Slap in the Face

This is Monday's post a day early but I'll be gone for the next three days so I won't have a chance to get to a cyber cafe. Read it all. You'll want to hear the whole story.


This weekend my elder sister arrived from London. A rickshaw driver brought her home with her luggage and even though we were expecting her we were surprised when we answered the door to her at 7am. The reason why was because we found that the ricksaw driver had come with his teenage daughter and his cousin.

Even weirder still, my sister invited him in for tea and told me to go and make it.

Do you normally invite the taxi driver into your house to serve him tea? No, neither do we.

The fact that my sister invited him in wasn't such a surprise because, well, that's just the way she is. She doesn't pay much attention to the weirdness of things. She sees what she wants to see.

No, what was strange was how these people acted.

My dad and I couldn't understand it. Why did the taxi driver enter the house as if he owned it? And why did he bring his teen daughter with him to his job? Why wasn't she in school? And why did his cousin come? You don't need two men to drive a car.

His cousin stayed downstairs with the car even when my sister called him up so it seemed even he had an idea of the weirdness of it all.

It turned out that this rickshaw driver, a Muslim man who had a very ingratiating way about him, knew my sister from when she'd come to India the last time. He'd given her a reasonable rate from the airport so she'd promptly loaded his number into her phone and used him to drive her everywhere.

That still didn't explain why he'd brought his daughter to our house.

I smiled politely and made tea, wondering what the heck was going on. There was something really off about these people.

My dad took an instant dislike to them, believing the man to be an encroacher, one of those parasites who spots an NRI (non resident Indian) and latches on to milk them for all he can get. What were such people called in the old days? Toadeaters? Leeches?

The man had seated himself on the middle of the sofa, looking right at home. He told me that his daughter was excellent at drawing henna tattoos.

So? I thought.

"She can put henna on your hands," he told me, leaning back and crossing his arms behind his head. "When will you come to our house? She can do it then. You'll love it."

I said that was charming but I couldn't come today. I wondered how much money they wanted to suck out of me for her henna or her makeup or whatever else they'd try foisting on me. I had a feeling my sister had been blabbing about how much I liked henna so it only made sense they'd talk about it.

He said something else but his style of Gujarati was a little different to what I was used to so I didn't understand him.

"This daughter is engaged?" My sister asked, clarifying his words and he nodded.

Oh, is that what he said? I thought. She must be older than she looks if she's engaged. She looks 15 or 16.

My sister asked the girl how old she was.

"16," the girl said with a demure smile.

"16!" My 39 year old unmarried sister gasped. "And you got her engaged already?!" She asked the man.

I refrained from gasping but felt exactly the same.

My dad was staring out the window, stone faced, sipping his tea.

None of us said congratulations.

The man said that it was what was best. His daughter had studied enough and it was time for her to settle down.

At least now I knew why she wasn't in school.

Wow, I thought. This is a Muslim family in India doing what they think is normal. And the whole country gets a bad rep because of it.

Every girl in my family is educated. My own mother is a double university graduate. My sister is a radiologist. One of my cousins is a lecturer at a university in Gujarat. One of my other cousins is a doctor. And of course I'm a university graduate and am forging my own career path doing what I love as a writer. There's never been any impediment to our advancement or study. In fact it's the opposite. We're expected to be educated and independent.

What this man was doing to his daughters was totally out of the realm of my experience. My father has a word for it: Backwards. It was astounding to see it happening, especially in Gujarat. Do you know that university education in this state is free for women? Free! There are women's colleges everywhere. My cousins in Bharuch run their own private college for women, training them to be teachers. All the girls have to do is study and show aptitude to get professional jobs and become valuable contributors to society.

He'd already married off two daughters, the rickshaw driver told us. This way he didn't have to worry. "Right, Uncle?" He said, looking at my dad. It was obvious he expected my father to laugh and nod as some kind of macho sexist comrade.

"I don't agree." My dad only looked at the man for a second before turning back to the window. "We would never do that in our family."

There was a nervous laugh around the room but clearly the man realised he'd calculated my dad wrong. "This age is so uncertain," he said. "It's good to make sure the girls are-"

"Every age is uncertain," my dad interrupted him. "That's no excuse. We would never do that to the girls in our community. But every community has it own ways of doing things." And he got up and walked out of the room.

Ouch!

I'd never seen anyone make such a blatant class distinction in public. He practically said: "This is us and that is you and here's the line right here. Now get out of my house."

The man and his daughter continued making light conversation, perhaps used to brushing off crushing set downs as all encroachers must be. As they left his daughter said to me: "Next time I come I'll bring a henna cone."

Next time? Next time! I wondered when they wanted me to fill in an American visa form for them.

My dad was tense for the rest of the morning. "You're not going to do henna with her, are you?"

"Of course not, Papa." I felt sorry for the girl. Imagine being pulled out of school at 16 and handed over to some man to be his wife. But for that family it was perfectly normal.

My sister, of course, had missed all the byplay. "He didn't take any money from me today but next time I call him I'll give double so it'll be ok," she said.

Oh dear. My poor innocent sister.

Draupadi - Born of Fire Part V

This is the fifth part of my Draupadi - Born of Fire series. These are the first, second, third and fourth parts.


The events that occurred in that gambling hall have made philosophers and sages debate for millenia.

The first thing to mention is what a corrupting influence gambling is. Even Yudhistira, called Dharmraj - the son of righteousness! - a man who had never done a thing wrong in his life fell prey to the madness of gambling. He thought that if he could just win the next throw of the dice, or the next one, or the next one, then he could recoup his loses. With each stake he lost he became more desperate to win the next throw. He thought the dice couldn't fall wrong forever. At some point his luck had to change. He thought he could win back his crown, his brothers, himself. But that's not how it works. The house always wins. And Yudhistira lost everything. His wealth. His crown. His self respect. Even his family.

This is the fever of gambling and no one is immune to it. That's why a wise man stays far away from this disturbing pastime.

Yet there is a much wider point here.

Does a husband own his wife that he has the right to stake her in a match? The answer, of course, is no. That was what Vidur and the rest of the elders didn't have the courage to tell Draupadi. As Krishna told the Pandavas a wife is not a possession. She is your life's partner.

The Hindu scriptures state that where women are abused there can be no peace. Thus the abuse that Draupadi suffered made war inevitable between the Pandavas and the Kauravas. And it was not just an external war with armies and soldiers. It was an internal war. An emotional war.

A spiritual war.

All those who were witness to that day were tormented by it. The Pandavas, the elders, the courtiers, the doormen.

The Pandavas went into exile for thirteen years to atone for the wrongs they committed. Yudhishtira performed penance but knew it was not enough. He could never forgive himself for his moments of madness in that gambling hall.

The younger Pandavas attempted to find comfort in preparing for war but in that there was only anger. Bhima vowed to kill Duryodhan and Dushashan. Arjuna vowed to kill Karna. Sahadev vowed to kill Shakuni. There could be no peace in their minds. They stewed in their memories and their lost honour.

The Kauravas, though in their minds they thirsted for war, in their hearts they dreaded facing the Pandavas. Duryodhan had an iron statue of Bhima made to practice his mace skills on so he would be prepared for his duel with the strongest of the Pandavas. Karna hated himself for his actions and even when he was given the chance to change sides couldn't forgive himself enough to do it. He didn't want to kill Arjuna and knew that in the end Arjuna would kill him. Dushashan had nightmares of Bhima killing him for trying to strip Draupadi naked. They pretended to be fearless but in their hearts they were quaking.

Kunti told Draupadi that for the first time in her life she was ashamed of her children. Gandhari could never forgive her own sons and refused to bless them with victory when it came to the final declaration of war. The women of Hastinapur knew that if the royal family could treat Draupadi this way then women had no value in their society.

Draupadi was true to her word to Gandhari. She did indeed forgive all who were in that hall including her own husbands and the elders. Could any of us have done that? Probably not. That was how strong Draupadi was. To forgive is the deepest kind of strength because it means to let go of our anger and bitterness and to still love even those who have wronged us.

Draupadi forgave. Draupadi loved. But she could never banish the memories.

She forgave everyone except for the four perpertrators, Duryodhan, Dushashan, Karna and Shakuni. She never allowed the Pandavas to forget that. She told her husbands she would not bind her hair again unti they gave her Dushashan's blood to bathe it with. For years she left her hair unbound and uncared for so that every time her husbands saw it they would remember and be inspired to fight.

But there is still a more important and sobering point to learn. A person might have family, friends, partners, elders, teachers. A person might feel protected and sheltered and safe. But when it comes to real problems when a person truly needs help there is no one.

In joy we have all. In sorrow we have none.

Draupadi realised this that terrible day in the gambling hall. She knew there was only one true relation - one true love - and that was the Almighty.

Later when Draupadi and Krishna met in person she sat next to him and told him of the horror she had endured. Of how Dushashan dragged her by her hair into the gambling hall. Of how Duryodhan leered and told her to sit in his lap. Of how Karna called her a prostitute. Of how they'd attempted to strip her naked in front of the entire court. And of how, apart from Krishna himself, no one in that court came to her aid.

Krishna listened. He put his hand on her head. He wiped her tears. And told her this:

"My dear one, it was not you who was humiliated. It was not you who was abused and slandered. It was not you who was stripped of clothes. It was ME. I was humiliated. I was slandered. I was insulted. And I will avenge this horror, Krishne."

By calling her Krishne, the feminine version of his own name, he gave her his identity. By taking her humiliation unto himself, he gave her back her self respect. By promising to right this wrong, he cherished her and showed the rest of the world what justice was.

When Arjuna stood on the battlefield years later Krishna told him to fight the Kauravas for the dignity of womankind. So that in the future women would be able to hold their heads up and know they were honoured. So that all men who sought to abuse women would remember this war and know this lesson.

When women are abused it is an offense against god. A violation of his laws. And as Krishna assured Draupadi there will be retribution.

Where women are abused there shall be war.

To be continued...

On the Road

I took this photo on the road in Maharashtra. It had rained for the past two days and only just stopped. Rain at this time of year is very unusual in India. The seasons are screwed up all over the world and in India especially.

We'd stopped the car to buy tomatoes from the farmers. Sweet little roma tomatoes straight from the fields. They were yummy and we munched them as we drove along, heading back to the state border with Gujarat. Home was through those mountains in the distance, up and over and down the mountain forest terrain. It's not a drive to do at night but we had stunning views during the day and a great driver to make the journey for us carefree. And when we crossed the border into our state we breathed a sigh of relief. "We're home!" We all said. "All glories to Gujarat!"


This is me, my dad, and a cow we met in Saputara, a hill station in the mountains in Gujarat. Cows are considered sacred by Hindus which is why so many roam freely all over the country. You might hit a person by mistake and people will take it in their stride. But hit a cow and you're dead. I'm serious.

My uncle was the first to pet this cow and the beautiful creature loved it, bobbing her head and moving into his touch. When he got tired of it and moved away she walked over to my dad and asked to be petted so he then stroked her, pulling thorns out of her hair that had been stuck there and lavishing her with love. I was busy taking photos of this sweet event when my uncle told me to go over there and pet her.

As I moved closer and looked into her lovely eyes I was so charmed by her gentleness and innocence. I petted and stroked her with my dad on the other side and we talked to her too, asking her if she liked this. She bobbed her head and moved into our hands. After a few minutes, I noticed something new. Can you see that dark vertical line just below her right eye? That's a line of her tears. She was weeping.

This wasn't the first time I'd seen such a cow display such tender emotion. This was just one of the most special times I'd seen it.

Cows are very sensitive. They want to be loved and cared for and protected. So when any chance person shows even a little affection it overwhelms them and they weep for joy, like she did.

I ran over to the car and got some of the tomatoes we'd just bought. I fed them to her out of my hand. Cows are the only animals who can lick me and I won't mind it.

Cows are sacred.


This was the tree I told you about that was growing out of the stone steps at Sapta Shrungi. I took this picture as I descended from the temple. See how the people on my side of the steps are so happy, having made it to the top and been granted an audience with the goddess. She is called Mataji - Our Mother - and she is beautiful. The climb down five hundred steps is as nothing when you feel like you're on cloud 9.

But that tree...

Imagine you're on these narrow slippery stairs with people all around you anxious to get to the top to see Mataji. As a pilgrim child you're making the climb barefoot. You're looking down to concentrate on your footing because the steps are ancient and uneven and wet. You're taking shallow breaths, sweat rolling down your back. Then suddenly - from out of nowhere - comes this tree in the middle of the path. It's roots are wide and strong. It's branches are dry and smooth from where so many devotees have touched them over the years. You have to step around it, taking care not to slip on the wet stones or do damage to the tree itself by stumbling. You lean on the trunk, catching your breath, taking comfort in it's silent strength. It pulses under you hand and like a faithful brother it's telling you: "Not long now, keep going. Mataji is waiting."

I love my India.