Hiranakshi (PART 4)

Hiran waited till it was evening. She then bathed, wore on a red saree to match her new red bangles and put a string of jasmines in her hair. She humed as she made ready his dinner. He came as usual, her husband. He sat down to eat. He ate. He got up and left to go rest. Tears tingled in her eyes. She had made it very hard for him to ignore her bangles. She had let them be noisy, clinking about while she fanned him. She had fidgited with them all she could. Yet he took no notice. He was content and happy. Too content and happy! She hardly slept that night. She ran it all through in her head again and again. Her mother had given her good advise before she was married off, she had told her how to ensure the potatoes were ripe, how to pick the lemons, how to grind the chillies, how to tie her saree and even how to smile! She was taught everything there was to be taught, yet it all failed her now. How was she to win his heart? Surely she had done everything a good wife ought to do. She had exceeded herself in her efforts. Yet there he sat, blind to her bangles and blind to the unrest in her eyes.

The next day she ate nothing all morning. She did not feel like it. She sat by the door as if she had nothing to do. For whom should she rush about? For whom should she prepare a meal? For that person who could not even notice those bangles that she noisily pushed around under his nose? And then she heard the voice again, 'Look who hasn't slept all night!' It was the lady with the coloured bangles. 'Slept all night? No, I did not sleep. Do you know why? Because of these silly bangles.' And Hiran proceeded to tell the woman her story. The woman only laughed. 'Why blame my bangles, pretty one? It's not their fault that men are such fools. Alright then, if I have caused you such sorrow, I will give you some comfort as well. Look what I have here.' She took out a few leaves of dark green. 'Smell them.' Hiran obeyed. They were leaves that leave a colour behind when rubbed on the skin. They were used to draw patterns of filigree on the palms. The bangle seller made a paste out f them added water and then drew on Hiran's palms. 'What would you like?' she asked Hiran. 'I want a bird and a nest with eggs in it!' Hiran was almost excited. 'Well, that's what you will get then. You will get what you want. You only have to want it strongly.' Hiran chuckled.

It took quite a while. The bangle seller drew the bird with a short beak, the kind that eats only grains and she drew a nest with rounded eggs. Hiran watched in rapt attention as her pale hands began to glow red, the red of the soil. When it was completed the bangle seller said, 'Now you can do nothing till it all dries off. Who will make your husband's dinner?' 'You will', Hiran answered, 'And I'll pay you for it.' The bangle seller agreed.

Hiranakshi (part 3)

Nothing happened. Her husband went away each morning as usual and returned only by nightfall. All her wishing was in vain. The earth will not stop moving if you will it to.

It so happened that one afternoon, Hiran sat lost in thought, almost dozing off in the oppressive summer heat, when she heard the voice of a Bangle seller. It was a lady of about her own age, but taller and much darker. 'Aye Amma. Why don't you rid me of a few of these pretty bangles? They would look much better on your fair wrists than in my haggered basket.' Hiran smiled. 'How much are they for?' 'You ask the price, my dear, you do not ask how long I have walked barefoot in this rotten heat. You do not ask how sore my throat is from yelling for buyers. You do not see how my back bends under the weight of this basket. You only ask the price.' 'How she talks!', Hiran laughed to herself and said aloud 'Are you thirsty?' 'More than you will ever know. Fetch me a little water my dear and may your home always prosper.'

The bangle seller showed Hiran bangles of every imaginable colour. They were the bottle green, next to the turmeric yellow, the deep brown and the sky blue. Hiran wondered how many colours there were in this world. 'Wear then dear. They will look much better on your hand. Look! How they contrast against your fair smooth skin! Do you eat gold dust with your rice, to be glowing so? Try this one, the deep green. It looks like a snake coiled around your arm., the very same snake that is wound around Siva's neck. Or how about a red? You are too young to be married but all married women love this colour. Is your husband at home?' Hiran took offence to the last question. 'What is it to you?' she asked acidly. 'What kind of a man would leave so pretty a bride at home and go away to work? Would not his heart complain?' This made Hiran smile. 'Flattering me won't sell you any more bangles than otherwise.' she said hautily. 'My bangles sell themselves my dear. Just see how they glitter! They sing, they do. Listen. Chann chann chann. They sing don't they?' Hiran laughed. 'And what do they sing?' she ventured. 'Ah! Different songs for different people. For you it's probably a song of meeting and love, a song of the end of a long wait.' Hiran blushed. 'How these low caste women talk!' she thought ' So bold!'

'Alright. Just these red ones please. Nothing else.' Hiran gave her the money. 'Ah. I would have suggested the deep green, but you have made your pick and it is not mine to argue.' The seller gave her the bangles she had chosen and turned to go. She walked four paces and turned back to say, 'Be careful not to break them tonight. You know what I mean.' Hiran turned her face away to hide her smile.

Hiranakshi (part 2)

Hiran had been trained from childhood on the etiquette and customs that are expected of a wife. She knew them well and respected them. She servered her mother- in- law as long as she stayed with them. The mother- in- law, however, left her son and daughter- in- law in a matter of days after the wedding and sent forth on her long pilgrimage. Hiran then spent her time making delicious food for her husband and keeping his house in working order. The husband worked long and hard all day and returned home in the evening. The evenings he spent painting what he saw during the day. Hiran tended to his every need, making sure he was comfortable, healthy and happy.

The days dragged on and Hiran grew bored. She would wait all afternoon and evening for her husband to return home and once he returned she served him his meal. Those few minutes she spent watching him eat were the best minutes of her day. He would go away to paint for the rest of the evening and Hiran would be by herself again. She did not want to distract him from what he loved but she was growing restless.

Her waiting grew more eager. She would tie her hair in different patterns every evening. She would prepare every elaborate dish she had ever been taught. She would wear the finest of the clothes her parents sent with her. All for those few minutes in the evening.

Sometimes she grew jealous of those painting he made with so much care. Did they mean more to him than she did? Ofcourse not! How silly of her! She was his wife and he loved her. Didn't he?

When she heard his approaching footsteps in the evening, she would run to the door, which was always open in his anticipation. She would look at is tired face and feel a sudden surge of pity. She would help him wash his hands and feet. She would serve him his dinner and fan him while he ate. She would watch his face, his every gulp, reading his expression to see if he liked what he ate. Was it too salty? Was it not sweet enough? She could read it all on his face.

The nights grew longer and the waiting harder. She would sometimes secretly wish that he should be unwell, just so he would spend more time at home and she could see to his comforts with even more vigour. She would will it to rain so he would come home earlier than usual. She would wish some kind of law would be passed in big city, asking all husband to remain home for a few days. Something, anything to get a few more hours with him.

(to be continued)

Amuma's tales: Hiranakshi

It was a lazy saturday afternoon. The schools had closed for the week and Monday seemed so far away. Time stretched out like an endless dessert. So I pestered Amuma, to tell us another tale, for she is a well of tales. She smiled slyly, the way children do when mischief is about. And she told us this tale,

"Once there was a rich widow, who was very humble and prayerful at heart. All her life she had taken care of the wealth left behind by her husband. With time she had doubles it. Her joy was her only son, whom she brought up to be God- fearing and hard- working. The boy had a natural mind for art, and spent much of his time painting all he saw. His mother was proud of him. Finally when his mother's sight was growing dim and her knees were beginning to hurt, she decided she wanted to spend the last part of her life touring holy places. She had heard that those who took the trouble of foregoing their own comfortable bed and walked barefoot to the 13 temples of various God's would gain liberation from the cycle of life. She decided she wanted that liberation. She was worried, however, for her son, who was now an able man. How would he take care of himself in her absence? He might fall pray to the company of useless men and forget all she had taught him. He might take to drinking, or gambling or women and that would be the end of him and with him the end of all her family. So she decided he must be married. She set about finding him a suitable bride.

She decided she wanted to find him a bride who would make his home a haven of comfort and love. She wanted her to be very beautiful so her son would lack nothing in his already blessed life. He was a worthy man and he deserved a lovely wife. She looked through all the neighbouring villages but was not satisfied with what she saw. Finally from a village miles and miles away she found a very young girl who was the most beautiful creature she had ever seen. She had eyes like that of a deer and so her parents had lovingly named her Hiranakshi. Everyone loved her, for one could not see that angelic face and yet remain untouched. The rich widow was satisfied and brought the girl home to be her son's bride and the mistress of the entire house-hold.

The widow's son was wonder- struck on seeing his bride. He always knew his mother could do no wrong and she had proved him right yet again. So Hiran, the young bride left behind her home, her friends, all those were familiar to her and set about finding a new life...
(to be continued)

The Moon's story (part 3-Final)

His voice was like a lot of silk threads bound into a knot. She sat up and listened. 'Chaandi! Listen to me. I know you cannot see me or understand me, but do not be afraid. I come in peace.' She looked but could not see. She then shut her eyes so she could hear with all her being. 'I am the voice of the night. You did not think the night was alive. But I am. I am the night and I see you. I have watched you each evening as you sat by the river Jeevan. Even as the menfolk gathered to watch you, I gathered in the sky. Since I first saw you, I have wanted you for myself, but I waited. For you were too busy to hear me. Now that you have the time, I cme to you. Will you be mine Chaandi?'

A chill ran down her spine and her skin quivered like a horse's sometimes does. She waited and then spoke, 'But I do not know you.'

;But who do you know Chaandi? Did you know any of those men? Or even your sister? Or your mother who pains you so much? You know no one but I know you. Come away with me.'

Chaandi held back a sob that formed a hard lump in her throat. 'I have been living among strangers. Take me away from here. Anywhere but here...'

The Night replied, 'You will be much happier with me.' And so she left with the Night, flying out of her window on a gentle breeze that lifted her delicate frame up towards the skies. The Night took her as far from her home as he could, for he did not want her mother to reach her. The Night was afraid of her mother.

He said to Chaandi, 'You shall be called Chanda, for your own name will remind you of your mother and consequently of all the pain she put you through.' She smiled at him, the first smile in a long time. To her it seemed like she had never smiled before.

She became a round sphere in his wide arms, her silver against his black. The people looked up and saw. They marvelled at the wonderous sight. It was truely breath- taking. The Night was proud of her, his Moon, but he did not want the others to covette her. So he said to her, 'Take a little of my coloour onto your face, so when they look at you they will know that you are mine.' The Moon willingly oblighed. With time the love between them grew. The Night kept his embrace around her and she in turn kept losing herself in him. That is why you only see a part of the Moon on most nights. The rest of her is the Night, for she became one with him. Yet on some nights, you will find her full and shining brighter than usual. These are the nights when she remembers her mother. That is when her old self returns and she wants to seek again the attention and praise of others. They are glorious, aren't they, those full moon nights. But like all else in this world, they pass and the Moon happily loses herself to her Night again."

With this Amuma ended her story. Now I am an educated one, unlike Amuma and I know of the Solar System. I know the moon is a satelite and the night a natural phenomenon. Amuma knows nothig! Yet, last night when I was gazing into the night from my bedroom window, I swear I almost heard him speak.
***

The Story of the Moon (part 2)

Both daughters grew in years. Chaandi grew prettier by the day. Ansoo stayed plain. The mother was very afraid that Ansoo would feel inferior to her sister and so she tried to nurture her with utmost kindness and love. She would say to her, 'You are my oldest, the apple of my eye, let no one make you feel bad about yourself. Do not believ anyone tells you that you are not beautiful.' The mother tried to teach Ansoo to sing, to dance and to sew; but Ansoo was slow to learn. She grew more attached to her mother as she grew and her mother to her.

Chaandi, meanwhile, grew to yearn her mother's attention. She would wonder why her mother spent much time with Ansoo but not with her. She would throw tantrums, cry and even fake illness hoping that these might force her mother to love her more, but her mother only considered these the result of Chaandi's arrogance. She considered Chaandi a troublesome child with way too much pride in her looks. She grew even more stoid and placid towards Chaandi.

Then the two girls grew to be young women. Chaandi began to receive admiring glances from menfolk, but she did not care for them. Yet, she wanted her mother to noticehow the men admired her beauty. Chaandi dressed well and took care of herself, hoping that with increasing attention from the men, her mother would be compelled to admit that Chaandi was, afterall, a beauty. She would sit by the river Jeevan in all her bejewelled glory, looking like a swan. The men would praise her, write poems about her face and sing songs about her skin. Chaandi would listen and snigger, all the while hoping that her mother would hear them as well.

The mother did hear them, and the more she heard, the angrier she grew. 'What audacity! What arrogance!' she thought, 'To dress up that way, intending solely to lure men, and then turn up her nose at the victims of her own demeanor. She must be punished, or she will never be cured of this constant need for attention.' So mother locked up Chaandi in her room, forbiding her from meeting anyone till she learnt to be more humble.

Chaandi stayed locked up for days on end. At first she was puzzled. Why was her mother unhappy? Did she not see inher the goodness others did? Then she was angry, 'Mother only loves Ansoo', she thought, 'She never wanted me at all.' Then she was frustrated, 'How much longer will she keep me locked? Will she be upset with me forver?' And finally she became depressed, 'I have no one in this world who cares for me,' she thought, 'my mother does not think of me as her own, or she would love me.'

And Chaandi cried.

She cursed herself. She began to hate her life. She began to hate herself. She wanted not to exist. She wanted to lie still in the night and give up her breath. She wanted to cease. One such long night, she lay on her bed. She was willing herself dead when she heard the voice of a man.
(to be continued)

Amuma's tales for the child-like: The Moon's story (Part 1)

Once upon a time, there was a very old lady called Amuma. No one knew her but she knew everyone.

She had been walking the earth for as long as she could remember, wandering from one place to another. She sought no one and nothing. Her life was not a search. She lived to give and she had plenty to give. No, not sweets or biscuits. Not flowers. No, not dolls or clothes; but a gift no less. She told stories, and how she told them!

One day I asked her, 'Amuma! If you are as wise as you look, tell me, how did the moon come about?' And she said to me,

"Long ago in a cottage by a river called Jeevan, there lived a mother. The mother had two daughters. The elder one was a very plain looking girl. when she was born her mother suffered a painfull labour, and when she finaaly saw her baby, she was surprised at how plain the child was. So she shed a tear of dissapointment. She said, 'I have heard it said that all parents find their own ofspring very beautiful. But my baby is so plain that even all my love for it cannot hide it's plainness from me. How much more must it's plainness be apparant to others who do not love it so!' She shed another tear. 'I will call it Ansoo.' The mother loved Ansoo and gave her everything she needed. Ansoo was, however, very slow to grow, to understand things and slow to respond.
After a year or two, the mother had another child. It was an easy delivery. The child was a marvellous beauty. She had eyes that shone with enthusiasm. Everyone around came to look at the new- born child. They widened their eyes and congratulated the mother. Even nature, they said, must be amazed at this child. Look how her skin glows! It seems she is made of silver. So they called her Chaandi. The mother was happy. Then she noticed the older child who stood alone by the corner. The crib of the new- born attracted everyone like flies to milk, but no one as much as noticed the older child by the corner. The mother's heart cried out at this unfairness.
(to be continued)