Friday, August 20, 2010

Tied down to tradition...


Rhea stood outside the ancestral temple of her family, apprehension rising within her. From her pink iPod right up to her downright discomfort in a saree, the looks that she was getting from infrequent passers-by in the small village said it all – She did not fit in. As she continued surveying the temple, her younger sister ran around, peeking in fascination into the tiny huts that lined the road. Roosters and goats roamed freely and the low humdrum was disturbed only by the erratic squawking of a few hens. Further into the distance, the huts disappeared and green fields began, stretching into the distance.

There were few people out on the road at the time. An old man sat at the entrance of his house, staring at the newcomers who had disturbed the tranquility of the village. The only other people present were the priest and his wife, who were talking in loud, animated voices to my parents and grandparents. A loud honk knocked Rhea back to the more boring reality. “Rhea, Alisha, move to the side. Let the bus pass.” Bus??  Rhea swiveled around and felt her mouth drop open. An overcrowded bus was slowly making its way down the village road that was barely 6 to 7 feet wide. It barely missed the thatched roofs of some huts as it rumbled along its way.

After it had passed, Rhea turned her attention to her sister, who was now pointing out a rooster excitedly to her mother. She sighed and walked into the temple. The idol was placed inside a tiny room and surrounded by a larger room and a passageway to walk around during the ritual. The larger room had mats placed at the side, only partly filled with offerings of fruits and rice. Rhea sat down next to the plates and watched as people walked in out, trying to get the place ready for the ritual. The priest’s wife walked in and smiled at her. Rhea smiled back awkwardly. “What are you studying now, dear?” the woman asked her loudly in Tamil. “2nd year – college,” she replied in broken Tamil. “Oh that’s nice,” said the woman as she went on with her work, “The last time I saw you was when you were a baby.”

Unsure of how to respond to that, Rhea smiled back at her again. The priest’s wife continued questioning her and Rhea replied as well as she could in her broken Tamil, trying not to exceed a syllable or two. “So have any good proposals come your way?” Rhea looked puzzled and said, “I don’t understand…” “Ayo!” said the woman, “when are you getting married? Your parents must have found you a nice boy by now and you’ve reached a marriageable age.” Rhea stared at the old lady in shock for a while and managed to find her voice, saying, “No marriage for now.”

She quickly stood up and walked out, looking for her mother. She was sitting on a steel chair outside the priest’s house, which was right next to the temple. Rhea walked up, sat next to her mother and murmured frantically, “Ma, get me out of here now…” Her mother looked at her and asked, “What’s the matter now?”
-          
             - “That woman asked me when I would be marrying! Are they all nuts?”
-           - “You know that they’re very conservative. They still think that girls should marry early.”
-           - “So they are all nuts then?”
-           - “Shhh! Don’t let your dad hear you. You’ll offend his sense of control over his family.”

Rolling her eyes, Rhea placed her head on her palm and looked around her. After an uneventful hour, her father finally called out to them, saying “The ritual’s starting.” Alisha, who had been chasing a hen up and down the road for the past fifteen minutes, looked up in disappointment at this announcement. Rhea frowned as she walked into the temple only to be reprimanded by her grandmother. “Wipe that look off your face or it will freeze that way,” she said in Tamil. It’ll probably be the most interesting thing that’s happened today then, thought Rhea, watching the priest light a piece of camphor.

Two hours later, Rhea found herself staring into space as she stood alongside her parents and sister. The ritual was in its final stage, according to her father. She looked down at the hem of her saree, which she had been playing with sporadically for the past fifteen minutes. The priest set his things down and walked out, yelling, “Where’s the goat? Get it ready!” Alisha pulled at her father’s hand and asked, “What do they want a goat for?”
-          
             - “They’re going to sacrifice it.”
-           - “But why?”
-           - "Because it’s part of the ritual.”
-           - “But why is it a part of the ritual?”
-           - “Because that’s how it is! Now go sit with your mother inside that house.”
-           - “But I want to see the goat being sacrificed!”

Her father sighed and signaled to Rhea to take her in. After leaving Alisha in the house with her mother, Rhea strolled towards the crowd that had collected outside the temple and was startled by a shrill screech. The priest’s wife was dancing and flailing her hands madly in the air, shrieking with every alternate step that she took. “She’s in a divine trance…” her grandmother said to her.

“YOU!!” yelled the woman. Please don’t point to me, please don’t point to me, Rhea thought as she desperately tried cowering behind her grandmother (this did not work due to her grandmother’s short stature).  The priest’s wife jabbed her finger at Rhea’s grandfather. Oh, thank God!, she thought as she straightened up again. “Is everything satisfactory?” yelled her grandfather, “Are you happy with the ritual?” “YES!” shrieked the woman again, flailing wildly, “where’s my goat?” OK, I’m not watching anymore, thought Rhea as she closed her eyes and covered her ears.

A few hours later, steaming mutton biriyani was served on banana leaves to everyone who had taken part in the ritual. Rhea eyed her food, trying to decide if she should eat it or not. She looked to her right and watched Alisha dig into her serving ravenously. Rhea grinned, wondering whether she should tell her sister that she was gorging on a recently sacrificed goat. “Don’t even think about it,” said her mother, without even looking up. Her mother knew her too well. 

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