Aaji

It was early in the twentieth century. The Indian society was still centered primarily on its villages. This village was no different from the thousands of other villages across India. The joint family system was still dominant as was the agriculture-based economy. The migration to the towns and cities was not a significant phenomenon. The struggle for independence had not yet reached the levels of frenzy, which it was to become subsequently.

The villages were not the simple dreamy places as is often portrayed in the Bollywood films. There was politics inside the household as well as outside. Caste systems had a strong hold on the population. The village areas were strictly divided along caste lines.

Brahmans, Kshatriya, Vaishya and Sudra households were clustered in different parts of the same villages. Within each cluster the households were also sub-clustered along levels of financial status. While the evil of untouchability was fighting a losing battle, it had not been completely eradicated yet.

She was married during her mid teens to a Kayastha land owner of a reasonably well to do family. The term landowner was really a misnomer. The land was owned jointly by the extended family of cousins and brothers, but the real power over the family was concentrated in the hands of the eldest cousin. In effect, there were three cousins present. Her husband’s brother had been yearning to free himself of the stranglehold that the eldest cousin had over the family and would shortly leave the village in Bihar to seek a better life in the state of Uttar Pradesh.

The three cousins actually lived a grandiose life by the standards of those times. Not that there was any great income to support this lifestyle. The finances were the result of sale of plots of land that their forefathers had accumulated with hard work and prudence. Unfortunately, the trait of working hard had not passed on to the present generation.

The life of comfort extended to the eldest cousin’s family only. The others were barely surviving on what little was handed over to them infrequently. The dominance of the eldest cousin was such that no one dared to protest at this clear injustice.

The other cousins had seen no other life and therefore the appalling injustice was lost on them. There would be good food, good clothes, some jewellery bought from time to time, but the distribution would start from the eldest cousin and by the time it reached the youngest in the joint family there would be hardly enough to go by.

The food was served to the three cousins and after they had their fill, the others in the hierarchy would have the meal. Often the youngest would not even have enough to fulfill their modest needs.

Her husband was reasonably educated and sometimes felt guilty about all this but could not gather the courage to speak up lest the villagers called him an upstart.

The youngest of the cousins was a man of even temper and was immune to the injustice. He was more interested in wrestling and the “bhang” that he prepared daily.

In this household walked in this young woman – frail of built, quiet and rather beautiful. There was no hint of the steel and the strength of character that was hidden in the slight frame. While she found the ways of the family strange and unjust, the custom of the times did not allow her to gather the courage to speak up.

She lived the life that other women in the family had lived for years. While she could not raise her voice, she did feel for the other women, especially the wife of the youngest cousin. She would often share her small meal with the younger cousin’s wife to provide at least enough food for survival.

Before the birth of her first son, she made her first visit to her parents’ house. As daughters are wont to do, she shared the customs and events of her in laws’ home with her mother. This conversation was shared by her mother with her father and soon the entire household was in the know.

However, this was not a situation unique to her home for there were many families where the patriarchs were no different. Her brother, fearing that she may not go back, one day admonished her for speaking thus about her husband’s family. He was not subtle in his hints that he would prefer that she went back as early as possible. Strong words were uttered, and these were not responded with any protest from her parents.

She was aghast at this turn of events. Next day, she asked her youngest brother to accompany her back to her husband’s home. While she did not utter a single word, her self-respect did not allow her to return to her parents place.

This was the last time she saw her parents, for she never returned to the place, which had once crushed her closest bonds. While she wept inconsolably on receiving the news of the demise of her mother and then her father a few years later, she did not go to the funeral. The steel in her had started being tempered.

After her return, life went on as usual. The misery continued and a few times, she spoke about it to her husband. While he empathized with her, the burden of customs was too hard for him to shake off.

As was the norm, she had occasion to talk to her husband only at night, for the men folk remained away from their women during the day and they could be alone only at night. During these times, she tried to make him aware that the land that sustained them would not last a lifetime at the rate that it was being sold off, and that he needed to work to maintain and if possible increase their holdings.

Her husband gathered the courage to speak about this to his cousins but his suggestion was laughed off. They said that there was enough to last a few lifetimes. He had no option but to drop the subject.

In the meantime, she gave birth to a girl. With two children to care for, with the household chores to be done there was very little time for her to think of anything else. The burden of feeding her growing children within the small portions allotted to her was becoming heavier by the day. Her own portions grew smaller and smaller and her already frail frame started wilting. The need to rebel was growing stronger.

One evening, the three cousins, having had a good meal were chatting. As was the norm, before going to bed, the servant brought milk in three bowls for them. Before they could drink it, she walked up to her husband and took away his bowl.

The cousins were dumbstruck at this overt show of rebellion and disrespect. Normally, such an act would have merited a sound thrashing at the hands of her husband at the very least. But, the determination on her face did not give them the courage to say or do anything.

They just sat there with their mouths open. Finally, her husband sheepishly got up and went to his bedroom. He saw that she had divided the milk among her children. Her look of disappointment pierced his heart. Quietly she asked him “How could you bear to drink this milk day after day, when your children went to bed without enough food?”

He, being a man with little capacity for displaying any emotion, just looked at her and lay down on his bed. He did not sleep that night. Early next morning, he asked her “Will you be able to manage on your own for some time while I am gone?”

She nodded.

He gathered a few clothes and without another word, left to seek work. Not having done any work ever, he did not know where to start. He went to the closest town. He did not have many skills, which would allow him to get employment. He went to his friend’s place and told him about the situation. His friend listened with the attention of a well-wisher and the lack of passion of an affected being.

They agreed that his knowledge of Persian was an asset that could be put to use in the Court. The same day his friend took him to a lawyer that he knew. These were simpler times and the lawyer promised to give him some work drafting title deeds and petitions. He had to learn the techniques and the formats for doing this. The lawyer instructed one of his assistants to teach him.

The money was negligible at first but his diligence at the job soon ensured a reasonable earning. His wife, in the meantime, bore her situation with calm and though her position in the household was precarious, she withstood the slanted barbs that were thrown at her.

In her misery, her dreams were taking shape. She saved all her husband’s earnings and sacrificed her present for ensuring a better future for her children.

Over time, they had saved enough to build a small house with a thatched roof where she could live separately with her children. Normally, this would have resulted in a big fight within the family, but her strength and her husband’s support negated all this. That she did not want a share of the joint family holdings, helped.

With their savings gone into building their home, times were difficult. There was not enough to go around at times but she ensured that her children went to school and had something to eat. She herself sometimes went to bed hungry but she never let anyone be aware of this.

 When there was not enough food to be cooked at night, she would feed her children with the leftovers. She always lit the fire so that the other people saw the smoke coming out of the chimney. This conveyed the impression that food was being cooked. Her pride would not allow others to feel sorry for her.

As the years passed, four more children were born to her – two sons and two daughters. The income was steady now and the days of hunger were a thing of the past. The couple now had reasonable savings and owned land too. Whatever they saved, they used to buy land from their cousins who had continued their ways of living off the proceeds of the land sale.

She ensured that at least some of the land of his ancestors at least remained in the family. Her children were getting education and life was becoming a lot better.

She supplemented her income by selling off the produce of her land. For doing this, she devised a brilliant strategy. She could not go to the market to find the going price of the produce. So she had the market come to her.

As usual, one of her daily chores was to clean the glass lanterns to have them ready by the evening. There was a “Teli”, an oil vendor, who supplied mustard oil door to door and who would also come to her house every week. She struck a deal with him that she would sell the mustard that grew in her fields to him. This became a business partnership that sustained for many years.

He would provide her information on the going rates that the grains and other produce were likely to fetch. He would often direct genuine buyers who would offer the best price for the produce.

This friendship, though unusual for the times, proved to be sustainable and rewarding. She never sold the mustard to anyone else while she lived nor did she buy oil from any other source.

Together husband and wife had built a sturdy house and lovingly converted it into a home of laughter and joy. Their land holdings also grew substantially with the combined income while those of their cousins kept reducing at a steady pace.

The Gods do not allow happiness to last. Within a span of a few tragically short years, she lost her second daughter to smallpox and her third son to typhoid.

She was heartbroken but did not allow her spirit to die. Her husband decided to forgo his good practice at the court to be with her and take on the role of a landowning farmer.

Her advancing years and grey hairs gave her a new name – “Aaji” – Grandmother! Almost the entire village addressed her as Aaji with respect and love. For she had earned the love!

Even with prosperity she had never forgotten her early days. She did what she knew best. Every evening, she would tie up some rice and some “Dal” in the folds of her sari and walk around the village. If she saw there was no smoke coming out of any hut, she knew that the family would go hungry.

She would quietly walk in and provide the rice and Dal to the family so that this did not happen. Her husband, now a grouchy old man, would know what she was up to, but chose to remain silent. Being a man not known to be overtly expressive, maybe this was the closest demonstration of his love for her.

In spite of what troubles life had thrown at her, Aaji never forgot how to laugh. The time to cast votes was festival time for the women of the village. They would deck themselves up and go in groups to cast their vote.

Not a very politically active person, Aaji's voting preference would mostly be decided by the symbol that was her husband’s favourite at any given time. The journey to the booth was more enjoyable than the process of voting.

The winning candidate would always be blessed by her, irrespective of the fact that she may not have voted for him. Often she did not even know that she had voted for a particular candidate.

On one such occasion, she along with a few other elderly ladies went to the booth to cast her vote. The polling officer asked her name.

Aaji was stuck!

She did not remember her name! Nobody had called her by her name for many decades.

She turned to her companion and asked “What is my name? Do you remember it?"

Her companion did! For, she was as old as Aaji! “Isn’t it Rucha Devi?”

All the persons in the polling booth were having a good laugh at the simplicity of the old women.

Aaji was illiterate but she ensured that her children got education. She was fortunate to see her two sons employed in good jobs. She saw her two daughters being married off well and also welcomed the wives and children of her two sons.

The sons and daughters now went about making their own lives and Aaji had time with her husband. Maybe, to make up for the time that they had lost in their early years!

She looked forward to their visits and the grand children were a matter of great pride to the couple. Whenever, they were due to visit, Aaji ensured that her larder was well stocked up. She insisted on making the “puris” for their travel on the return journey herself.

Her youngest grandson was only about four years old and already a foodie. On the day of their return from the village, as was usual, Aaji was making “puris” for them. The young foodie was standing at her shoulder while his mother was packing the food in Tiffin carriers.

Aaji got up to get something and seeing his opportunity, the kid said to his mother “Ma! Aaji has gone out. Quickly, pack some more puris, before she comes back!”

Aaji heard the little fellow as she was about to enter and this innocent remark caused so much hilarity that for once she could not prepare any more puris! She sat down and could not stop laughing.

In spite of all the difficulties faced, Aaji miraculously was never bitter. Perhaps this was the strength of her character. She helped her husband’s cousins all the time with money, food, land to build a home – now that they had almost squandered away their fortune.

She invited her nephew who stayed on with her for many months looking for work. His father had almost thrown her out of his house when she had visited her parents for the only time after her marriage.

As time passed, she saw her sons build a grand house for her a little way from her home. But Aaji never lived in the house. She steadfastly refused to move saying that she would get lost in it, it was so big.

This was all just an excuse because by no stretch of imagination was the house large enough to be lost in. the fact was that she was too attached to the house, that she had built with her husband and which she had converted into a warm home full of love, to abandon.

She did go to that house in the end, though probably she was not aware when this happened. She was diagnosed with cancer of the liver and that too at a very advanced stage. During the last days of her life, she slipped into a coma. Managing her care was easier in the new house so she was moved there.

The last three days, the village folk took turns to stay at her side night and day chanting the verses of the Ramayana. Her youngest son had gone off to get a non-conventional medicine that someone had suggested, hoping against hope that it would save her.

She was barely alive and all hope was gone. People had given her “Gangajal” (water from the Ganges River) as is the custom for a dying person. But she refused to let go. Her husband would put up a gruff front publicly but many saw him silently crying when he thought he was alone.

Her son received the news of the rapid deterioration as soon as he got off the train. He cycled like a madman to have a last glimpse of her. As soon as he reached, he was told by the elders of the village to give her Gangajal.

They said she had been waiting to receive Gangajal from him and that it was befitting that he fulfill her last wish. She was barely breathing and probably not even aware that he had arrived. He took the spoon of Gangajal and as soon as the first drop touched her mouth, her breath slipped out of her body.

As the funeral procession started for the cremation grounds on the banks of the Ganga, all who saw it coming joined in. By the time, it reached the cremation grounds the crowd had swelled. Right at the end of the procession was the Teli – her business partner, her friend, her confidante.

That was the last time that he came to the village.

With his friend gone, there was no reason to do so.