My student account at Georgia Tech is scheduled to be terminated today. I have been reading sct from this account ever since this newsgroup was created and have saved some good/bad/ugly articles over the last six years. I will repost some of the good ones before deleting the files.. Rangaswamy ----------------------------------------------------------------- DEVADASI by Kasturi Sreenivasan This novel is published & copyrighted by Kasturi Sreenivasan Charity Trust, Avanashi Road, Coimbatore-641014, India and is posted with the kind permission of the author. **************************************************************************** CHAPTER I THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVERS (1877) It was dusk. The inner courtyard of the temple which was intended for the more important and higher caste people was still empty,but the outer spacewas alreadygettingcrowded. The priests, their stomachs hanging over their dhoties and their brown bodies glistening with perspiration, were busy running here and there, shouting orders to the garland makers, giving instructions with regard to decorations, asking for lanterns to be lit and warning the lower caste people to keep away from them lest they polluted the priests of God. The smell of burning incense and camphor mingled with the stale smell of oil and the fresh aroma of flowers and banana leaves. The decorations at the temple were almost complete. It had been newly whitewashed and the compound wall painted in stripes of white and red. Coconut leaves, woven into mats, were bound round pillars to cover them. At the entrance, banana trees had been tied to form a welcoming arch, with the green bunch hanging from them. Mango leaves, strung together, hung across every door way. ' Garuda Vahana ', the flying eagle, transport of Vishnu the creator, had been brought out of its storage and was being cleaned up and decorated, to be ready for the procession at night. The divine eagle would be used later in the night to carry the bronze image of Lord Ranganatha, the presiding deity at the temple, along the main streets of the town. It was the birthday celebration of Sri Krishna Jayanthi, an important occasion in a Vaishnavite temple. Outside the temple, the petty vendors along the dusty street were doing a brisk trade by the light of smokey oil lamps. One could buy coconuts and bananas, betel and scented sticks and camphor for worship. But one could also buy little mirrors and combs, coloured ribbons for girls' hair, white sticks and red tablets for painting religious marks on the forehead, and flowers and sandalwood paste. There were also little baskets for girls and rattles for boys, all made out of dried coconut leaves. There was much bustle and confusion as people bargained and argued, and children cried with fatigue and hunger. Beggars crying for alms and sadhus intoning their hymns mingled with the noise of conches and gongs in the distance. The dust and noise of the street mingled with the smells and sounds of the temple to create the peculiar atmosphere of a Hindu religious festival. Though Palayam was only a small town, one of its eating places started serving a new drink called coffee. It had been introduced by the British rulers and there were many stories about it. Some argued that, since it was of European origin, it must necessarily be unclean; others said it might be alcoholic. In any case, very few tried it, since a tumbler full cost as much as half an anna, while butter-milk was served free in many places and coconut water including the tender coconut meat was only a paisa. Only the most daring or the wealthy could afford the exotic brew. There was animated conversation about this and about various other things among the men who were slowly gathering in the temple courtyard. They talked about a new thing called a railway which had just been extended to the town from Madras recently. They called it a monster of iron, since it was so huge that only a monster could pull it. Queen Victoria had been proclaimed ' Empress of Tndia' a few weeks ago, and it was said that that benign lady was going to usher in a golden age of peace and prosperity. In order to celebrate the great occasion, horse races and bullock cart races had been held in every town, and a few Indians had been allowed to ride along with the Europeans, for the first time in living memory. Most of them had watched the races that afternoon and now there was animated discussion about the finer points of the various races. With these momentous changes taking place in their environment, even the price of crops and the state of the monsoon seemed unimportant. ' The old days are gone for ever,' they said. ' Things will never be the same again.' But the topic of immediate interest this evening was the new dancer who was going to dance at the temple before the start of the procession. No one had seen her dance before; it was her first performance. After a rigorous course of training for ten years, she was about to become a ' deva daasi', a servant of God. She was going to be dedicated to the temple and she would spend the rest of her life dancing at the temple, providing pleasure as well as a sense of Godliness to the devotees who came to worship. She was reported to be extraordinarily beautiful, talented, and only sixteen years of age. There was eager anticipation as the courtyard began to fill with men. As time went on, they began to ask each other, ' When is she coming ? ' ' How long are we to wait ? ' But they were used to waiting; time did not mean very much when once the crops were in and the sowing season had not yet started. They had very little to do, and so they chatted about their times and events contentedly. First, the musicians came and sat down in a corner of the inner courtyard. As they began to tune their instruments, there was a general thrust forward by the crowd and a craning of necks to see what was happening. The priests shouted at people to stay where they were. Presently a side door opened and a young girl in the costume of a Bharata Natyam dancer walked in, with downcast eyes. She was escorted by her mother. The noise in the crowd increased as people at the back started shouting to the people in front to sit down so that they could get a better glimpse of the dancer. She walked to the sanctum of the temple and waited with folded hands while a priest inside started the puja. Mantras were recited, the bell was rung, the camphor was lit and offered to the deity. The priest came out with the plate with the burning camphor still blazing and offered it to the girl. She knelt in obeisance; she bowed low till her forehead touched the ground. When she rose, she touched the burning camphor with her fingers and then raised her hands in prayer. She took some ashes from the plate and applied it to her forehead. Next, she walked over to her guru, the dance teacher who had trained her since she was a child. To him also, it was a day of fulfilment. She bowed low and touched his feet, and was blessed by him. It was a momentous occasion for her; it was the consummation of her desires, the fulfilment of her dreams. May be she would be a great dancer, coveted in the courts of kings, and thousands would flock to see her. Or, she would remain a temple dancer, making a precarious living, and then thrown on the scrapheap of humanity after a time. Yes, that day would largely decide the issue. As she took her position in the centre of the forecourt of the temple and as the musicians began their first song, a silence fell over the crowd. The first dance began.It was an invocation to Ganapathi, the elephant God, who had to be propitiated first if the occasion was to be a success. People watched her with curious, critical eyes, watched her face and figure and noted her expressions and her movements. As the preliminary dance ended, a young man walked into the inner courtyard and sat in the front row. He was tall, with dark, piercing eyes, and distinguished looking. His thick, long hair was neatly tied into a bun at the back of his head, according to the fashion of the time, his mustache was neatly trimmed. The red, gold laced upper cloth he wore did little to hide the firm muscles of his body, and his brown skin shone in the mellow light of the oil lamps. There was a rustle among the crowd as people tried to see who he was and then, he was recognised as the young winner of the main event in the horse races held by the British rulers that afternoon. He had received a big silver cup from the European Collector who had complimented him as being an example of what was best in the native population. ' It is Ramaswamy Udayar of Achipatti village,' someone whispered. ' Even the white people admired the way he rode.' ' Nevertheless, he should have more respect for the elders,' another commented. ' He should not push past everyone and sit at the front.' Meanwhile, the second dance had started. The rustle in the audience died down and they watched the dancer intently as she went through the various motions of joy, sorrow, jealousy, anger, ecstacy and love. Her face glowed in the soft light of the oil lamps; her hands coiled and uncoiled in the supple movements of a cobra, but her feet had the precision and timing of a soldier on parade. Her beautiful figure was poetry in motion and her face was a kaleidoscope of expressions as she acted out one story after another from the rich repertoire of Hindu mythology. It was not only the technical perfection of her art, but the inner excitement, her love of God and her love of dancing, the combination of religion and emotion that flowed through every movement that made her dancing what it was. ' She is truly great; a dancer like this is seen only once in a century.' ' Let us hope she doesn't become the concubine of some zamindar and neglect her dancing.' ' Whether a zamindar get's her or not, the priests will not leave her alone.' ' With her face and figure and her dancing, she will earn a fortune if she is clever.' ' What is her name ? ' Ramaswamy Udayar asked someone sitting next to him. ' Her name is Meenakshi; she is the daughter of Muthulakhsmi who used to be a dancer at this temple a few years ago.' The dancing went on and on. The mother stayed in the background and made a note of all the important people who were present. There was no way in which a professional dancer could make money through her art. There were no public performances where people paid to watch the dancing. The few occasions when she might be cal]ed upon to dance at a wedding were not enough to enable her to make a decent living. Further, a dancer was married to God, dedicated to the temple, and often at the mercy of the temple priests. The only way in which she could thrive and make a fortune was to have a powerful patron or patrons who would pay her well and look after her interests at the same time. Watching the people in the audience and watching her daughter's dancing, Muthu smiled with satisfaction,for sheknewthather daughter's fortune was made. Ramaswamy Udayar got up and walked out before the end of the dance. Outside the temple, he called his personal assistant and cart driver Ganapathi. ' Ganapathi, I want you to find out where this dancer lives and let me know in the morning. I am going to bed now.' ' All right sir' replied Ganapathi. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- CHAPTER II Next morning, Udayar was driven to Meenakshi's- house in his bullock cart. In addition to his uppercloth, he wore a turban that morning. It added dignity to the occasion and made him look older. Muthu received him and invited him to be seated on a carpet which had obviously seen better days. A cushion was placed for his comfort. There was no other furniture of any sort in the room. The house had not been white-washed for a long time and everywhere there was evidence of poverty and neglect. Muthuherself stood, out of politeness for her guest, leaning against one of the pillars. ' We are honoured by your visit, sir,' she said. ' I suppose you know who I am ? ' Udayar asked. ' Who does not know you ? ' she asked in return. ' Every one is talking about your riding in the races yesterday.' ' Oh, that,' he waved it aside. ' That is nothing. Everyone will talk about it today and forget it tomorrow. What I mean is, do you know who I am, where I ome from and, most important, what I am worth ? ' ' Well sir...' she hesitated. ' I want to see your daughter.' ' Meena,' Muthu called. Meena emerged from the back room and stood shyly behind her mother. ' If you don't know, you had better make enquiries,' he said. ' I am fairly well off.' ' That is not surprising,' she said, ' I can tell from your appearance that you are a person of status.' ' Come forward and pay your respect to the gentleman,' Muthu instructed. Meena joined her hands in greeting and bowed low before her honoured guest. She was dressed in a simple cotton sari and tight fitting blouse. Devoid of make-up and the gaudy costume and the tinsel jewellery of the previous night, the delicate features of her face and the outlines of her beautiful figure showed to better advantage. There was innocence as well as dignity in her expression which her obvious poverty did nothing to hide. Udayar eyed her with keen and critical appreciation, in the same way he was used to appraising a thorough-bred Arab horse. ' Go and bring some refreshments ', Muthu told her daughter who went inside and returned with a tray of spiced nuts and bete1 leaves for chewing. But they remained untouched. ' She is very young, sir, ' Muthu went on. ' Until yesterday she had not seen a man, except in the street,from a distance. And when her dance teacher was here, I was always present. Her young life so far has been one of dedication to her art and to God.' To be dedicated to the temple, a dancer had to be a virgin. It was the one thing to which devadaasies attached great importance and young men in search of mistresses attached equal importance. Muthu delicately hinted at it in case Udayar was doubtful or did not know the customs. ' Look, I am not used to sophisticated conversation,' Udayar interrupted. ' I will be plain. I like your daughter. She is not only attractive, but seems a nice girl too. I want her to be my mistress, not for a month or two, but for ever.' Muthu was shocked at the blunt and crude way he spoke. She herself would have approached the subject through subtle hints and oblique references after another half an hour of verbal sparring, with a lot of politeness and courtcsy and a few shafts of malicious wit. ' He is not very experienced,' she told herself, ' but he may give a lot of trouble.' It was a challenge she faced with relish. To outwit him and take some money off him in the process would be fun. ' Well sir, Meena has just started her career as a dancer,' she answered. ' With her good looks and her talent, she will go far in her profession. And she has been dedicated to the temple for life.' ' I know all about this dedication business ', Udayar cut her short. ' You too were dedicated when you were young, I suppose. You also must have had good looks and talent when you started your career, and must have had offers from wealthy patrons. You must have accepted them, or you would not have had a daughter. And yet, where has it got you ? How much money have you saved in your old age ? I bet you are in debt to half the tradesmen in the town. Now, you have to start peddling your daughter's good looks in order to make a living. And if you are not careful, she will end up like you, prematurely old and with no security for her later life. What I am offering is comfort and security, even respectability. In return, I expect love, affection and loyalty;... and she must give up her dancing.' Give up her dancing indeed ! Who did he think he was ? A Maharaja ? Muthu was terribly annoyed at the way he spoke, all the more so because what he said was all too true. But she could not afford to send him away. ' Your offer is most kind ', she said. Her attitude alternated between flattery of her guest and an assumption of great future success for her daughter. ' But she has her career to think of. I am also told that some wealthy zamindars are interested in her.' ' I am sure they are ', Udayar replied. ' They might keep her for a month, perhaps two months. Then there will be another dancer in another town or in a different temple who might take their fancy and they will get rid of your daughter. And you will have to start looking for a new patron. And gradually, she will end up with the temple priests. I am trying to save her from all that.' ' I have been looking forward to my daughter dancing in the courts of princes,' Muthu spoke, half to herself. ' I have dreamt that she will be the greatest dancer in all India and that future generations will speak of her art. It is a great sacrifice you are asking us to make.' Muthu had not the slightest intention of letting Meena make any such sacrifice, but letting it to be implied would be an advantage. ' Tell me, have you ever heard of a dancer who led a comfortable retired life ? ' Udayar asked. He had reached the point of concluding the deal. ' Here is fifty rupees for any immediate expenses you may have.' He counted out five ten-rupee notes and handed them to her. The sight of money was tempting and Muthu could not refuse it. ' You had better make a list of people to whom you owe money,' he continued. ' I will settle with them all tomorrow so that you will be free of their worrying. From now on, you should not borrow money on any account. If you need anything, you ask me.' ' Yes, sir,' she muttered. ' I am a Kshatria and I do not like to break my caste rules', he said. ' I shall not eat anything cooked by you or your daughter. I shall send a brahmin cook who will do all my food in a separate kitchen.' ' Very well, sir.' ' I shall return in the evening,' and he went out. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- CHAPTER III During the day, Udayar was generally off on some work or other. He was engaged in a civil dispute with his uncle on the partition of the ancestral property regarding which he had to consult lawyers. He lent money to various people and he often went round to collect interest. Horses always interested him and if he heard of a good one that was for sale, he went off to look at it. Bullocks for farm work had to be bought; his crop of tobacco or cotton had to be sold or the purchase of a farm had to be negotiated and one or other of these always kept him busy during the day. In the evening, he returned to Meena's house, had his bath, the brahmin cook served his supper while Meena supervised in the background. At night, they made love. Meena, in spite of her inexperience, was adept in the art of pleasing men, thanks to the training and advice she had received from her mother. Day by day, they grew fond of each other. Meena found that love was very different from what her mother had taught her to believe. Udayar was tender and affectionate in private though often blunt in public, and hardly noticed her during the day. In the privacy of their room, he spoke to her about their future. ' I am fond of you Meena girl ', he said. Addressing her as ' Meena girl ' was his way of expressing his tenderness, of saying she was something special, and so he had to have a special name for her. ' I am fond of you, but I cannot be fond of a professional dancer. A dancer's life is degrading and I want you to have self-respect as well as the respect of others. If you cannot achieve that, then our relationship cannot be permanent. You want to be mine for ever, don't you ? ' ' Yes, of course,' she answered demurely. ' Then, don't listen to your mother. She belongs to a different tradition and a different age.' Meena listened to him with growing interest and affection. From him,she learned about honour, loyalty and fairness - values that had not been a part of her mother's tuition and were, in fact, contrary to her mother's ideas. They made a big impression on her young tender mind. ' You should be able to hold your head high under any circumstances,' he told her and it seemed an attractive prospect. Physically, they were well matched. In private she was tantalising and provocative, with all the art and guile her profession had taught her, except that now it was not pretence. Her love for him was genuine. When he went away in the morning, she looked at him longingly, but dropped her eyes in true modesty in the presence of others. And she waited impatiently till the evening for his return. The household dues were all settled. Meena admired the way he dealt with the creditors. They all knew him and respected him. Used as she was to her mother's ways of cringing and pleading, this was a revelation to her. ' She owes you two hundred rupees, does she ? How do you make that out ? Oh, I see, it includes the interest also, does it ? Did you give all this money in cash or in goods ? Have you kept an account ? Have you a promissory note ? You haven't ? Then how can I verify your statement ? All right, I will pay you one hundred rupees in full settlement, or would you prefer to wait ? You will take the money, will you ? Good, then give me a receipt.' On the first day, Udayar's servant went to the market and brought back a cart-load of provisions such as rice, lentils, spices and so on, to last for a few months. Udayar himself gave some money to Muthu for daily expenses - adequate, but not over generous. She gr-umbled about all this, but not to his face. She resented this brash young man who had sounceremoniously taken over the management of her household and treated her like a glorified servant. For the first time in Meena's young life, there was no anxiety about money, no fear of creditors and no apprehension about the future. Meena knew for the first time what security meant. How often had she seen her mother argue with a man over money and then take him into the back room and after a little while, he would go away satisfied. Meena remembered only too well the vulgar jokes of some men who came to her mother. ' We can't give you any money on the strength of your good looks; we will wait for your daughter to come of age.' Yes, Meena began to realise what happiness and contentment was. Udayar was a generous lover who might desert her any day, her mother kept telling her. ' They all swear eternal love until they get tired of you,' she said. But Meena did not like to think of that day. She had no thought for anything or anyone else, except for the happy contemplation of her love. She did not even think of her dancing. After he had been there for about a month Udayar spoke to Meena one morning. ' Look here, Meena girl,' he said. ' I have to go back to my village. While I am gone, don't let your rnother get you into any mischief.' ' But I don't want you to go ' Meena cried. ' You promised you will never leave me ! ' ' I am not leaving you,' he said. ' I will never leave you unless you or your mother make me do so. But you must realise that I have work to do. Achipatti is only twelve miles from here and I can come back if you really want me. I have to attend to my farms, collect rent from the tenants and so on. As you grow older, you will understand these things.' But to Meena, who had never travelled beyond the outskirts of the town, Achipatti might have been at the other end of the world. ' Mother says, when once you go, you will not come back,' she wailed. ' She says all men are the same.' ' Your mother is a fool.' ' How can I be without you ? ' she shed tears. ' What will I do all day long ? ' ' What do wives do when their husbands are away ? ' he shouted. ' You will do the same.' ' But I am not your wife ! ' she shouted back. ' Look, Meena girl,' he spoke to her tenderly, almost like a father. ' You know I cannot marry you. According to the Hindu tradition which we both accept, you are married to God, and I cannot marry anyone outside my caste. But the Hindu tradition permits a man to have a mistress. However, the very fact that we cannot get married imposes a greater responsibility on both of us. You are perhaps still too young to understand, but I shall make sure that our children will not have to take to your profession and will be respectably married. So, you must trust me and be patient.' Meena's answer was more tears. ' You must not mix with the other dancers because they will tempt you to follow their ways,' he continued. ' You cannot blame them because that is their tradition. But I want to take you away from it all. And to make sure of it, I am leaving Ganapathi behind. He will look after you, take you to the temple if you want to go there for worship and will buy any household things you want.' ' You don't trust me after all my promises,' she said. ' I trust you, but I don't trust your mother.' They bid each other an affectionate farewell. But his goodbye to Muthu was short and perfunctory. His small cloth bag was packed, his horse was saddled and he rode away. ------------------------------------------------------------------------- IV Evening after evening, when Ganapathi was safely out of the way, Muthu talked to Meena. ' Why don't you comb your hair, make up your face and go to the temple ? How do you expect people to remember you if, after one performance, you hide yourself in your house as if you were in mourning ? Don't you want people to see you and to admire you ? ' ' I went to the temple this morning to worship and to offer puja; that is enough.' ' But it is in the evening that wealthy young men come to the temple to see the dancing girls !' ' I don't want wealthy young men to see me.' ' And what if this man should leave you ? ' Muthu shouted. ' Are you married to him ? Did he take you as his lawful, wedded wife before the holy fire and before an assembly of elders ? He can walk out any time and you have no protection; no appeal. You have no rights recognized by society to retain your man. You have to fend for yourself and make the best you can of your life. You ought to get what you can out of him and then leave him if a more wealthy patron is available.' ' Don't you see, mother,' Meena pleaded. ' He loves me and I love him. He will not leave me and I certainly shall not leave him.' ' How silly you are ! ' Muthu laughed bitterly. ' Love is a luxury we in our profession cannot afford. Anyhow, what do you know of this man ? May be he has a wife tucked away in his village. Even if he hasn't, his relations will make sure that he gets married and has legitimate children who can light his funeral pyre so that his soul can go to heaven. In that case, where will you be ? ' Meena started weeping. ' How can you talk like that mother ? ' she cried. ' For the first time in my life, I have known freedom from anxiety and worry. Now I know what love and security mean. And I am infinitely grateful to him for having made all this possible.' ' Yes, he is a clever man,' Muthu said slowly. ' I begin to see his plan. He has given you freedom from worry, made you feel secure and complacent. But if he should leave you tomorrow, you will be exactly where you were before; perhaps worse since you are no longer a virgin. There is not one thing that he has given that can be converted into money ! ' ' But I trust him ! ' Meena shouted in spite of her tears. ' Look Meena', Muthu spoke slowly and deliberately in order to emphasize her words. ' We are deva daasies - servants of God. Our loyalty is to our art and our devotion is to the temple. We may offer our bodies to any man, even enjoy doing it; but we do not mortgage our emotions to any human being. That is our tradition and that is our duty, our dharma, if you like.' ' How can I be true to God or loyal to my art if I am disloyal to my lover and protector ? ' Muthu came and hugged her daughter with affection ' Poor child ! ' she cried. ' You have lost your heart to this selfish man who is only interested in his pleasures. It happens to all of us sometimes. But it is the worst thing that can happen to a deva daasi, for men are fickle where we are concerned. They will be loyal to their wives even when they hate them; they will protect them even when they don't need protection, because society expects them to do so. But they will leave us at the slightest provocation. And we suffer not only the miseries of a lost love but also because of the missed opportunities with other men.' ' He will not leave me, mother.' ' What a fool you are ! ' Muthu shouted in anger. Her sympathy and understanding of a few moments ago had disappeared. ' Love has made you lose your senses.' But the argument was not yet over. There was only a respite before the next stage of the battle. Meena felt helpless, because she was young and inexperienced, and because she loved her mother. Muthu was clever and knew all the arguments. ' Peace and contentment and happiness are not for us,' the mother argued. ' Ours is a life of excitement, of ecstasy. People might tease us or humiliate us, but we find a rare fulfillment through our art. How can you give up such a life in preference to a drab, monotonous existence which does not even guarantee security for the future ? ' ' Yes, I will miss my dancing,' Meena agreed. ' I wish there was some way by which I could go on dancing without having to put up with all that it implies. But if I have to choose between love and art, I will have no hesitation in choosing love.' ' And after all I have done for you ! ' Muthu shouted. ' For the past ten years, I have slaved and humiliated myself and had you trained so that in you I could see myself dancing, so that you will earn the fame that eluded me. And this is how you repay me ! ' This was perhaps the wrong approach and Muthu realized it the moment she had spoken. Meena looked at her mother, long and hard. ' I know all you have done for me, mother,' she said. ' Don't think am ungrateful. I know only too well the mean and low men you have had to please, the creditors you have had to satisfy and my heart cried all that while for you. I used to wonder which of these men who came to see you was my father. Though I was young, I knew all about these things, our profession makes one understand them at a very young age. But I didn't realize you did these things in order to mold me in your own image; to make me go through the same life that you did, perhaps a little better, perhaps a little worse. You see, I don't want the same things to happen to me when I am older. I want to look after you in your old age, but I want to do it without humiliating myself. I am lucky to have found a man whom I can love and respect; I am going to stick to him.' The argument went on day after day. There were tears and recriminations, appeals to love and tradition and duty, and above all, to future self-interest. ' Has he bought you any jewelry ?' Muthu demanded. ' Any saris ? Who will believe he is fond of you ? ' ' He has brought us peace and security.' Meena countered. ' Isn't that enough ? He has brought us dignity and a sense of pride in ourselves. The tradesmen talk to you with respect now. Young men do not wink at me or make sly jokes about my face and figure in an indecent way. Isn't that enough ? ' ' As if these things will feed you when he has gone ! ' ' But he will not be gone ! ' Then, Muthu tried a totally new line of argument. ' Do you know if he is married ? ' she asked. ' Has he any children? Has he told you anything about his family ? ' ' He is not married; if he is, he would have told me.' ' But has he told you ? ' ' No, he has not told me in so many words,' Meena shouted. ' But his parents are dead and he was brought up by his uncle with whom he has quarreled. He is his own master.' ' What about that uncle of his ? ' ' You know has a court case against him because of the dispute over the partition of ancestral property.' On another occasion, Muthu brought up the subject of a zamindar who had come to town in search of adventure. ' I believe he is very wealthy and has lots of diamonds on his fingers,' she said. ' I am not interested in any zamindar,' Meena replied coldly. ' You never know,' Muthu speculated. ' This man of yours may not turn up. So, it is better to be on the look out and let people know you have not gone completely into purdah.' ' Look mother, I don't want you to speak to anyone about me.' But all the same, Meena was getting worried and lonely. Ganapathi was like a good watch dog, affectionate and obedient but hardly good company. Before all this happened, Meena had her dancing lessons, her music and the exciting anticipation of the first performance. But now, she found time hanging heavy on her hands, with nothing to do but worry or argue with her mother. Muthu's constant arguments were beginning to have their effect. Doubts were beginning to eat into Meena's soul. Will he come back soon ? Will he keep his promises ? Perhaps her mother was right. She has had a lot of experience with men. May be, men were fickle as she said, and her man was no exception. She turned to Ganapathi in her misery. ' When do you think he will come, Ganapathi ? ' ' I don't know, Amma,' he said. ' It is sowing time in the fields and until that is over, he won't stir out of the village. He also has this dispute with his uncle and he said he was going to settle it one way or another.' ' My mother says he will soon get tired of me and leave me.' ' He is not like that,' Ganapathi assured her. ' I have never known my master give his word and then go back on it.' ' But I am lonely and miserable. Mother keeps saying I should practice my dancing and not give up my profession.' ' If you break your part of the bargain and start dancing, then he will have nothing more to do with you.' ' I do wish he would come back.' The priests from the temple had also been trying to persuade Meena to continue with her dancing. A young, attractive dancer was a great asset to any temple. She drew crowds during festival times and she created a new interest at other times. ' Don't forget you are a servant of God,' they reminded her. ' You are in fact married to God by virtue of your vows. It is your duty to dedicate your talents to His service. You must dance in the temple to please God as well as His devotees. You cannot break the tradition of a thousand years. To break your vow would be a sacrilege.' There was a minor festival coming up in the temple and Muthu and the priests between them succeeded in persuading Meena to agree to dance on that occasion. ' I am not asking you to give up your man or take up with another,' Muthu argued. ' I am only asking you to keep your own vow to God.' So the dance teacher was sent for. Muthu and the teacher between them selected the dances, keeping in view the occasion. That evening, there was music and the jingle of bells emanating from Muthu's house as Meena practiced these dances. It gave her a new satisfaction as she went through the various selections and the physical exertion as well as the emotional tension contributing to it. ' What is this I hear Amma ? ' Ganapathy asked Meena. ' You are going to dance at the temple.' ' It is true Ganapathy,' Meena wailed. ' What can I do ? The priests are threatening me with the wrath of God and my mother is shouting at me. It is nearly a month and he hasn't come.' Ganapathy walked the whole night and reached Achipatti village the next morning. He reported to his master what had happened. ' If she wants to go back to her dancing, let her go,' Udayar muttered in anger. ' No sir,' Ganapathy pleaded. ' She does not want to go back. But she cannot withstand the joint efforts of the priests and her mother. She is young and afraid. How long can a young girl who is just past childhood withstand such pressures ? If you go to her now, she will refuse to dance.' ' But it would cause trouble with the temple authorities.' ' If she stays in the town and does not dance, it would cause trouble,' Ganapathi said. ' But if you take her away somewhere for a few days, by the time you come back, people would have forgotten all about it.' Udayar thought for a few minutes. ' I am wondering if she is worth all that trouble,' he said aloud. ' She is loyal and decent sir,' Ganapathy said. ' And she is very fond of you.' Further, Ganapathy added a bit of practical wisdom. ' You have already spent a lot of money settling her mother's debts, apart from the household expenses.' ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- CHAPTER V When Udayar arrived at Meena's house, she was having lunch. He walked straight into the kitchen. ' Meena girl ' wash your hands and come with me,' he said. ' We are going on a pilgrimage and you are going to have a ride on the new railway.' Muthu was speechless, but Meena left her lunch, washed her hands and went into her room to get the few things necessary for the journey. It was then that Muthu started shouting and wailing. ' How can she go away now ? ' she cried. ' What will the priests say ? How can I answer them ? What will the devotees who come to the temple expecting Meena to dance, say? It is the most humiliating thing that can happen to a dancer to be forced not to keep an appointment at the temple ! ' ' But Meena is no longer a dancer,' said Udayar. ' We are deva daasies; it is our profession and it is our life,' Muthu shouted. ' Who are you to come and interfere with the tradition of a thousand years ? ' ' Well, it is not going to be Meena's life any longer' Udayar shouted back, 'and the sooner you get that into your head, the happier you will be. Here is hundred rupees for your expenses while we are away. Give some of it to the priests and there won't be any trouble.' ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- -- e-mail: gt6060a@prism.gatech.edu Tel : (404) 873-0555
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Most recent revision Thursday, April 10, 1997