Maya

I have never been afraid of the dark, but sitting in the corner of my house, watching my father search for me, shouting in his gruff voice, “Maya, where are you? Come out this instant. If I ever catch you, I will skin you alive”, I have never felt more afraid in my life.

I guess that I cannot expect you to react to this unless I tell you the state that I am in and the reason that I am scared like I have never been scared in life. I guess that I have to start at the beginning.

I am fifteen years old, or that is what my mother tells me. I stay in a small village called Sholanoor, near Madurai. There are not more than thirty huts in my village. There are not many girls of my age, but there is my best friend in the whole world. Her name is Shruthi. We go to the school together. This school is common to the six villages that are close by. Daily I have to walk across the fields of the zamindar, cross the small rivulet that runs between my village and the next and go to school. The council that runs the school decided that my village is too small to have a school of its own. Until we have more people, I will have to walk the three kilometers daily to school. My mother is so proud that I can read and write Tamil. She never went to school. She has always wanted her children to be able to read and write. She has fought with appa so many times to keep me in school.

I want to be a teacher when I grow up. There are two main reasons for this. The first is the way that the people in my village respect the teacher. I do not know his name and we are not supposed to know the name. Using the name of a person who is elder to us is disrespectful. That is what amma told me. Sorry. I have this habit of talking about tangential things. I hope that you will bear with me. He is really well educated, so much that I want to be like him. In my village, no one is as learned as he is. When he walks, people bow their heads. Even the village head respects him. One day he told in class that education is more powerful than money. Since we do not have money, I think I have to settle for education. The second reason why I want to be a teacher is that I want to come back to my village and teach all the people to read and write. Then they will not have to live life the way we do. To do this, I will have to go to a college. I asked my teacher once

as to how do people become teachers. He told me that one has to attend a college in Madurai for three years after which they can teach. I decided that one day I will go to that college and I will become a teacher.

My appa, I do not want to talk about him, but there is no story without him. Therefore, I shall have to talk about him. He is a daily laborer at the zamindar’s place. What I mean by this is that the people in the village who do not have land of their own, go, and till the zamindar’s land. For this, they get a daily wage. Amma, she works as household help in the zamindar’s place and together they get enough to feed the four of us. Most of the money that he makes goes in the “sarayon”, the illicit liquor brewed in the village outskirts. I have never been to that side of the village, but Raju, the boy who lives in the next hut, told me that it has a bad smell and that there are pots with the liquor. I have no idea why people drink that. Moreover, I hate it when appa comes home in a drunken stupor. I think that sarayon induces that state. The worst is when he comes and asks money from amma. He beats her if she does not give the money and if she does, we go hungry. There have been so many days that amma has cried us to sleep on an empty stomach. There have been days when we have to borrow a handful of rice from the neighbors to have something. How I wish I could do something. I am so small, and appa is so strong. One day when I become a teacher, when I am earning, I will take amma and make sure that she does not have to go through this. I will not give appa a paisa for sarayon.

The other member in my family is my little brother, Ramu. He is six now and my appa was so happy when Ramu was born. As soon as there was another mouth to feed, appa wanted me to work and get some additional money. I do not know why, but appa was never happy that amma had me first, something about a man needing a son. However, amma was able to convince him to keep me in school for the time being. After six years, appa has stopped worrying amma to make me work. Amma generally takes Ramu when she goes to work. In that way, she is able to make sure that we have enough to eat and she can always look after him. The zamindar’s wife is a nice person and sometimes, she keeps an eye on Ramu when amma is working. Last year when amma was not able to

work when she was pregnant, she used to come and visit. She also gave amma money for food during those times.

I still can remember the day that it all started. I was walking home from school. My daily routine is like this. I leave home in the morning. The school provides the midday meals; something that the people in white who visit our village once in five years say that they are doing so that every one can study. I think that this is the only reason that appa lets me go to school; so that he does not have to provide for a mouth for at least one time a day.

When school gets over, I walk home, sometimes stopping at the mango or the guava orchard to pluck some fruit. We, Shruthi and me, spend lots of time climbing up the trees. The toughest thing is to escape from the eyes of the security guard. Once he caught us and the zamindar beat us. It is his orchard and he hates little people stealing from him.

See, I have totally forgotten to tell you why I am so scared. This happens to me, when I start talking I forget about what I was originally talking. I guess you know this by now. Never mind.

The day was like any other day. Amma woke me up and made me brush with that dreaded neem stick. It is so bitter. I wish there were something that would taste better. However, amma says that if I want strong teeth, then I need to brush daily. Moreover, I really need strong teeth because they are my main weapon against Raju. He is the boy next door, the one who fights with me everyday. Well, I guess that I am to blame; I always bite him when he comes to pull my pigtails.

In school, there was nothing special. The teacher was talking about why it rains. He was trying to tell us something about the water going from all rivers and seas, to the sky, forming clouds and then coming as rain. I did not understand a thing. As far as I know, amma told me that it rains when god cries. When I asked her why god cries, she told me that every time that a girl was bad in this world, god cries. So, I asked her, when it rains

for days together during the months of November and December, are all the girls in the world bad? She never answered the question.

After that, there was lunch. That day was egg day. Twice a week, we get eggs. Apparently, the state health minister, who came to visit our village last year, thinks that we are undernourished and eggs are the best alternative. Since we all sit together for lunch, Raju takes eggs from Shruthi’s plate and mine when the teacher is not looking. We even tried complaining to the teacher, but Raju eats them so fast that when the teacher comes, there is no proof. So now, we just let him eat one of our eggs.

After lunch, we had a games period. I love the games period. The boys run around playing with an old tattered ball. They call it football. I do not understand the point of the game. There are thirty boys on the field, all kicking the ball in all the directions possible. There are two boys on either side of the ground and they stand between two stones each. When someone kicks the ball between these stones, they cry, “Goal!” and all run towards the center. I mean why kick the ball when you can carry it and throw it. Will they not have better control?

The girls generally sit and play either skipping or hopscotch. I am the best in both. I can skip up to three hundred times without once faulting, and so far, no one has beaten me in hopscotch.

The games got over at three and Shruthi and I decided to go home. The other girls wanted to continue playing, but we both wanted to steal some mangoes from the orchard. We knew that we ran the risk of the guard catching us, but at this time of the day, he is mostly sleeping after his lunch. While coming today morning we noticed that the fruits were getting ripe.

After leaving the school, we crossed the rivulet and came to the fence near the orchard. When we were about to decide who had to sneak into the field, I head amma’s voice.

“Maya, come here. How many times have I told you not to enter that field? Did I not tell you to come home straight after school today? Come home and see how I thrash you.”

I smiled to Shruthi. Amma always threatened to thrash me. She never did. Maybe she loved me so much, may be appa thrashed me when he was drunk or may be she generally forgot by the time we got home. To be sure, I always made sure to ask for something to eat when I got home. Amma will then try to find me something to eat, forgetting that she had to thrash me.

When we came home that day, there was my mama from Madurai who had come to visit. He was one person whom I never liked. When he came, appa drank more than ever and that night amma and me were sure to be beaten. There was something that appa was talking to mama. When I came, they stopped talking and mama looked at me as if he was looking at me for the first time.

This mama was the elder brother of my mother. Hers was a small family, quite like my fathers in which he was the only child. He and she were the only children. They used to live in the house we live in now. My thatha and patti, i.e. my grandfather and grandmother died when they were little. My mama was the one that had single handedly raised my mother and gotten her married off. During the marriage, he had handed my father the house and had moved to Madurai. This was about fifteen years ago. The day after the marriage, he had taken his son, Rasaiah, his wife and moved to Madurai. All this I got from my mother. Rasaiah had been one then. Ever since then, amma has been telling me that she has a debt that she has to repay.

“Look how she has grown. How long has it been since I saw her last?” remarked mama when he saw me. I can clearly remember the last time he was here. It was three years ago. He had come for the Pongal festival. This is the time when people harvest the crops and the entire village has a festive feel. Amma wakes up early and starts the preparations for the day. Appa would have spent last few days very busy at the zamindar’s fields in cutting the crops. Those are the best days in the year. The reason being that appa would

be too busy during the day and too tired during the day to drink. That year when mama was here, he had lent a hand in harvesting. I was twelve and spent the entire day trying to run away from Rasaiah. He was trying to tease me and was doing a good job at that. There was something then itself which told me that I was best to keep some distance from him.

Since then, neither had we been able to go to Madurai nor had they been able to come here. Even though amma used to write letters, I mean, she used to dictate and I used to write, they had not met in the last three years. Amma used to say that mama was beginning a new business and was not able to come. Now that he was here, I guess that the next few days would be a mixed bag of emotions, with amma falling over to cook for mama and appa taking him everyday night for sarayon.

In the evening, amma laid out the pot outside the house, the “Pongapannai”, the pot in which the festive meal is cooked. Pongal is a dish that is mainly rice and dal. There are two varieties. One has salt and the other has jaggery. I love the sweet Pongal, especially when it is hot. That day amma had outdone in the culinary department. She had gone to the extent of buying cashews for the Pongal. She has only once brought cashews. That was when the zamindar’s wife came to the house. When she brought them, it meant that there was an important person in the house.

When the pot boiled over, everyone shouted “Pongal – o – Pongal.” The word Pongal means overflow. This is to signify the hope that this coming year will overflow with joy. I still remember the joy on amma’s face, the joy at having her only brother spend one of the most important festivals with us, pride on appa’s face, pride that he was able to work hard enough to earn money that provided us with this feast, happiness on my face to have so many people around me and to have a festival where I did not have to go to Shruthi’s place. Mama left that night and I had not seen him until today.

I went into the house to help amma with the household work. Now that mama was here, there would be more work, cleaning, washing, and cooking. Appa and mama were sitting

outside on the charpoy, talking. I could overhear bits and pieces. They seemed to be wise men, talking about things I was not able to understand. They seemed to touch upon the weather, the government, the local zamindari system, and so many others that I cannot remember now. That was when mama said those words, which shook my being. “Now that Maya is fifteen, what are you going to do about her?” said mama.

“What is there to do?” retorted appa, “she is going to school and your sister is hell bent on keeping her there. Why, I cannot understand. If she at least went to work, there would be some more money.”

“That is not what I meant, maapilla – ‘person who married my sister’; I was asking if you ever thought about getting her married off.”

I almost dropped the vessel I was holding when I heard the word marriage. Ever since I saw Raji, one of the girls in the village got married last year, I have lived in perpetual fear of that word. I hoped and prayed that my parents would never bring up the topic. The fear compounded when she came back to the village this year. She was so fat!

Raji and I were in the same school and I went over to her place to see her. In fact, when I saw her in the size that she was, I knew that she was pregnant. I asked her, “How is marriage?” I had had rosy images of marriages. People are married and live together. They sing songs, dance around, and have lots of fun. What she told me was completely different.

“The wedding was ok, but ever since then I have been living a life in hell. On the first night, the man, your husband does things to you. I shall not talk about it. It has been one year and I am still not comfortable with that. The next day we went to his place and since then I am more of a servant, I cook, I clean the house, I wash the vessels and the clothes, do all the things that my maamiyar, my mother in law, tells me and when my husband comes home, do things for him. I had wanted to study; I wanted to become an engineer,

now all I can hope for is I get some rest. Add to that now I am going to give birth to a baby, I have no clue regarding what I am to do, and I am scared of what will happen.”

Ever since then I have been in perpetual state of suspended animation. I knew that girls in my village get married at the age of thirteen and I was fast approaching that mark. Today everything fell from under my feet. My own mama was asking my father if he was thinking of getting me married off. I ran to the door of the house, leaned against it to hear what they were saying.

“What is the matter maapilla? You are looking at me as if you have never thought about it before. According to our norms, you should have already gotten her married. This is already late.”

“Not that I have not thought about it machan – ‘brother of my wife’, even your sister has mentioned it. Just that I was caught up at work, with the harvesting and all”

My own mother, conspiring against me, I thought that I will run to her, but now she too is in the plot. I listened on.

“Maapilla if you do not mind I will propose something,” my mama said.

“Why are you even asking me machan, you know that I respect you and therefore everything that you say,” replied my father.

“See, I have a boy, Rasaiah. He is sixteen. He works in the city for a mechanic and tells me that soon he will be able to open his own shop. Once I get some money, I will open a garage for him. He works real hard and brings home lots of money these days.”

“Machan, I know all this. What is it that you want to say?”

“Well, I was thinking that the relation that we already have between the two families should not get broken.”

“I have no idea what it is that you are trying to tell me. Come on tell it. Do not spin stories.”

“Alright, this is the deal. I was wondering, rather hoping that you will give your girl in marriage to my son.”

Me, marriage, that too with Rasaiah, I was sure that this is a perfect recipe for tragedy. I also thought then that my father would not accept. His next statement shocked me.

“Machan, it will be my daughter’s good fortune to get married into your family. Just tell me when and I will have such a lavish wedding that the entire village will be astounded.”

To me this sounded like my father had just said to me, “Now onwards forget the school and the dreams of going to college. You will not be a teacher, your dreams and desires mean nothing to me. I am selling you into bonded slavery, only that it is legal. You will go to your mama’s house and work for him. You will do everything that mama tells you. You will live with Rasaiah. You will do things with him in bed. You will have children and spend the rest of your life bringing them up.” I thought this because this is what my mother did.

Once my father and mama had hugged and told my mother about this, they called me. “Maya, come here.” I went.

“I have decided that you will get married to Rasaiah. Touch the feet of your mama and athai, mama’s wife, and get their blessings,” said my father.

I did that and said, “Appa, father, I do not want to get married. Mama, I do not want to get married. I want to be a teacher. I want to go to school. I want to go to college.” By this time, tears were beginning to stream down my face.

“No one in this family has studied. What are you going to do studying? Do you think that it is easy providing for you? I would have sent you to work long back if it were not for your mother. Now you come and tell me that you will not get married, even when the groom is Rasaiah? Where in this world will you find a better groom than him?” asked my father.

“I do not care. I want to study.”

“I do not care what you want to do. You are my daughter and I will do with you as I please. I have decided that you are getting married to Rasaiah and that is what you will do.”

I ran from the house. I ran until I was not able to run anymore. Then I turned back. I knew no one and had nowhere to go. I decided to go to Shruthi’s place. She was my friend and if I did not go to her place this time, I had no idea when I could. When I reached her place, I saw that she was sitting outside and trying to solve the math problems that the teacher gave as homework.

She saw me running towards her and met me half way. I was in tears and covered in dust. She took me inside the house and seated me on the floor. Her parents were not at home. Her mother like mine was a house cleaner and was on her evening chores. Her father was most likely out either for sarayon or hanging out with his friends and smoking beedi. If mama was not at home that is where my father would be. I, sitting there on the floor, half-sobbing, told her everything.

As two fifteen years could, we tried to come up with various plans to escape this. These ranged from asking Raju for help to running away. In my state of distress, I came up all kinds of plans, and Shruthi kept coming up with reasons that they would not work.

Asking Raju for help was meaningless as was asking anyone else as no one can talk to my father. Everybody in the village hated his temper and did not want to be on the receiving end. Her reason was if he asked everyone that I was his daughter and he could what he wanted with me, what the others would say. Running away was hopeless as I knew no one outside the village and god knows what happened to girls that ran away from their villages. Finally, we decided that it was best for me to go home and talk to my mother. She was the only person who could talk to my father.

By the time I got home, my mama had left for Madurai to begin the marriage things, my mother was not seen anywhere, and my father was sitting on a charpoy smoking a beedi.

I sneaked in to the house and hid in the darkest corner of the house. My father has been searching for me for three hours now. My mother came home and my father told her that I was not at home. She did not check and went out to look for me. She came back a few minutes back, almost crying, “I am not able to find her anywhere. I am scared.”

My father is shouting, “Maya, come out now wherever you are. If I ever catch you before you come out, I will skin you alive.”

Sitting in this dark corner, I am alone. I am scared and do not know what to do. I wish that my parents would not get me married off so soon. I wish that there were someway that I could convince my father that I want to study, that I want to be somebody. I want to tell them the dreams that I have, the desires that I carry in the depths of my heart, the same heart that is telling me now that there is no use in telling them. I wish that I could run away. However, I know that will not help. Other than the few people in this village, I know no one in this world. Where will I go? What will I do?

My father shouts out, “Maya, where are you? Come out this instant. If I ever catch you, I will skin you alive.” My mother is sitting outside crying.

I am sitting in this corner, afraid.

Alone and afraid.