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...
"Happy Birthday!" Surangi yelled as Waman emerged, rubbing the sleep off his eyes. It was the morning of Bhaubeej, the day of the Diwali festival set aside for sisters to honour their brothers. It also happened to be Waman's birthday according to the lunisolar calendar followed by the Marathi people. Waman could see that the house had been decorated with fresh garlands of marigold and mango leaves. "Hope you haven't forgotten!" Surangi reminded him once more about something she had been overly excited about. "Oh I remember very well!" He grinned at her.
Surangi and Sharayu fussed over him, applying scented oil on his arms and back before he was sent to have his ritual bath, the Abhyanga Snan. Later Waman draped a new dhoti and joined Madhav and Surangi on a visit to the temple to seek blessings and make offerings. They came home to Waman's favourite breakfast of sheera, a sweet snack made with semolina, nuts and ghee and flavoured with cardamon. He sipped saffron milk from a silver tumbler. The meals of the entire day would feature his choice of dishes.
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Surangi drew the auspicious swastika pattern with rangoli powder and placed a wooden seat called paat in the puja room. She drew a simple motif of vines and flowers around the paat. The family members gathered in the room and Waman bowed before the elders, beginning with Aaji before seating himself on the paat. Yashoda and Sharayu performed the aukshan for him, a traditional ritual involving a lamp, a gold ring and a betel nut on a platter. He was fed a bit of coconut laddoo. His parents presented him with cash. Madhav's gift was a tailored coat and a brand new ball. Yashoda and Raghav surprised Waman with a bhikbali, a men's accessory worn in the top right earlobe. It had a pair of lustrous pearls and a ruby dangling on a gold hoop. The gift of a bhikbali is considered prestigious, it identifies the wearer as a man of learning and intelligence.
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Sharayu slipped the bhikbali into Waman's earlobe and everyone admired it till the impatient Surangi reminded them that it was her turn to perform the Bhaubeej aukhsan. She dipped her finger in the moistened vermilion and marked Waman's forehead before sticking grains of raw rice on it. After performing aarti she gave him a sweetmeat. "I hope you like reading this, I know you enjoy reading history!" Surangi handed him the present she had picked herself, a book on Maratha history. Chhatrapati Shivaji was Waman's idol, he practically worshipped him.
