JAADU
The morning sun was shining hard like it always did in this part of the country. The sarpanch (village chief) already knew that this summer was going to be one of the harshest ones. ‘‘ Iss baras bahut jan marega’’ (this year a lot of people shall die due to heat). With wise eyes and tight lips he walked home…..
She quickly got up and unfolded her uniform, an old torn one, threaded together at places to hide her flesh by her mother, it wasn’t for the first time that Dharti was wearing something that resembled so much to a rag. She was used to such clothing, never in her life had she or her mother had seen new clothes, they simply dint know it felt to wear new clothes.
They like many were oblivious to a life style that was decent. The only aim of Dharti’s life was to become a film actress… ‘A heronieee’ like she called it and that of her mother was to survive.
‘‘Kajar khatam ho gaya hai, naya dabba lai do’’ said Dharti, she loved to wear kohl like many young girls. Another thing that she truly loved was to dress up only that all she had was a discarded bottle of a cheap nail polish that she had picked from outside the zamindars house, a couple of tikli’s (bindi), some colourful bangles too big for her tiny wrists, her never ending bottle of chameli tail (oil) that she would religiously chap onto her head every morning and a a pair of yellow ribbons that she wore to school each day, her most cherished possession.
‘‘Ab jayegi ki nahin, Gudiya aa gayi hai’’ hearing that she ran to meet Gudiya her only friend, equally talented at dancing to bollywood numbers and another aspiring actress.
You smell nice chirped Gudiya, your lips look pink and pretty complimented Dharti, and their daily ritual began by saying these good things to one another. It was hard to tell if they really meant it or was it just a form of a positive comeback. But that certainly dint matter, what mattered was that they were friends with similar looks, with typical backgrounds and same dreams.
That day when they entered school it looked different, there was something that made it far more attractive than the usual boring days. The walls that were hardly there were same , so were the ceiling that was ready to collapse, the floor mats remained tattered , the blackboard looked white, the pot holding water was half empty…. What was so different today?
The place smelt different! Much better than how it had smelled all these years, but there weren’t any new flowers planted at least no ‘gainde ka jharh’ (marigold plant) thought Dharti. ‘’Kya soch rahi hai?’’ Interrupted Gudiya, ‘Khusbu kahan se aa rahi hai re?’’ asked Dharti….and Gudiya pointed a finger at Bela, the sarpanch’s grand daughter. Today she smelt as beautiful as her name. Bela couldn’t have thanked Ghesu her brother more for gifting her a new bottle of perfume for rakhi ( an Indian festival when sisters pray for the long life of their brothers). The bottle had been especially bought for her from the city as she had once asked for it. They entire family of the regarded this gift as a major achievement by Bela, as if she had won a battle and now at school it was quite evident that she truly had. Her nose had gone up, she was no different from those kids who are taught the rules of chuachut ( caste and discrimination) from the moment they are born. She was a privileged child with all that she wanted.
Dharti was instantly jealous. Tears welled up in her eyes like they were waiting to flow out. She thought she had had a considerably bad day. First it was her kohl and now this perfume. Gudiya noticed and panicked, just like a true friend she wiped her tears and consoled her. There was no need to tell her what had upsetted her friend so much, the perfume.
They duo spent the next couple of days trying to figure out how to get that same perfume. This recent achievement of Bela had added another feather to her caste oriented hat and had made rest aware about the vast difference between ‘the have and have not’s. It was quite humiliating to not have a cheap bottle of perfume now, at least for Gudiya and Dharti.
‘‘We cannot let go this time Dharti, what should we do, from where can we get the money to buy that perfume. Did you see the beautiful bottle that held it? Ahh, even if we have the money how do we get it? ’’ Said Gudiya…. Dharti on the other hand still lingered in her thoughts and finally spoke. Her idea was to collect money and give it to the village postman, she saw him as the only source that would connect them to the pink bottle of perfume that lied in some part of the city. This was immediately discarded by Gudiya. Binu Kaka, a banjara (gypsy) had been listening to their serious conversation all this while. He spoke. He gave them a choice. It was accepted, it came cheap and quick.
With all the money gone to Binu left with only Rs.3, the girls bought a dozen of roses from the flower girl. They picked the prettiest and the plumpest. Gudiya arranged for a bowl and Dharti found a hiding place, away from the eyes of the villagers, the animals, their mothers and most of all Bela.
The ceremony began, Dharti pluck the petals carefully and placed them together on a big banana leaf, Gudiya filled the bowl with lukewarm water and together they dug a pit. The petals were then systematically placed and submerged into the water and the mouth of the bowl was covered with a big dry leaf. They placed the earthen pot in a pit and covered it with mud. Said their prayers and recited a mantra just like Binu had said and left.
They next 11 days passed with great difficulty. Dharti couldn’t sleep well and ate less. She was becoming restless. Gudiya her true friend was always by her side assuring her that magic would happen, a pink bottle would appear. On the final day the girls got up early and dressed. Dharti wore her favourite green ghaghara and tied her ribbons. Today she skipped the oil for now she would smell differently. The ground was hard; the mud over the pit had dried. There were cracks. Gudiya’s heart sank, her cheek turned a painful red and she started to sweat.
‘‘Zameen garam hai, dhup bahut hai, ghar chal….’’ (The land is hot, the sun is strong, lets go home) Gudiya had barely finished her statement and Dharti squat on the ground. She took a sickle out of her potli (bag) and forcefully started to plough. She dug and dug….
The leaf was into pieces, the pot was empty, the petals had dried and become black and there was no perfume. ‘’Probably they hadn’t performed the ritual properly or maybe Bela stole the gift thought Dharti as tears ran down her face. Or was it Gudiya? Had she stolen the pink bottle? Binu Kaka couldn’t have lied. Yes it had to be her!’’ , decided Gudiya. She bent down to pick the pot and smash it on Gudiya’s face. It was a quick decision and a quick action, but then something changed her mind… a red bottle in a transparent bag stood there.
The morning sun was shining hard like it always did in this part of the country. The sarpanch (village chief) already knew that this summer was going to be one of the harshest ones. ‘‘ Iss baras bahut jan marega’’ (this year a lot of people shall die due to heat). With wise eyes and tight lips he walked home…..
She quickly got up and unfolded her uniform, an old torn one, threaded together at places to hide her flesh by her mother, it wasn’t for the first time that Dharti was wearing something that resembled so much to a rag. She was used to such clothing, never in her life had she or her mother had seen new clothes, they simply dint know it felt to wear new clothes.
They like many were oblivious to a life style that was decent. The only aim of Dharti’s life was to become a film actress… ‘A heronieee’ like she called it and that of her mother was to survive.
‘‘Kajar khatam ho gaya hai, naya dabba lai do’’ said Dharti, she loved to wear kohl like many young girls. Another thing that she truly loved was to dress up only that all she had was a discarded bottle of a cheap nail polish that she had picked from outside the zamindars house, a couple of tikli’s (bindi), some colourful bangles too big for her tiny wrists, her never ending bottle of chameli tail (oil) that she would religiously chap onto her head every morning and a a pair of yellow ribbons that she wore to school each day, her most cherished possession.
‘‘Ab jayegi ki nahin, Gudiya aa gayi hai’’ hearing that she ran to meet Gudiya her only friend, equally talented at dancing to bollywood numbers and another aspiring actress.
You smell nice chirped Gudiya, your lips look pink and pretty complimented Dharti, and their daily ritual began by saying these good things to one another. It was hard to tell if they really meant it or was it just a form of a positive comeback. But that certainly dint matter, what mattered was that they were friends with similar looks, with typical backgrounds and same dreams.
That day when they entered school it looked different, there was something that made it far more attractive than the usual boring days. The walls that were hardly there were same , so were the ceiling that was ready to collapse, the floor mats remained tattered , the blackboard looked white, the pot holding water was half empty…. What was so different today?
The place smelt different! Much better than how it had smelled all these years, but there weren’t any new flowers planted at least no ‘gainde ka jharh’ (marigold plant) thought Dharti. ‘’Kya soch rahi hai?’’ Interrupted Gudiya, ‘Khusbu kahan se aa rahi hai re?’’ asked Dharti….and Gudiya pointed a finger at Bela, the sarpanch’s grand daughter. Today she smelt as beautiful as her name. Bela couldn’t have thanked Ghesu her brother more for gifting her a new bottle of perfume for rakhi ( an Indian festival when sisters pray for the long life of their brothers). The bottle had been especially bought for her from the city as she had once asked for it. They entire family of the regarded this gift as a major achievement by Bela, as if she had won a battle and now at school it was quite evident that she truly had. Her nose had gone up, she was no different from those kids who are taught the rules of chuachut ( caste and discrimination) from the moment they are born. She was a privileged child with all that she wanted.
Dharti was instantly jealous. Tears welled up in her eyes like they were waiting to flow out. She thought she had had a considerably bad day. First it was her kohl and now this perfume. Gudiya noticed and panicked, just like a true friend she wiped her tears and consoled her. There was no need to tell her what had upsetted her friend so much, the perfume.
They duo spent the next couple of days trying to figure out how to get that same perfume. This recent achievement of Bela had added another feather to her caste oriented hat and had made rest aware about the vast difference between ‘the have and have not’s. It was quite humiliating to not have a cheap bottle of perfume now, at least for Gudiya and Dharti.
‘‘We cannot let go this time Dharti, what should we do, from where can we get the money to buy that perfume. Did you see the beautiful bottle that held it? Ahh, even if we have the money how do we get it? ’’ Said Gudiya…. Dharti on the other hand still lingered in her thoughts and finally spoke. Her idea was to collect money and give it to the village postman, she saw him as the only source that would connect them to the pink bottle of perfume that lied in some part of the city. This was immediately discarded by Gudiya. Binu Kaka, a banjara (gypsy) had been listening to their serious conversation all this while. He spoke. He gave them a choice. It was accepted, it came cheap and quick.
With all the money gone to Binu left with only Rs.3, the girls bought a dozen of roses from the flower girl. They picked the prettiest and the plumpest. Gudiya arranged for a bowl and Dharti found a hiding place, away from the eyes of the villagers, the animals, their mothers and most of all Bela.
The ceremony began, Dharti pluck the petals carefully and placed them together on a big banana leaf, Gudiya filled the bowl with lukewarm water and together they dug a pit. The petals were then systematically placed and submerged into the water and the mouth of the bowl was covered with a big dry leaf. They placed the earthen pot in a pit and covered it with mud. Said their prayers and recited a mantra just like Binu had said and left.
They next 11 days passed with great difficulty. Dharti couldn’t sleep well and ate less. She was becoming restless. Gudiya her true friend was always by her side assuring her that magic would happen, a pink bottle would appear. On the final day the girls got up early and dressed. Dharti wore her favourite green ghaghara and tied her ribbons. Today she skipped the oil for now she would smell differently. The ground was hard; the mud over the pit had dried. There were cracks. Gudiya’s heart sank, her cheek turned a painful red and she started to sweat.
‘‘Zameen garam hai, dhup bahut hai, ghar chal….’’ (The land is hot, the sun is strong, lets go home) Gudiya had barely finished her statement and Dharti squat on the ground. She took a sickle out of her potli (bag) and forcefully started to plough. She dug and dug….
The leaf was into pieces, the pot was empty, the petals had dried and become black and there was no perfume. ‘’Probably they hadn’t performed the ritual properly or maybe Bela stole the gift thought Dharti as tears ran down her face. Or was it Gudiya? Had she stolen the pink bottle? Binu Kaka couldn’t have lied. Yes it had to be her!’’ , decided Gudiya. She bent down to pick the pot and smash it on Gudiya’s face. It was a quick decision and a quick action, but then something changed her mind… a red bottle in a transparent bag stood there.
