Surangi, The Child Bride

Part 1

The wedding was a modest one, after all, Kaveri had succumbed to her illness just a few months ago. The obligatory mourning period had been duly observed and they waited for Chaitra, the first month of the Marathi calendar to go by, symbolically representing the completion of the waiting time for the wedding to be solemnised. After the matching of the horoscopes the nearest auspicious date was selected for the nuptials. As for any wedding in the village the go-between was Malati akka, the senior-most woman in the community and Surangi's temporary caregiver. A brisk shopping trip into town was enough to put together the bride's trousseau and the wedding presents. Cooks were engaged for the entire duration of the celebration as there was not enough manpower within the household to rustle up meals for the wedding guests. A marquee was set up in the courtyard of Shridhar's ancestral home in Konkan and decorated with fresh marigolds flowers and mango leaves.

There was confusion in the eyes of the seven year old Surangi as they dipped mango leaves into the sandal-turmeric paste to anoint her. After a ritual bath she was draped in a yellow Indori saree with a green and gold border. Her eyes were marked with kohl and the forehead with a spot of bright red kumkum. Her hair was trussed up in a bun and decorated with a wreath of button-size chrysanthemums. She was adorned with jewels she had never worn in her young life, her nose barely able to bear the weight of the paisley-shaped pearl and gold nath. She did not know what marriage meant, she was just told that she would move into a new home in a village far away and Yashoda mami would be her mother-in-law. Fighting back tears she clutched her carved sandalwood doll, trying not to miss her mother Kaveri whose recent demise had prompted her father to agree to the alliance between Surangi and Madhav, the eleven year old son of Raghav, a distant cousin of Kaveri's. Shridhar knew he could not bring up his daughter alone. He was constantly under pressure to take a new bride to bear him the much desired son; his late wife had only left behind a daughter. He chose to marry little Surangi off in accordance with the custom of the day, rather than leave her at the mercy of a stepmother.

The women had traded off their heavy brocaded silks for the lighter garbha-reshim or cotton silk sarees and carried delicate foldable fans to beat the heat, the men wore muslin tunics over traditional dhotis. As the rituals continued with close relatives and neighbours in attendance, kairi panha, a raw mango cooler flavoured with cardamon was offered to the guests to slake their thirst in the month of May. Musicians played the traditional sanai-chowghada in the background. Family members offered vermilion and jasmine strands to the women present while others passed around scented betel nut and ladoos. Children, unperturbed by the solemn nature of the occasion ran around merrily, gorging on milk fudge pedhas and pelting each other with marigold blossoms. For once their mothers did not bother to go after them, they were busy catching up with the neighbourhood ladies. A wedding was a means to trade gossip among the village women.

The bride and the groom stood separated by a length of fabric called the antarpat. Attendees showered them with grains of saffron tinted rice as the Mangalshtaka, the eight auspicious verses were recited showered. When the antarpat was removed the couple garlanded each other. The Kanyadaan ritual was performed to give away the bride to the groom. Madhav tied the mangalsutra, the wedding necklace around Surangi's neck and applied vermillion in her hair parting. As the rituals went on the bride longed to cast off all finery and run around the Maandav with her cousins and close friends but was compelled to sit near the sacramental flame. The smoke emanating from the fire made her eyes sting. Neither the bride nor the groom understood a word of the Sanskrit wedding hymns chanted by the priest. The end of her shawl was tied to the stole worn by Madhav over his shoulder. This was followed by the Saptapadhi ritual- the couple made seven rounds around the sacred fire, taking seven wedding vows.

At the wedding feast the guests were served shrikhand puri and masalebhaat among other delicacies. The hosts plied the guests with extra helpings of golden jilebis glistening with syrup . Madhav took several helpings of vegetable fritters, papads and puris. For him the wedding was just another celebration. On the other hand Surangi, who loved shrikhand seemed to have lost her appetite today and had to be force-fed. She could not figure why she was leaving everything behind to move to another place. Unlike her, her so-called husband, was stuffing his face happily. She felt a sudden urge to kick him hard, he had no right to appear so contented when she was falling apart. She had heard whispers that they would be getting her father a new wife to replace her own mother and the thought disturbed her. It was as if they were trying to wipe off all traces of her mother's and her own existence from her father's life. She told herself that she would never return if another woman took her mother's place.

She knew they tried to mollify her by tempting her with bright jewels and new clothes. These things hardly mattered to Surangi. She disliked the idea of leaving her home, her school and her friends, the new calf in the cowshed, the bakul flowers in the backyard, the jambhul tree, its ripe fruit that would stain her tongue purple, the lazy cat that basked all day- the list of things she had to give up was endless. The boy called Madhav who had just tied the Mangalsutra around her neck was supposed to be her consolation prize. When it was time for the bride to be sent off they placed a coconut and a measure of rice in her lap.

"Cry now Surangi, what will people say if your eyes are dry while leaving home?" Malati akka whispered in her ears. Surangi's face fell as realisation finally struck. The umbilical chord was being cut and she was unsure if she would ever be welcomed again in the place that she was her home for seven years of her life. Her mother was in heaven with Dev bappa and her father would have a new family and the son they needed. She wondered if her father would remember her at all. Lost in these thoughts she touched the feet of all elders. An emotional father hugged her hoping his daughter would forgive him when she grew up.

They had to hitch her up as she was too small to scramble up onto the ox-cart. Her father and close relatives accompanied the bridal carriage till the end of the village before returning home. Warm tears which she had stubbornly held back began streaming down her cheeks, causing her kohl to run. "Stop crying, you look like a soot-faced langur monkey!" Madhav promptly scolded her. Unable to control herself she began bawling, feeling miserable. "Here, have a sugar lump, and stop your racket or you will scare the oxen." Madhav warned. "I don't want to be married to you, I want to go home." She whimpered. "As if I want a cry baby for a wife!" He taunted. "Starting now, I am your husband and you shall do as I say or else! You will live with me and die with me!" He declared dramatically, probably quoting some lines from a play he had seen. Surangi fell silent, she had defended herself from bullies in the past but this boy was her husband and she could not get away with beating him up. She decided to deal with him some other day. Her weary eyes grew heavy and in a few minutes she dozed off on Madhav's shoulder.