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. She did not know what marriage meant, she was just told that she would move into a new home in a village far away...
In the week before their school was due to start the rain God Varun decided to offer the villagers relief from the fiery heat of the summer. The clouds showered their blessings on the parched earth one evening and the children rushed out to welcome the first rains of the season. As soon as the thirsty soil absorbed the raindrops the air was filled with Mridgandh, the earthy fragrance that augurs the advent of the wet season. The children, unheading the warning of the grown-ups soaked themselves as they sang the traditional rhyme to welcome the monsoon.
येरे येरे पावसा, तुला देतो पैसा पैसा झाला खोटा, पाऊस आला मोठा ये ग ये ग सरी, माझे मडके भरी सर आली धाउन, मडके गेले वाहुन!
Rain, rain, come here, I'll give you a coin , the coin turned out fake and the (angry) rain poured heavily, Come Oh rain shower and fill my pots, as the shower came in rushing the water pot was washed away
After filling the ponds, streams and wells partially the rain decided to take a break. The ground had soaked enough moisture for determined little seeds that lay beneath a coverlet of the soil to bravely push out their green plumules towards sunlight and the plants and trees looked fresh and verdant green with the dust washed away. Bullfrogs began their croaking song making their intentions clear to the neighbourhood females. Farm folk gratefully gathered for their cooking pot, the little fish and crustaceans that the overflowing streams had washed in. Soon it would be time to gather the mud crabs that were flushed out by the rains.
Surangi was not aware of it but Yashoda told her that she shared her birthday with Madhav, going by the Shalivahana calendar followed in Maharashtra, though their birth dates in the Gregorian calendar were different. Madhav would be 12 and Surangi 8. Surangi was unsure of how to react to this piece of information, although Madhav wore a poker face when he found out. On that day Surangi rose at dawn, had her purifying neem bath and rushed with her basket to gather bakul (Mimusops elengi) flowers lying strewn like a carpet under the tree, perfuming the air with their heady scent. The rush was aimed at making bakul garlands with the snow white flowers before they began to discolour and turn a dull brown.
As soon as she gathered enough of them she used coconut palm fibre to string them briskly. This was an easy job because the strand was firm enough to pass effortlessly through the centre of the star shaped flowers. Sharayu then asked Waman and Surangi to pluck some ripe ratamba fruit (Kokum/ Garcinia indica) from the trees in the garden so they could soak the rind with sugar and a bit of salt to make a bright red sherbet later in the day. Surangi loved this job because the children could scoop out the sweet-sour white pulp for eating, leaving behind the sour rinds. The waxy seeds were collected for making skin-healing lumps of Kokum butter.
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Yashoda asked Surangi to put on a new parkar (skirt) with a brocade polka (blouse). Even Madhav was dressed in new clothes and the couple offered puja to the Gods at home before taking blessings from the elders. The family then sat down to a shira-puri (puri with sooji halwa) breakfast. As a token of affection for the newest member of their family Madhav's parents presented Surangi with a beautiful necklace called the Kolhapuri Saaz, an uncommon piece for Kokanastha Brahmins but made popular during the Peshwai reign in the 18th century. Yashoda explained to Surangi that it was an auspicious ornament for married Marathi women, worn along with the obligatory Mangalsutra.
