It’s a cold and rainy night that I park the Government issued rickety Jeep into the garage. Albeit a little groggily. Even on the best of days, Vodka and I have never been good bed fellows. It’s past 2 in the morning and I wearily pull myself out of the car, wanting nothing more than hitting the bed. I manage to drag myself across the sleeting rain to the verandah of the Circuit House, which has been my home for the last four months, since I have been posted in the “middle of nowhere”, a tiny hamlet called Chalsha in North Bengal, with the river Murti meandering its way across.
And I notice Bhairuu, the old Rajasthani watchman of my building. Huddled around a make shift fire. Along with a younger chap. And he gives me a benign smile as if chiding me for my stupor. Somehow I have always gelled well with folks of this sort. I have always felt that they are like the apparently rough soil of Midnapore. Drop a little bit of water and you would be amazed at the way the soil sucks it off. These people are like that. You show them a little love and you win a friend for life. Uncomplicated and un requited friendship.
I take a step towards them. He once again gives me a benign smile and says “Saab, hamra gharwala hain. Aya hain North Bangaal ghumne.”
“Waah. Bahuut khuub. Toh, kidharwa ghumaila ?”
"Aaj hi toh ayaa hain Saab ... Saab, ii baahut achha gaana gaata hain.. Aaap sunowge? "
And before I can say anything, he tells his companion, “Aaare u-wala ganaa ga Collector Saaab ke liye .. U .. des-wala .. jisme uu biwi jaati hain wapas maai ke ghad .. saaadi ke baad pahlibaar, u-wala gaana. Aiye na Saab … baithiye na .. Chaay bhi hain … deta hu.”
With nothing better to do other than falling asleep, I sit. I light a cigarette. My “senses” are fighting a losing battle to drive away the backlash of gulping 3 large Vodkas.
The young chap provides a sort of background before he starts singing. The song is essentially a “Bundelkhandi”. So, this girl happens to be from that village and she has been married to a gent from another village. This is the first time she has returned to her maternal home in the village after her marriage. For a few days. And her friends are hounding her to narrate explicitly what all had happened between her and her husband, from the nuptial night onwards. They want to know all the gory details. The gorier the better.
Driven up the wall by their incessant queries, this girl narrates the entire saga in the form of a song. And the song is now sung to me by the young companion of my watchman. I slowly sip the tea which the later has provided me with and listen on.
"Guuiya (shokhi), bahut saataye sasureme sajanwa gahenowame jab pahile gaayi rahan"
Which means, my husband actually was after my life when I went to my husband’s the first time after my “gahanwa”. And she blushes.
Seeing my blank look, my watchman patiently explains to me the concept of GAHONWAR.
There are yet some places in this country where girls are married off at a very tender age, the saving grace being that they are not subjected to the “agony” at that age. They stay with their parents till the time nature works its course and they are capable of consummating the act of marriage. This reaching the age of puberty is called GAHONWAR. It is after reaching the stage of GAHONWAR that they are sent off to stay and live with their husbands.
But I digress.
The song continues and the girl is narrating her escapades of the first night.
"Pahila hukum lagaweh piuuwa ja bhar laawye paani"
He first asked her to get him a pitcher of cold water from the well. He is thirsty and wants a drink.
"Paaniya bhorot mora aachla chuut gewo duno bhaari jaawani"
When leans forward to pull the pitcher of water from the well, the anchaal of her saree, the pallu slips off and the twin orbs of delight that she has all along so preciously guarded from prying eyes, are visible. To the tree leaves, to the owl sitting like a monk atop the tree, to the wind which swishes among the leaves and even to the two village bullies who loiter around the communal well.
"Gunda dikkhe dikkhe tarse mora jaawania / Gahenowame jab pahile gaayi rahan"
And when she notices the bullies watching, her heart skips a beat and she is frightened and she rushes home to her husband.
I find this word GAHONWA extremely intriguing. Lovely word. Is there any better a jewel for a girl than the capability of giving birth to another human being ?
"Duuja huukum lagawe piuuwa, jaldi banaawoe roti"
Her husband drinks the water and orders her to make her some chapptis for dinner. And he wants them quick as he is hungry.
"Rotiwa banat meri najaar palaat gaayi, roti ho gaayi moti"
She gets distracted while making the chapattis and resultantly they are thicker than what they should be.
"Saaiya kheech kheech kar maare mohi belonwaa."
She serves them to her husband and because the chapattis are thicker than warranted, her husband is not at all amused and he gives her an ear full. And not stopping at that, the husband picks up the wooden roller that is used to knead the dough and beats her mercilessly with that.
"Teeje huukum laagawe piuua jaldi bichanwa shej."
Satisfied with the thrashing that he has doled out for her, the husband now orders the girl to prepare the bed for them to sleep. He has a different thrashing in mind now. He asks her to make the bed fast as he is in desperate need,
"Sojiaa bichot mohi der ho gaayi pakar lin mora pet."
The girl, in order to please her man, takes extreme care in preparing the bed. The husband does not like this delay. He grabs hold of the girl and lands on top of her and grabs hold of her midriff and positions himself.
"Saaaiya kheech kheechke maare mora paranwa / Gahenowame jab pahile gaayi rahan"
And then the inevitable happens. The husband tears her apart, a brutal rape of a newly bloomed flower, whose fresh petals are torn apart and strewn around.
The song ends. Bhairuu and his companion have light a “chutta” which they share. I myself light up a smoke and look at the fire. Tiny flakes spiral upwards. My mind drifts.
I can literally visualize the girl’s face as she fills up the water pitcher and the communal well in her mother’s place amidst the raucous and suggestive laughter of her companions.
No one notices a single drop of tear that rolls down her right cheek, which she hastily wipes with her free hand. No one notices the angst in her young mind. No one notices the agony that she has learnt to live with. No one notices the pain.
No one notices her shattered dream – the dream that she has seen throughout the period of growing up and re-discovering her body and her mind. The dream which she has seen, while coming to realize the beauty of her existence in this world. The dream that she has seen, lying on the cot in most sleepless hot and humid summer nights, thinking of her husband and the ‘moments’ that she would spend with him. The dream that she has seen endlessly, each and every day, each and every waking hour of her existence.
The dream that was shattered on the first night itself.
I sit. The Vodka has long given over its hold to a more en-compassing grip. Thoughts.
I slowly stand up. Walk towards the stairs. And walk upwards. Thinking about the girl child. The girl and the child in her.
It pains.
