for her grandmother's hugs. She convinces her parents to let her take a year off to explore Pindaruch, her grandmother's home.
The author's use of time warp through which the legend of Lord Rama and his devoted wife Sita is juxtaposed with Sitakshi' s adventures, creating epic layers to the young girl' s discovery of her roots.
This journey back to her grandmother's world is also a journey to find her own identity and most of all, her purpose of her life. The journey is turbulent as it is exciting- full of humour and pathos. It sensitively captures Sitakshi's coming of age, as she learns to cope in a world so unlike her own.
The novel attempts to show that the more the time moves on, the more we stay the same. And the eternal battle between the good and the evil creates the cosmic rhythm that throbs to create life.
It is a novel that blends the genres of adventure, fantasy and humour with ease to create a fast-paced story that is un-put -downable.
(Suresh Wadkar with Pindaruch)
"It's a tale that illustrates the journey of Sitakashi, a simple Maithili girl who in quest of her roots trudges far and wide, reaching her ancestral village from abroad. Recollecting and reconnecting her life with the simplicity and traditional values strewn around in her village. Her lineage, her life, and her perspectives all get transformed in a fraction of time. Do these changes add value or break this girl's morale?
To know more do read this intriguing tribute to her hometown by our well-versed, widely-read and well-appreciated writer Meena Mishra," commented Madhu Jaiswal ( executive editor The Impish Lass Publishing House).
(Talat Aziz with Pindaruch)
The story unveils Sitakashi's odyssey, a Maithili girl seeking her roots, returning to her ancestral village from afar. Embracing the simplicity and cherished values of her village, she rekindles her life. Her journey alters her lineage, perspectives, and essence swiftly. Do these shifts enrich her or shatter her spirit? Meena Mishra's tribute explores Sitakashi's profound transformation, pondering whether these changes enhance her essence or fracture her morale.
--- Commented Shilpa Gore an award winning Educator
Pindaruch
(Diary of a Maithil Girl)
CONTENTS
- DEDICATION
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENT
- CHAPTER 1
- CHAPTER 2
- CHAPTER 3
- CHAPTER 4
- CHAPTER 5
- CHAPTER 6
- CHAPTER 7
- CHAPTER 8
- CHAPTER 9
- CHAPTER 10
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
DEDICATION
I dedicate this book to my granny whose unconditional love made me a sensitive, caring and loving individual right from my childhood. One summer holiday when she had visited us, she left the house for an evening walk. It was dark and she didn’t return home. My parents and neighbours started searching for her in the valley and woods. They involved the local police too but in vain. It was late night when a local vegetable vendor found her sitting beside the road and dropped her home. Later she was diagnosed with Alzheimer. This incident had touched the poet and writer hidden in my heart and I had scribbled few lines to describe this event.
GRANNY GONE ASTRAY IN WOODS
An elderly lady with a craggy face,
Careworn to obtain her hair in place.
Probing her way back home,
Pushing the undergrowth aside,
Trying to get herself out of that hide.
She could sense the sun moving towards West,
As the vanishing heat stroke her yellow dress .
With a stick in her hand, crossing the bridge,
Making her way towards the ridge.
But lo! How gloomy is she!
She has reached the river bank now,
Trying to retrieve her memory somehow .
Utterly elapsed about her destination,
What is she going to do in such a condition?
Staggering towards the roadside, she is trying to evoke,
When was the last time, a loved one spoke?
Where was she born? Where was she raised?
When was she scolded? When was she praised?
Not a single statement is written on the slate.
How and when did it get erased?
Waiting there in mystification, with soreness, she cried out,
Someone should loom and assist her move out.
She desires an assertion that her waiting would bear fruit,
She would be cuddled by the tree, of which she is the root.
I still remember when I conceptualised the idea of ‘ PINDARUCH’
I thought of getting an editor who would edit and proofread the chapters as soon as they were completed. I didn’t get one editor but an editorial team to give a finishing touch to my dream project. I feel highly obliged to get a dedicated and passionate editorial team comprising Sheila Bhattacharya, Yashoda Satya, Shubham Dasgupta, Samahita Mukherjee and Kirthika Jayakumar to work upon my manuscript.
I take this moment to thank my loving and supportive family, acquaintances and my dear friends to make ‘Pindaruch’ happen.
Happy reading!!!
Meena Mishra
Time and place play distinctive roles in our lives. Sometimes they flow like tributaries of a river,
creating a clear linear narrative that carries our lives along with them imbibing and growing; always moving forward to new places at different moments in time. Sometimes, time and place stand at antipodes to each other; their powerful energies twirl around our lives, creating storms of emotions, transforming us through a narrative that is circular, intensive and epic in proportion – much like Sitakshi Singh’s life.
Sitakshi’s story begins from that microscopic gap that Maya, the cosmic illusionist, had left in the fabric of Sitakshi’s reality: a quiet place where the weave and weft had shifted, just a tad, to allow Maya to wave her magical wand.
Sitakshi Singh, a fresh History graduate from the prestigious Princeton University, a keen explorer, and a firm believer in not settling in one place, had graduated as a dean’s lister – Magna Cum Laude, while nursing a magnum broken heart.
Neil had clearly stated that the relationship they had shared in college was over. The day of excitement of becoming the valedictorian and the joy of holding the parchment declaring them graduates in their hands, had been washed
out by Neil’s declaration; they needed time out and rethink their relationship. He had been very kind about it – “You deserve so much more than me,” he had said in his classic self-deprecatory tone that had always sounded so charming and intellectual for the last four years but had now suddenly begun to sound passive and annoying.
“Maybe I do,” she had retorted, tossing her curls around with a devil-may-care attitude. “Maybe I need someone with more courage and less ego, someone who isn’t nervous about being around another intelligent person, someone who is strong in his own thoughts and ideas!”
Sitakshi’s friends had giggled and said that she was a hopeless romantic: “You need an extraordinary hero. Have you thought about Thor or maybe Loki?”
“Maybe I just need a space to find myself and become a hero! After all, I am named after a virtuous and divine Superperson! I just have to find my superpower and save myself from complicated men using stereotypical pronouns,” she thought out loud, and her friends’ look of caution left her feeling a wee bit unsettled.
Long after her friends had left, she stood at the window of the room, staring at the small patch of sky that her window let her enjoy, and thought
seriously… ‘‘Why not try and experiment?” She had asked no one in particular; her question was to the universe in general. She flashed a startling smile, and her eyes shone with the energy of the universe surging through it. “He is never coming back,” she said, adding in a soft undertone that only her heart could hear, “But then, is love, either?”
That is when she decided to live in the LA dream that she had nurtured ever since she had been a teenager. She messaged her cousin,who was living a perfect ‘alternative’ life there. A brief chat, and a quick plan, she was off to LA for the next few weeks with no definitive plan or goals to fulfill.
Los Angeles had been one of her wildest dreams – the nightclubs, dozens of friends, long drives that would make her dopamine levels rise sky high, and her hair flow in the wind. In her tantalising 20’s, with her tightly curled hair streaked in the colours of the pride flag, her small frame that moved with feline grace, Sitakshi wanted it all! Yet, unknown to her, Maya and the fates were sticking some creative glue into the tiny holes in the fabric of her life. Lo and behold, the flow of life suddenly hit a time warp and she found herself sucked into a swirl of events that seemed to link the past and present to a single moment.
She had just stepped out, on a bright sunny day – the kind of day that invites a sense of lazy adventure, such as window shopping and trying to find a richly aromatic coffee shop. Fate decided to spin a bit of magic around her.
Bangles made of vibrant, coloured glass beads, and some gorgeous tapestry art caught her eye, and she stared hard, wondering why it looked familiar. Of course! It was the same artwork that she had seen painted on her grandmother’s wall! There was a sudden flow of strange emotions within her, stirring up deep feelings that had lain buried beneath all the vibrant modern colours and music of LA, and she found herself wondering about an ancient faraway world that she had briefly experienced during summer vacations as a child. So, when she chatted with Sharlene, the garrulous owner of the avant-garde shop, she felt a sudden closeness to a world that she equated to the wrinkled lines of her grandmother’s face!
“It is such a lush green place… people have such shiny, dark eyes brimming with affection… you should go there,” advised Sharlene, shaking her head so vigorously in awe, as the thoughts of India and the green ‘Terrai’ region rose like a vision in her mind’s eye, that the kingfisher- blue bandana tied around her blond hair shook
precariously. And then, as she paused to take a breath, she squealed in delight, “You are a History Major, you are just the person… Let me offer you the opportunity of a lifetime: become my sourcing manager, fill your soul for yourself, while you fill your suitcase for me!”
Fate, sometimes, interrupts our lives, disrupting our thoughts and ideas, forcing us to look around with a new perspective. It was such a disruptive moment as Sitakshi sat in a daze, her thoughts and emotions tumbled together like an entangled bundle of clothes in the warm water of a washing machine, while Sharlene spoke about her plans, dreams, hopes and possibilities for the two of them, waving her hands and gesturing wildly with excitement! In her hands was a terracotta cup of Masala Chai, which, for some strange reason, Sharlene insisted on referring to as Chai tea… this was the beginning of a warm bonding between them, and her first glimpse of Sharlene’s strange nomenclature for all things Indian. Her almost mystical enthusiasm was infectious! It found an echo in Sitakshi’s instinctive desire to understand her roots. Sharlene’s colourful bohemian attitude brought back much of the enthusiasm and shine that had faded with Neil’s betrayal. It suddenly brought back into her life, bright colours and the blurred warmth she had been looking for.
Life’s narratives are seldom straightforward; more often than not, they are a maze, with choices that may lead into alleyways lined with pretty, wildflowers or into dark dead-ends. The ancient wisdom of the East says, “As we think, so we choose our path, creating the course of our life’s journey.” What such cryptic lines of wisdom often miss out is that the journey also has junctions, as much as it has curbside meeting points! Friends part, and strangers meet to become friends; Sitakshi’s life was at such a crossroad.
The city of LA did fascinate Sitakshi. Often there were moments when she felt that there was something she was meant to find there. She wondered what she had missed all along. The constant twinge that something was missing hit her, even though she was living the life she always wanted.
At this crucial juncture of Sitakshi’s life, we notice that the threads of time, place and people come together to create a moment where Sitakshi’s choices become critical for the journey of her life and soul. This is where we need to pause, to gather up all the different details of Sitakshi’s life and weave the myriad threads together like a wreath of time.
Sita, as she was fondly called by her grandmother, was the only child of Mr.Raman
Singh and Mrs. Kavita Singh. Growing up as an immigrant child on the East coast of America, at school, she had to constantly face curious questions about her culture: Why did they have a Festival of Colours? What did the diyas at Diwali represent? How many Gods did her family have? How old was her country's history? She often brought these questions home to her mother to answer. It was her way of getting to know that part of herself that she knew existed but was unable to see in her reflection in the mirror every morning. As for her friends, often, she invented a story that was as brightly coloured and alluring as her grandmother's handwoven sari!
Yes! Her grandmother… the fascinating sunburned face that Sitakshi loved. The weekly family chats with her on Skype was the reason she had learnt the rudiments of her mother tongue, Maithili.
She eagerly waited to hear her grandmother’s sing-song intonation as she said, “Hamaar chhotkee pari, aahan kehan chhi?” [“My little angel, how are you?”] So that she could practise saying, “Hum thik chhi” [“I am fine”] and watch her grandmother’s face wrinkle up in joy as she threw back her head and guffawed at Sitakshi’s accent. “Ah, Sita, ah, Sita,” was all
she could say between her laughter. She would then hold up the brightly coloured pallu of her sari and say, “Neek lagaith achi ki? Kash, aaha humre godi me baisi sakithahu!” [“Do you like this? If only you could sit on my lap”].
Sitakshi loved the sound of the words that her grandmother used, the lilting tone of the sentences she spoke… they were so rare, so precious… or, as her pale blue-eyed classmates exclaimed, ‘How exotic!’ She felt special because none of her friends had such an ancient world that they could claim to belong to. Sitakshi was so attached to her mother and grandmother that, despite living so far away, she was completely aware of the different notes that played out the cheerful tunes of her Indian culture and heritage. Her curiosity for India kept growing with her age.
That evening, the video call between the father and daughter was crackling with excitement on Sitakshi’s side and grim tension on her father’s side.
“Baba, going to Pindaruch will be such a fascinating opportunity, I will be able to speak the language, taste the food and feel the textures of naani’s sari [she called her grandmother “naani”]. As a history graduate, I will be fulfilling my destiny!”
Her father realised that his daughter had grown up with a burning desire to travel back to where he had left from; to complete the circle of life that he had ruptured with his driving ambition for success and material wealth. Did he regret leaving his past behind? Not really. But he did miss the subtle nuances that flavoured life in Pindaruch… the tinkle of anklets, the shy smiles beneath the ghungat [veil used by married women], the swish of the traditional curtains… he missed the gentle feminine power of his village.
He sighed and wondered whether Sitakshi, drenched in the fourth wave of Western Feminism, would have the patience to understand the ancient traditions, where perhaps, there was equivalence of gender but not equality. He was, however, more worried by the fact that Pindaruch had changed – touched by the ideas of the modern and technologically advanced world, men there would have become more aggressive, and uncaring about traditional values, living superficially to satiate their own pleasures. He was terrified for his daughter’s safety.
“I am not so sure…,” he had just begun to voice his thoughts about the horror stories that came out of Bihar and were splashed all across the western media: the poverty, the violence against
the weaker sections, and the rape of women. The Pindaruch of his childhood seemed to have been replaced by some kind of dystopian chaos.
But he felt his wife reaching out and squeezing his hand. She smiled quietly but knowingly, just as she had done many years ago, standing at her mother’s doorstep as he had passed by. That smile had caused a rush of confused emotions in his mind; it led him to walk that way every day, to catch a glimpse of that smile, trying to fathom what it meant! Every day, he could feel the spring in his step as he neared the doorstep, the tightening of his heart and the sweating of his hands as she smiled at him. Finally, one day, his emotions had bubbled over and filled his heart with courage, so much that he had run back to bang the knocker on her door so hard that her entire family – uncles, cousins, aunts and grandparents – had rushed to see what the matter was… and he had blurted out in a burst of untamed fearlessness, that he wanted to marry the young lady who stood on the steps each day. The effort of being true and honest about his intentions had drained him so completely, however, that he had collapsed in a heap.
When he came around, he found himself looking at the sharp gaze of Lakshmi Bai, as
she summed him up “Ah? kekar beta chhi? Ah? perhal-likhan chhi?” [“Whose son, are you? Are you educated?”] “Ah? kaphi sabhya lagaith chhi! Mudha mon rakhu humre beti kavita chhi – naajuk mudha buddhi se bharal cchthi hunka Šung neek vebhar karai parãdh – nahi humra jhak? dhusht nahi hoyet!” [“But remember, my daughter is a poem – delicate, but full of wisdom… you will have to treat her well or else no one will be as evil as me!”]
Taken aback, he blinked and as he averted his eyes from the piercing gaze of the kohl-lined eyes crinkling up in suspicion and curiosity, he found himself staring mesmerised at that smile – Kavita, he said to himself, he knew her name, at least! That intriguing smile had become the centre of his life - encouraging him to speak his heart and share the reason behind the furrows on his forehead; motivating him to higher peaks of success; taking away his loneliness and replacing it with companionship – yes, he was sure, as a father and a man, he wanted his daughter to learn these little shades of colour that life offers in the rustic world of Mithila, yet there were so many ‘but’s!
His wife smiled, “Maa will have her precious angel with her; it will fill her life with some adventure. I am sure that will keep her healthy
and active!” So perfect was her firm but gentle manner, that he could see his arguments tumbling down in disarray.
For Kavita, her daughter’s intense curiosity about her birthplace was obvious in her body language. Moreover, she could also sense that, behind the gender activism and feminist angst, the power of ‘Shakti’ – the creative feminine force, coiled up inside Sitakshi, ready to spring out into the world as an unbridled force – wild, free and stirring the colours of emotions wherever she went. Kavita wanted that force to be unleashed in the land that shared a special bond with her. She wanted her daughter’s spirit and energy to be shaped in the land that had been touched by the power of Durga, the conqueror of evil; transformed by the grace of Saraswati, the upholder of Knowledge; made wealthy by the generosity of Lakshmi, the sustainer of wellbeing; yet, over time, this beautiful fertile land that lay along the strong, slow currents of the sacred Ganga river, had lost its lustre. It was almost as if the power of the Sacred Feminine had waned, and all that remained were tiny spaces with spurts of brightness, surrounded by a dark, unimaginative and barren dullness. Kavita wanted her daughter to stir up the place with her pent-up energy, and symbiotically, be shaped by its traditions, values and grace…
Hence, after all the turmoil, Mr. Raman and his wife finally decided to let Sitakshi spend at least a year in India with her ailing naani.
Sita took out her phone and went onto Instagram, snapped a picture for her friends all over the world, and posted, “Hurray! India, finally!”. The monsoon-washed greenery of the unkempt and unpruned hedges that lined the narrow dirt track that the car drove along, had her mind humming with excitement as she hunted for memories within her. The smell of the wet earth gradually drying in the yellow-ochre rays of the monsoon sun hinted at a past that seemed wrapped around a precious part of her DNA which she suddenly wanted to uncover. The wafting smell of the dung-laden coal fires that were cooking soupy lentils blended with the rich fragrance of ghee as she stepped out of the car and reopened her umbilical memories. Out of all the colours of the world, the view of Pindaruch and its incomparable beauty awakened Sitakshi’s senses. All the painted walls and traditional rice powder patterns outside the doors and along the edges of the courtyard of the red tiled houses reminded her that the world of her Grandmother was truly blessed with the abundance of beauty and serenity. The tuneless yet melodious temple bells called out to her – she heard in them the
resonance of ancient voices that seemed to be saying, “Daughter, where have you been wandering? We have been waiting for you!”
As she stepped out onto the soft, post-monsoon shower, muddy soil of her village Pindaruch, an ancient spot on the earth, where epic characters had walked. Thousands of years of legend swiftly manoeuvred itself into the expressway of her 5G tele-transporting life and changed her goals and landmarks of success forever.
Her arrival, so recklessly advertised over the internet, spun across the globe to a special place – the soft mood lighting created out of river reed lampshades, spread light and shadows across a thick but dusty red and bottle- green rug. Sharlene sat listening to tunes of the Buddha Bar music on her phone. She had turned the volume down to a point where it was just a whisper in her mind. As she flicked through her social media accounts almost absentmindedly, she took a sip of an herbal sherbet that she couldn’t remember who had recommended, but she loved the sweet-sour taste and the cold, refreshing flavour of peppermint that it had… Oh! Wow! The notification popped up! She smiled, the beads of the many bracelets on her wrists clicked and clucked as she found Sitakshi’s message on Instagram. Her eyes gleamed in the lamplight. She unconsciously
traced the patterns of colourful mango leaves on the hand-knotted rug and said, in almost a whisper, to the universe in general, “Aha! Finally, things are falling into place.” Then, with a blissful smile on her face, she eased into her meditative posture to practise her pranayama.
Tiny beads of perspiration glistened on Sitakshi’s forehead; she pushed damp curls that clung to her neck
with the back of her hand and went back to carefully grinding the sandalwood piece on a rough stone grinding plate…
‘Aha! Well done! Just add a few drops of water, mix it well into a thick paste and put it into this bowl’ Lakshmi Bai, her naani said with her gentle smile, while her eyes glinted meaningfully as she careful assessed her granddaughter.
Sitakshi looked down at the bowl and giggled, “bowl! This is so tiny, it’s like a thimble- you know when you stitch!” she took the little bowl with a filigree edge and looked at it closely, “It is such fine work! Is it silver?” she asked as she turned the bowl around between her fingers.
“Yes, of course it is– you wouldn’t use any other metal for the Devi’s puja, would you?” Sitakshi sensed her naani getting a bit flustered and was about to ask her why, when an exasperated naani almost shouted out, “Sita, hurry up, our puja is getting late …. Delayed puja means that the evil eye has winked at you, your day will go all wrong!”
She hurriedly scraped the thick fragrant sandal paste into the bowl and placed it on the beautiful brass puja thali along with the flowers, incense sticks and round Laddus made with sticky palm jaggery. She then quickly snapped a photograph for her Insta- followers labelled it ‘prayerfulness’ and she was done!
Sitakshi had decided to keep her million questions for a later moment when naani would hold her hand in hers, crinkle up her eyes and say, “arrey beti in the times of yore, when the hills looked green even in the coldest winter
….” And create a universe full of colour and magic that had been part of naani’s life and part of her mind’s eye. Draping the colourful patchwork dupatta/ orhni around her head and shoulder to keep her bouncing glossy curls under control she shouted gleefully, the only word she was extremely confident of- ‘Chalo!’.
Lakshmi Bai glowed from within, her love overflowed; she could not believe her good fortune,her little Sita had come home. She calmly observed the girl, particularly in moments when Sitakshi animatedly tried to explain something to the children in the family, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Sita within! She wondered whether her Sita was ready, did she know
enough? Was she strong enough? Or was she hoping for too much from a young girl. But for the moment, she just pulled her close and kissed her forehead.
“Aha! Naani! Don’t mess my bindi,” was the young girl’s response as they walked ahead to the Kuldevi’s mandir that lay at the far eastern corner of Lakshmi Bai’s family property.
The last three days had been tough on Sitakshi. She had battled jetlag and finally succumbed to its power and had slept for over twelve hours at a stretch! She had woken up to find her pillow wet with sweat and her arms and legs botched red with mosquito bites. “Uugh!” Had been her response. She had been momentarily filled with self-doubt about her idea of an ‘Indian Adventure’, but it was only for a moment and then she smiled as she hummed her favourite Cold Play song that was soon to become her anthem ‘Nobody said it was easy….’ Of course, the context was very different but somewhere deep within her, she knew the words were a metaphoric match to her situation because despite all that was wrong and difficult, she felt a deep love for the simple beauty of the place and she was sure she would find the missing piece of herself here.
She had been sort of angry, maybe irritated, with her friends who had hesitantly asked her, “You are looking tanned and skinny and with those mosquito bites are you eating enough?” while she was proudly showing her mosquito markings as if they were ‘Tattoos of belonging’.
“How condescending or limited is their existence!” she had thought as she had grandly declared that, “No-one goes to sleep with an empty stomach in Pindaruch,” but she had fact checked this with naani later. Naani had hummed and hawed a bit, dodging the details but had finally declared that everyone got something to eat, “may be not the thickest roti or the tastiest curry, but a roti with some milk was always available for anyone in need,” she had added with a touch of haughtiness, “We always see to it those who work for us are well fed!” There was a ring of royal authority in her tone as if she owned them all, that Sitakshi’s dark round eyes almost popped out in fear.
“I have this horrible feeling that my adorable, soft and fat grandma is a slave trader or at least deals in bonded labour-. She has a coat of steel beneath that gentleness, I never want to be on the wrong side of her,” she had giggled while confessing to Sharlene as they had chatted.
Sharlene of course was insatiable in her curiosity about the place.
“You know what, I belong there as much as you. Ask your Grandma if she had ever traded a grandchild away.” They had both rolled over laughing at the thought.
“I might learn the market technique and trade you back. You have some inexplicable connection with this place.”
The thought of trade brought back into focus the beautiful silver ‘thimble- bowl’ as she called it. Sitakshi made a mental note of sending Sharlene a close-up photograph of it, to see if she should source it for her store. She was thrilled that her latent business sense was coming to the fore.
They had almost reached the temple; she had walked slowly, holding naani’s hand to see that she didn't trip on the pebbles and stones on the dirt track that led to the temple. She watched the young girls with their dusty thick salwar kameez walking ahead of them with graceful languid sway; a walk that would be widely appreciated by all young men in LA, which she was sure of.
She dropped naani’s hand for a moment and walked ahead, calling out to her, “Naani, look at me walk. Am I swaying like the other girls?”
Naani broke into her crinkle-faced guffaw, “Hatt! Meri Sita-maiyya, you look so funny! That walk takes time: a million steps with pots on your head to the river and back, another million carrying baby brothers and sisters on your hips while fetching firewood for cooking; dancing all night at Holi. You will have to do it all before you can walk like the girls in Pindaruch!”
And even as Naani laughed she added, “Just putting on those thick boots and picking a bag and running won’t get you that walk!” shaking her head with a touch of disdain. The boots naani referred to were Sitakshi’s sneakers. Despite all her effort to teach her to say sneakers, naani refused to call them anything but boots.
Sitakshi could feel in Naani’s manner a sense of royal gracefulness and yes, that haughty tone was back, which Sitakshi later learned came from being Ranima of Pindaruch. Naani was the head of a feudal clan that could trace its history back to the times when Mithila was ruled by the wise king Janak. King Janak
was the foster father of Sita. Sitakshi had a very brief understanding of the Epic Ramayan. She knew about the story of Sita, Queen of Ayodhya and consort of Lord Ram; it was the story that her mother had used every afternoon to cajole her to eat all her lunch! She had been fascinated by the characters, the mysteries and grandness of scale that the story contained within itself. It was there that Sitakshi developed a curiosity about Sita, who was the daughter of Goddess Prithvi or in simple terms, the daughter of the Earth. Sitakshi knew that her grandmother and other women from the village considered Sita to be a Goddess; they prayed to her to protect their husbands and children. Sitakshi, however, wanted to more than just pray to her; she wanted to be inspired by her, emulate her actions of walking through a metaphoric fire to reach the pinnacle of her goal! She really wanted to get to know Sita as a person; understand what made this foundling baby that King Janak had picked up from a furrow in a fallow field of paddy, the wisest and the most compassionate of all women in history.
Of course, she wasn’t sure whether the family tree was authentic or the gaps in it had been filled in by a priest of the Kuldevi Mandir with an active imagination.But what was
clear was that the story of Sita was one that tied the whole of Pindaruch together with a sense shared past. In addition, the story made Naani feel responsible for all the young women of the village.
A bunch of young girls had been staring at her attempts at trying the ‘Pindaruch catwalk’, laughing and giggling hysterically at her stiff and forced sway. Sitakshi waved to them as she helped her grandmother climb the uneven steps of the temple.
She was spellbound! The cool early morning breeze was heavy with the smell of fragrant flowers and incense sticks; the almost frosty cold of the stone floor sending shivers of alertness up her spine as her bare foot touched the roughly cut stone tiles. The chime of the bells and the hum of prayers and mantras, everything blended into each other creating a mysterious whole that Sitakshi wanted to breathe in deeply. She sat down on the steps, leaned against the pillar at the top of the stairs then shut her eyes and took a few deep breaths.
Nani was alarmed! She patted her hand and called her name which got a deep sigh in response. Desperate, she emptied an entire
kalash of water on her head which got her the response she was looking for.
“Yuck! Naani, what are you doing? What dirty water is this?”
“Why did you faint? Haven’t you drunk milk in the morning? Are you so weak? Girls in Pindaruch are strong enough to wrestle with cows. And look at you!”
“I didn’t faint, I just sat down and closed my eyes to listen and feel the place. It seems to be telling me something AND I don’t need to wrestle cows since the rest of Pindaruch can do that!”
Naani smiled. She admired feisty women. Sita seemed to have the spunk, not a pushover like the girls dreaming of Bollywood romances and making cow-eyes at local boys with no future. No, her granddaughter had a mind of her own, something she, Lakshmi Bai, knew was needed to help Pindaruch survive.
“Naani, why don’t you go and finish your puja? You are getting late, remember?” Sitakshi suggested. “I want to look around the temple, maybe take some photographs,” she then added to calm naani down. “I promise I won’t wander away. You will find me by the steps.”
Naani realised that there was no way to get Sitakshi to come with her inside the temple ‘garbha griha’ [the actual shrine]. She decided to lose this battle, her eyes were on the war.
So, she patted Sitakshi on the head and went ahead.
Sitakshi, on the other hand, sat back and attempted to relax; staring up at the layered inner dome of the ceiling, wonderstruck at the fascinating carvings. Something stirred deep within her, it was a strange feeling of being drawn into the story of the carvings.
She watched the frozen movements of the terracotta horsemen who stood along the smudged faces of dancers in stone at the point where the dome of the roof touched the square ledge of the pillared corridor. It was obvious the horsemen had come along much later than the dancers. Why had they been put there? What had been there before? What had happened to those carvings?
The questions came thick and fast. Sitakshi needed to talk and share her ideas. She ran through her memory of all the people who she would have liked to have with her: Shia, Nattie
and Anita her school buddies would have said she needed therapy and laughed away her ideas. Her college intellectual association of Shawn, Carrie, Anvesha, David and even Neil would have asked her not to be dramatic .
“Temple art represents the socio-cultural landscape in which the temple arose,” would have been their studied response.
“Maybe if Sharlene had been here,” Sitakshi thought to herself, and at that she shook herself up and wondered about it. Sharlene was a woman she had met barely once, yet she seemed the one most likely to understand the confusing thoughts rushing through her. “Well, if I need to talk to her, I need to show her pictures of the place.”
Suddenly enthused with a rush of adrenalin, Sitakshi pulled out her phone and began to take photographs.
The mural paintings on the sides of the ‘Garbha griha’ were colourful masterpieces done in the typical Madhubani style. One could see that the paintings had layers of reworking, each layer adding a new dimension to the story. Sitakshi gently touched the surface of the painting,
wanting to feel the texture of the paint, as she wiped the dust away she felt as if she had become a layer of the artistic process, caught within its enchanting story that spread across many thousands of years.
The colourful skirt that Sita wore, as stood at the doorway to the palace caught her eye, but it was the expression on her face that woke Sitakshi up to a new reality and made her think.
‘Why was Sita brooding? Did royal life in Raja Dasharath’s palace make her feel uncomfortable? Was Sita a free spirited woman, who needed to be outdoors? Why did she agree to marry Prince Ram? Was it that easy to fall in Love?
Her thoughts just spiralled out of control. She sighed deeply, and somehow had a feeling that Sita would be able to help with the confused cultural identity crisis that she found herself in; but of course, Sita needed to be there.
She laughed at her own wild imaginings as she took photographs, zooming in on the patterns and faces. She was so engrossed that she gave a startled jump when naani tapped her on the shoulder.
“I prayed for you. May UgraTara devi bless you with inner strength throughout your life. Let me apply the tikka for you!”
“And what does UgraTara devi do?”
“SShh! Don’t speak so slightly of our Kul Devi, she is the power that protected our family through so many centuries.”
Sitakshi and her naani had made themselves comfortable on the temple stairs, with Sitakshi gobbling up all the Sweet/ Mithai prashaad.
“What does Kul Devi mean? Who is she?”
“Kul Devi is our family deity. Kul’s protecting energy in the form of a Goddess.”
“Oho that’s very interesting. So does every family has a Goddess?”
“Yes, they do, but not every family gives their
Devi Shakti the honour we do.”
This was complicated for Sitakshi, but she was determined to understand this; she could feel that strange stirring in her heart and she was sure that it was all because of the mysterious curiosity she had about the shakti of Kul Devi! She was convinced that only when this mystery
was laid to rest would she be able to calm down and so she began to dig deeper and ask questions that seemed to be the deepest root of all her curiosity-
“Who is Shakti?” she asked naani.
Naani had never had such an avid listener. It made her nervous and a bit hesitant- in a world where a woman’s wisdom is rarely heard, she wasn’t sure that her interpretation would be considered correct or valued as a probable interpretation of these ancient ideas that moved down lineages of Rishis.
“I am not sure whether I know enough to tell.”
“Of course, you do, I know nothing so your something will help me begin to understand. Naani, please, please tell me all those fantastic stories you know!”
“Well!” naani swallowed hard, it was the first time in her life that she was trying to link all the symbols of puja, the metaphors of the Devi idol and the deep thought of ancient philosophers for her grand-daughter, who had no understanding of the complex transcendental ideas that existed in the little world of Pindaruch. But she was determined to try. She turned towards the
expectant and curious young girl, her hand caught a curl of hair that had broken free from under Sitakshi’s Dupatta and patted it back into place.
“These are my thoughts: precious and only mine, that I am sharing with you, so be careful not to repeat them anywhere.” She was sure she didn’t want religious fanatics at her door.
Sitakshi was smiling, ready for a fantastic tale that her grandmother wove, with clever monkeys in pretty forests and golden deer. However, to her surprise her grandmother spoke of strange complex ideas, which were as fascinating as her epic stories but with much more to understand.
“Shakti isn’t a person at all. Shakti in the energy of the universe. It is forever in motion, forever restless; it creates all beauty from the tiny flowers on the puja Thali to you and me and even the new stars that burst forth in Galaxies far away. It can destroy things that are old and useless. The things that are ugly and evil in our universe are broken down and annihilated by Shakti. Shakti is wild and free, roaming the universe at its will, playing with all creation.”
“Wow! Then why is she a devi in our temple?” asked the very puzzled Sitakshi.
“Well, since the ultimate creativity is creating life, like a mother having a baby, Shakti is described as a feminine force which has many forms: Maa Durga being the most magnificent form of Shakti, then you have Lakshmi – the force of wealth and well-being, Saraswati – the force of Knowledge and there are so many more – Maa Kali – force of destruction of all that is evil! Our Kul Devi is a part of Maa Durga, who has been the power of our family to grow, create and prosper – every day when we offer prayers, we invoke this energy to help us lead our lives with positive energy so that we grow, prosper and help those around us to do the same.”
All Sitakshi’s feminist ideologies came into focus, “Yes, the feminine is always powerful and strong. We don’t need weak men, yeah! I am going to tell all my friends that Hindus are feminists!”
Naani looked perturbed, she didn’t understand feminism or how Hindus were related to it. “If you mean that women are strong and we don’t need men, well it isn’t exactly like that. Men and women, both have Shakti within them, like your father, who has the energy and power to do and create as much as your mother
has it! We humans are like magnets; each one has two poles: Shakti the feminine and Shiva the masculine.”
“Woah! Don’t confuse me. I am sure Shiva is the blue complexioned God with a snake around his neck, isn’t he?”
Naani sighed, she needed to get back home, to the more mundane realities of everyday life, but deep down she knew this conversation was important, if Pindaruch was to survive the evils of a splintering society!
“No, that is just an image we have created, just as we have created Maa Durga in all her beauty with ten hands! Shiva is a force too, just like Shakti- Shiva is a force of stability.”
“What does that mean?”
“Remember I told you that Shakti moves free and wild? Well Shiva is our immovable power: grit, determination, ambition, and moral guide. When they work together within, you can reach the very pinnacle of success.”
“I can’t believe I have so much inside me!’ Sitakshi looked down into herself ‘Shiva and Shakti! You know naani, in the west, this would have been known as trans-people. Do you know about mixed gender?”
“No! No! transgenders are different, they have different physical characteristics. You have Shiva and Shakti inside of you, so how are you a transgender person?”
Naani struggled to explain this abstract idea. “It’s like this, we should pray for a perfect balance of the two forces in our lives. Sometimes this balance, in fact most of the time, comes from the person we choose to be our life partner. Your Father was full of Shakti as a youth. He wanted to grow, explore and travel. Your mother on the other hand was guided by the spirit of Shiva; calm with goals. See! perfect match!”
Sitakshi muttered under her breath, “If you could see them fight you wouldn’t say so,” but she kept her calm and she didn’t want naani to get upset and stop her story.
Naani pointed to a picture on the wall, a young woman with bright pink lehenga stood surrounded by women wearing moss green clothes wielding clubs. “Look at Sita, in Ravan’s garden, locked away, patiently waiting for Ram to use his Shakti to reclaim her. They are considered the most perfect couple, which is why we pray to them. Hoping that they will bless us to be like them!”
“Hardly perfect. Last time you told me the story about how he had punished her for no fault of hers. How can a husband even punish his wife? What right does he have to do that? They are equal and balanced as you say!”
These stories were bewildering as they were fascinating. Sitakshi found them a strange blend of chivalry and chauvinism. It was a world which she understood very little of; it was princes and princesses who were scholarly but also warriors, who sought glory in battle and success in debates with the same amount of effort and determination. Each character was uniquely heroic. Women who were strong and wise, men who were gentle but unconquerable. It was a world of valour and values that linked each person to another in a cosmic tale of action and reaction. The million interpretations that story had with each person twisting them to suit their narrative!
“ ‘Hai Ram!’ He was perfect only when he was with her, they completed each other!” exasperated naani exploded.
“You will understand when you, my Sita, will
find your Ram!”
That was a thought, her mind jumped to Neil – was he Shiva? Nay. What about Shakti?
Nay again. He had no spunk and very little goals, he just fell into an abyss of nothingness. But strange enough the thought of him no longer gave her an aching heart, instead it brought a smile to her face when she thought of the irresponsible days that they had shared together and smirk when she realised his complete incompetence.
People were calling out to Naani, some dusty teenagers gesticulating frantically.
“Arrey! We are late. I must go to see the lunch meals. Hurry Sitakshi!” she commanded as she struggled to stand. Sitakshi helped her down the steps, and at the same time holding on to the thali, she said, “Naani, you carry on, I am not very hungry, I want to stay and take some photographs. Don’t worry I will stay safe and not talk to strangers.”
Lakshmi Bai had no choice, she had to go, and she knew her granddaughter was stubborn about ideas when forced, so she reluctantly agreed.
The camera focussed on Sita sitting forlorn and alone, as she zoomed in, she could see the details, of her downcast eyes and the ugly green clothed women dancing, wielding clubs in their
hands around her. She snapped the photograph; a picture she felt truly related to as if she was like Sita in Pindaruch surrounded by strangers. Well they weren’t club wielding demons, but they were so different and distant that she was forced to wonder whether she and they ever would be able to communicate.
Sighing deeply she began to look through the photographs she had taken; cropping a few, deleting some and marking out a few points in the others before she uploaded them for Sharlene. Her friend heard the notification bell through all the smoke of candles and ringing of wind chimes.
It was late night and she had shut her café and curio store for the day. It was time for her to practice her tarot cards. With a smile on her face, she decided to pick cards for Sitakshi. Of course, she had to set the mood for it all! So, she lit a few sandalwood incense sticks, put a touch of jasmine and musk oil in the aromatic diffuser to vaporise into a gorgeous fragrance, and lit a few large bold candles. Then she pulled out her many decks of cards. The patterns on the cards all spoke to her in different tongues; each claiming that it could unravel the mysteries of Sitakshi’s life, if only she picked them up.
She listened gravely to them and finally picked the deck with beautiful peacock feathers entwined.Yes they described Sitakshi perfectly- colourful yet deep. She smiled as she shuffled the pack.
Even Sharlene found her almost passionate interest in Sitakshi a bit strange. After all, they had met just a couple of times and spoken maybe some more, but she felt drawn to the girl. Their energies seem to synchronise – and that for Sharlene was rare. Sharlene, despite her pacifist attitude and vegan lifestyle, was not someone who easily trusted people. Life had been tough for her; she had fought for her rights to live the way she chose to. Yet, when she had caught Sitakshi looking at that painting, she had an uncanny feeling that this was fate working. All of Sharlene’s bells had chimed at that moment as if a sudden gust of wind had blown over them. The joy with which she had agreed to help Sharlene was so genuine that Sharlene was convinced that the powers wanted this to happen.
So, sitting in the lotus position, with genuine interest she began to lay out the cards. She shut her eyes, took a deep breath, reached out and picked three cards-‘Oops!’ Sharlene
was worried. Though the cards didn’t foretell disaster; they were certainly troubling. The moon, and the Fool along with the High-priestess meant that the journey would be full of confusion and diversions. She, Sitakshi would need to be very intuitive about situations that would arise, if she wanted to stay there successfully.
The cards had spoken. Sharlene realised that she would have to guide her young friend through it all. For that adventure she was ready, she told herself,as she plaited her multicoloured hair thoughtfully.
So, when the notification bell rang, she excitedly leaned over to have a look. Yes! It was Sitakshi. She looked carefully at the photographs- of course! The girl had an eye for details and a knack for picking up the right visuals: The filigree ‘thimble bowl’ would be a perfect Tealight candle stand if the size and shape could be modified; the photograph of the painting could be made into prints for a million things!
But all that could wait, she needed to know how Sitakshi was feeling; was she confused, alone and unhappy there? Was there anything Sharlene could do to help?
It was this positive and helpful message that spun through the internet ether to the other side of the world to Sitakshi.
All this while, Sitakshi’s focus was on the Madhubani Sita. She ran her fingers over the painting, feeling the dry chalkiness on her fingers, lost in the myriad of questions running through her mind.
How could she sit, dressed in such a bright and pretty lehenga, in the middle of those horrible women? Wasn’t she scared? Would I be able to do that? You know, sit so gracefully among people who obviously don’t know or understand you? Wouldn’t it be great if I could …
“Of course, you will be able to do it. You just have to train your mind.”
Sitakshi jumped away as if the painting had just turned live and gave her 220V shock! To her amazement she found herself at a beautiful young woman in a hot pink lehenga
“Where am I? Am I losing my mind? Who a a a re yy you?”
“I am Sita. Just like you, the time has changed, ages have gone by, but people haven’t changed a bit. So you can do anything and everything
thatI did, maybe even better but you need to have the confidence and the conviction that you are doing the right thing and doing it for the good of all. That is the key for confidence. When your intentions are good and pure, then nothing else matters. Look at Shabari, the old woman who gave half eaten berries to my husband, Prince Ram. All those important and sophisticated people ridiculed her but her berries were the sweetest, and Lord Ram ate them with joy;satisfying the soul of the universe. She was blessed with the knowledge of truth.”
That really had Sitakshi thinking. She was so puzzled over the way Sita calmly stated that feeding Lord Ram was comparable to feeding the soul of the universe. For a practical young woman of the gen Z generation, considering your partner or significant other as Lord of the world was ludicrous to say the least. She squinted up her eyes and asked if Lord Ram was the soul of the universe. “Are you sure about the universe being filled with a few eaten berries?”
There was a strange gleam in Sita’s eyes, a subtle momentary haughtiness in manner that clearly told Sitakshi that she had spoken out of turn.
She shrank back a bit, conscious of her mistake
and the cultural differences between them.
But it had been just a momentary glitch for Sita’s equanimity returned almost immediately. She reached out to hold Sitakshi’s hand comfortingly in hers and spoke in a tone that most people reserve for ill informed young children.
“The soul of the universe contains the purest truth, we are all manifestations of that truth, but we lack enlightenment, so Maya in all her glory, blocks us from seeing this pure truth. She fills our lives with daily successes, problems and confusions that have our emotions on a roller coaster. Lord Ram on the other hand is an enlightened soul, he connects directly with the soul of the universe and uses the energy from there to transform people, places and events. He links Shabari’s berries to the very centre of the universe, giving her a moment to experience the magnificence of creation and feel blessed.”
Then after a glance at Sitakshi’s bewildered expression, she gently asked, “Did you get that? Do you have some questions?”
Sitakshi’s mind was in a swirl, but she was determined to understand, even if it was one
tiny question at a time. She asked the first one with great care, and didn't want Sita to think she was light-headed in any way. “You said Maya blocks us from the purest truth, does that mean Maya is evil?”
The smile that Sita gave when she said “Good Question!’ filled Sitakshi with immense pride, the kind that even her being chosen to be the valedictorian for her graduating batch had not given her.
“Right, let me try to make this simple or atleast explain it in terms you understand it in,” Sita sighed, as she grappled with the answer in her head.
“There are different levels of existence, you know it is often referred to as the Multiverse nowadays.’
Sitakshi’s eyes almost popped out of their sockets. She couldn’t believe that a person who probably lived many thousands of years ago, had time travelled across to her world and was trying to explain the concept of multiverse to her!
“Well,’ continued Sita ‘I will just take two such planes of existence: the microcosm that
includes you along your family and friends living a life: watching movies, going to the malls, playing games and gossiping and then there is the macrocosm which includes your planetary system, the milky way, outer space and Dark matter.
These two worlds are all manifestations of the soul of the universe; they are linked yet separated. Maya envelopes our existence in the microcosm, she creates illusions that we are important creatures, caring and responsible individuals.She doesn’t allow our thoughts to escape into the macrocosm, so that we live on this beautiful earth and the energy of the universe can create, grow and manifest itself through our thoughts. Many strive to break through this illusionary world and explore the other plane of the Macrocosm, but only the greatest yogis can do that. Lord Ram was one such person.”
Sitakshi had a brain freeze! This sounded like
some futuristic sci-fi movie brief plan!
“Wait! wait!” She said, waving her hands to catch Sita’s attention. She was determined to find the loophole, or maybe a black hole that would help convert this complex idea into a simple story that Naani and she bonded over.
“Why is it important that the Macrocosm remains out of bounds for most of us?”
Sita thought for a while and then answered, as if picking her words carefully. “The macrocosm is so vast, cold and amazing that we would be mesmerized by it. We would want to be part of that. We would want to be tiny bits of stardust,and solar flares and feel the freedom of spinning through us. None of us would want to shoulder the problems of the everyday microcosm and Prakriti would not be able to use the energy to create our Earth. You have studied literary metaphors, and seen visual metaphors, right? Well, we are the universe’s thought metaphors; we are abstract ideas made into flesh and blood. Simply put, we are prakriti’s poetry.” Then very pertly she added, “I think you should focus on questions that deal with the everyday world. You see, I need to get back soon. Are you having problems adjusting to life in Pindaruch? Is the food a problem?”
“Woah!” Sitakshi’s mind raced trying to think of questions. “I need some language help as well. Can you advise me?” She finally asks when a burst of wind stirs up all the yellow
-orange leaves and dust and Sitakshi found herself sitting on the floor of the temple corridor with a goat smelling her over.
“Ewe! What was that? Did I faint? Was it a dream? Am I hallucinating?” Through the echoes in the corridors she thought she heard a soft giggle of a young woman and the tinkling of anklets on running feet, but it was gone and she couldn’t be sure. She pushed the goat aside and stood up and walked down the steps unsteadily.
“I need to get home quickly,” she thought to herself.
As she passed a broken part of the temple, she was surprised to see a middle-aged woman sitting comfortably on a broken pillar and staring at the temple spire.
“Is she real? Or is she another phantom of my mind?” wondered Sitakshi.
She smiled and gestured to her but Sitakshi wasn’t in mood to converse with unknown women, so she continued to walk.
The woman got off her perch and walked up to her, and as there was no way that Sitakshi could avoid her, she stopped to look at the woman carefully. She instantly decided she didn’t like her.
The woman’s sometime orange dupatta was drawn over her rough unkempt hair. She wore
huge chunks of earrings, nose rings and, as Sitakshi’s eyes travelled to her feet, large toe rings; her dark eyes were thickly lined with Kajal but had a mean and calculating look; her lips were drawn out in a smile which neither reached eyes nor looked welcoming.
“What a pretty girl! Who are you?” she asked. Sitakshi suddenly remembered the advice
Sita had given her- be confident! She decided
this is where she would begin her practice of confidence! She held her head high and looked the woman in the eye and said, “I am Sitakshi, Lakshmi Bai’s granddaughter, I am better known as Sita, the daughter of Pindaruch. Who are you?”
The lady laughed a bitter, falsetto laugh at her, then dropping her voice to almost to a hoarse whisper and said, “I am Kavya, the collector’s wife. Your grand-mother knows me well.”
Sitakshi moved away and began to walk home. She was sure her grandmother wouldn’t be happy to know of this conversation.
The woman stared at Sitakshi as she walked away. “I am Sita, daughter of Pindaruch,” she repeated mockingly. “Let me see how long this daughter will last over here!”Chapter 3
Sharlene’s eyes were wide with wonder as she stared into her laptop screen; Sitakshi’s photographs had
captured the details from the wall paintings to perfection! All she needed to do was some clever cropping and resizing, then they could become part of her album of images to use for her products!
Sharlene could see that this had been a good idea. Sitakshi felt the pictures. She had an uncanny understanding of how these ancient images could be placed in modern contexts. Of course, she did. She belonged there.
That thought was a trigger point for Sharlene’s waves of sadness and tears. Tears rolled down as her freckled cheeks streaking it with the dark blue of her eyeliner; she shook with sobs as she reflected on her lack of belonging and her memory overflowed ~
Her mother, a frail woman with sea blue eyes filled with fear, signalling her not to come towards the trailer that was their home, as a bunch of goons pushed her mother against it and threatened her at knifepoint to pay up the rent.
Sharlene had escaped by the very skin of her teeth. Even as she had turned to run, she
could hear one of the men shout, “Get her! Get that girl!”
She had run for her life, across the highway that separated the trailer park from a forest of sorts, dumped with all the garbage of the trailer park. Sharlene had hidden there for hours, in the thorny bushes, sobbing softly, hoping that those dangerous men had not hurt her mother.
It was many hours later that she could hear her mother’s voice calling her name desperately as she looked for her between the stacks of garbage and the wild bushes. She had hugged Sharlene tightly and the two had stood silhouetted against the mountains of filth and bits of green, sobbing in relief that they had found each other safe.
“Come sweetheart, l have got some dinner for us and I need to leave for my next shift at the pub,” said her mother.
They had walked back, holding hands, guiding each other; a youthful woman who was aging fast with the stress of keeping her daughter and herself safe and alive and a young girl who was growing up quickly, ready to face the unforgiving world.
The trailer was a reflection of Sharlene’s
mother’s artistic talent. It was pretty with bright
colours and flowers everywhere. Attempt at creating a beautiful space, a safe haven for the two of them amidst the desolate soulless trailer park filled with hopeless people.
Over a simple dinner of leftovers from the café where her mother worked as a waitress in the morning shift, her mother had tried to keep her spirits up. “Your report card came in today. I am so proud of you! All straight A’s. I wish I was as smart as you are. One day, you will be able to follow your dreams.” As her voice trailed off, Sharlene looked up to catch that faraway look in her eyes which appeared when she thought of all that she wanted and all that she had lost.
An artist by training, she had hoped to create artworks that would shake up the art world. Instead, the only valuable thing she had created was her beautiful baby girl with a man so fickle and irresponsible that he had disappeared before he even had a glimpse of Sharlene’s plump face with straggles of fine curls, and clear blue eyes. She had been advised to give Sharlene up for adoption, but those blue eyes shone with hope that she needed. Baby Sharlene brought all the love and meaning that was missing in her lonely life. She was never going to part with her baby!
Sharlene had grown up seeing her mother work multiple shifts at diners and motels, because Art was not an occupation!
But Maya had spun her magic out that evening. The starlight had glittered brighter, Maya’s breath had made the cold night air, balmy with expectations, as the wind chimes outside their trailer, had rung out to the change of time that Maya’s swish of magic wand brought.
Sharlene’s mother had met Mr. Patel sitting exhausted at the bar. He had looked so harassed and anxious that she had immediately felt he was a kindred soul in distress. Just a little nudge from her, had had him pour his troubles out over a couple of Malibu sunsets.
"I am doomed!” he had said, waving his chubby fingers in the air as if he was juggling invisible balls in the air.
“I have this motel down this highway. It is a rundown place that my cousin bought and wants me to manage, but my mother… Ooh! my mother! She will not let me stay there.”
He took a few quick swigs of his drink, his eyes teared up when he lamented, “She says it is ugly. Ugly things happen there!" His words were so emphatic, that they set her mind whirring with ideas.
“She wants the place beautiful, with a mediation centre, paintings, clean curtains, juice bar and
puja room,” he had continued, rattling off his
mother’s demands in no particular order.
“I am doomed! I have no money. My cousin will give me none as he wants to make a place for card games …you know...,” he had ranted on.
It had ended with Sharlene’s mother waking her up, burning with wild excitement “Come on Girl, get up sweetheart, our future is going to change. Fortune has smiled on us; your straight A’s, my new job. In a couple of years, I’ll be rich, and you will be off to college.” Sharlene had never seen her mother so fearlessly happy before.
They had packed their belongings into two battered suitcases, when a filthy pick -up truck had turned up with the round and garrulous Mr. Patel at the wheel.
“Get in! Let me help with the suitcases,” he had added with some gentlemanly grace.
They had zoomed off creating a tiny dust storm, Sharlene had looked back without a shred of regret to see the trailer park epoch of her life disappearing in a cloud of dry sand and dust.
When they came to a screeching halt about some miles down the same highway, and looked out at
the ramshackle buildings, Sharlene wasn’t that confident about their future either. However, that changed the minute they stepped through the creaking door and were met by a grey haired, twinkle eyed woman, dressed in yards and yards of fabric. She greeted them with a graceful joining of hands which Sharlene later learnt was the Namaste, the traditional Hindu way to greet strangers. She then garlanded them with pretty marigolds and put a refreshingly cold dot of sandal paste on their foreheads, and finally offered them a salted and spiced yogurt drink called ‘Chhas’ that was so invigorating and calming simultaneously that it dispelled all fears of the future!
All this while Mr. Patel grumbled, “Ma, they are not guests at the motel, they are here to stay and transform this place into the motel you are dreaming of. All this ceremony is a useless waste of time!”
But the old lady smiled warmly, winked knowingly and with a thick Indian accent said, “Welcome, he is man. So, he not understand, this is your home, please to welcome.”
Sharlene’s mother stretched her arms out and hugged her tightly.
That is how old Mrs. Sujata Patel and Aditya [better known as Adi] Patel opened their doors
and hearts and gave the young Sharlene, for the first time in her life a sense of deep belonging and she wept, with tears of joy brimming over her eyes and wetting up her face.
The contract was simple, full of kindness, but very clear. Sharlene and her mother would live rent free with meals while Sharlene’s mother worked and designed the motel transforming it into one of earliest detox spas with yoga and meditation centres on the West Coast. Sharlene’s school fees would be paid for if she helped in the kitchen and around the motel after school.
Well, that was Sharlene’s introduction to a whole new world~ a world that was loud on emotion and relationships, fragrant with spices and incense and rich with mysticism and spirituality. It was a world that she had moulded herself into, but as Aunt Sujata had always suggested to her, with great earnestness so that it did not sound rude, “Beti, you don’t belong na, so you can never understand, let me explain …”
Days of hectic design and planning had followed months of frenetic work that had finally transformed into years of establishing the Motel as ‘The Indian Experience’ – a unique ayurvedic spa and yoga staycation.
Her mother and Sharlene had come to work but had stayed on as family.
“It is our way, you won’t understand our idea of family, because na, you don’t belong, beti, but you are mine.” Aunt Sujata had said hugging her warmly on Diwali as Sharlene gifted her a scarf that she had hand woven and carefully hand painted the auspicious ‘Kalpavriksha’ wish fulfilling tree that symbolizes immortality, along the edges in copper acrylic paints.
Sharlene had laughed at her words, with a deep affection for this strong woman who had been her pillar of strength when she had rebelled against her mother in her teens. Aunt Sujata had been the reason that her mother forgave her transgressions as she experimented with alcohol and substances, but Aunt Sujata was clear that forgiveness is given only once. Some experiments need not be done, adding in her typical phrases “How to explain to you, you won’t understand because you don’t belong. Hurting your parents is a sin that you pay for. It is, as people say, bad karma. In your next life you may be a garden snake; pretty, useful but still hated.’ Sharlene never touched, tried or tested anything that was vaguely contraband after that as Sujata’s words hissed firmly in her ears.
Images rushed through Sharlene’s mind of her plump aunt turning her nose up at her hip unkempt roommate at university. “You remain clean haan!” she had muttered loud enough for the girl to hear. Dancing and kissing everyone, including the shocked dean when she graduated from Design school with honours, to telling Uncle Adi off when he had shouted at her for being lazy. There were so many more episodes, but the memory that filled her soul with emotions that she would not have believed existed, was when frail with age, her body racked with arthritis, laying almost immobile on her hospital bed, aunt Sujata had held her hand as Sharlene had bent over her and had whispered, “I have lived through much- seen joy and sorrow- I have buried my daughter- your mother- a pain I would never want anybody to have, now I am ready to go- but I will leave with peace, only if you promise to hold Adi’s hand and do all my funeral rituals because my son is a man, so he is weak about emotions. He will not have the strength to do it all. You won’t understand everything because you don’t belong, but you are my granddaughter. I will have your mother with me, he will have you. He has lost as much as you have, he has lost a sister – your mother and now he will lose a mother, you are his only strength, so be there for him!”
Sharlene’s tears had fallen thick and fast, rolling down her face splattering onto aunt Sujata’s soft wrinkled skin, which glistened with the saltiness of them. Sharlene had held her close, feeling her breath soft on her skin, “I will,” she had promised between her tears adding “Please bless me that I have your courage and love to share with the world.”
“Aah!” she had mumbled softly but very coherently, “Give, always give. When you give, your energy becomes one with the universe, Shakti flows through you. It is all about balance. Go to India, take someone who understands from within, because you won’t understand, you know why? You don’t belong!”
Sharlene had giggled through her tears at aunt’s stubborn belief that she was never going to belong. The old lady smiled at her laughter and said quite simply, “I feel peace, I am just waiting now.”
Sharlene wiped her tears away; she was happy again! She was back with the designs and patterns, that flip into the past was a momentary self-indulgence. She had found the person she needed to fulfil her life’s mission, to belong to aunt Sujata’s world completely. The charming and strong Sitakshi would help her assimilate into the world that she wanted to be part of.
But was Sitakshi ready for it?
Sitakshi had her eyes fixed on the cow; she was convinced that the prayer that Naani had made her memorise wasn’t working at all. She shivered and frantically recited the prayers:
Sarvakaamdudhe devi sarvatithirbhishechini l Pavane surbhi shreshte devi tubhyam namostute ll
That roughly translates to -O Goddess who milks all desires and anoints all holy places.
O goddess of holy fragrance, best of all, I offer
my obeisance’s to you ll And
Lakshmirya Lokapalanam Dhenurupena Samsthita l
Ghritam Vahati Yagyarthe Mama Papam Vyapohatu ll
Lakshmi who is situated in the form of a cow among the guardians of the worlds I
May he who carries ghee for the sake of
sacrifice dispel my sins II
Was it the right prayer? Maybe her accent was wrong, and the mantra wasn’t working.
Her mind began to blank out. It definitely lost control of her tongue, she could feel herself mumbling. She was willing to do anything to stop that cow shaking her massive head with curling horns, at her. She shut her eyes tight and held her fist full of fresh lush grass forward hoping the cow would understand that she was supposed to do her thing; eat her offering. She gave up on the complicated Sanskrit words that difficult for her, instead her personal prayer poured out:
Dear Cow,
I love nature, you are nature and I love you, even though you might not believe me.
I am just a girl who lives in the city, and you are the first cow I am getting close to, so I pray to you - please be kind to me – just love me back
And a miracle happened! She felt a wet nudge. Upon carefully prying her eyes open she found a delightful young calf eating from her hand while the mother cow stood shaking her head rather grimly. Sitakshi bent over the calf to stroke her soft feathery skin, she put the tilak of Haldi Kumkum and Chandan on her forehead. The little creature had twitched her ears all the while, nudging her delicate face with soulful eyes upwards, up looking for more food.
The mother cow let out a loud disgruntled moo and shook her head and horns at Sitakshi again. The effect was immediate, Sitakshi froze, her eyes round with horror.
Five-year-old Chandra, one of the many girls who lived in Naani’s sprawling house, entered the cow shed. Her face crinkled up at the scene, and without batting an eyelid, she walked up the massive head shaking cow and pushed her away, all the while shouting
“Arrey! hatt hatt! Fatso you have eaten more than everyone…arrey! Move now, don’t frighten our phirangi cousin. They have never seen cows- they drink milk but have never seen cows. Just imagine that, and they say I am a silly girl. Ha!”
Sitakshi looked amazed as the cow meekly moved away; she was taken aback by the child’s confidence. The firm but loving tone that the cow responded to immediately. Is this what Sita was talking about? Sitakshi wondered.
All the girls of the village dressed in colourful attire were giggling hysterically at the rapidly changing expressions on Sitakshi’s face. The morning had been an adventure that Sitakshi had never considered as something possible in all her life.
Naani had come bustling in, wearing a gorgeous yellow-white silk chunri with gold worked patterns. Despite her rather loud voice and wild gesturing, she looked very regal and impressive.
“Sita bacha! Utto, get up, today we have a very special puja, take a bath and wear these.” She had tossed a gaudy red and gold outfit at Sitakshi. Sitakshi, worn out with the heat and the dust, was awake but lying listlessly on the bed. Her body clock found it difficult to tune into ‘the early to rise and early to bed’ routine of Pindaruch even after so many weeks. She lingered on the bed wondering about the day ahead- what could she do? What did she need to plan for Sharlene? Added to all this was the question- What puja was Naani going to involve her in? What would she make her do?
“UUGH!” she groaned as she pulled herself out of bed. “Just too many pujas, when do they live their life?” This is what Sitakshi would have loved to ask Sita. She wondered, as she slid into the sparkling lehenga, whether Sita too had felt restricted by the interference of society that constantly monitored its people, or had she found ways to be herself.
Naani was back, this time with red and white bangles, bindi - dots for her forehead and
a huge puja thali with fresh green grass and some banana leaves.
“Good that you are ready. Today is Gopashtami. Wear the bangles, stand up and let me look at you,” she said it all in one breath, in that firm tone that Sitakshi knew not to mess with.
Sitakshi stood up for Naani to check her out and as she did that she found herself staring at herself in the mirror. She couldn’t recognise that the image reflected her. “Is that me?” she wondered. “Yes, it is. Pindaruch is growing in me.” The red and gold sequence in her dupatta shimmered as she stood giggling at the thought.
‘Chalega’ was Naani’s response but there was a hint of smiling pride on her face. Deep within her heart was overflowing – my princess is going to save my village from all the wrongs it is struggling with. It was her firm belief and promise that she had begun to allow herself in.
Sitakshi had been amazed at the weight and contents of the puja thali.
“Why is there no Haldi, Kumkum and Chandan paste on the thali? Why does it have so much grass and banana leaves?”
“Because today our temple is the cowshed.
We are celebrating Gopashtami, so we need to honour all our cows, you know.” Naani had continued, but Sitakshi’s mind had frozen. All that was buzzing through her head was ‘WHY?’ to which she had resentfully added ‘Why ME?’
“Oh! Don’t worry, the cowshed has been scrubbed clean, it will smell nice, and everything will be just fine.” Naani had noticed the sudden change in Sitakshi’s demeanour and she wanted to calm her down with all her chatter so she continued “This is the eighth day of new moon, the day after Krishna Bhagwan had put mount Gowardhan down after holding it up for seven days on his little finger. You know that story, right?”
“Let us sit awhile, let me explain so that you understand.” Naani was a bit worried as Sitakshi’s face had become a bit pale and she had a strange fearful look in her eyes.
Sitakshi sat down exasperated “What can you explain naani? The cows are huge, they have these massive sharp horns… I ...I…” She just spluttered off in fear.
“Yes, aren’t they beautiful? Healthy cows are good fortune for the family. Cows are our wealth, which means healthy children in the family, good food for all and prosperity for the
family. That is why we consider them God.” Naani was trying hard to dispel the tsunami of fears that seemed to have struck Sitakshi. “Hasn’t Kavita told you the story?”
“What story?” Sitakshi was suspicious because she knew naani was trying hard to distract her from her fear and she was stubbornly holding on to it. “Why?” she wondered. “Why not just go with the flow. Maybe I will grow strong and confident.”
She didn’t show the tectonic shift that was happening within her, she didn’t really understand the change, but she instinctively knew that her mind was opening like a lotus bud, blooming slowly and she was moving in the right direction. But all she did was say, “Naani, tell me the story.”
“Hai Ram! What a useless daughter I have. She hasn’t told you how Krishna Bhagwan had taught the people of Gokul to worship their environment. You see, we are Nature’s people, but sometimes we forget that our actions hurt Nature, which is why we have days to worship nature. On those days we remember and reflect about our relationship with nature. That is why when the people of Gokul were setting up a big sacrifice for the God Indra, Kishenji asked them, “Why are you praying to far away Gods
in the sky? Your hills and mountains sustain you, protect you, so you need to take care of them and pray to them. Take your sacrifices and prayers to the Govardhan mountain who protects you and your cows from fury of the rain and the flood waters of the river.”
Naani’s eyes sparkled with the excitement of the story plot thickening. “Of course, the villagers did that, only the stupid don’t listen to Kishenji,” she added as opinion.
“Indra the king of the Gods didn’t like this at all,” Naani nodded her head knowingly, “So he made the sky rain bitterly while he flashed his thunder and lightning to terrify the people. Kishenji was expecting this reaction, because he knew that Indra, the king of the Gods, thought that only he was powerful and no-one else deserved to be worshiped. So Kishenji came to the rescue of the people and their cows; he asked the Govardhan mountain whether he would be willing to help up so that the people stay safe underneath him; the mountain happily agreed. So Kishenji picked up the mountain, balancing it on his little finger for seven days, while the villagers and their cows stood beneath the huge mountain umbrella. On the eighth- day, lord Indra understood that in his arrogance he had forgotten that in the universe we all have
our special contribution. It might be a small contribution, but it is valuable and must be acknowledged. He stopped the rain and came down to meet Kishenji to apologise for the inconvenience he had caused. He saw the cows grazing safely along the green mountain side. He bowed down and fed the cows, promising to be a responsible leader. He left after making peace with the villagers and Kishenji. That is why on the eighth day of the new moon in the month of Karthik we worship our cows.
“That was a long story, so let me understand this, cows are animals, right? Not Gods, right? And we don’t pray to cows for boons, right?” Sitakshi was often accused of being an uncultured tribal who prayed to cows, she just wanted enough proof to refute that.
“Of course the cow is God, in our world everything is God, because we are all created with God’s divine energy. Each has a purpose and each needs to be worshiped and acknowledged for their contribution in making creation perfect, our environment harmonious and being a God. Come on, we have wasted enough time-come on.” Naani rose shakily, weighing down on her walking stick, relieved that no-one had noticed that she had slipped in her own opinion into the stories.
“I have lived long enough to be allowed a little discretionary power without some ‘holier- than- thou’ purohit contradicting me!” She muttered to herself.
Sitakshi was puzzled. “How could a story do this to me?” She wondered. She felt calmer, and willing to take on the world of cows; she walked with a spring in the air till she reached the cow shed- then there was mayhem in her heart- and that dear readers you have heard about already.
The gopashtami puja had been emotionally draining for Sitakshi. She felt like a laundry bag of emotions; rags of fear, handkerchiefs of laughter, pillowcases of humiliation all dumped into her heart which was this large shapeless bag of coiled up emotions. She stood around awkwardly and embarrassed as the girls in the village smiled at her; some smiles were friendly, others out of compassion, but there were a few grins of ridicule. So, while Naani was busy looking into the details of the cowshed, Sitakshi decided that she would practice being confident with strangers.
She walked across to a young lady in a pastel blue lehenga, with dark blue glass bangles. She had long straggly hair and a face that would have been considered very attractive, if it had
been less dusty. She had a friendly smile and looked very approachable.
Sitakshi smiled at her and asked in her limited Maithili what her name was and how old she was. To her delight the girl understood her and replied that her name was Arthi and that she was fifteen. Soon, other little girls had joined the group and it turned to much gossip and laughter.
“What did you pray for in the cowshed?” asked one cheeky little girl.
Sitakshi’s prompt answer of “meri life,” had them in peals of laughter
A young teenager promptly chimed in saying, “I prayed for a rich husband, preferably old, but very rich. I don’t know whether Gowmata will be so specific.”
“You will be a widow in a year’s time," another countered. “It doesn’t matter how old he is, your attitude will age him to death in no time at all.” And there was another round of laughter.
“Why do you pray for husbands?” asked the puzzled Sitakshi.
There were sly smiles and hysterical giggles at this. “You should see the boys who came for the
bridegroom's mela last year,” said somebody from the crowd. “We really need to pray, if we ever hope to get married.”
Sitakshi was astonished, “Bridegroom’s mela? What is that?”
“All the boys’ families who are looking for young brides, send their boys to the mela and the girls’ families who want their daughters married buy them at the mela,” informed a young girl from within the crowd.
“That is slavery. I knew that slavery exists here. Naani must be going there to pick her slaves,” Sitakshi interrupted, jumping in excitement. “I knew it! Knew it.”
‘Well, if you say so, but it is referred to as Ramji Ka swayambar but last year all the grooms looked so bad that it seemed like Ramu the jharoowala’s swayambar, nobody bought a single slave! Just to let you know…’ finished the girl as she sank into a heap of laughter.
A thought bothered Sitakshi, she just couldn’t help herself, she just had to ask even if it was being nosy- ‘ how old are you girls? Why do you think about marriage all the time’?’
The answer came in a cacophony of voices, and the answer ranged from ten to seventeen;
Sitakshi was horrified, the feminist in her screamed at the unfair disbalance between the genders. She pried a little more and one of the more serious girls blurted out the ‘because we have nothing else to think about- we have nothing to do, it is helping at home or nothing …’
A small voice interrupted ‘that is why I prayed for a school’. Sitakshi found herself looking at the largest brown eyes fringed with the most unkept curly hair; she cupped her hands around the plump cheeks and solemnly promised ‘I will make sure Gowmata answers your prayer.
Later that afternoon, she had a short discussion with Naani, she learnt that the school for girls in Pindaruch had become seasonal. The building was situated in a low-lying area making it impossible to use during the monsoon rains. Naani went on to lament that the village tradition of educating girls was pushed away by the Sarpanch / collector. “He keeps saying it is not safe for girls to travel far away to study. What rubbish! Your mother Kavita cycled to the next town for college, huh!” She gave a disgusted look and muttered, “Stupidity and lack of education helps him- he can threaten and frighten people! The only fear the girls of this village have is from his goons.
We had the most educated and progressive girls in the district. Some went on to become doctors and scientists, look where we are now.” Naani had lamented. But hidden beneath her tone of frustrated anger, was a little voice cheering her thoughts on, whispering to her “Sitakshi, my sita Maiya is interested now, she will find a solution!”
Naani had wanted someone young and dynamic to help her battle the vices of illiteracy and sloth that had conquered and colonised Pindaruch over many centuries. It was a place known from times immemorial as a place of scholarship and learning for women and children who had fallen victim to bullies.Men here, were so lacking in ability and talent that they feel strong only when they attack and destroy things and places that are beautiful and violently ruin people who have beautiful minds.
Sitakshi didn’t believe in wasting time. Her first urge was to call Sharlene and discuss the problem; on second thoughts, she decided to look for home grown solutions, because that would probably be long lasting and more effective ones .
The heat and stuffiness along with serious thoughts in her head, made Sitakshi head to the temple. The height of the temple and the open
corridors made the temple a light airy space to brood in. She walked around the temple, hoping that she might have another miraculous meeting with Sita. That would have been a boon. “Was she really Sita? How did she get here? Was she the thoughts in my head? just my thoughts and imagination playing with me?” She considered the questions as she looked around but the only luck she had was meeting the Pandit of the temple as he was locking it up for the afternoon.
“Can I help you?” he asked in a tone which clearly meant, “I want to go home so do not ask for help.” But Sitakshi didn’t care. She was determined that the girls would have more to do with themselves than get married.
“Yes, you are just the person I was looking for, “Sitakshi confidently continued. “Does this temple get flooded during the monsoon?”
“Not at all. Like the architectural requirements of all temples, this too is built on the high grounds of the village.” His reply sent Sitakshi’s heart soaring.
“Well then, do you have a place where about fifty people can sit and work?” Was her next question.
The old man hesitated, he really wanted to go home for a nap, but something about Sitakshi’s earnest look made him change his mind. “Come, let me show you the Natt Mandir. It is a bit away from the temple, but it is a large place. Do you need it for a competition?”
“No, for a school.”
He looked startled as he led her around the wide corridor. The grey slate floor tiles chipped off at the sides with age and the contrasting pale limestone columns aged with moss that made up the structure, gave the Kul Devi temple a mystical air that always caught Sitakshi’s breath. But she pushed all other ideas from her head. She could almost hear the noise of her thoughts as she followed the pandit around the quiet corridor right to the end.
“Be careful, the steps on this side are thick with moss and very slippery.”
Sitakshi took time, checking out each step as she put her foot down. As she reached the bottom of the steps the pandit pointed out, “There it is. The performance hall or the Natt Mandir of the temple. It hasn’t been used in a while. Earlier, it was very popular for wedding parties, but nowadays people want air conditioning so…” He ended lamely.
“Can I go and have a look?” Requested Sitakshi, quickly adding, “You don’t have to stay. I will just spend some time and see if we can get some electrical connections fitted there.”
He wasn’t sure, but with a bit of back and forth between the two, it was decided that it was safe enough for her, however on the way out he would tell the coconut water vendor outside the main temple to keep a lookout for her. He warned her that behind the hall, there was a way down that led to the irrigation canal branching out from the main Kamla River, which was a haven for small wildlife such as foxes, sloth bears and monkeys.
Sitakshi walked carefully up to this classic piece of temple architecture. It had small intricately carved shikara that had been eroded with the many monsoon deluges that it had seen. The steps leading up were elegantly small and anyone could climb it easily, so young girls would find it easy. The floor was in good condition and the hall was huge with fantastic pillars to hold up the carved ceiling. It was an easy seating for about two hundred.
Sitakshi busied herself taking photographs that would help her plan. She realised that the hall could be divided into at least six effective classrooms and a central space with
a big screen to watch screenings of interesting documentaries. Sitakshi’s mind was spinning with ideas.
When she thought she saw a flash of camera going off from somewhere behind the hall, she couldn’t be sure, but she thought she heard voices or was it monkeys? This was going to be such an adventure! She jumped off the ledge of the back wall into the soft moist undergrowth and walked towards the river-canal.
“Arrey! pretty girl! coming to entertain us with a dance? Good! Good! we haven’t had fun for a while.”
Sitakshi was terrified, her eyes wide open, mouth hanging loose, she was numb with horror as she stared at two hefty men, dark in complexion, wearing dirty T-shirts with gloves on their hands.
“Who are you? Don’t worry we won’t hurt you,” was what they said as they looked her up and down in a disgusting sleazy manner, smirking at her obvious fear.
Sitakshi began to back away unsteadily, tripping on stones but trying to look calm while her heart raced, and cold sweat formed along the back of her neck.
“Hey, leave her alone, she is my sister," barked a third voice from somewhere in the bushes and shrubs. “Do I have to spend every afternoon beating you both? Didn’t I tell you not to mess around here?”
The impact of the voice on the two ugly men was immediate, they turned around and began to leave, though shouting obscenities just to prove a point!
Sitakshi looked around but couldn’t see anyone, so she scrambled back, trying to get back to the hall.
“Hope you are all right, they didn’t get close, did they?”
Sitakshi found herself staring at the warmest, twinkling eyes of a tall, chocolate brown stranger. He was wearing a grey kurta over a pair of jeans, looking confident and comfortable in them. Somehow that irritated Sitakshi. “Oh no! I was fine, I could have solved it myself, you needn’t have bothered.”
“I am so sorry I interfered. I will be off then.”
And he turned to go.
Sitakshi bit her lip. “Why did I have to act smart now?” she thought, speaking out loud all she could manage was, “No! No! I didn’t mean
that. Thank you for your help, I am just so sorry that I was a bother for you, and I am feeling very confused, so I didn’t get the words right.”
That sounded so weak and lame.
But the stranger did not smirk at her discomfort nor gloat at her stupidity, in fact he just spoke calmly and simply, “Do you want me to walk you home? Are you lost? I just need to know what you expect from me in terms of help.”
“Thank you, could you please walk home with me. I know the road?” then added, “By the way, I am Sitakshi and you?”
“I am Raghav.”
They walked in silence up to the hall, Raghav gave her a hand up to the stage area. Sitakshi was burning with curiosity, she had never met someone so comfortable with silence. She just had to ask him questions, anything to break that strange silence!
“Are you from here? What were you doing here?
“I am not exactly from this village, but my home is near enough. Well, I was checking the soil quality because I want to experiment with some sustainable agricultural methods
around this area. I could ask the same questions, you know.”
Sitakshi smiled, they had reached the steps leading down from the main temple.
“I belong to Pindaruch, I am here for a visit and was checking the hall because I think it would do well for a school.”
“School? For whom?”
“The girls in the village, who else?”
He guffawed with laughter. “School for those silly gossipy girls, they don’t have enough brain cells between them to make a complete brain. All they have in their heads are rhetorical questions, like, “Whom will I marry?”
“It is a simple answer. Some dumbo from the groom mela.”
“I don’t agree with you at all.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you. Do whatever you want, and if you need help or any support just shout out to me. I am there most afternoons and of course don’t wander off.” With the sound advice, he gave a token bow and was gone.
Sitakshi was so excited, this had been the adventure she had been looking for! it was happening to her.
She couldn’t resist herself, she dialled Sharlene, listened impatiently to the phone beeps –
“Hi” was Sharlene’s sleepy response. “What has happened? Are you ill? Are you coming back?”
“Sharlene I know it is an awful time to call you, but I was wondering about something for a while. I am planning to start a school here; for the girls of Pindaruch.” Sitakshi’s words wandered erratically.
“ It is four in the morning here, for God’s sake. Just tell me, do you need my help?”
“YES”
“Bingo! I will book the first flight out to Delhi that I can afford.”
Both smiled, Both knew that Maya had whirled a little magic.
Every new dawn seemed surprisingly beautiful to Sitakshi’s eyes. Now it has become a part of
her routine to wake up early in the morning, sit on the terrace for some fresh air, and listen to her favourite music and plan her day- There was so much to Plan!
She smiled as she recalled her excitement at picking up Sharlene at the airport. The exhilarating journey back as they had stuck their heads out of the car and allowed the wind blow through their hair, soaking up the smells of the land around them; the freshness of the harvest, the heaviness of the wood fire and the pungent smell of the dung manure lying in the fallow fields. Sharlene had loved it all. She seemed to be coming home to where she belonged.
Honestly, Sitakshi had been worried about Sharlene’s adjustment issues: the washrooms, the food and of course the language. But to Sitakshi’s amazement, Sharlene just fitted in perfectly!
Of course, there had been a few hiccups. The whole family had been taken aback when Sharlene had announced at the breakfast space.
“This is what I am going to steal and take back to America’ and held up a bidet spray for all to see. Naani had almost passed out in horror ‘Ram! Ram! Shalu idhar nahi, don’t bring this to the Khana ke Ghar, yeh dining hall heh!’
“Why? it’s new and clean, look it still has the plastic packaging on it?” Asked a very puzzled Sharlene. Her questions had met with guffaws of laughter, giggles from all others, while Naani hit her palm to her forehead, in a gesture of hopelessness at seeing such anarchy.
“Hai ram! Sab gaya, jath gaya, Kul gaya – yeh phirang ke vaje se sab gaya!”
Naani had viewed the scene through crinkled eyes, assessing the laughter of those she considered groundlings of her court. Then in the most strange display of affection, Naani walked up to Sharlene, kissed her forehead and said, “Beti! You have taught me a great lesson. Nothing matters, look at all these people laughing, all of them followed my instructions for years out of fear, not because they believed them. None of them had the courage or the intelligence to either question or correct me. From today, I have no instructions for them, I am free now, you have helped to set me free!”
She calmly left the room, holding her head up a little higher than usual, leaving in her wake a set of young and old family members completely bewildered as to whether they were being admonished or encouraged? Should they rejoice or feel guilty? The years of living in a feudal social structure had made them lose their individuality. Most of them assumed that their role in life was their identity, that thinking beyond the instructions that had been given by those in a superior social position was not required, probably dangerous; ‘obedience over all else’ was a motto that had been singed into their minds with a branding iron as they had fought and struggled alongside the warrior class of Kshatriyas and kings in battles for land and against invasions for millennia.
That was the moment Sitakshi understood why Naani was Ranima of Pindaruch. She could control everyone through simple words and tonal changes. Sitakshi loved the way Sharlene had become Shalu for Naani. She had accepted her so completely. Naani was constantly praising her Hindi and her effort to learn it from a crazy internet website. Protecting her from angry cow keepers whose tub she had taken away to create a soak tub for herself, Sharlene
had woven herself into Naani’s life like a Keri
motif into a Tussar sari from Bhagalpur.
With all these thoughts running through her head she sat there smiling. Her thoughts were interrupted by a vehicle announcing something in Maithili. All she understood was the Ramayana word in it. She peeped over the side wall to see a cycle rickshaw decorated like a chariot straight out of the epics, with a skinny man all dressed up in fancy clothes sitting at the back with a megaphone, while a bored old man cycles the chariot around. It was such a fun thing to see that Sitakshi ran down the staircase to take photographs for posting on her Instagram.
“What is he saying?” Sitakshi jumped as Shalene’s voice startled her. “Let’s ask Naani,” she continued, rushing into the house to find the old lady. Sitakshi followed. She wasn’t going to miss out on anything.
Naani was quite perfunctory. She waved her hands about the Ramlila performance during Navratri. “There will be auditions going on for the play. There will be fourteen days of these plays. Twelve being the number of years of their exile and one in front and back being the
prologue and epilogue of the Ramayana. They have a fresh cast of characters for each day. Oh, the festival season has started! Now no work will ever get done in this place!”
She waved her hands dismissing the whole thing as a wasteful effort. “All the young people of Pindaruch wait for this. They take a great deal of pride in acting in these plays. It all ends, with several broken hearts on one side and elopements on the other.”
Sitakshi interrupted with a few quick questions, “What are the requirements and when is the audition? And where is this held?”
“Requirements?”Nani had snorted in disgust. “Just a basic knowledge of the Ramayana and a deep desire to be on stage.”
The two girls looked at each other, the same thought seemed to have occurred to them, they high fived each other, grinning from ear to ear.
“I was in a theatre club while in college,” declared Sitakshi grandly.
Sharlene smirked, “I have been part of enough family drama to be able to ace this!” But they had a whole new set of people to impress.
They had to begin at the very beginning by getting to know the story. A short summary of the Ramayan written in Maithili by Sitakshi’s late grandfather's friend was their point of entry into this epic tale.
As part of their plan of creating a school and teaching crafts to women in the village, they had already learned how to read a bit of Maithili. But now they had to master it. So with Naani and a book to help them, they began this perilous journey fraught with pronunciation mirages and grammar quicksand. But Naani’s awestruck expression when they said their lines made all the effort worth it.
“Bacche what role do you want?” Asked Naani.
The two girls looked at each other and laughed. “We want to be part of the vanar sena.”
But the audition and casting went off better than they thought. Sharlene was given the role of Ram’s mother Kaushalya and the role of Sita for the final performance was given to Sitakshi. She couldn’t believe it. There were many people encouraging her, while a few were disappointed too. Sarika the collector’s daughter who had always been the Sita on the
Navratri Finale took it to heart. Unknowingly Sitakshi had made an unforgiving enemy.
That night they sat on the terrace with Naani and looked at the stars discussing details of the Navratri festivities that were almost there. It was a beautiful cloudless night; after all the frenetic activity of setting up the school, suddenly there seemed nothing to worry about. All they had to do was wait to see the girls enthusiasm and their ability to learn from an online format.
After an immense amount of discussion, seeking advice and experimenting with formats, the girls had decided a digital school would bring quality education in the most economical way to Pindaruch.
It had been an up-hill struggle to get the permission to do the simplest things; The number of permissions required from the district collector was unbelievable. What was even more unbelievable was his opposition to it. His unpleasant refrain was, “Why are you doing all this? Stay here, enjoy the place, go home. This make a school that make a product, bringing the tourist is all waste. These are poor people, stupid people, just leave them alone to their vegetables and farm and cow. Go, go away.”
The girls had heard this so many times that they had memorised the bad English and his singsong cadence to perfection. On her visits to his office, she would often meet his daughter, Sarika, ordering the office staff around to get unpaid for print outs of her college texts. This had puzzled Sitakshi to the point she had actually asked her the purpose of printing out pages from the text book that she already had, the rude answer she got from Sarika, “I don’t study in the USA, out here we need to write notes and use them for our exams, don’t bother advising me on how to study,” left her feeling so completely perplexed.
It was one of the ladies in the office who saw the shock on Sitakshi’s face and took her aside to explain that Sarika was jealous of the fact that Sitakshi was considered a young leader in the village.
“Leader? That is insane. I don’t lead anybody. I am working for the people over here, trying to improve their lives,” Sitakshi had retorted but Sarika remained a scowling enemy at the backdrop of her hectic life in Pindaruch.
Sitakshi, also knew that the collector disliked her Naani and she never could understand why
but the sly nasty undertone he had when he said, “I know Ranima thinks she can help people and stay Ranima, but you must understand in modern India it is all about progress. Ranima days are going, only government will be boss!”
Sitakshi had wanted to ask Naani about him, but she felt that Naani would be upset so did not touch on the subject with her.
Instead, she felt happy that Raghav had taken an interest in her project. In fact, he had become such good friends with Sharlene, collaborating with her ideas about products that they could export. It was a bit beyond Sitakshi, but she enjoyed sitting with them and listening to the rich tenor of his voice as they planned the future.
Raghav, puzzled her for she had never met anyone like him. She was never sure whether he was being truthful or just pulling her leg. Getting the electricity up and running in the Natt mandir had been entirely his effort. He had convinced the pandit of the temple to look through the trunks and find the plans of the building. He had convinced Naani to give permission to use the Natt Mandir by telling her that by allowing the school to be shifted
there the girls would be closer to her, and she could keep an eye on who was flirting with whom. She had responded in her typical style, “Hatt Kallu, as if I am interested in that. I don’t want noise near the temple.” But her eyes had gleamed with interest, and Raghav had played on that, telling her the shift increased her authority and power in Pindaruch.
Naani had finally succumbed to the idea, she had told Sitakshi, “Your Kallu might be so dark, but he has a clear head and can be charming if he wants to.”
As the electric poles were put in place and the lines were laid, she had found herself alone with him, and summed up the nerve to ask him the question that had been swirling through her mind. “Despite all your misgivings about the girls, you seem very enthusiastic about the school being here- suddenly you have great faith in their ability to learn and grow.”
“I have no illusions about them, but I have faith in you.” He had said looking straight into her eyes with his soft toffee-coloured ones.
She had flushed, feeling shy and embarrassed,
“What do you mean?”
“Just that, I have faith in you for you
are different.”
“I will take that as a compliment,” she had said archly.
“You could,” was his cryptic answer before he went back to giving directions to the workers.
But despite Naani’s growing fondness for him, which could be measured by the growing number of times she referred to him as Kallu [the black one], there was one thing she had refused to change her mind about was the influx of tourists to Pindaruch.
Sharlene and Raghav had planned a ‘Farm Tourism’ project as an extension of Rahgav’s project on sustainable agriculture for his PhD. Thesis. They had wanted to use Naani’s house as a home stay for tourists. She had refused saying, “Our homes and culture are not for display, they are not for sale. We believe our culture needs to grow and progress, it won’t if we showcase it for tourists and sell it for fake appreciation.”
Raghav had been impressed by that stand. Though it was a setback, he understood why. He said he was happy that Naani was so full of strength and of good wholesome Indian values.
He was glad she was the Ranima of Pindaruch and not that creepy collector who used the edge of the irrigation canal to grow illegal plants that he sold to the drug mafia. Rahgav had burnt many crops that had been sown and made a mortal enemy of the collector. The collector could not question him about the plants because he was not supposed to know about this illegal farming, but he informed the big mafia bosses. Rahgav had had a narrow escape; he had been trapped in a hut near the canal behind the mandir by the Mafia and almost burnt alive. He had been warned by his assistant Kishen, a farmer’s young son, just at the nick of time. When Rahgav had questioned the boy about his information, the boy had blurted out that he had overheard the drug gang discussing their plans when he had gone to deliver the drug packages. It was then that Raghav had realised that the collector was gradually but surely transforming the village into a crime and drug running centre; everyone would be involved in all kinds of illegal activities and the collector would be able to control them through threats and blackmail. Rahgav swore to himself that he would never let that happen, he would not let boys like Kishen be preyed upon by evil men like the collector. He would find ways
and means to create jobs that would be healthy, good for the environment and the people.
For Rahgav, Sharlene’s presence was a miracle, as much as Sitakshi’s presence was his strength. These two women had invigorated him into action; he knew he could depend on Sitakshi to support his ideas and convince her Naani and the young women of the village while Sharlene was someone who could help bring design ideas that could generate jobs for the local villagers. Yes, they were like the three deities of Brahma, Vishnu and Maheshwar of Pindaruch - creating, sustaining and transforming Pindaruch into a place that could be a progressive and traditional at the same time. He often lay under the stars and thought about the turn of events.
Sitakshi thought too. Raghav spoke of so many things that she believed in, but unfortunately most people found those ideas old worldly, so in the past she had never spoken of them. Was she drawn to him because of that? Was she drawn to him because of the glint in his eyes when he spoke about his dreams or that crooked smile he gave when he cracked dry jokes? But she was drawn to him; his innocent and earnest chocolate brown face was always at the back of her mind and she felt disappointed when she didn’t see him around her. Yes, she
missed him. She wondered if he missed her as well, but there was no way to tell.
“There are ways, but if you ask me, take your time over, there is no need to stress out about these things,” said a gentle voice. The tone was firm but the voice was warm and friendly.
Sitakshi turned around to Sita sitting on the terrace wall.She jumped to sit next to her. “Thought I would pay you a visit, since you are playing me in the Ramlila. Do you like the idea of being me?”
“I love it! I have been reading about you – you know. You are very different from the image people have of you.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Well, we have been told, you were a perfect wife, devoted to your husband but you were quite plucky and a good swords-person, you really managed to fight off Raavan. You know, things like that.”
That was the most exciting part of the epic for her, it fitted in with her idea of a strong assertive woman- a superhero like the Black Widow, in this case the red bride maybe, but
Sitakshi trailed off, she felt a bit uncomfortable
with Sita watching her intently.
“I see no contradiction. I was brought up a princess by a very wise father, who was also a king. Training in arms, learning the Vedas was part of every royal person’s duty, it is also a privilege to be part of such deep thoughts of wise men down the ages.” She stopped, and thought a bit and then continued, “I don’t know whether I was perfect, because I did lose my patience finally, and went back home forever. But devotion is something all wives need to have, or else why would you be married?”
“Isn’t it demeaning to wait on your husband, do his will all the time, put him first you know what I mean.”
“Actually I don’t, because if you care about someone, you do put the person first. When I was a mother to my twins, I would put them first- why I would kill for them. Being concerned about another’s well-being doesn’t take away from your personality. I might make lunch for my husband, but that doesn’t mean I forget how to ride a horse. Serving up food beautifully is a way I show my care, it is time shared together. It is creating happy moments
for both of us- isn’t that what a marriage is supposed to be? What is important is respect, whatever you do must be done with respect, and most importantly, it must be received with respect. Lack of respect makes Raavan while respect makes Ram.”
“So Raavan never got any respect? He just wanted respect? I am confused.”
“He was craving for respect; his brothers didn’t care …in fact one of them betrayed him. All the women he had feared him. He felt showing them how strong he was would gain their respect not realising that he was frightening the wits out of them. If he had played the veena for them, they might have respected him a bit more.” Sita was thoughtful again, “Yes, it is a mistake many people make. They confuse fear with respect and make a mess of their relationship.”
“Aha! I think I am getting it.”
Sita interrupted her "I know you will think I am being a ‘washed- out- doormat’ devoted wife when I say this but I must say it - I have seen Ram fight demons; I have seen him ruthless in battle but the moment he was truly strong was when he stood at the lands’ end and prayed to the ocean to be calm. To acknowledge that there
are people, things and places that are larger, stronger, more beautiful and more talented than you doesn’t diminish your personality, it makes you a wiser person and only those who truly know themselves have the confidence to be wise.”
“Wow! I also wanted to ask you, was there a moment that you understood that he loved you?”
“Well, it was the same moment, you know when he stood there, at the end of his known world, willing to cross oceans to find me, I was sure, which is why walking through fire for him was not a problem for me; though down the ages people have said many unpleasant things about that.”
“Hey, what is that bright light?” Sitakshi turned her head to see the sky had turned orange with the rising sun, Sharlene and Naani were sleeping curled up on their chairs. She turned, but she knew the conversation was over. Sita must have been part of her dream.
After all the Pujas in the morning, and attending school to see that the classes were being held, Sitakshi was tired. She sat down with Sharlene in the verandah and practiced her dialogues.
Then she pulled out the D- Day dress from her closet just to look at it once more. This was also the costume for the play and even though there were months to go before the event, she needed to see that it was all there. It was a pink lehenga handcrafted by Naani's friend in the village. The cloth was hand woven and painted with Madhubani figures of Sita and Ram's return journey to Ayodhya. She loved it! Wearing the traditional outfits at all the festivals was one of the best things about being here. Naani had given her some simple jewellery which looked elegant on her. She had planned to have her hair tied up leaving just two strands of them on either side falling down on her pink cheeks. Her clinking bangles and anklets, Sitakshi was sure she would manage to look graceful like never before.
The final play was to happen at the Natt mandir of the Kul Devi temple there. The classroom partitions would have to be shifted to create a stage space. She needed Raghav for that. “There,” she thought to herself, “I am again trying to find ways to involve him.”
But it wasn’t just her, she found Sharlene calling out to him from the window.
“Raghav, wait, we need your advice and maybe your help later on.”
“Come down stairs. I am waiting for you.” Sitakshi heard him shout out from the street.
The girls were surprised to find him wearing turmeric and sandal tilak on his forehead and multiple woven bracelets on his wrists. Raghav caught them staring. “It’s Rakhi today.These are hand woven bracelets that are good luck wishes from my sisters, and I have promised to protect them. It’s a brother- sister ritual following the tradition of Draupadi in the Mahabharat, who tore the edge of her sari to put bandage around Krishna’s bleeding finger. He was so touched, he promised to protect her forever.”
Sharlene was almost moved to tears, ‘you have such beautiful traditions with fantastic stories to support the ideas.’
‘Hey,’ Sitakshi interrupted. ‘ Come home, let me tie a Rakhi for you ..’
‘I have sisters, you don’t have to tie a Rakhi
for me…’
‘That is so rude of you!’
‘Will you let me finish? What I meant was, that you don’t have to tie a Rakhi, for me to protect you..’ his voice softened, there was a strange edgy tone to it ‘I don’t need you to be my sister.’
Sitakshi couldn’t help but ask, ‘What do you need me to be?’
They stood there looking at each other for a moment; for the first time Raghav was hesitant, he had a confused look in his eyes ‘ At the moment I don’t know … I need some time to think,’ he sounded so vulnerable yet so truthful that Sitakshi just wanted to hug him, instead she just said ‘ Ok, you can figure out later.’
‘What was that?’ Sharlene whispered hoarsely at her.
But Sitakshi had already turned her attention, getting Raghav to plan a shift of classrooms so that the rehearsals could happen on the stage.
It had been a few grueling weeks, leading up to the Ramlila function, for the three friends; the excitement
among the students was difficult to control and Sitakshi, struggled to get them to focus on the online material that was being shown: ‘I have to plan out some strategies to get them to remember their lessons’ she thought to herself.
It was while she was rehearsing her lines that the idea struck her- she linked the Ramayana to the classes in school! Students were assigned roles by picking out a piece of paper from a colourfully painted Kalash with a string of mango leaves around the rim: some were the Vanar Sena; Some were the commoners of Ayodhya; others were foot soldiers of Ram’s army. Each group had to watch the online lesson – maybe a documentary on the history channel or on Nat Geo and explain it to the other groups, who would ask them difficult questions to see if they could answer them. Then, Sharlene, Sitakshi and Naani would pretend to be Sita or Surpanaka or Mandodari and ask them questions that would link their learning to the exciting epic they were going to act in; Naani’s questions and expected answers would have everyone’s eyes rolling in exasperation.
They would quietly laugh at Naani for her refusal to accept defeat!
Raghav had dropped in one afternoon; he had stood around and enjoyed the hustle bustle and the noise of the young girls fiercely defending their ideas till they almost punched each other! In fact, he joined the soldier’s group and asked difficult questions on the nitrogen cycle and crop rotation, which the students answered rather well!
‘I am impressed’ he later told Sitakshi ‘I never thought they would be such enthusiastic learners – you have created an exciting learning system through the internet.’
Sitakshi's heart leapt up with his praise and she blushed, response to him was however a very prim ‘Thank you’.
All those nights of struggle to plan the schedule; the effort to find links to good learning content; the frustration of poor connectivity; being unsure of how to plan curriculum was worth it for that bit of praise from Raghav.
‘I can’t have my emotions doing somersaults, the moment he says something nice! I have to get a grip on myself’ she promised herself.
The rehearsals were tough too: She had to learn complicated dialogue in a language that she had very basic knowledge of, but what was really difficult was being over dramatic and screaming out the dialogues – that really drained her of all energy!
Sharlene had dropped out of the Ramlila. She was far too busy trying to get her production unit for handcrafted lacquered wickerwork and jute fabric products started. That was draining her energy as she struggled with the language, poor internet and finding a steady set of workers. She was amazed at the skill of the women in the village but they tended to prioritize their husbands and family more, treating Sharlene’s job as a hobby. This truly frustrated her! But the most problematic area to negotiate had been the Collector's wife, Kavya. Her viscious beady eyes followed Sharlene every moment of the day! Sharlene would be startled to find her standing surreptitiously behind the Door curtain of the shed that she had converted into a space for the village ladies to work on their crafts projects; she would looking at the designs with a slyness that was so obvious that if hadn’t been a problem Sharlene would have laughed hysterically!
‘She is stalking me! what do I do?’ She had almost screamed in frustration to Raghav and Sitakshi. But they were helpless, because the only path to justice would be through the collector’s office, which was obviously prejudiced against them.
Sharlene had also discovered that she was threatening the women who worked for her with legal action. The women had told Sharlene that Kavya Bhabi had said she would report them to higher authorities in the government for working with a foreigner who was an illegal immigrant. The women had run off out of fear, it had taken almost ten days of coaxing by all three of them to bring them back to work. This had caused immense delay in the production line, Sharlene had to struggle with supply chains and orders that would be disrupted and delayed.
Sharlene found herself exhausted and near tears. ‘What does this achieve for her? I have never taken any of her workers away; in fact i do not encourage to come to the workshops, because I am sure they will not listen to me’
Naani had decided to step in as a human resource specialist for Sharlene’s workshop
and help solve the issue with runaway workers. It hadn’t taken her long to resolve the problem in her own way.
‘Look, Look Shalu, this photograph of Kavya in Delhi social circle, some club she is a member of. See, her Sari - all Chiffon and delicate colours! Ah! look at the thin gold chain with pearl drop locket’. Naani stuck her phone out to Sharlene, who stared hard at the photograph on the screen, completely confused about what she should be looking at and for what purpose!
“Yarre! You phirangs are sometimes so silly! never understand the system,” she had, in her own characteristic style, slapped her palm against her forehead.
“Have you seen how she dresses in Pindaruch? All simple cotton lehenga and mulmul dupatta, all dusty and dirty and she calls all these women together to her house and says, see I am just like you. Let us work together and create a cooperative and we will make and sell things and earn money.”
“She makes all the women contribute money to buy raw materials for the products and when they are made, she goes to Delhi all dressed
up and sells them for huge profits but comes back to tell the women that she could only make minimal profit. She is a cheater,” Naani emphasised this point by stabbing the air with her index finger while Raghav and Sitakshi covered their faces so that Naani couldn’t see their laughter.
‘But, what should I do?’ asked a very perplexed Sharlene
Naani hadn’t finished. “She is a cheater, and she also has no class- see in Pindaruch she dresses like all the lower caste women!. I would never do that. When I talk to the women, I dress in my rich Bhagalpuri silks, I go out like a queen and tell them the truth- work hard and you will earn.”
Sharlene slapped her palm to her forehead like Naani, crying out despair, “So Naani what should I do?”
“Silly girl! don’t cry? Ranima is here.” Naani held her self high and in a haughty tone said, “You dress up in my silks and go to the American Embassy and tell them about this cheating Kavya.”
Raghav and Sitakshi couldn’t hold it in any longer, they burst into hysterical laughter
which, despite all her problems, Sharlene joined in as well. Only Naani looked miffed and felt her advice was being ignored.
“Don’t worry,” Raghav had told her later, “let their products sell and let the women earn some money. They will be so devoted to work that you will have a tough time telling them to take a day off!”
But the incident that had truly shaken Sharlene up was when she had returned to her room, from late night rehearsals on the roof, to find it ransacked. She rushed off screaming across the house, setting off alarm bells. Naani’s personal police force had rushed up with all their guns and revolvers to find and kill the trespassers. Thankfully no-one was found and there had been no bloodshed. Sharlene had carefully collected her things together and found that there was nothing missing; she felt horribly uncomfortable, almost violated. She could visualise ugly goons with their thick moustaches and greasy vests touching her things with their dirty hands. The thought wanted to make her throw up. But her passport and ID cards had been pulled out, and left spread across the bed. Sharlene feared that they had taken photographs
of it and might misuse the information. Raghav had said he would ask Kishen to find out all the details. He was sure they had attempted to warn Sharlene not to interfere in Kavya’s area of women’s workshops.
These events had scarred Sharlene mentally, much of her enthusiasm for the play had dampened because of the attack. Even though Rahgav had found out that her documents had not been photographed, she still didn’t feel brave enough to go back to rehearsing. Also, all the effort to contact her friends in the west to create the market for her unique products, she found it difficult to rehearse at night. She had found the drama too complex in its imagery and metaphors, “I don’t really understand the context, maybe when I see the performance it will make sense,” she had said apologetically. “I would love to be part of a folk dance sequence, but the rest of the stuff, let me off,” she had pleaded.
But it had made it lonely for Sitakshi.
She would walk up and down the terrace trying to learn her lines and wonder how Sita seems to be so docile and obedient in places. How she does whatever her husband wants her to do,
then she is like a spoilt brat demanding things and making wrong decisions like sending Ram off to catch the golden deer and crossing the line to give a beggar alms. Adding to all this, she is like a warrior princess fighting Raavan and finally she was this dignified queen who was wronged by her husband. She seems to be hurtling from one extreme situation to another. How can you become so many things? What was she really like? It was so difficult to act like her.
One evening, Naani decided she wanted to check Sitakshi’s preparation for the play. She struggled up the steep steps to the terrace, smiling to herself as she heard Sitakshi shouting lines from the part where Raavan is abducting her, from the floor below.
“Array waw! At least she has learnt that in modern Pindaruch, screaming was the easiest way to get your voice heard,” she thought, her sardonic smile on her face underlining her sarcasm.
“Hai Naani!” Sitakshi called out to her, getting her a hard wooden stool for her to sit on, “There aren’t any chairs here, we are using them in the school for you to judge debates. If it
is difficult for you to sit, I’ll run down and
fetch something.”
“Nai Sita Ma, I came to see how well you are practicing your part. Do you like Sita Ma’s role?”
“Of course, I do. She is such a strong woman! She calmly endured so much. She is quite a role model.”
“Yes, but who is following her role model, haan?” grumbled Naani. “Look at the girls today. They are not interested in being respected, not interested in expanding their thoughts to go beyond those silly films they watch…”
“What do you mean?” Asked Sitakshi as she was genuinely puzzled about young millennials trying to behave like a 7000 b.c epic princess. She found it difficult to pretend to be Sita in a play, despite her quick conversations with Sita. How did Naani expect every girl to be like Sita in this time and age!
“Tell me Beti, was Sita just a beautiful princess who was kidnapped and her husband fought the evilest man to get her back? Do you believe that?” Naani's tone had a strange edge to it, as if she was talking about something so close to her
soul, something that really touched deep beliefs within her ancient wisdom in unpleasant ways. “What is your opinion of her? Tell Me Naah?”
Sitakshi was so relieved that she had spent some time talking to Sita, she confidently launched into a positive assessment of Sita. “She was very intelligent and was educated not just in theory but also in practice. She had a generous heart and was very compassionate…” The image of the sprightly Sita sitting on the terrace wall sprung before her eyes and she continued, “She was always strong willed and cheerful, spreading smiles wherever she went... Aha, about the point Sita had made about respect and relationships, she added, “She understood people. That is how I would describe her. Do you agree with that?”
“Perfect! Beti, meri Sita Maiyya, you have understood your namesake perfectly. I knew you would.” Naani was so happy that she almost clapped her hands in joy and said, “Notice in your description you haven’t mentioned her beauty. You didn’t need to because her actions and thoughts made her beautiful. That is why she had the spirit of Shakti in her, she had the power to transform evil into good; even Raavan didn’t dare touch her.”
Sitakshi nodded in agreement, however she wasn’t sure what Naani was trying to explain to her.
“This is the soil that protected Sita. This is the soil that brought forth such strong women. Not women who fight and grab, but women who support and create – women of worth, who chose men of worth as their partners. Naani had become quite animated, “You every year there is a bridegroom mela held here.”
“Of course, Ramji’s swayamvar.” Sitakshi felt happy that there was something she understood.
“Yes, in honour of the swayamvar in which Sita chose Ram: She chose him while he stood there wearing simple cotton clothes of a student, she didn’t care to know who he was. She saw a strong, but humble young man with the power to succeed and she chose him- what has it been reduced to today?” Naani stopped with this rhetorical question and shook her head in dismay and then continued,”The other day, your Kallu, that clever boy Raghav …”
“Why would he be MY Kallu? And that is not even a polite way to refer to him, where I come from you might be jailed for saying such things,” objected Sitakshi.
A knowing smile that spread across Naani’s face made Sitakshi blush. “Sita Maiya, I am old but not blind nor am I so removed from the daily emotions and thoughts of life to believe that Kallu comes here so often to talk to me. I am not arrogant and silly to think when he calls me Ranima that he does that out of royal deference he feels for me.” Naani chuckled, “But what is important is his attitude. I like him. Kallu the dark one! The name is one of affection, and he knows that in our land where more than half the people are dark skinned, Kallu isn’t an insult. It is an endearment!”
That silenced Sitakshi, deep in her heart she was happy that Naani liked him, she just grinned and said, “Oh,Naani! Who would ever call you old?” hugging her grandmother tightly, wondering at the old lady’s wisdom.
But Naani was not to be deterred this evening, she was here to pour out all the misgivings she had.
“But you know what he said to me? He said, “Rani Ma, please stop this groom’s Mela. Only you can stop it.” When I asked why, he was clear that it has no glory. Girls gaudily dressed with loads of make -up to hide the truth of
their stupid thoughts come with their parents to look for a man who has money to buy all that make -up for her to keep up the story of happy togetherness. It is shameful that men are ready to be bought as much as women’s families are willing to buy. It is now like a slave market where both sides are enslaved to money.”
“I agree with him that girls no longer take the opportunity to see the skill and personality of the man, they never ask: who will understand and hold me in esteem, which man among these deserve my honour? Instead, they look at who is good to look at and their parents look at who is rich.Ugh!” Naani stopped for breath, as anger flashed in her eyes.
Sitakshi wondered what was the solution to this problem. She wasn’t sure it was a problem because high school was full of popular girls noted for their beauty and silliness.
“It happens the world over," she thought. “The prom and the homecoming king and queen celebrate just that, don’t they?” she wondered.
Naani wouldn’t stop, her emotions just overflowed. “Getting married when they should be studying. What a waste of a life!
What must Sita be thinking about her precious country Mithila? They can’t even protect their girls anymore.” Naani got up and hugged Sitakshi. “My Sita Maiyya, you have saved this place with your school. You have created a marvelous school, not just boring memorization but so much thinking. I love going to your school, just to ask questions to irritate the girls into thinking.” She winked and smiled cheekily at Sitakshi.
Sitakshi realized the truth about Naani’s words. Back in America, young people were crowned king and queen for their beauty but were not expected to either get married or stay married. Well, that created problems of a different kind. She sighed. Nothing and nowhere is perfect, but Pindaruch had taught her that navigating the problems made life exciting! It brought adventure and joy…. and maybe love?
“I am so happy you like my school. I am not sure just one school can bring about so much change but I hope and pray that it does.”
“Of course, it will!” Said Naani enthusiastically. “It has been said in our books of wisdom: educate a girl and a family is educated. Because, an educated girl makes better choices, demands
better quality of people around her, and she is the shakti to create them. You beti have Sita’s shakti to Pindaruch. This was my dream.” Tears glistened in naani’s eyes. “Arrey, I had come up to see you acting as Sita. Look at what I have done.”
And so, the weeks of practice with pronunciation and strengthening her vocal cords was over. Sitakshi looked at the stage set up in the Natt mandir in wonder. It really looked like a piece of heaven brought down to earth.
Everyone was for Sitakshi. Everyone she needs to revel in this moment of absolute self- realisation. Her eyes wandered aloud. She isn’t particularly paying attention to the lights and the merriment. She soaked in the miraculous auditory rhythm of the chatter surrounding her, the excitement, the rush of something great to come. Navratri it is!
Isn’t this a dream? The journey she had had in such a short time, from the spick and span alleys of the western world to this rustic congregation, wherein everyone is smiling right from their hearts? For Sitakshi, this was a whole new feeling, celebrating Navratri in Pindaruch was so very different from the
starchy & artificial festivities that she had participated in America. Out there it has always been a learned appreciation. “Navratri is here so let us get our exotic outfits out, look for songs from the Bollywood movies to copy, let us do a few dances at the local school hall or maybe a temple.” It’s as if the celebration has achieved a life of its own, heart beating with the guffaws of elders and the energetic gibberish of joy from toddlers all the way up to the teenagers. And she would’ve never caught a glimpse of this back home.
All the people she has to thank have seated themselves comfortably around her. It’s like Sitakshi’s close-knit group of superheroes, just like in the movies. She can’t thank Sharlene enough for flying down and accompanying her in her sabbatical for self-introspection. She has her Naani, who has stood like a pillar of strength and virtue, literally laying the steps ahead of Sitakshi to come closer and closer to her culture. It’s because of Naani that Sitakshi got herself ingrained in the ethos of Pindaruch, a village Naani says has changed so much, yet has its core ideology and disciplines pristine. It's more than obvious that two people, across several generations and continents, can’t agree
on everything. But she is part relieved and part grateful to Naani for giving her the mental space she needs to explore and perceive her motherland, her way.
Then there was Raghav. It has been an oddly interesting experience for Sitakshi to get to know him, and not know enough. Any guy his age would aspire for plushy jobs in Delhi, or seek something supremely money-minded overseas. What he seeks is what people call riding against the tide, often in vain. He is a stickler for justice and parity in this unfortunately disparate global society. His thoughts and beliefs could be called truly aspirational at best. Sitakshi hoped that there would be for once, a tinge of satisfaction in the smirks and speeches of this born soldier. Whether or not he feels the same is another mystery that Sitakshi would take her own sweet time to unravel. Unlike other girls her age, she is really comfortable in her own skin and doesn’t hanker for attention.
“Snap out of it, will you!” Sharlene let out a sudden gush of whisper in Sitakshi’s right ear, whisking her out of her thoughts. “If you invite someone, be a host one can rely on. You’ve been like, I don’t know, in some other world ever since the tents switched on those lights!” she said.
“Those are not lights, silly! Those are firecrackers, and we shall get to see plenty of them in a short while. By the way, we are going to see an epic fight happen soon, crazier and bigger than the ones in Star Wars,” Sitakshi quipped.
“Shut up! You are telling me that they are matching Darth Vader with this show? It seems like a carnival to me.”
“It is, and is the climax of the greatest mythology of the Sanatan Dharma. This is ‘The Ramayana’ we are talking about. And you’ll see Ram defeat Raavan with just an arrow. I can’t stop myself from giving spoilers, but someone here will play Ram, dressed like him, and is gonna shoot an arrow right at this towering structure of Raavana. And that’s where the Raavana made of firecrackers gonna lit up the sky and the entire village …”
Sharlene pressed her hand hard against Sitakshi’s, stopping her from spoiling further while expressing her nervousness at this herculean exhibition. She wasn’t prepared for this humongous construct made of firecrackers to be lit by an arrow, like a bullet triggering a bomb. Will there be an explosion like that?
If that happens, how are these people not running away right now? An army of such questions swarmed Sharlene’s mind, but there was one conspicuous question sticking out, and she had to ask Sitakshi.
“Hey! with all the workshop ‘Jhamela’ on my head i have quite forgotten the story - Why are Ram and Raavan fighting in the first place?” Sharlene checked to see whether Sitakshi had noticed how she had slipped in a Hindi word into her sentence. She was immensely proud about her level of Hinglish.
“To answer that, I’ll have to make not just a long story, but an ancient epic short, so I’ll just touch upon a few characters. Ram is the ruler of Kosala kingdom. Ram is one of the four children of King Dasharatha, who had three wives, namely Kausalya, Kaikeyi, and Sumitra. Ram and his half-brother Lakshman had an indestructible bond, which was proved true when Kaikeyi instigated Dasharatha to send Ram and his accomplices to a 14-year exile, because she wanted her son Bharat to inherit the kingdom, although Ram was the deserving one.”
“What a …” Sharlene stopped short of mouthing the cuss word, immediately realizing the nature of her surroundings.
“Smart girl! Now Ram, his wife Sita, and Lakshman left Ayodhya, the capital of the kingdom, to Panchavati. They were leading frugal, yet spiritual lives until Raavan disguised himself as a beggar and stole the unsuspecting, innocent Sita from her place. Raavan kidnapped her and imprisoned her in his kingdom called Lanka. Ram had the infallible support of his devout disciple, Hanuman, who wreaked havoc in Lanka with his tail on fire, igniting every household he passed by, as a miniscule part of his revenge. Sita was rescued and the ensuing battle between Ram and Raavan exposed the latter’s true colours as a ten-headed-demon. Here, we see Ram land his finishing blow on Raavan! This epic conclusion of the fight is celebrated with Raavan Dahan, as you’ll see in a short while. Also starting is a theatrical display of Ramayana, called Ram Lila, at that stage right there,” Sitakshi pointed at the makeshift podium illuminated by bulbs and tube lights at odd positions. Mismanaged? Yes, but entertaining nonetheless, Sitakshi thought.
“Hmm … hmm!” Raghav chipped in with his affirmations, surprising Sitakshi.She turned to look at him, just to fathom his inner -reactions, you know the deep down feelings that people
have in romantic novels or romcoms. Maybe it was the flickering lights that left shadows that blurred the edges of all the emotion. In the silhouettes and shadows, Sitakshi thought Rahgav looked so charming but also very distracted. She wondered what he was staring at in the distance, when Naani’s explanation broke her little spell of’ trying to figure Raghav's moment.
“What it also means, Beti, is that the good always triumphs over the evil,” quipped Naani, shaking the girls and the boy with a nudge for attention. “Simply put, it means that evil will dawn on us at the times we least expect, but we must never bow down to fear. Lord Rama, Lord Lakhshmana, Goddess Sita, and even Raavana have imparted invaluable lessons of life to us down countless generations. They are always relevant. Just imagine if something bad were to happen to us, we should fight it instead of accepting defeat.”
While the women were drawn into this unusual summary of the greatest epic ever, Raghav felt an odd calm, something was not quite right but he couldn’t put a finger to it. It was upsetting. He had been extremely worried when he had
seen a couple of people who looked like the collector’s henchmen near the check dams and barrage. They had said that they were fishing on a boat; but their equipment had looked strange, besides their loud singing and ungraceful dancing didn’t fit in with the serious angler’s attitude of sitting like a books- ends with their rods in hand. Seconds later, he saw the lights flicker and he was sure that the two men had been up to no good. As the disturbances caught everyone’s notice, he got up to see why the generator, installed recently, was acting up. His reassuring gestures were not enough to the intuitive Sitakshi, who wanted to know what’s wrong, and help Raghav, should he be in some trouble. She hesitated to get up and follow him, inviting immediate attention of gossip-mongers. More importantly, she didn’t want to disappoint Naani in any way. Sharlene has guessed her feelings about Raghav earlier than she had expected her to. But nothing must embarrass Naani, the head of her family here, and a person of immense reputation in Pindaruch, Sitakshi reasoned with herself.
However, she gave in and rose, telling Sharlene and Naani that she is just checking on Raghav if something goes wrong. After about ten minutes
of walk following Raghav’s trail to the bushes, panic took over Sitakshi.
The gust of the wind was fearfully strong. She saw Raghav atop the transformer that was providing the electricity supply to the main grid of this festival. “Why the hell are you there? You will hurt yourself!” she shouted.
“Can you hear that rumble? That is the sound of water surging,” Raghav shouted back. “Something doesn’t feel right. Tell the people to pack up and go. There’s no use waiting.”
An eerie rumble from afar shushed Raghav quiet, like a docile kid obeying a sinister nanny. It wasn’t rock-hard, but a fluid sound that was becoming loud, pronounced, and ominous. Within seconds, Raghav had a birds-eye view of a sea that wasn’t supposed to be there! The dam has fallen, and the river was plundering every single tree, twig, hutment, and living being, swooshing, tossing any remnant of civilization on its way up in the air like the tongue of an aquatic monster.
“RUUUUUUNNNN!” screamed Raghav, without a care for himself stuck in a pole. He had to remove the fuse, or else the village would get electrocuted and die a quick death.
Sitakshi ran as fast as she could, screamed as loud as she could, to alert as many people as she could about the incoming flood. Sharlene and Naani were dumbstruck, as they heard the ecstatic environment turn into a war field like the flip of a coin. Everyone ran wherever they could. Kids were not even given the scope to cry. They were bundled in by their parents fleeing for life as they heard the river water approach. The first thing that crumbled was the towering structure of Raavan. It fell on the stage set for Ram lila, smashing it into smithereens! The collision of the structure with the ground made a tremor shaking everyone out of their wits. None spoke a word, as they were running, gasping for breath. Sitakshi had the toughest job on earth. She had to run fast to safety, but not too fast for her septuagenarian Naani.
They had an idea. Sharlene and Sitakshi had Naani grab their shoulders on either side and just lift her feet, so that the two girls could run. That helped pace the group up.
Raghav did it! Even when he had his first splash into the roaring, soaring current, he knew he killed the fuse. He was a street-smart lad and knew that the only hope of survival from this hell is clinging on to the wooden transformer.
Wood floats in water, that’s what he learned in
school. School better be right now.
When he regained consciousness, Raghav saw a group of women staring anxiously at him. They were Sharlene, Naani, and Sitakshi. The group was surrounded by every living member of the village! Before he could regain composure, he saw Naani muttering something hardly audible. “That was Raavan … Raavan!” she kept saying.
The soldier was not ready for such an unholy start to his second life sans the afterlife, he thought, as everyone was in a state of terrible disrepair. When he got up, he saw the ruins of a thriving rural settlement. There were huts that were turned into heaps of moist wood. The farms became little puddles and swamps. That hit him hard, as he knew that Navratri is the celebration of the harvest season, and farms full of rotten crops translate to an inevitable disaster for Pindaruch’s economy.
If only that were the sole plunder on Pindaruch then. Naani said that soon after the village was flooded, a group of armed dacoits vandalized the settlement, looting whatever they could grab. It was a matter of life and death for the villagers, and so they chose the former, giving
the bandits a free hand. It was all too sudden, but choreographed. “How come they storm the village only after the flood? Why were they not harmed by the flood?? It doesn’t make sense!!” Naani’s hoarse voice cut through the fabric of Pindaruch’s conscience.
“But what we saw is the descent of none other than Bhagwan Vishnu here!” Naani said as Sitakshi, Sharlene and other girls tried to calm her down. “This young man from the city is the one you should thank for! It’s because of his presence of mind that we all survive! How can he not be another avatar of Vishnu Bhagwaan?!” saying this, Naani dug her face into Sitakshi’s bosom crying.
The women cried. And there stood the saviour, embarrassed and confused by the undue adulation he could not yet comprehend.
The only respite from this state of downfall was Sitakshi’s own escape to fantasyland, and she could not thank the heavens enough for keeping the temple intact. She paused for a moment, closed her eyes, and waited for her sakhi from the figments of ancient times, lending an ear to her deepest secrets.
“Tell me! Isn’t Lord Vishnu also an avatar of Lord Ram?” Sitakshi asked.
“Yes, he is! But you care as if you seek ‘your Ram’!” replied Sita.
It’s difficult to destroy heritage, when it survives in every living component of a community that validates its
greatness. Indeed, the vandalism delivered a dent, but people got ahead of it in no time. Indeed, the flood created a scenario grim enough for several farmers to think of suicide, but Pindaruch didn’t realise that it had several angels watching them over, saving them from tragedy whenever, wherever. The Navratri celebrations had been washed out with the flood waters. One of the most gruesome images that Sitakshi could remember of that dark night was the cold evil smile on Sarika’s face. Sitakshi was struggling to keep pace with Sharlene to keep Naani safe, she had tottered past Sarika, who had ripped through her beautiful dress with a sharp tree branch. She had laughed out cruelly, “You wanted to be Sita, the star of the show, but cheap girls like you bring bad luck, the whole festivity was ruined, you don’t deserve to wear such clothes. Wait till the people of Pindaruch chase you out for being an ill omen.
That had truly shaken Sitakshi up; her confidence about the people had shaken from the roots. It was as if she was looking at the real faces of Pindaruch with the filter of a beautifying photography app.She could see that
many of the young women had been influenced by Sarika’s superstitious gossip and character assassination. She could see sly glances as she walked by and heard whispers repeated, “Look at her, she throws herself at Raghav, a shameless girl who pretends she is from here. She has brought us all ill luck!”
The pain in Sitakshi’s heart was almost physical, sometimes she found it difficult to breathe when she heard the gossip. Her rage within was distracting her from getting back to work. Naani was concerned; she tried to speak about it to Kavita but was shocked that her daughter Kavita did not respond like a true mother from Pindaruch would. She seemed unaffected by her daughter’s problem. “It is just a little heartache. She will grow strong with it.” Had been her idea of supporting her only child.
“My daughter is a useless parent,” Naani fumed. “She needs to come back here and see what is happening.” But to Naani’s dismay her daughter and son-in-law had decided to delay their annual diwali trip to Pindaruch because they wanted to come and pick Sitakshi up at the end of her year long ‘Pindaruch project’.
Kavita had been quite clear “Let her be with you and experience things on her own without me
intervening and explaining things. Sometimes it is better to be thrown in at the deep end of the pool. one learns to find their own swimming style. She is a rather strong headed young girl who won’t take it kindly if I interfere,” had been her suggestion.
Naani had been devastated by her daughter’s decision.
One evening, Naani had found Sitakshi leaning on the terrace wall staring out into the vast dark expanse that seemed shroud Pindaruch these days. As Naani put her shawl around Sitakshi, she asked ‘Are you upset about Pindaruch or are you regretting your decision about being here?’ wondering about the emotional turmoil this young girl was going through all alone, without her parents to talk to or advise her.
Sitakshi turned her dark large eyes away from the dark horizon and looked at Naani and smiled; she gathered up the shawl that Naani had put around her shoulders to her nose and took a deep breath. “This smells of you, the incense sticks you use, the spices of the kitchen and the earth of Pindaruch. How old is this shawl?”
“It is old, can you see the slight zari work that is still left at the corners? My mother-in- law
had pulled it out of an ancient trunk that she had discovered in a secret tunnel below the house that ran between our house here and the Darbhanga palace. It must have been a secret love affair or political alliance, who knows?” Naani trailed off, wondering what the connection between her old battered shawl and the questions she asked.
Sitakshi hugged Naani and said ‘How can I be upset with Pindaruch, look at the amazing things you find by just wearing your Naani’s shawl? How can I ever regret coming to a beautiful place like this?’ then she nodded wisely and added ‘ yes, but we need to reflect on what has happened. There has been a problem, we need to reconsider our work and how it might be affecting the people.I am also upset by the way everyone seems to be talking about me but it is nothing that cannot be solved! Give it some time and thought, I will surely find a solution.’ with that she turned towards the dark horizon once again.
“Look Naani, look out there, Can you see how dark it is?” Naani could do nothing but nod her head. She gulped and breathed heavily to get rid of the choking pain of unshed tears in her throat.
“That place used to be all lit up before the flood, now it is all dark, with a strong stench of rotting crops. We need to do something before Diwali, which is in fifteen days time! You know, in all my problems or confusions here, Sita would give me a bit of advice but this time, no matter where I look, she doesn’t seem to be there. Maybe she thinks I need to sort this mess out myself.”
Naani hugged her again. “You need to be like Sita. Sita did not waste her energy listening to other people; she did not care about the world’s opinion, she just focused on Ram and his ideas and wishes. For her that was enough.”
Sitakshi laughed and said, “I don’t have a Ram
to focus on, so I have to figure it out myself.”
“Of course you have a wise guide- you have me.” The two women, one old, tired yet full of hope and the other young, full of enthusiasm and burning up with desire to change the world, held on to each other and laughed. They knew they had fifteen days to turn the little world of Pindaruch around, they were determined they would.
Somewhere in the middle of this emotional exchange, naani realised that her daughter’s
style of parenting may not be something she approved of but it was effective! It made her darling Sita maiya a much stronger person.
Rebuilding trust and confidence took way longer than Sharlene, Sitakshi, and Raghav thought it would. Natural disasters sapped the strength from families. Fear of the event reoccuring stopped them from using the money and resources in other areas of repair but there was effort put in by everybody. They could see families skip one meal a day for weeks at a stretch. Fathers decided to migrate to cities for jobs that would earn them a quick buck so tha Diwali would have something to celebrate about, while grandfathers got up from their recliners, picked up sickles, and took back control of the household. Women doubled up as vendors of fruits, jaggery, and various types of snacks, stationed alongside the highways connecting Pindaruch to the neighboring township for better business. They did this after they were done with household chores and farming. The village got up and running after just three days of mourning, just to make the kids realize the insurmountable difference between their sense of entitlement and Pindaruch’s resolve for subsistence.
The least the three friends could do was go frugal and match their livelihoods as per the
emergency. They did that and more. They burnt their midnight oil trying to find the culprit. That’s when they came face to face with fear. They were self-aware adults, but were treated like gullible children and shooed away from police stations and panchayats. So, they went for Plan B, which was speaking to villagers directly. From the orchestrated silence of family heads and implicit signs of feigned ignorance, they could infer that people were not yet ready to call out anybody in this moment of chaos out of fear of consequences. They were afraid to speak up. All the trio wanted to know was the identity of the conspirator, they had an inkling as to who it was, the perpetrators were shamelessly hiding in plain sight, but they needed proof.
Unfortunately, the trio also encountered socio-political issues head-on. People weren’t interested in interacting with other social strata. Caste system loomed large, and things got complicated way too much, way soon, as they tried to unravel the riddle behind pleasantries and cautionary words. Raghav got sentimental about the disparity in the mindsets and hoped for a ‘new world order’, while the girls exercised their rationale. They knew that uprooting age- old beliefs, although created by hearsay, is next
to impossible. That’s like bringing a sword before a battalion of military tanks.
Naani had an answer to this, which they couldn’t disregard. “This is Maya,” she said. “This is the force of nature. We can’t escape it. We can only learn to adapt to it. All you girls and boys of the city have been richly educated in science. You interpret the world in scientific terms, but have you ever realised that there are so many things that science hasn’t yet found an answer to? We are literally living in a world where miracles are not that uncommon. And miracles are caused by Maya!” she remarked.
Raghav wanted to make his point on how science is perhaps THE only discipline that can find answers to pretty much everything. “Naani, there are scientists because of whom we could solve the laws of nature. Sir Isaac Newton proved that gravity is the reason why we fall back on the earth after we jump. He proved that every action has an equal and opposite reaction, and so many other things …”
“Look, beta!” Naani interrupted with an authoritative tone Raghav wasn’t prepared for. “You said just now that the man you were talking of ‘solved’ the laws of nature. Doesn’t that
mean that Nature has had its laws predestined way before us humans tried to solve it? That’s because we are trying to understand a force, an energy that has been there since the universe was formed. It is elementary and stays within us. The problems you are facing are just like the action and reaction opposing each other. Maya has introduced itself to you all as the public opposition you are facing. That’s the reality. You need to work your way through it. Keep your hopes high up and focus all your energy in finding a solution for the village. Remember that the fight has only begun. And if you are good at it, you will reach your goals faster.” her voice calming down as she saw the bubbly generation sit up and take notice.
Word got out that Brij Bhushan Pandey, the Collector, was leaving no stones unturned to turn this economic distress into good fortune for himself. In every gram panchayat meeting, Pandey was heard, if not misheard, as a knock- off of a messiah, screaming at farmers for not having a contingency plan in case of such natural disasters. He also screamed louder about badlaav. a.k.a. change. He preached everywhere that he had stumbled upon a grand business plan, which will bring people out of this trouble soon enough. In fact, it will make
people solvent enough to stop worrying about their bills for a month. It’s that added incentive that almost all of them are interested in, except Naani and her family. The frail old lady had been seeking revenge for the public humiliation that Pandey and his wife had meted out to her. The self-disgust she had been battling with ever since Kavya’s stinging words of ridicule had singed her pride. “Ranima can barely feed and control her own family. What will she do for Pindaruch?”
Overcoming vengeance, Naani found something funny. “Even the inspectors are sleeping half- bellied. How do Brij and Kavya manage to stay so healthy now? How do they afford to stay so calm? Is there a back-up plan?”
Education was the only solution to get Pindaruch to stand up for itself. Without belittling the obviously rosy promises by Brij and his influential aides, the reformist trio decided to start the rehabilitation ground-up. When making both ends meet was getting harder by the day, it would be a no-brainer that education would only be considered as one of those extra-curricular activities one can take interest in, if and only if it’s free. Money mattered, and Sitakshi was thankful that her
father was listening. It took her little effort to drum up the patriot in him, although. He was more than willing to pitch in, but distance being a huge impediment, decided to use his associations from another era altogether. He was lucky to find a good Samaritan in his school friend Sumeet, a deputy commissioner, who paid a heed to the penury Pindaruch was in, and decided to support his plan to revitalise the destroyed digital school that Sitakshi had set up earlier.
Work started at breakneck speed, much to the astonishment of the progressive collector. In a couple of days the school system was functioning, and children were sitting down to watch documentaries on floods and how they can be managed. One of the girls walked up to Sharlene to show a diya she had crafted out of the soil that had plant fiber in it; she had learnt it from the internet. She explained to Sharlene that diyas were easy to mould because of the fibre element and didn’t need to be fired at very high temperatures, these would be perfect diyas to make for a hurried diwali celebration. Sharlene jumped at the idea, her crowd funding had just been sorted and she wanted to restart her craft workshop - this was a perfect way to start, ten thousand diyas in ten days to light up Pindaruch again!
And it happened, a quick effort at cleaning up of the workshop area had been done by Raghav. He too had taken the opportunity of working with the boys and young men to ferret out information about the dam breach. While nothing tangible could be found, he had ideas that confirmed his suspicion about the collector.
Diwali was truly precious that year; no flashy clothes or bright fireworks. Instead, each family lit up the balconies and road outside with diyas that were made in Sharlene’s workshop and shared homemade ladoos and sweet palm syrup that had been. There was a sense of family feeling about the festivity that permeated down to every single person. The highlight had been Raghav’s drone camera that he used in capturing the growing crop fields, since the crop fields had to be plowed and left fallow, it was put to different use- photographs of a diya lit diwali of Pindaruch, much like the Diwali that was celebrated when Ramji and Sita had returned to Ayodhya. The roads and pathways lit up with diyas, fireflies like stardust filled the air and tiny fairy lights on the Balconies filled the atmosphere with a calmness. Then,of course, was the bonfire; there was so much to be rid off and so much to forget that the two girls decided to make the destruction a celebration!
“This is so much like the metaphor of Ma Kali, to burn and destroy all that has gone wrong and celebrate the freshness that comes after that.”
Raghav sounded a bit more blood thirsty when he muttered, “I wish we could catch and burn those who damaged the land.”
“That would be murder!” Sitakshi had corrected him as they sat around the bonfire chatting. They were surrounded by people who had seen the effort the two had put in to get the Diwali celebrations on track. They believed that the two of them were working only with the best interest of Pindaruch and so all the ugly gossip that Sarika had created had died a natural death.
It wasn’t just the bonfire and burning of things; there also was creativity happening at the same pace. Within a month, there came up a health and wellness centre that trained men and women equally to nurse minor injuries with first aid. Her plan clicked, as the computer acted as a decoy for children to get started on education first! Nobody had to break their banks to run this humble initiative that was making Raghav’s foremost ambitions come true, which was making Pindaruch self-sustainable. Then, Pandu arrived.
He was particularly fast in picking up the alphabets and the English language. Sharlene could tell that this 8-year-old boy dreamt big, and was always curious. He kept asking questions, but one of his questions held the key to every riddle. “Sherlene didi, why do we have to sell our home?”
“My goodness! Who asked you to?” Sharlene asked.
“That night, my parents were discussing that we might have to sell our land and leave this place.” Pandu responded.
The poor boy vowed never to forgive Sharlene again, because it was his revelation that had him get beaten up by his father days after the rebel trio and their mastermind, Naani, arrived at their doorsteps to question him. Adivir beat his son hard, because he had managed to lie in their faces previously. Now, he was in soup, and had to spill the beans only to show his respect to the one of the most revered elderlies of this village.
“That scum has bought our land and our rights!” he lamented. “Soon after the loot happened, the collector, his wife, and his armed guards visited almost every doorstep of the peasant
section of our village. They offered to buy our land to set up a business, which will give each one of us good jobs and each family a reliable future. When we resisted, they raised the price for our land, but also pointed their guns at us. We had no other option but to give in!”
Naani’s head shook, as if struck by lightning. She knew that the couple was scheming, but never had imagined that they would stoop to such devilry to encash a situation of extreme economic distress. Night after night, she couldn’t sleep realising what would happen to people who have actually put a price tag on the land their forefathers had passed on to them with such care. She was also rocked out of her daze by Sitakshi’s words one day.
“We did another round of survey, Naani, and found out that the people who were acting weird with us the first time were the ones who have already sold their lands and are preparing to leave the village within weeks from now. Also, we got to know that the few affluent people here, who aren’t earning hand-to-mouth, have defended themselves diplomatically.”
“All this while, we have been knocking on the wrong doors. Didn’t wish to feel ‘Maya’ so up close, and personal.” Sitakshi weighed in rhetorically.
It was time for action, and Sumeet, Sitakshi’s father’s friend-cum-commissioner, hatched the perfect plan. One of the stage actors who essayed the role of a rakshasha, expressed his desire to volunteer for a noble cause, a witch hunt! Groomed well, he impersonated a sales executive from the nearby town with origins in the village, who had got to know of the dissent from the affluent ones. All he had to do was to convince the sarpanch and his wife that he would be able to pacify the rest in exchange for a very reasonable fee. He had even managed to call the devil duo at a hideout late in the night, to receive his token money for the same, and ensured that Sitakshi and Raghav take as many clicks of the transaction as possible.
Ten days later, the salesman knocked on the door of the collector with a rare zest.
“Bhabi, I got the thumb imprints of 60 family heads! Only eight remain very stubborn!” he exclaimed, beaming with pride.
“Those eight need to be sized up, I guess. Show me the documents and then we can talk about money. No time for formalities,” said Kavya.
“There’s one more thing, Bhabi. This village respects you a lot. Since this is a matter of
finances, the people would like to have a direct conversation with you about their payment before they hand over their keys to you. They are waiting outside,” he said.
“What do you mean?” Kavya got nervous.
“They are waiting right outside your house. Please come,” he said and without mincing his words, walked back to ask the guards to open the main entrance.
Sixty men entered the premises of Kavya’s 3-storey pucca house peacefully yet firmly. Their silence was unnerving, but what was more concerning were a group of kids who started running amok, only to stop in front of the sarpanch, his wife, and the baffled middleman. They started recording videos.
Before Kavya could scold the children, she was stupefied by the presence of a police force that followed the villagers.
“Using thumb imprints of uneducated villagers, you have been planning to rob the village of its people! I shall ask you and your wife to cooperate and hand yourselves over to the police right here, right now, Brij!” Sumeet’s thunderous voice shattered the quiescence.
But life rolls on, some days it's in the ditch of anger and hatred, another day it’s in the swampy land of emotions; it is always moving and pressing forward. The story of Brij and Kavya captured the central narrative of Pindaruch. But with time it became part of local folklore, embellished or edited to suit the storytellers style. As day blends into night and autumn nights to cold winter ones, our celebrations grow and change.
It was one such wintry night. Pindaruch has relapsed to its calm, but was approached by a new actor in the block. The actor looked like Sharlene, but had a white beard, was dressed in red and white, and kept laughing. “Ho Ho!! Merry Christmas!!!!” that entity kept chanting.
Nobody understood what the actor wanted to convey. But that old character stood before a gnarled Frangipani tree which had been done up in fairy lights, beneath it were candles lighting up a heartwarming scene of a mother holding a child to her breast, surrounded by furry sheep and young shepherds. The children of Pindaruch excitedly picked the figurines up and a myriad of questions followed; Raghav and Sitakshi were ready, they put the speakers on and played silent night.
The frosty breeze, the clear starry night and the choral singing of silent night reverberating through the open space! It was such a beautiful Christmas moment for Sharlene that she almost forgot her role as Santa Claus! it was only when Sitakshi nudged her that she began the most important part of Christmas - distributing candies and stood before
And who doesn’t love candies?!
Christmas had come to Pindaruch!. They were excited and enjoyed one more festivity as a bonus. For Sharlene it was the most heartfelt Christmas of all times.
The cascading mist engulfed the valley, sweeping the tiny village along with it. As it traversed down
the mountains, the mist seemed to have a mind of its own. The power was unmistakable, more so it was the force that was driving it. The magnificent face emerged from the mist illuminating that face of the earth. She was earth; born of it. A string of metaphors could not justify Sita’s resilience and immense will power. The glow emanating from within her had the silent, subtle power to destroy the earth if it came to that. But then, naani had said that the birth of Sita from the womb of mother earth signified fertility and life; not carnage. She was the antithesis of Maya in all forms. Ironically, she fell prey to the maya jaal of Raavana, as did her godly half, Ram to Shurpanakha. What then was the purpose of these entities to walk the same trodden paths as faulty sinners? Pindaruch certainly had its share, as did it have humans who embodied godly qualities; like Sitakshi’s naani. She silhouetted Shakti in many forms. Often when the cold seeped inside her bones on harsh winter nights, Sitakshi wondered if she was Sita’s shadow.
Can I be her echo? I feel so close to her at times, especially when I hear stories about her love for her family, her father. Am I my father’s
Janaki? I see her through the wintry haze, in the golden beams at noon, the aqueous crystal blue, in the first notes of the morning birds. I see her everywhere. We have travelled together through time and space and eternity. Like the divine confluence, we too have converged to form a tensile bond pinioned with grace, empathy, and selfless devotion. Maybe that’s why naani calls me her Sita.
“And what of dignity, Sitakshi? What of suffrage? What are your views on that? How are we connected thus?”
Is this a dream? Or is she incarnate? Are we actually going to discuss the fate and future of our sisterhood, of their sodality?
“Does it matter whether I am tangible or an illusion? The question still remains, isn’t it? For how long should we turn pages of history and mythology, sing praises of the Mayavi Shakti, sigh and lament at the shadow cast by the eclipsed moon which doesn’t seem to fade? Don’t you agree that the time is ripe to rewrite the tales of Durga and Kali, to wipe the miseries of countless hearts softened and saddened by society? Wake up now. Join me; not in war, but in a spirited battle to do that which is right.”
“Sita, jaagi javu hamar priya ladki!” [Wake up, my loving girl, Sita!]
“Good morning to you too, naani, but why did you wake me up? I saw her in my dream.”
“Kekra dekhlahun?” [Whom did you see?] “I saw Sita. She was divine, surreal…real.” “Aren’t you lucky, my darling?”
“Guess what? I am luckier, for I not just get to see her daily, but hold her as well.”
As naani cuddled Sitakshi, the young girl couldn’t shake off the rendezvous. Her goosebumps refused to let go.
“Go and freshen up quickly, my girl. Today, I have prepared your favourite dahi chiwda for breakfast.”
“My stomach is growling already, but first I want to discuss a few things with you over a cup of hot aadrak chai.”
“Ahoon pher katha sunay chahet chi?” [“Do you want to listen to the story again?]
“Yes naani, I am not satisfied with all that I have heard till now. I wish to hear more about the glorious Sita.”
“You wouldn’t mind my presence, I hope,” asked Sita ever so gently as Sitakshi huddled close to her grandmother for another round of theological discussion.
Somewhere in the deeper chambers of her heart, Raghav knocked twice. As she waited for her naani to begin the narrative of how both Sita and Sati were both victims and trendsetters, Sita pointed to her blushed cheeks.
“Back in the day, when the brave and just Brahmin king, Prajapati Daksh, ruler of Kankhala, Haridwar, refused to offer a sacrificial portion (Havvis) to Shiva, husband of his beloved daughter Uma as she had married an ascetic going against his wishes, he broke an important Vedic tradition. While Shiva was unfazed, her father’s prejudice irked Uma, and much to the displeasure of her consort, she went to visit her parental home. The arrogant father repeatedly snubbed his favourite daughter, and blatantly disrespected Shiva. Unable to bear the humiliation, Uma jumped in the sacrificial fire, which ended her life. The furore that followed is what our puranas explain vividly. The immolation of Sati or Uma gives birth to fifty one sacramental forms of Shakti. Sati’s body was cut into fifty one pieces by Vishnu to stop the great Shiva from destroying the universe.
To say that he was viciously enraged, would be an understatement.”
“Wait, naani, wait. Weren’t we discussing Sita? Who is Sati? Asked Sitakshi totally perplexed, before realising that she had uttered the name of Sita nonchalantly.
“I do not mind it all. In fact, it has been so long since I heard the story of maa Shakti. Tell me something, what do you learn from the power that Uma exhibited?”
Is she really talking to me again? Is this a dream within a dream? Ouchhhh…I pinched myself too hard.
“Ahaan ki kaye rahal chi?” [“What’s going on here?”]
“Just pinching myself to wake up completely naani. Nothing at all. That’s just me being silly. Please tell me a little more about Sati. I remember watching the movie, Padmavati. It was sad, because my favourite Bollywood actress, Deepika Padukone immolates herself. Maa said that the horrific ritual where queen Padmavati along with other Rajput women jump into a funeral pyre was called, performing Jauhar. It was mass suicide. The collective term for sati. I couldn’t shake off the scene from
my mind. An entire kingdom gone. Women, old and young, small girls all dying painfully. It was macabre.”
“You are right, my chotki bachchi [little girl] my baby girl, it was a nightmare. Though the term did derive from the goddess for she was the first married woman to have committed suicide for the sake of honour, it twisted and tormented its form for many centuries. Great reformists like Raja Ram Mohan Roy along with Lord William Bentinck the Governor- General of India, succeeded in stopping it. India being culturally and religiously diverse, many traditions, rituals, and practices are misunderstood, destroyed, and lost in the pages of history.”
“Are you saying that what sati and scores of women from the thirteenth century did until the evil practice was stopped was justified? Isn’t suicide a sign of weakness, naani? Why did the goddess set such a precedent?”
“Before I clear all your doubts, I must wear my Durga armour and set the dhoban straight. She has been taking too many leaves this month.”
“Savitri, ethek din kathay rahlahun? [Savitri, where have you been for so long?] You did not even inform. Consider this to be your last warning.”
“Well, you did not tell me what you learned from us: Dakshayini, Janaki, Sati, Padmavati, and the heroic tales of women who are etched in ballads and tall sagas? I have heard that your generation is all about equality, and reclaiming identity. What do you think these women did? Why do you think I did what I did?” The poor woman shouted back.
“I cannot believe Lallan could stoop any further? How could he beat the poor girl mercilessly? He is nothing short of a barbarian. I will tell the vakil to file a case against Lallan. Poor Savitri! She miscarried again, only this time it was the demon who caused the foeticide.”
“What happened naani? Where is Savitri?”
“She is in the servant quarters bawling her eyes out. I fear her heart is smashed and can never be mended. Let her be Sitakshi. Let us all respect her sorrow and give her space. Here eat something. Today will be a long day.”
Why do people get into relationships, tied up in bonds which then become their very noose? Why did Sita choose to renounce the affluence for her husband? What good did it serve in the end? She gave up her identity only to have her dignity questioned by the Maryada
Purushottam Shri Ram? Why did Sati choose to teach her father a lesson by taking her own life? She knew that Shiva would go wild. Couldn’t she have chosen another course? Why did Savitri endure such domestic violence at the hands of a man who only looked at her as a vessel to reproduce? Why do I have feelings for Raghav? Should I have feelings for him?
“Ha…ha…ha…ha, so you consider us weak and indecisive? Lacking the courage that we see in our sisters and daughters now? Like me, can that courage be verified as tangible or an illusion?”
As Sita drifted back and forth, naani started talking about the state of the village school. Many years ago, it was built by her naana, her grandfather. A father of three girls, he wanted to give that gender set a chance to enjoy the power of words. In turn, he wished for them to explore the power of their voice. Like Janak and Daksh, he too was madly in love with his offsprings. The school would not just be a seat for learning, but Saraswati the revered goddess of knowledge would bless the girl students with her secret weapon; the power of knowledge. She would guide them, shape them up to choose between right and wrong, to walk down those
very dusty bumpy roads of Pindaruch towards their destiny. A destiny which will be carved by them, and not by their fathers, brothers, or husbands. They too would then dare to hope and dream of moving to the colleges in the big cities and shape-up their lives. Clad in white, Saraswati would then help all the Sitas and Satis to turn the tides in another direction perhaps.
That school was taken over by Kavya and knowledge was about to be locked up for good and the place was used to create mindless workers for her cottage industry. While technological and political advancement had taken this massive country to enviable heights, Pindaruch somehow woke up late to the necessary changes. The local gundas who lived in the pockets of the rich who fancied their own law in the region ensured that not every girl raised her voice against violence, or put her foot down to whom she was being tied down for life. While kshatranis like Padmavati and Karnavati were immortalised in history for attempting the divine mass suicide jauhar to avoid capture, enslavement and rape by the invaders, the girls and women, rural and urban still faced the social evils almost every other day.
“Your naanaji was a revolutionary, and like all was a lone crusader. The village school was his dream, his service to our village, state, and country to try and bring a necessary change. I have failed him in continuing to run it the way he wished. Today, that land is so prized that it finds itself in the middle of controversy. Every businessman and politician is eyeing it. They don’t want to help in funding for the school building, rather raze it down to construct a multiplex. Where will all the Savitris go?”
“Naani, is there nothing that we can do? Why should a devoted Sita bow down to her husband who is driven by his subjects and questions her fidelity? Why must Uma become Sati? Why should Savitri hope to have the luxury that Padmavati and other Rajputana queens have? The men were all celebrated. Lallan is probably lying dead drunk in a ditch. I think I know how to keep naanaji’s dream alive. These women need to be guided to ride the fourth wave.”
“So, no Ram, Shiva, or Maharana for them, then? Or are you planning to convert these metaphors too? A while back you questioned our choices. Mine, Uma’s, Padmavati’s, and Savitri’s. According to you we all took the wrong path; we should have fought back.
Who is to say that our choices weren’t our fights? That we didn’t prove a point which was in alignment to that century. I knew Sati. I am Sati. We both chose to retain our identities till the end. She was audacious, I was calm. We were both dauntless while facing the enemy, as were the kshatranis and rajputanis. Do you think I wasn’t humiliated and seething from within when I walked on burning coal? My weapon was to remain stoic with my head held high. People wanted to see my tears; I showed them my smile. Rama knew my predicament, and I knew his.”
“I am sorry, but how was bowing down to every offensive task the right choice? How was that retaining your identity? If you knew Sati, then why didn’t you fight for your rights?”
“There are many colours, not just black and white. I chose mine, Sati hers. The question is what will you choose while facing an adversary. Remember they knock you off when you are least expecting it. This isn’t a planned war. They are mayavis. So, each needs to be slayed with a specific weapon. That weapon is your choice. Sometimes, that armour chooses you, and the choice becomes your identity. Don’t forget the valiant queen Rani Laxmibai who chose to fight with her infant son tied on
her back. Her husband was declared a martyr. The widow chose to protect her kingdom and subjects from the British, and not jump into his funeral pyre. She is the most recent Shakti amongst all of us, isn’t she? Then, there are so many who followed.”
“By this logic, I need to first explain the power of Shakti inside every young girl and woman to the womenfolk of my village. Once that is established, I will then empower them to kindle that shakti. To awaken the kundalini. Will maa Saraswati guide me? Will you be by my side? Also, what happens to women like Savitri, who are embroiled in a nasty battle? How do I help them?”
“There is both a Sita and Sati in Savitri too, but they are hibernating. Choice by itself is an illusion. You chose to come to Pindaruch, you are choosing to be led by your heart towards a certain someone, as you are choosing to work to revive your grandfather’s school. Aren’t all of this an extended part of the cosmic maya? Likewise, Savitri will choose for herself when her kundalini, her chakras awaken. You must work towards social reformation. You must nip other Savitris in the bud by showing them the enlightened path of wisdom and knowledge. A nation where women are uplifted, educated,
and respected truly understands the nature of a Ram Rajya. It is only then, that every lamp lit during Deepawali is akin to the bright stars. I am so proud of the new school that you have created. I love the way you get the students involved in the teaching and learning process, you know, how they pick the topic and explain it to each other. There is such genuine desire to learn- my sita maiya has brought learning back to Pindaruch!”
“Naani, is there any social worker whom I can get in touch with? I know what I want to do for dear naanaji. Sharlene and Raghav will help me accomplish what I have in mind.”
“Are you sure what you are getting into chori? As much as I am proud of you, for I see my dear husband in his granddaughter, I also fear for your well-being. This isn’t America, and Sharlene and Raghav are also rather young and from different cultures, I can’t see them really being able to guide you.”
“Naani, what makes you think that America is any better? Each country is grappling with the changing times. There is a paradigm shift in every social fabric. Just connect me with the head of the women’s social wing or any organisation which is working
towards rehabilitating the lost feminine glory and identity.”
“Let me call Gargi. She used to be your aunt’s classmate. In fact, they were the best of friends, so she is like family. With her, by your side, I would ease out a bit regarding your safety.”
“Well done! Remember, in the entire process don’t forget your personal stand on the importance of respect in a relationship. Remember to choose your weapon wisely. Remember, that finally everything converges inside the illusionary bubble. Your decision lends the required buoyancy to that bubble.”
I need to make this my fight, for I feel selfish to be content in the privileges that have been blessed upon me. I want to help the girls and women of my village to seek their Sitas, Satis, Rani Laxmibais. Not every war requires ammunition. Some can be fought with a pen and grey ink. Some with technology and street smartness. Where is Raghav? We have no time to lose. There is much to be done. The small world of Pindaruch needs to be equal in the true sense. Man and woman need to be respected equally.
“Coming naanima…”
Jayisan pahine kichchu kha li-aa hamar priya bachchi” [“Eat something before you
go, my dear child] You are practically going without food every day. What will your parents think when they see the skinny you? Hamra par aarop laga oath je ham ahank khayal nahi rakhaith chchi!” [They will accuse me of not taking care of you.“]
“Relax naani, my parents won’t accuse you of not taking care of me. They know I am a big girl, and completely responsible for my actions. If at all, they will be grateful to you for getting me involved with this project. You do know that it has lent deep meaning to my life. I am no longer the frivolous, immature young adult. I see and value the greater picture. I feel so proud to have you and naanaji as my grandparents. Oh, I did not mean for you to cry naani. Now my eyes are turning moist. I do not want Raghav to see me this way. I never show him my weak side.”
‘Aah, your Kallu! Yes, you have to show him how strong and brave you are. The little rajkumari of Pindaruch. I can’t believe the transformation the three are bringing about. I visited Sharlene’s workshop a few days ago
and the products were so beautiful. I couldn’t believe that women who have suffered so much can have so many beautiful ideas.’ Naani was waxing eloquent about the changes she saw but she was worried about one particular one but she knew she would have to be subtle about her worry, so all that she said was ‘ Be careful where you go with him, I don’t want you to nurse a heartbreak.’
“Don’t worry naani, between you and my guardian angel, I am well-protected. The past few days have been like a re-birth. Gargi aunty has shown me a kaleidoscope which was like no other. This one had dulled muted colours seeped in heart wrenching, tearful stories of girls as small as five, and women as old as eighty. Naani, there is so much to do in such little time. There is no place for food.”
“I am so proud of you, my dear Sita maiyya. What you, Gargi, and team are doing for this village, the great reformation that is happening all around us is beyond anybody’s comprehension. This is the strong face of Maya. This is the magic which so many of us have been waiting for over a decade. The illusion boxes, cards, and coins are not ephemeral, not paid for, but thaumaturgical. You are my young, spirited sorceress.”
“Maa Sita won’t take that comment kindly naani,” joked Sitakshi while touching her grandmother’s feet and heading out. Raghav was getting impatient on that Vespa. Sitakshi tossed her hair aside as she hopped on, smiling at the impatience written all over Raghav’s face. for a fraction of a moment, she thought of Neil and the reaction he would have had if he saw her now. But she could barely recall his face and the sound of his voice seemed to have worn off her memory. She just didn’t bother about it any more, ‘ I have outgrown that childman’ she said as she tossed her bag onto the motorbike and sat down herself.
As she propped comfortably on the red motorbike, she felt her.
“I see you have chosen Durga; the Supreme absolute. Very wise! Like her, you have risen above all else in your tiny village. Like the moon, you went through each phase to metamorphose into someone unique and splendiferous. I gaped each time you stumbled, groped for a foothold, questioned your beliefs, wept at loss of courage, learnt the true meaning of selfless work especially for the twins Monisha and Nirmala. Their father almost married them off to those louts. I saw the Durga awaken in you.
Like her, you challenged your Mahishasura to a duel and beheaded him. Only this time you dealt with more than one demon.”
If you were there, why didn’t you intervene with
your superpower. Why need me at all?
“I had to push you out of your comfort zone, or you wouldn’t have awakened your chakras, you wouldn’t have moved. Your universe had to be oscillated on a different axis to change the face of Pindaruch. My intervention would have certainly awakened the village, but not you. You started with the school which in itself was a humongous victory. Knowledge and learning gave women a voice, and men the will to respect all women. The misdeeds of the society stand corrected with the overcast cloud of oblivion clearing the empyrean. This cumulative awakening is true Deepawali!”
You are a shapeshifter. I see you in the clouds, in the grass, seated pillion with me now. I see you peeping over Gargi aunty’s shoulder to read the statistics of female babies. I saw rage in your eyes when the stubborn father of the twins wouldn’t listen to my pleas. I felt you hold my hand when I almost gave up, for nothing was going as per plan. Though I knew you were there
with me, I wanted more. I wanted to see you in a physical form. I wanted you standing by my side straight out of the holy mythological text.
At this point Raghav yelped as Sitakshi pinched him hard for purposely maneuvering the bike over potholes. Sita laughed, Raghav laughed, Sitakshi said a silent prayer.
“Hey, did you check all the documents in the morning?”
“Chill… I even gave up food to read between the lines three times in a row. I know it is important that we produce the right papers to the new Sarpanch. A female sarpanch is a first in Pindaruch. Kavita Madam has taken special interest in all our projects, especially female education, the home for destitute women, and the cottage industry which Gargi aunty plans to start. Can you imagine how many abused women will not just get shelter but will lead a dignified sustainable livelihood. I cannot wait to wear the embroidered kurti that Junu kaki keeps talking about.”
“I must say Sita, (for Raghav was becoming a tad more comfortable with her, though he refused to identify or even give a name to their relationship, much to Sitakshi’s annoyance your
idea of opening bank accounts for each one of them, and not just them, but for most women in the village was nothing short of a blockbuster film. Like your favourite movie Padmavati, you too have created a record in Pindaruch.”
“Stop teasing me, Raghav. You know, I couldn’t have done it without your constant support, and the unparalleled faith and motivation by naanima and Gargi aunty. Of course, there were other superpowers by my side. They are the real spellbinders, the mayavis. We see them in many forms, but can’t recognise them, for our visions are clouded with coveting desires.”
“Look at you all grown up and sagacious. I feel proud that you are becoming me. Even Raghav is calling you Sita. He is right on the other count too. You have broken a century long slumber of this place. Like Mahadevi Durga, you too made use of not two, but ten hands executing drives, pioneering campaigns, delivering speeches, and most importantly emphatically motivating the changes that the people of this small village needed.”
By the time the monologue ended, Raghav pulled the brakes of his Vespa hard one last time before parking it outside the gram panchayat office. This time Sitakshi didn’t complain.
She knew that she wouldn’t go weak at the knees. She had seen enough, had learnt enough at this young age to keep her emotions within her fist. She would not allow herself to be driven by them, instead she would be the driving force behind every emotion. The sarpanch, Kavita Kumar was most hospitable and beaming ear to ear. Her countenance relayed the message the youngsters wanted to hear.
“The Zilla Parishad has approved it. We can start our work. Gather all the women from sectors A TO N to the school ground. Sitakshi, I want you to introduce our initiative to them.”
“Kavita Ma’am, you are the force behind building the handloom industry, and it is Gargi aunty’s idea. I do not wish to take the limelight. Besides, I don’t think Pindaruch is ready for such audacity.”
“Se ham samhaarab! [I will handle all that!] People are ready, only when you make them ready. Some are just waking up to the changes, so let respect and patience be their first lessons. Besides, I have already spoken to Gargi, and we know that if it wasn’t for your passionate persuasion, Pindaruch would have slid back fifty years from progress. Start preparing your speech.”
Raghav, naani, Gargi, and Sharlene were given the VIP seats alongside Kavita Kumar. The historic moment was witnessed by the entire village. Then there were some more who didn’t need to rest their feet, for they were ethereal. Sitakshi managed to deliver the entire speech in Maithili dialect, much to the delight and pride of her grandmother. The dart pierced the eye, all was finally falling into place. The handloom mill started providing quality work and more importantly independence, respect, and confidence to all the women who chose to work there. The WBE (Women owned Business Enterprise) was blessed by the chief minister of Bihar who ensured that the funds were adequate for the enterprise.
“Dear child, this is what I have stitched for you. This is the only thing that I can afford to give you. You are not just our daughter, but also our mother. You are both Sita and Durga maiyya. How will we ever repay you?”
“Junu kaaki’s words aren’t just hers, but on behalf of everyone here. While the change was on, it was very slow and hitting roadblocks every now and then. Your zeal and youthful spirit gave it the impetus, and women the will power,” added Gargi. “Thanks to the divine
intervention on the political front, we now have our highly respected sarpanchji, Kavita Kumar Madam, who shares the same vision. Finally, the staleness of the air is clearing, the sky looks a clean azure.”
“See what you have helped them achieve. They are all under a positive spell now. The mayavini in you has given them hope. Hope which transcends all realms even in the cosmic world, for it is one trait in humans that supersedes the fear of failure.”
Thank you, but why do you call me mayavini? Is this change transcendental too?
“Isn’t everything?”
The Darbhanga express had a five minute stop at Tektar railway station, the nearest one from Pindaruch. Now with the flourishing business of the handloom cottage industry, traders from nearby towns and cities started showing interest to invest in the WBE, which meant better roads and railway connections to the village. The dynamic sarpanch Kavita Kumar raised this point in the Madhubani parliamentary constituency, ensuring that the government take interest and order the railway
ministry for revised timings of all big trains. The construction and maintenance of roads was in full swing. The village was never dressed up like for Deepawali or any marriage.
“How long are we going to wait here? I am hungry. Can we at least eat the infamous samosas and jalebis from Pandey chacha’s shop?” pleaded Raghav.
“Didn’t you eat just a while back when we were helping load the five hundred satranjis on the mini truck? How does one feel hungry so often?” retorted an annoyed Sitakshi.
The train was late by an hour, so post that announcement, the young pair found themselves seated across each other on a small table with a pedestal fan threatening to blow their hair off their heads, along with the small bowl of tamarind chutney. As Raghav dug into crispy, hot, spicy samosas, Sitakshi went through the six profiles once again. They were at the railway station to welcome six teachers who generously agreed to shift base to the tiny village. Running the school was one thing, but running it with a skilled faculty, quite another. Again, with the intervention of Kavita Kumar, six skilled teachers from Patna were headed
to take over the academic administration of the school. Their salaries and boarding were all decided and generous.Sitakshi was looking forward to showing them the school. Getting them to work on the digital platform. Changing perspectives to education completely. Sitakshi was aware of the rigid systems that existed in India but she wanted to show these young teachers that there was another way to approach education, by blending everyday learning with real life experiences and allowing science to become part of local culture.
Is this really happening? Naanaji, I hope you are smiling at this change. I hope I have made you proud.
The whistle added to the cacophony of vendors and impatient families clamoring to board Darbhanga express. Sitakshi and Raghav greeted the six educators with a warm handshake and a garland of marigolds. They were surprised to see that four out of six were young teachers, probably mid-twenties. The other two were family men who had requested for bigger quarters to shift their families in the later part of the year. Sitakshi gleefully stuck to the two young female teachers who, like her, wanted to be a part of the revolution happening
in Pindaruch. They were both accomplished in their subjects and took up the revival of the girls school as a challenge. This was change in the true sense of the word.
“Naani, you must meet the teachers. They are all so well groomed, so proficient in their subjects. You should have seen Raghav’s face when the science teacher started quizzing him about equipment for the lab. He turned red like a beetroot. I don’t think physics was his major in college. Ha…ha…ha… I already have my two favourites among them, and I hope to contribute as a volunteer teacher for sports and dance.”
“Hamra ahaan par badda garva achchi,” [“I am so proud of you”] my dear Sitakshi, my darling. You have surpassed every dimension that my heart and head can think of. Your naana is surely beaming with pride somewhere up there,” remarked her grandmother, while wiping her eyes with the pallu of her saree.
“We need to teach for longer hours if we are to cover up the portion,” pointed out the Math teacher.
Kavita Kumar had appointed Gargi Singh to be the principal of the school. While the demure and gentle Gargi had tried to refuse,
naani intervened and pleaded with her to take over the role. The challenge was to convince the parents of the students, especially those of the twelve- to fourteen-year-olds. Though the change happened, there were still certain practices which families continued within their four walls. One of them being that daughters were to help mothers around the house, to learn the skills of being an efficient wife later. Also, with the handloom industry attracting investors from all over the country and some from abroad, demand for more female workers had risen exponentially. While mothers started working, certain families pressured the daughters to take up more familial responsibilities. Every change had two facets to it. Mothers were bringing money to fix the roof or add a room to the tiny homes. Daughters were only getting educated.
It has just been some months, and already Sharlene had managed to get Juna kaaki and her able team of women to launch a brand for their Sujini embroidery on dress materials and quilted bed covers. The road leading to the mill was always covered with alta smeared feet accompanying the jingling of glass bangles. There was laughter in the air, which was mostly directed at Sharlene’s poor Maithili expressions.
Men found themselves in the kitchen, the loving ones packing lunch for their wives who were rushing out to reach the mill on time. Two karigars from Darbhanga were employed to teach women the art of Madhubani painting. It was surprising to see how skilled some of them were. The art form was a speciality of Mithila region, the very base of Pindaruch, and while these women had seen and dabbled into it as young girls, all was lost when they were married young. The muted pallet and nibs brought back a fresh riot of colours in their lives; age no bar at all.
“Juna kaaki, I need your help desperately,”
pleaded Sitakshi one fine morning.
“What happened to my girl?” asked the concerned lady holding Sita’s hand.
“The families aren’t allowing the girls to stay longer in school for extra lessons. With the flourishing business that your team has gifted this village with, greed has overtaken love for children. Can you counsel these women to allow their daughters to study for a better future?”
“Did you just say greed overtaking love? My, my, look where you have come after a long confused journey? You are very near to the core
of human existence. It is then maya, isn’t it? All kinds of changes are.”
Can you not help me with this please? As Janaki, Dakshayini, Saraswati, or Durga?
“You will figure it out.”
As the waft touched her cheeks gently, Sitakshi walked towards the grade IX classroom. She was mentally preparing to enact all the characters for today’s story, ‘ Brave girl: Clara and Shirtwaist Makers’ Strike of 1909.’ It was a very thought- provoking story and a smart choice. Sitakshi had read this inspiring biography of a garment worker organiser, Clara Lemlich who studied English at night and worked throughout the day in a garment factory to support her immigrant family. By the end of the session, the moral was conveyed to all, and by the end of the week, the school made good and valid use of electricity till seven in the evening.
Is this change transcendental too?
Some months later, Pindaruch was being dressed up like a bride. Vibrant pennants were hung all over, music flowed through the air, and every household was in a tizzy. The chief minister along with a Vietnamese contingency
was gracing the occasion. Another chapter in the history of Pindaruch would be glorified as this would be the very first time that the chair would be setting foot in Pindaruch. The village was gearing up for double celebration. The WBE had managed to deliver record sales, so much so that a clothing brand from Vietnam wanted to tie up with them for business. Who would have thought about it! Adding to this euphoria was the fact that the first batch of grade X students had managed to pass their exams. The educators were true blessings from maa Saraswati. Who would have thought this too?
“Naanima, can you help us with the saree, please? You know we have never draped one in our lives. Adding to our nervousness, is the fact that it is an exclusive Madhubani painted piece gifted by Juna kaaki and her cabal,” cried Sitakshi and Sharlene, rolling their eyes, and throwing their hands up in exasperation.
Savitri came running to help her with it. She had aged a year and half; but backwards For the first time in life, she laughed with her head held high towards the sun. Though Lallan had turned a new leaf, she had decided to leave him for good. Some nights when sleep just refused
to be her friend, she shed silent tears for the young lives which could have latched on to her. Savitri never forgave Lallan. She chose to ignore that maya by rising above it.
“Savitri kaaki, I can’t wait for the function to get over. I am so anxious to be clad in a saree for almost the entire day. Once I am out of it, I will keep it neatly and gift it to my mother. What do you think she will say?”
“Ahaan par garva karthih!”[[ “She’ll be proud of you.”]
“I hope so too. I cannot wait to see the proud look on the faces of my parents. Ever since I decided to extend my stay here, the communication has thinned between us. Daddy is upset that I am missing out on my internships, but then the experiences in Pindaruch were more than any other internship in the world.”
“You look stunning, almost sublime, mayavini.”
I want to touch your feet today. Please allow me to. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have achieved anything. Like Janaki, I too feel like being born off the soil of my precious village.
“Are you sure that I am real, and not any form of maya?”
Why do you always confuse me with doubts? For me you are real, you are here, standing in the same time frame as me, feeling the similar cosmic pull.
“We shall see…”
“Daddy...Mom... What a pleasant surprise!” cried Sitakshi as she rushed into their arms.
Her parents were more emotional than their daughter. What grace, dignity, and maturity she had achieved in the past year and half. Their hearts were swollen in pride and affection.
“Naani, you never told me anything.”
“I still can surprise you chori, but Raghav helped me too.”
The function was a massive success. What no one gauged was the media coverage that followed. For the very first time in the history of Pindaruch, men and women stood touched shoulders while singing the National Anthem. Almost everyone cried. Juna kaaki was all flushed when the Vietnamese contingent shook hands with her and her team. For the very first time, the men stood truly proud of their wives, daughters, and sisters.
At the far end of the premises, under an old neem tree, naani stood weeping. If only her husband was here to witness this change, the change which was his dream, the change which didn’t happen before he passed on to the other world, the change which was brought about by his sweet Sitakshi.
“Why are you weeping, maa? Don’t attach yourself to these emotions. It is all a part of the mayavi world.”
Did I just hear someone, or is it my imagination? Whatever it was, it was true. I need to rise above these feelings.
Her face resembling the contours of a full moon, naani walked with a gait fit for a graceful seventy-eight-year-old grand dame. She joined her family, feeling like a queen.
A familiar waft of breeze kissed naani and her granddaughter.
One more beautiful day spent with beautiful experiences.
Sitakshi and Sharlene thrived in the low temperatures of Western winters, yet the wind that blew
in Pindaruch sent a shiver down their spines. Naani laughed at young Sita counting the number of days more to come out of the warm Rajai blanket. Though the weather has changed a lot since the recent festival Makar Sankranti. The rustling winds still wake her up from sleep. Sun shines only during a limited part of the day.
“Naani, do we still have some Tilkut left?” “Yes dear. Here, take this Chai and get the Tilkut
from the basket on the table.” Sitakshi grabs both and sits out in the verandah. The roaring wind made her put on a shawl adding a layer of warmth along with the warmth of having Raghav around her. The shawl was gifted to her by him, whenever she wore he seemed to be all over her mind and in her thoughts covering her consciousness much like the shawl covered her, but in a much closer and comfortable way. It is comfortable to wear along during this transition time from winter to spring. The floral patterns on it suddenly reminded her of spring in America. The roads are filled with cherry blossoms and cheerful people all over.
“Spring has arrived,” says Naani as if she has heard Sita's inner voice. “And Vasantha Panchami comes this weekend.”
“There is a legend of Pindaruch that describes Maa Sita and the importance of celebration of Vasantha Panchami. It says, Sita Maiyya, her sisters and other women in her kingdom used to plant some flowering plants during this time as they will soon blossom into beautiful leaves and flowers around Holi time. The transition period of forty days is the period of season change and also signifies the number of days Rati devi performed penance to get back her husband Kama, who was reincarnated as Pradyumna, Lord Krishna's grandson. And the children are taught to recite and write their first alphabets in regard to the auspicious day of Goddess Sarawathi who is known for her knowledge and creativity.”
Sharlene interrupts Naani, she is curious as to why there is a sudden influx of yellow in the market, all the yellow clothes put up in the market from the day before. Naani patiently explains the significance of the colour and that the harvest of Mustard occurs during this time. Yellow is known to be Saraswati Maa's favourite colour which is considered very
auspicious in Hindu traditions. For Sitakshi, the relationship between Sharlene and Naani is one of the most beautiful aspects of coming to Pindaruch; two people of completely different age groups with no common language and culture to be constantly chatting and giggling was an amazing sight. Naani patience with her Shalu was something that should have been written about in the Puranas.
“Why don't you both go and see our mustard fields near Kuldevi temple? It will be so beautiful and bright.”
Sita realizes that with the start of spring comes the end of her extravagant time in India. In Pindaruch, both of them pace down the mustard fields and see the villagers harvesting. Suddenly, she could see Raghav in the neighbourhood field helping an elderly woman. And then she just gets lost in his thoughts.
Will I ever get a chance to know him? Does he feel the same way I do about him? And is it okay if I talk about it? Or will he….
Sharlene’s question brings her back to reality. So, Raghav it is right? Sita blushes in reply and turns back to look at him to see him coming towards her. “So, how are the preparations
going on at your home? I'm sure your Naani must have already started preparations,” says Raghav with a small smile. “Yes, she kind of started it already. Explained to us the significance. Maa Saraswati, spring season and all.”
“He stands awkwardly, he wants to talk but is so unsure of what to say so finally he blurts out ‘Nice then, you know it. The students worship Maa Saraswati, to be blessed with her energy in excelling their academics. Maa Saraswati, is the Shakthi's Roop of intelligence and intellect. We worship her by building clay idols of Maata, making her favourite Prasad meetha boondi and getting her ready in all divine yellow colour.” Sharlene shakes her to add: “But ironically, even when the Goddess of intelligence and education is a woman, the literacy rate in this country is very low. Thanks to both of you, the women of Pindaruch now feel stronger and empowered.”
Next Day, Sitakshi and Sharlene wake up early to the sound of bells and conch shells being blown all around. Washed and clean, wearing lehengas in customary yellow, they are both ready for Vasantha Panchami. This time it is going to be celebrated in the new school; the
teachers have planned a beautiful aarti around a clay murti made by Sharlene’s art students in the studio that she had set up. The young and inspired teaching task force sonorously recites the Saraswati Shlokas in Sanskrit for blessings and motivation.
Yaa Kundendu tushaara haara-dhavalaa, Yaa shubhra-vastra’avritaa,
Yaa veena-vara-danda-manditakara, Yaa
shweta padma’asana |
Yaa brahma’achyuta shankara prabhritibhir
Devai-sadaa Vanditaa,
Saa Maam Paatu Saraswati Bhagavatee
Nihshesha jaadya’apahaa ||
Shuklaam Brahmavichaara Saara paramaam
Aadhyaam Jagadvyapinim,
Veena Pustaka Dhaarineem Abhayadaam Jaadya’andhakaara’apahaam |
Haste Sphaatika Maalikam Vidadhateem Padmasane Sansthitaam
Vande taam Parmeshwareem Bhagavateem Buddhipradaam Shardam ||
Who is pure white like Jasmine, with the
coolness of Moon, the brightness of Snow
and shines like the garland of Pearls, Who is
covered with pure white garments,
Whose hands are adorned with Veena (a stringed musical instrument) and the boon-giving staff; and Who is seated on a pure white Lotus,
Who is always adored by Lord Brahma,
Lord Vishnu, Lord Shiva, and other gods
One Who is fair in complexion, Who is the essence of Brahman, one Who pervades
the universe,
With Veena in one hand and the Vedas in the other, bestower of fearlessness and remover of ignorance,
With a crystal rosary in her hand, seated on
a lotus,
I bow down to that dazzling Goddess Saraswati who is the source of wisdom.
Sharlene has mastered the pronunciation of some Sanskrit and Maithili words which allows her to participate in the festivities. That day, they helped around the village kids with their Puja. They distribute some notebooks and pens to teenagers and teach some
young kids to write. The respect they receive from villagers is something so unexpected. The impact of all their effort along with Raghav’s work in improving literacy and helping them through their struggles by lending a hand in selling their handicrafts has begun to be felt by all. Pindaruch changed in a lot of ways, more than Raghav and Naani could ever imagine.
After all this while, has she been able to realize the power she has to bring change? Or is it just her adventurous mind against the paradigms? Will her mind be drawn to the idea of belonging here or does she feel this could be a wonderful tour to India and leave it as a memory. Maya might have its own plans to answer this in its way. And time? Nothing can ever challenge it, for we never know what Sitakshi finally decides with time!
Naani was clearing the house of all old scrap as Holi was nearing. Amidst the dust, above the roof, Sitakshi finds some old carton boxes that seemed waiting for her to open. Sita took the smallest of boxes and went to Naani to ask about that.
“Aah, o sab![Aah, all those!] Those were your Naanaji's and my wedding gifts. I thought I lost them. Glad that you found them. I wanted something from it.”
Naani searches through the box for something she wanted while Sitakshi's eyes get caught by a very old letter found in the box.
“Mil gelaun! [I found it!]” Naani was holding an old artifact. Handcrafted, it looked. It was a bronze container that had idols of Radha and Krishna with its borders covered with a series of idols. She looked at it awestruck. Some of them seemed similar. The third last was Lord Ram with the bow and arrow and the second last was Lord Krishna with flute in hand and holy cow behind.
“Who are the others Naani?”
“They were incarnations otherwise known as Avatars of Bhagwan Vishnu.” The only avatar she knew till the time was an Avatar movie that she had seen long back. Wondering about the same in the back of her mind, Naani interrupts her thoughts.
Lord Ram was in the era of Treta Yuga and Lord Krishna was in Dwapara Yuga. Likewise in every different era or Yug, Lord Vishnu attained so many forms.
This sounded so strange to Sitakshi. These were
the abstract ideas that filled those beautiful
metaphoric tales found in the puranas and other ancient stories. Where the cloud is not a cloud but a doubt that floats around our consciousness or a golden deer is not a deer but a symbol of our hidden material desires that often run away with our soul! Sitakshi was so puzzled, she really wished that Naani would explain it once and for all! But why in so many forms and avatars? Couldn’t he just be himself?
“Let me try and explain this,” Naani had said, her forehead wrinkled with worry. She really wanted to get it right but unfortunately wasn’t sure about her own thoughts about this.
“Why is there so much poetry in our stories? Because there are multiple ways of looking at them. But the singular point is that our whole universe runs on an enormous energy source often referred to as Brahma.This is the driving force that supports life on earth and maybe other planets too. When we worship nature or any God,by chanting the hymns, we attune ourselves to the cosmic energy through the sounds. It is only then can we absorb the energy into us that is required to live a satisfactory life. Participating we become part and parcel of the same energy, which is an impersonal form of the Lord Vishnu himself. His energy just as he
always motivates us to maintain the balance in our lives and our surroundings. Unfortunately, this is not understood by everyone that they are a part of the Supreme consciousness of the universe that can be separated into three forms. Lord Brahma, the creation energy. Lord Vishnu, the stabilizing energy. Lord Shiva, the destructive energy. The calm and composite Lord Vishnu always waits for the living to restore the balance in a peaceful manner. But whenever the balance disrupts in a way that he himself can only stabilize it, he comes down to earth in various forms depending on the need and requirement. You know that Lord Ram destroyed Ravana and Lord Krishna was the Supreme cause of Dharma yudh- The Mahabharata. Likewise, to destroy evil and restore the balance of nature by protecting dharma in every era, the Lord had to take several forms. For instance, Lord Parasurama Prabhu vowed and killed all the unethical kshatriyas around the globe.”
Oh! Sitakshi was dumbstruck. She wondered how all those ancient Sages could not just remember all this, but also debate about them. Here she was, listening to them just one more time from Naani and she could feel her head spin.
“I much rather celebrate the festivals than think about the details. I am sure I would understand the philosophy if I just became part of the celebrations.”
“Of course," said Naani. “Having faith and following the rituals and system is the easiest path to understanding eternal truth, it is called the path of Bhakti. And your next festival is a fun one - it is Holi. The festival of colours, which has become so famous all over the world.”
“And why do we celebrate Holi?” Sitakshi asked Naani the most obvious question but that had her confused
Naani wanted to be accurate, she had begun to feel that she wasn’t giving Sitakshi the correct answers and that bothered her. Typical of most Indians, Naani loved the celebrations and the rituals, it really didn’t matter why. Life was meant to be enjoyed and the entire society needed to participate. So Naani thought about it and said, “It is springtime, and planting season and hard work is waiting for all the farmers so they take a quick break full of wild dancing and music.”
“Really? I thought it had something to do with Lord Krishna, are you sure?” SItakshi persisted.
“Sita, our country celebrates the same festival with many reasons and the same applies for Holi too. The most popular story is that of Lord Vishnu and his hater Hiranyakashipu, the father of the pure soul Prahlad. Prahlad’s father wants to kill his own son because he worships Lord Vishnu; and Lord Vishnu is a person Hirayankashipu cannot stand. But Hiranyakashipu had a boon that no animal nor human would be able to kill him, while his sister Holika had the boon that she would not burn in fire. Between the two, they decided to kill Prahlad by setting him on fire. Holika sat with the baby Prahlad on her lap and a fire was lit below, but a miracle happened, Holika burned in the fire but Prahlad was safe. That is why we burn the Holika and then celebrate the destruction of evil during holi. This is when lord Vishnu takes the form of Lord Narasimha, where he is half man and half lion and tears Hiranyakashipu apart.”
“I think there was another story that was told to me.”
“Yes, there is another popular story; another legend according to Hindu purana tells us that Holi also signifies the divine love of Lord Shri Krishna and Radha devi. It says that on this day,
Lord Krishna played Holi with Radha and other gopis celebrating their pure love with colours. And hence Holi is also called festival of colours and festival of Love. So, on the day of Choti Holi/ Holika, people gather all the waste/ wood scrap in the house and burn them in front of their house. And the following day, people offer their prayers to Lord Vishnu and Lord Krishna along with Radha and play with colours.
It is celebrated no differently in Pindaruch. It is one of the favourite festivals of the youth here. People flock around the town in white dresses just to get them coloured by evening. Sitakshi was also set for her last festival in Pindaruch. She wanted to celebrate it to the fullest. She wore a light beige kurta with straight pants. Sharlene and Sitakshi left home after the breakfast and went near the town's main temple where everyone gathers to celebrate. Colours, water balloons and what not. She had attended Holi back home sometimes but seemed so tame compared to this; full music, dancing and wild colours. She has some epic reasons to celebrate anyways. She has achieved much since arriving in Pindaruch e. She has done her part in making women stronger and more independent. Spent some amazing time with Naani and had loads of fun and clarity after learning so much from her.
And last, but best of all, was that she had met Raghav. To whom, she was drawn towards like a magnet. This was the closest to what she wanted from life.
Sita went running around and throwing colours on everyone but kept escaping from those trying to colour her. Her little secret was that she wanted to have Raghav put the first colours on her. So, when Raghav pulled her towards him saying, “Hamar rang mein bheej jaon!” [“Get drenched in my colours”] and rubbed all the colour onto her cheeks, she didn't even try to escape. Their relationship evolved to a beautiful yet confused phase. Though both were attracted to each other; drawn to each other by the differences, because opposites attract! Yet They were from two entirely different worlds. Blending into each other's thoughts and living the same for life was something that they weren’t sure of.. And after a day full of excitement and colours, everybody returned to their homes. While Sita and Raghav stayed back to watch the sunset.
The evening was warmer than usual with a slight breeze that made Sita's hair flicker. Adjusting it behind her ear and looking into her eyes, Raghav seemed to want to say something
about them but shifted his gaze away and asked in an unusually quiet tone. “So, how was the Holi of 'my' village? Is it the same back at your home?”
“It is quite different there. But isn't your village my village too now?” replies Sitakshi, surprised.
“I mean yes, maybe it is your hometown. But you will be back to your place in no time. It's not like you wish to stay here forever anyways. For me, it has been and will be home till the end of my life. I was born and brought up here and wish to spend my entire life serving the people and nature here. This is my motherland. Even if I had the choice of working in the city, I'd still choose Pindaruch.”
“But given the chance to go back or stay here, will you stay with me? Here, in Pindaruch?”
Raghav was clearly unambiguous in his thoughts. He seemed as if he wanted her to stay but also wouldn't want to force her will to make a decision. He seemed weirdly calm and anxious at the same time - restless for her to answer even though he knew that he might be unhappy with the answer.
Sitakshi in her wildness had wanted to explore her country; spend a long vacation here.
But does she really want to stay back? These were also the thoughts running in her mind. Raghav's question had brought up questions that she knew existed but she chose to ignore.t Deep down she also knew what she wanted: to live in both places, have Raghav travel across to the USA but she knew that she couldn’t have it all. Between all the thoughts she had, she could hear the voice of Sita from inside.
You might've felt you were like me. But have you changed yourself enough to make a decision that I did? Will you be able to do that? Leaving family and everything behind and to stay back with your Ram in an entirely different world to yours like the 14 years of exile was mine?
Raghav leaves her with her thoughts. A dilemma that seems insurmountable, what will she regret the most? Leaving Raghav for everything or leaving everything for Raghav? And even if she opts for the former one, will she be able to adjust there for the rest of her life knowing that Raghav would never want to go to America?
“Are you okay?” Sharlene asks Sita who is looking confused and pale.
“If you can, will you stay back here? Leaving your store and your life there. Will you be able to do that?” Sita questions her.
Without thinking even for a minute, Sharlene nods her head and replies with ecstasy, “I would love to. There was a time in my life when, let alone voice my thoughts, I couldn't even believe I had the right to live the way I want. That phase would have been miserable if it hadn’t been my mother who made sure I stayed safe. And we became safe after the Patels entered our life. I will be grateful for them forever. After seeing every phase of my life there, Yes, I would definitely live here along with them. It is due to them and this culture that I felt this alive. Let me give you some advice dear. When you do not understand what you want, it doesn't matter whatever decision you'll make, if you learn to live happily with that. Accept the consequences. That way you might not regret it. C'mon now let's get home and change!”
Sharlene grabs Sita's arm and both run towards home. But Sita's thoughts remain bound in Raghav's questions and confused by Sharlene’s solutions.
Maya does her part, doesn't she?!
itakshi sat up in bed, her throat was parched. She could feel the dry air rustling as it was swirled around by
the blades of the fan. The air is crackling with static. Wonder if it can be harnessed and used as renewable energy? she thought to herself. She paused for a moment and giggled – would, I, Sitakshi six months ago thought of alternative energy sources? Gosh! Pindaruch is a magical place- you come in as a super-confident, ‘know it all’ Feminist, to be put on The Pindaruch Stage, which makes you dance to tunes you have never heard of, and when you get off you are another person. You are questioning not just feminism but your whole reality.
She got out of bed and went downstairs to see what Naani was doing in the kitchen. Halfway down the stairs, she could hear Naani battling with her sworn enemies – “Haan Beta! You were tired, right, so you overslept! I suppose, The Devi, is also tired and will be happy to oversleep! Hatt! Hatt! Tell that story somewhere else, not here- in fact, if you can’t get up on time… go somewhere else!”
Naani had stopped for breath and to allow the threat to sink in. “Move, let me do it myself. Let the Devi know that this old woman has
more energy than these silly youngsters. I will not let The Kul Devi get angry and leave us. Oh! if such a day comes, we will be forever cursed! Move, hatt! Let me get the puja thali.”
Sitakshi grinned, ‘this is classic Naani, amazing how she can blend pathos with ethos at a moment’s notice, and emotionally blackmail the whole of Pindaruch.’ She knew she was going to miss this morning ritual. There was no place for such subtle manipulation in the straight jacketed world that Sitakshi came from. Her world was so measured, one weighed what one said, one calculated what and how much one did- it was contractual and crystal clear, with no opaque areas! Even smudgy translucence was unacceptable.
She could hear the mumbling voice of the kitchen help followed by Naani’s sharp response, “Don’t whine, Rona-Dhona won’t work here!” Then came her exclamation that was quintessentially Naani “Hai Ram! Pindaruch no longer has people, it only has lazy cowards! Hai Ram! Now listen I am going to the temple, you can sleep till I come back. Then I will fix you.” and she was gone in a huff.
Sitakshi walked softly to the anteroom to the kitchen where tea was made; she was astonished
to find Sharlene standing next to the kettle, her eyes tightly closed with a big grin on her face, she had obviously been listening to Naani.
“Sharlene? What are you doing?”
“I am letting the most beautiful words of concern and love soak into my consciousness.”
“You mean Naani and the kitchen help- their relationship has elements of a ballad,” Sitakshi sighed, “You are going to miss it too, aren’t you?”
“Miss it? I am going to record it and play it every morning just to remind myself I am a muddled human and not a robot living a sterile life!”
“The world there is so beautiful, but why don’t we get people like Naani there?”
Sharlene poured out tea for them into roughly made fired clay cups; the two of them walked up to the balcony sheltered by a huge neem tree and sat down to enjoy their cups of tea.
“You know girl,” Sharlene begins to answer Sitakshi’s question, “the only way I can explain it is by comparing people to pieces of computer Art. Computer Art can be done in different ways, sometimes it is done in layers, a single
layer has just one part of the final Artwork, maybe a flower, another layer may have some leaves and another a flower bud- each layer is done perfectly and to get the final Art piece, all the layers are fused into one. But the artwork has many layers, giving it shades and depth – that is Naani, full of unseen depths and levels of beauty and thought that most of us can’t get to the bottom of, an odd combination of layers presents odd emotions and relationships. But most of us, particularly in the west, are art pieces created on a single layer, intricate, colourful but no layers to add depth to our relationships and different shades to our lives, so we look, live, and share our lives in a flat uneventful manner. We are unable to bring hidden and mixed emotions to the surface, because there are no layers to extract that image from. Aunt Sujata was layered like Naani. Her love came out looking different at different moments, as did her anger. Naani has let me feel the complexities that have shaped my life, all over again- I find peace here.”
“You could be right. And I will miss all of this. I never imagined that a small town in the heartland of India could change the contours of my personality. But …”
Sharlene looked at her, she could see the confusion on her young friend’s face. Her heart and her mind were at odds, she was struggling with the dilemma of choosing one over the other.
“You know, you don’t have to go back right now?” she offered her advice softly, “you have been working hard, it has been very stressful, maybe you could stay on and travel a bit.”
“I might not ever leave, if I did that.”
“Then don’t leave,” Sharlene shrugged, then with a broad grin said, “after all, unlike me, you belong here.” The two girls laughed over Aunt Sujata’s belief.
The mists of the hills around had given way to bright sunshine; the beginning of summer heat was palpable, and she was already struggling with the dryness of the air. Sitakshi took sip of the tea thick with milk, sugar and spices and sighed; she could hear the koel call, the sparrows chatter as they stole wisps of thatch from the roof of the shed below, to line their nests - every creature seemed to know what to do, except her!
“What are your final plans?” she asked Sharlene.
Her friend laughed, “Final is a strong word! Especially for me, you know, I am a very ‘go with flow’ person. Planning has never been my strong point. I need to go back, and read what the Tarot cards say- I haven’t done that in ages…”
“That’s exactly how I feel as well,” interrupted Sitakshi, “I have left things a bit unfinished there, I don’t want to be incomplete as an individual.”
She fell silent, her own words did not feel convincing to her ears. Was she making up excuses because staying here would mean committing herself to a lifestyle she wasn’t sure of? Or did she feel she would be giving up other opportunities?
“Hai Ram!” Sharlene had borrowed Naani’s favourite exclamation and the two girls laughed out at the preciseness of her use. “You don’t have to be complete to live your life! We just need to have the ability to create a comfortable space to be ourselves wherever we are.”
“Well, what are your plans?”
“To see whether I am comfortable returning to the place I left behind months ago- No- I also
have some real business plans- the products designed by the women have been accepted well, but I need to create a larger market for them and then increase production here. I will also look around so that I can add to the design portfolio over here. Besides that, I need to confirm with Raghav about the ‘wellness spa’ across the canal, you know whether we can create such a centre here, now that we don’t have collector Sahab spoiling things. I will need to talk to my uncle Aditya about that. I am not sure whether he will want to come back to India.”
“Look at you! So clear about it all. I don’t see any ‘go with the flow’ in this!” Sitakshi sounded almost accusing.
Sharlene could see that Sitakshi was befuddled, she wanted to help her; She wished that she had a pack of Tarot cards here! That would have solved much. All she said was, “Well, ‘go with the flow’ doesn’t mean to be without a plan, it just means the plan doesn’t have to be unchangeable, it means you have a point of view that is ever changing depending on the circumstance you are in!”
Raghav barged in with a freshness and energy that they had been missing, bringing their circuitous conversation to an end.
“Are you girls busy with anything in particular?” He asked but continued without waiting for a reply, “because I have things for you to do. Sharlene you need to check the area for setting up the Spa. I have convinced the owner that it will be a good business and he is willing to be a partner. And Sitakshi..,’ he turned to look at her and was surprised, “What’s the matter with you? You look so unhappy.”
His sudden presence had messed her thoughts even further, she just shrugged, “The summer is getting to me, maybe ..,” she trailed off.
Raghav looked concerned but didn’t want to pry. Ever since he had told her that he was going back to Delhi to finish writing his thesis she had been moody. He wanted to reassure her but wasn’t sure whether he was being presumptuous about her interest in him. He had suggested that she goes home- he wanted her to be sure about herself and her needs. He didn’t want her to feel that there were opportunities there which she had sacrificed; he didn’t want her to regret choices. There were so many things that had remained unsaid between them! She was so different from all the girls he had known that he sometimes felt so inadequate and unsure about how to behave and what to say to her! But today wasn’t one of those days.
“Summer is just beginning! In fact, that is why I came over.” He couldn’t tell her that he needed to see her every day, to soak up her memories before she left for her home in a land so far away and so different from anything he knew. He didn’t want to think about the fact that she might not come back and that he would never see her again that thought was just too painful.
“You came over to discuss summer, with Me? Why? Am I the weather God?” that cheeky arrogant tone that she had specially for him was back and he was relieved.
“No, but you run a school, so you need to be responsible for the children.” He gave her a smug smile, “You need to change the timings of the school so that all children can be home by eleven before the hot summer wind, the loo can dehydrate them and cause sunstroke.”
“Uho! I didn’t know that!” She exclaimed. “I must solve that.”
“There is so much more you don’t know, or maybe you pretend you don’t know,” he thought to himself. But he pushed those thoughts aside and said, “I need your help.”
Sitakshi’s eyes lit up, she hoped it would be something that would maybe require to stay or maybe give her a definite reason to return!
“What can I do for you?” She asked almost tartly.
“My experiment with planting fruit trees along the canal to fix the soil has worked. I have got permission to plant saplings along the entire stretch on the canal. Once I get the planting done, I wondered whether you could get all the girls in the school to nurture the saplings.”
“Of course, that is a great idea! They put their names next to the tree so that they have a sense of ownership and maybe a bit of competition as to whose tree is growing fastest,” she was animated and excited again. Raghav felt happy that he had been able to make her feel better. “I need to go through the curriculum I had curated for them, maybe revise it a bit. I could add beekeeping and fruit farming to it! Let me get home, I will have more resources there.”
Yes,Sitakshi thought,things are falling into place.
She could now see clearer purpose and links between her two worlds. Her thoughts were interrupted by Sharlene’s excitement.
“Raghav, we can have the agro-tourism idea working- plant Litchi trees, we can have
a bunch of stiff old people stretching and getting
good exercise plucking litchis that I could eat!”
“And Naani would eat you – alive.” Rahgav imitated Naani’s dramatic gestures, “Hai Ram! Litchi plucking over her? Rubbish and nonsense. Go back all of you. Now! before I ask Kul Devi to curse you!”
Laughter lifted their thoughts, and the three of them felt just a tad more comfortable about leaving the little world of Pindaruch that had become their universe.
Later that night, she had been leaning on the terrace walls and looking up at the clear night sky, the smell of wood fires filling the air. “The same stars will look down on us, sharing their lights with us – Naani will stare and worry about us at the other side of the world, Sharlene will see them as signs that the universe loves us all, Raghav will look at them and maybe think of using them as directions to her home and she will look at them and think about how they shone brightly on the little town of Pindaruch that had stolen her heart.”
She was so lost in her thoughts that she did not hear Naani’s tired footsteps coming up to the terrace.
Naani came up and hugged her, “Meri Sita Maiyya, you have been the hero, you have brought new life to me and prosperity to Pindaruch. Now you take away the light when you go off to that freezing cold country, where everyone is white like Maida, you know flour!”
Sitakshi hugged her back and smiled at her nasty racist comment. “They are not all cold and like flour- look at Sharlene. Besides Sharlene and I will keep coming back. Mamma had called this morning to say I have been accepted into a doctoral program on Folklore – matlab, all the stories you have kept safe in your head, I will come back and listen to them, then spin it into a thesis. So, I will be back before you can really miss me.”
“I worry, I am not so young anymore and all these people take advantage of my gentleness,” Naani lamented trying to get some sympathy for all that she was feeling.
“Call Raghav, if you need help with local gundas,” she was amazed how he had become such a support for them all!
“Yes, your Kallu has promised me- he said ‘Ranima, I will be your minister and help you make Pindaruch the best in the district. He is a good boy,” Naani added.
“You know he has a name,” she tried to nudge Naani into social niceties. But all she got in response was, “Hai Ram! Have you seen his complexion, Kallu suits him fine and it is easier for me to say- I am old naah.”
Sitakshi laughed and hugged her grandmother tightly. So much has changed, but so much remains the same,she thought, just like the stars – they sparkle and shift, but we find there in the sky twinkling down on us - just the same every night.
She picked up her ticket and passport from the check- in counter, putting them away carefully in her cleverly crafted travel sling bag that was an ochre-coloured jute one designed by Sharlene and her craftspeople using local fabrics and indigenous dyes. She thoughtfully pulled the zip…
Hopes, dreams, and wishes seemed to be a twisting tornado inside her head! She struggled to get a grip on herself and her muddled thoughts and emotions.
She watched Sharlene, stuff her things randomly into her messy backpack and wondered – has Sharlene changed? Does she feel different like I do?
Her questions just remained hanging delicately in the balance of her mind, as Sharlene tugged her hand, “Hurry! The security line is short. Llet’s go before I have to fight for a baggage tray!”
Sitakshi smiled at the typical Sharlene attitude to things; she found herself being dragged along, she turned back and there was Raghav outside the glass window of the airport.
He was smiling and waving her on- on an impulse, she blew him kisses and laughed out loud as he looked shocked.
“Will he wait for me? Should I come back? Will this warm feeling last?”
The questions were back.
As Sharlene roughly pulled her into the narrow security lanes defined by retractable stanchions, Sitakshi briefly looked back and waved at Raghav. He waved back as the crowd began to close- up on him, till at last, she could just see the tips of his hand.
Sharlene was pulling her away towards the
gruff security guard.
Sitakshi sighed, “Yes, it was Maya again!”
Sitakshi knew Maya was spinning her circles of time, stirring up the difficult questions in her head which had messy answers, or did they have answers at all?
A breeze swished by as she walked to the security booth, and Sitakshi could distinctly hear the breeze whisper, “the answer is ‘maybe’ .”
She stepped into the lounge, took a brief look behind her- at all that she was leaving behind- the crowds, the colours and flavours, the rhythms of life, the rituals from ages past, and the heat and dust… and then,
she turned to the view outside the lounge – the tarmac, the aircrafts, and the journey that lay ahead- with a wistful smile she mumbled under her breath, “Yes! The world is enormous, time so stretchable that tomorrow can never be reached- so the answer is, as Maya whispers to us all, a big Maybe.”
She sat down and waited for her flight, and
Maya’s next move…
“Dreams are real as long as they last. Can we say more of life?”
Glossary
Aadrak chai: tea spiced with fresh ginger
- Arrey: a colloquial Hindi/Maithili interjection meaning ‘alright!’
- Avatar: Avatar” comes from the Sanskrit word avat?ra meaning “descent”. Within Hinduism, it means a manifestation of a deity in bodily form on earth, such as a divine teacher. For those who don't practice Hinduism, it technically means “an incarnation, embodiment, or manifestation of a person or idea”
- Bachha/Bachhe: colloquial Hindi/Maithili for child/children
- Beti: Hindi colloquial for young girl or daughter- used mostly as an endearment
- Bhabi: Hindi colloquial for brother’s wife, often used to refer respectfully to a married woman
- Bhagwan: Bhagwan comes from the Sanskrit bhaga, meaning “fortune” or “wealth.” It translates as “fortunate” and “blessed.” The term is also spelled
bhagavan, bhagvan and bhagawan. Often used as a prefix when referring to Various Gods.
- Bindi: a small coloured mark or jewel (= precious stone) that is worn between the eyebrows, especially by Hindu women to show that they are married
- Chalega: Hindi colloquial for ‘will suffice
under the circumstances’
- Chalo: Hindi colloquial for ‘let’s go’
- Chandan: Sandel wood paste
- Chhas: Also known as buttermilk in English, chaas is the ubiquitous Indian beverage, often served with meals. It is a cooling, refreshing and low calorie drink, which spiced .
- Chunri: a light sometimes lacy stole/veil worn over the kameez by women
- dahi chiwda: A common breakfast snack of
yogurt and soaked flattened rice
- dhoban: Hindi for washerwoman
- Diyas: a small oil lamp, usually made from clay.
- Dupatta: a length of material worn arranged in two folds over the chest and thrown back around the shoulders, typically with a salwar kameez, by women from South Asia. Much like a chunri
- Durga: Durga, (Sanskrit: “the Inaccessible”) in Hinduism, a principal form of the Goddess, also known as Devi and Shakti. According to legend, Durga was created for the slaying of the buffalo demon Mahishasura by Brahma, Vishnu, Shiva, and the lesser gods, who were otherwise powerless to overcome him.
- garbha griha: Literally the word means "womb chamber", from the Sanskrit words garbha for womb and griha for house. Although the term is often associated with Hindu temples, it is also found in Jain and Buddhist temples. It is the central room where the Idol of the God or the object of worship is kept.
- Gopashtami: is a festival that is dedicated to Lord Krishna and cows. It is the coming-of-age celebration when Krishna's father, Nanda Maharaja, gave Krishna the responsibility for taking care of the cows of Vrindavan.
- Gowmata: reverential was of addressing the cow as ‘CowMother’ or a goddess
- Gunda: Slang Hindi for ruffian or thug
- Hai Ram: a colloquial Hindi/Maithili interjection meaning ‘OH! God or Good heavens’
- Haldi: Hindi for Turmeric
- Hatt: a colloquial Hindi/Maithili interjection meaning ‘Move/ get out of the way’
- idhar nahi: Hindi term meaning ‘ not here’
- Kalash: A vessel used in rituals, especially a sacred water vessel. It is a metal (brass, copper, silver or gold) pot with a large base and small mouth, large enough to hold a coconut.
- Kallu: Slang Hindi often used as endearment for ‘Dark complexion or Black’
- Keri motif: Mango pattern frequently used in Indian Handlooms; it is considered auspicious
- Khana ke Ghar: Hindi phrase meaning ‘room for food’ or dining room
- Kishenji: Another name for Krishna, the Avatar of Vishnu
- Kuldevi: A deity worshipped by a family
- Kumkum: Kumkum is a powder used for social and religious markings in India. The turmeric is dried and powdered with a bit of slaked lime, which turns the rich yellow powder into a red colour. Kumkum is most often applied by Indians to the forehead.
- Laddus: Laddu or laddoo (la???, l????) is a sphere-shaped sweet originating from the Indian subcontinent; the name originated from the Sanskrit word Lattika. Laddus are made of flour, fat (ghee/butter/ oil), and sugar, with other ingredients that vary by recipe, like chopped nuts or dried raisins. They are often served at festive or religious occasions
- Lakshmi: Lakshmi is one of the most important figures in Hinduism. She is the romantic partner of Vishnu, who is known as the protector of the universe. The word Lakshmi comes from a Sanskrit root meaning "goddess who leads to one's goal." In the Hindu religion, Lakshmi is the goddess of wealth, love, beauty, and joy.
In art, Lakshmi is usually shown with four arms. She is often portrayed standing on a giant lotus flower with an elephant or two in the background.
- Lehenga: The lehenga, lehnga or langa (also known as a ghagra or gagra, chaniya, pavadai, or lacha) is a form of ankle-length skirt from the Indian subcontinent. It is worn usually on formal or ceremonial occasions.
- Madhubani: An art form that is typical to the Indian state of Bihar; The name of the town Madhubani means 'Forest of Money' and the same can be found in abundance over here. Madhubani is popular for its beautiful villages and their ancient art, which is known by the name of Madhubani painting. The town of Madhubani has also been the centre of 'Maithili' culture.
- Masala Chai: A sweet, Milk tea that is made with spices.
- Matlab: Hindi word that is used as a question to ask ‘what does that mean’; used as a phrase meaning ‘meaning of’
- Maya jaal: refers to the “net of M?y?”; M?y? is the cage of Nature. M?y? is the
intellect. M?y? is the mind. M?y? is the wish-granting gem. M?y? is (the variety and changes of phenomena and so is) like waves; also, (it is the essential nature of all phenomena and so it is) like the water (from which waves are made). M?y? is the bondage of Karma.
- Meri: Hindi for my/mine
- Naani: colloquial Hindi for Maternal Grandmother
- Natt Mandir: Term for dance halls of royal palaces and temples. Na? [or na?a] is the Sanskrit term for dance, and mandir—a Hindi term—means a house, premises, abode, and so on.
- Pandit: a Hindu scholar learned in Sanskrit and Hindu philosophy and religion, typically also a practising priest.
- Phirangi: Rang is colour and it is a Persian word. Fi, could be fikka or could be a prefix for something that is non-existence. So with this analogy, Fi-rangi would literally mean without colour or pale skinned.firangi or firang is a very popular word in North India to refer to pale skinned Europeans or people
of such complexion but only foreigners. It was probably coined during the Mughal era. It's a slang for white foreigners and it's derogatory. Firangi is used only for white european people.
- Pranayama: Pranayama is the practice of breath regulation. It's a main component of yoga, an exercise for physical and mental wellness. In Sanskrit, “prana” means life energy and “yama” means control. The practice of pranayama involves breathing exercises and patterns.
- puja Thali: This is a Hindi word to describe a plate -Thali which holds all the offerings for prayers
- Raavan Dahan: Ravan Dahan is an important ritual of Dussehra celebration and every year on this festival also known as Vijayadashmi, the ten-headed effigy of the demon king is burnt along with the effigies of Kumbhkaran (Ravan's younger brother) and Meghanada (Ravan's son). It marks the end of the Navratri festival
- Rakhi: Raksha Bandhan, also abbreviated to Rakhi, is the Hindu festival that celebrates
brotherhood and love. It is celebrated on the full moon in the month of Sravana in the lunar calendar. The word Raksha means protection, whilst Bandhan is the verb to tie.
- Ram lila: Ramlila, literally “Rama's play”, is a performance of then Ramayana epic in a series of scenes that include song, narration, recital and dialogue. It is performed across northern India during the festival of Dussehra, held each year according to the ritual calendar in autumn.
- Ramji Ka swayambar: This references Sita choosing to marry Ram at assembly of suitors.
- Roti: A flat round bread cooked on
a griddle.
- Sab gaya, jath gaya, Kul gaya – yeh phirang ke vaje se sab gaya!’: Colloquial Hindi translates as ‘lost everything, lost my caste, lost my family- this foreigner has caused me to lose everything’
- Salwar kameez: The salwar (also spelt shalwar) kameez, popularly known as the Punjabi suit, is the traditional dress of
women in the Punjab region of northwestern India and eastern Pakistan. The outfit comprises a pair of trousers (salwar) and a tunic (kameez) that is usually paired with a scarf (dupatta).
- Saraswati: the Hindu goddess of knowledge, music, art, speech, wisdom, and learning. She is one of the Tridevi, along with the goddesses Lakshmi and Parvati. Saraswati.
- Shakti: Sakti [shakti] means “power”; in Hindu philosophy and theology sakti is understood to be the active dimension of the godhead, the divine power that underlies the godhead's ability to create the world and to display itself. worship of the Hindu goddess Shakti (Sanskrit: “Power” or “Energy”). Shaktism is, together with Vaishnavism and Shaivism, one of the major forms of modern Hinduism and is especially popular in Bengal and Assam.
- Shikara: shikhara, (Sanskrit: “mountain peak”) also spelled shikara, also called shikar, in North Indian temple architecture, the superstructure, tower, or spire above the sanctuary and also above the pillared mandapas (porches or halls); it is the most
dominant and characteristic feature of the Hindu temple in the north
- Sita-maiyya: Literal translation is Mother Sita; it is used as an endearment for young girls
- Swayambar: A custom of ancient Hindus, in which a woman used to choose her husband herself. ancient Hindu custom of public selection of a husband by a princess or a lady of high rank from among a number of assembled suitors.
- Terrai: a belt of marshy jungle lying between the lower foothills of the Himalayas and the plains.
- Tilak/ Tikka: tilak, Sanskrit tilaka (“mark”), in Hinduism, a mark, generally made on the forehead, indicating a person's sectarian affiliation. The marks are made by hand or with a metal stamp, using ash from a sacrificial fire, sandalwood paste, turmeric, cow dung, clay, charcoal, or red lead.
- Tussar: a strong coarse brownish Indian silk obtained from the cocoons of an Asian saturniid silkworm, that is woven into fabrics
- Utto: Hindi word that means ‘get up’ in a very casual tone
- Vanar Sena: According to Hindu beliefs the Army of Monkeys or vanaras, helped Lord Rama fight the armies of Ravan of Lanka in the epic Ramayana.
- Vishnu: Vishnu 'the pervader', also known as Narayana and Hari, is one of the principal deities of Hinduism. He is the supreme being within Vaishnavism, one of the major traditions within contemporary Hinduism.
Saraswati Vandana Translated
Yaa Kundendu tushaara haara-dhavalaa
She, who is as fair as the Kunda flower, white as the moon, and a garland of white snow
- Yaa shubhra-vastra’avritaa
Who is covered in white clothes
- Yaa veena-vara-danda-manditakara
She, whose hands are adorned by the excellent veena, and
- Yaa shweta padma’asana
Whose seat is the pure white lotus
- Yaa brahma’achyuta shankara prabhritibhir
She, who is praised by Brahma, Vishnu, and Mahesh;
- Devai-sadaa vandita
And prayed to by the Devas
- Saa Maam Paatu Saraswati Bhagavatee
Mother Goddess
- Nihshesha jaadya’apahaa
remove my mental dullness
Her nomination for Padma Shri didn’t come as a surprise.
For all the selfless job she has been doing,
she deserves this prize.
She masters her work with such splendour; And, dons many hats with much grandeur; When shapes young bards with her Fiskars; A li'l girl peeps from her grave demeanour. The queen of hearts sans a crown and a sash; She writes fab with her pen's mere dash;
She’s my Missy-Sissy, a doyenne with a class; She is none other than The Impish Lass!
Ms. Mishra is an award-winning author, poet, short story writer, social worker, novelist, educator besides being a well-known publisher. She is the owner and CEO of The Impish Lass Publishing House, Mumbai, who entered the publishing world with the sole belief that Each Soul That Writes Has the Right to Get Published. She is the epitome of how a fascinating, socially driven, inquisitive mind is pivotal to the brilliant growth of society and self. Be it in the field of academics, social responsibility, or as a publisher Ms Meena stands tall due to her salient work. She is a fine blend of humility, integrity, diligence, and benevolence; a path breaker and motivating leader.
A self-made person she strived extremely hard to beat all odds in order to achieve excellence from a very young age. Marriage brought her to Mumbai offering her the platform and opportunities which would otherwise may have been distant dreams. Ms. Mishra successfully managed to turn all odds in her favour based solely on passion and grit. Coming from a small town didn’t pull her confidence down.
Her tryst with the city of dreams has become legendary based upon the numerous awards that have been conferred upon her. Not one to selfishly gloat in pride, Ms. Mishra has been instrumental in sharing her good fortune with educators, learners, and struggling writers. She has also influenced multiple social causes thereby bringing a huge difference in the lives of less privileged people.
Meena Mishra has served Maharashtra in the field of education for 26 years as an English teacher. She was invited by Bal Bharati (official publishers of education department Maharashtra) and has contributed for the new textbook as a reviewer. Her articles and views are published in various educational magazines and newspapers helping learners and educators alike. She has received many awards for her contribution to the field of education including international awards. Her recent endeavour is the creation of a group called SSC EDU Warriors to conduct free training sessions for teachers teaching the Secondary School Certificate course across the state of Maharashtra.
She has also been working as the International Coordinator for British Council activities for more than 11 years. Ms. Meena Mishra has judged several illustrious and popular literary competitions and festivals notably the Lit fest. of IIT Bombay and the NM college fest., of which she is one of the sponsors now. She is also a regular panelist for various literary and educational platforms namely the Asian Literary Society. Her poems are published in several magazines including the prestigious Indian periodical Woman’s Era. They have been translated and published in Spanish magazines as well. She has been a contributing author and poet for more than 200 books. Some of her books include - The Impish Lass, Emociones Infinitas, Within the Cocoon of Love, The Impish Lass Book 2, No, I Don’t Love You.
Her recent release The Impish Lass Book 2 (TIL Stories and More) has received rave reviews from its readers including the highly distinguished Indian nuclear scientist Padma Vibhushan Dr. R. Chidambaram. This book was also published as a research paper in American Research Journal of English and Literature under the title- Meena Mishra’s The Impish Lass Book 2 – A Study of Socio- Cultural Issues in India.
She has received the Best Indian Author Award for her latest novel, “No! I Don’t Love You!” that has been written to create awareness against online relationships. It will also be made into a short film for a greater impact on the youth of our country.
Ms. Meena Mishra is a one-woman army behind The Impish Lass Publishing House that serves as a platform to plethora of people from all walks of life in India and abroad to share their thoughts and experiences that act as gospel to aspiring youth. As part of her Corporate Social Responsibility and as the CEO of The Impish Lass Publishing House she has provided a platform to thousands of students and teachers to get published under her free publishing project, “The Young Bards.” Most notable among these has been the case of an 8-year- old student Mihir Sane, living in New Jersey who got an opportunity to publish his book on the legendary Chhatrapati Shivaji under her free publishing project. The book titled “Told and Untold Stories of Shivaji, was released by the MNS founder Shri Raj Saheb Thackaray. The book was also well received by the honourable Education Minister of Maharashtra, Ms. Varsha Gaikwad.
Ms. Meena Mishra has received high acclaim from esteemed newspapers like The Times of India and Mid-Day. Her articles have been featured in The Times of India ‘NIE’ and in ‘Brainfeed Higher Education Plus’ a leading educational magazine of the country.
Her ability to multi task various academic and social activity with candour, defines her as a well-balanced and brilliant individual.
Ms. Mishra is the proud recipient of multitudinous awards in 2020-21 for her contribution to the field of education and literature, some of them being:
@ She is recipient of – Marathi Bhasha Rajya Shikshak Puraskar-2022
@ She has received 1st prize in Elocution Competition for teachers organized by the Education department of Maharashtra.
@ She has received 1st prize in inter-school singing competition for teachers.
@ She has received 1st prize in inter-school Poetry writing Competition for teachers.
@ She has received Agnitia (one who deserves recognition) Award for her contribution towards students’ learning.
@ She has received 2nd prize in inter-school essay writing competition for teachers.
@ She is recipient of Pathbreaker of the Year Award by Harper Collins in recognition
of practicing innovative teaching methods to help learners construct knowledge.
@ She is a regular contributor to the educational journal “Winds of Change,” published by one of the biggest academic publishers of India- Madhubun Publications.
@ She has been awarded Wordsmith Award for her short-story by Asian Literary Society.
@ Her novel “No! I Don’t Love You!” dealing with creating awareness against online relationships was appreciated by Union Minister Shashi Tharoor and has been accepted by a short film-maker for converting it into a short-film.
@ Her literary journey was published as the cover story by Literary Mirror to inspire the youth.
@ Her poem was read and appreciated by the living legend of Bollywood – Mr. Amitabh Bachchan.
@ She has receivedcertificateofappreciation from IIT Kanpur for becoming a panelist for their Lit-Fest.
@ She has received token of appreciation from IIT Bombay for becoming a panelist for their lit-fest
@ “No! I Am Not Okay!” the book compiled, edited and published by her, to create awareness towards mental health issues, was released at Sahitya Akademi by the director and has been praised by Dr. Rajesh Sagar (member of Central Mental Health Authority- Govt of India and Head of Psychiatry- AIIMS) and Dr. Sadhana Kala (National Icon Endoscopic Surgeon of India- New Delhi).
@ She is invited to inaugurate lit fests of various schools and colleges across the country.
@ Under her Young Bards project she has published thousands of students and educators across the globe.
@ Her views on matters of concern have been published in suburban newspapers of Mumbai.
@ “Great Asia Magazine,” has dedicated a special page for her stories.
@ She has received a certificate of appreciation for conducting an enlightening creative writing session for the department of English- Nagpur University.
@ She is a regular panelist for Asia’s largest lit-fest ‘Umang.’
@ She was invited by the famous St. Columba’s School, New Delhi for the inauguration of their first lit-fest.
@ To create awareness amongst the patients and caregivers, she has published a book “Ostomy Management and Stoma Care,” that was released in Chennai.
@ Her initiative of publishing the students and educators in a hassle-free manner, was covered by Times of India’s NIE.
She was also the winner of the prestigious ‘Womennovator Award’ as well as ‘1000 Women of Asia Award,’ given in association with the Indian Ministry of Electronics and Information technology. She has been nominated for the ‘2021 ELTons Outstanding Achievement Award,’ by the British Council.
The list continues with Ms. Mishra currently becoming a member of the Maharashtra Women’s Indian Chamber of Commerce and Industry (Special Needs).
Her outstanding contribution to the field of Education and Literature for the last two decades is a testimonial of her intellect and innovation is best suited for the coveted acknowledgement. She has recently received Kavyanjali Award
-2022 for her Marathi poems.
Ms. Meena Mishra has been nominated for the prestigious Padma Shree Award in Literature and Education.
Meena Mishra (Facebook) - https://www. facebook.com/meena.mishra.9404/
Times of India - https://timesofindia.indiatimes. com/city/mumbai/a-mithila-girl-makes- it-to-national-award-nomination/articles how/63085492.cms
Mid Day - https://www.mid-day.com/articles/ mumbai-diary-friday-dossier/19172166
The Impish Lass Publishing House Official
Website - www.theimpishlasspublishinghouse
The Impish Lass Publishing House (Facebook) - https://www.facebook.com/ theimpishlasspublishinghouse
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