Chapter VI.
AFTER her husband’s return there was no change so for the better in Kamala’s lot, only the daily routine of work became harder and she was kept more in the background. Kamala’s duties commenced very early in the morning. She slept in her mother-in-law’s room, a dark dingy room lighted by only one window at the top and full of little niches in the wall. In one of the niches were kept her simple toilet things, a kunkun box, a shell-comb, and a hand mirror. In another were placed wreaths of flowers of jessamine, or shivanti, and a betel-nut box and tray. Her clothes were hung on a rod which was fastened across the room; and two wooden boxes formed the only furniture. In the darkest corner were Kamala’s own little bundle of clothes and her mattress rolled up by it. In the morning, long before day-break, there was a stir in the house, and the mother-in-law would wake the girl who slept near her. Thus aroused Kamala hurried out through the quadrangle to the back of the house, for it was her duty to get the water vessels ready and fill them with water for the morning ablutions. Then came the cow-dunging of the kitchen and front yard, and the working out of various flower designs on the cow-dunged floor with white shell powder, at which difficult feat every Hindu girl is an expert. Next came the buying of vegetables and other things from street vendors and the work in the kitchen, where she was expected to help in cooking. She was also required to prepare the baths, keep the ointments and other things ready, and if anything was missing a shower of abuse was hurled upon her. The food was served by Ramabai while Kamala stood looking on from behind a door. In the afternoons the older members of the family generally rested, whilst the girls attended to their toilet. They arranged their hair, wearing flowers in their tresses, and put kunkun on their foreheads. The hardest share of work fell on Kamala. She went through it willingly but she felt hurt when, after doing all that she could possibly do, her mother-in-law would come and say that poor Gungi’s back was broken with work, and that Kamala required somebody to attend on her instead of taking her share in the general work and thus lightening the load of her sister-in-law. Then would come complaints from Ramabai that Kamala did not eat all the food that was served on her leaf. “She wants others to think that we starve her and that we are cruel to her. She puts on such an air of martyrdom before people that one feels inclined to scoop her eyes out.” And the mother would pass Kamala with a scowl and a withering look and say: “Yes! the Kydashin will create more mischief still.” Thus was kept up a long misunderstanding; and poor Kamala knew not how to defend herself or what to say. She was shocked at the lies told by her sisters-in-law and was dumb before them.
Somehow Kamala became resigned to her lot, and it was her crude religious convictions that enabled her to do so. She had sat at the puranicbava's feet and had imbibed the teachings taught by the heroic tales of Seeta, Rama, and the Pandavas. She had heard many a legend of demons and their power over human beings. The dreamy melodies of the Sanskrit shlokas had lulled her to sleep. The stories told her by old dames on moonlight nights, when, half asleep, she would with others press round the story tellers, were mainly in the manner of fables with a moral. The rivers and hills and trees were represented as personalities, and birds and beasts had tongues given to them. All these had taught her one lesson, the great lesson of humanity, love for others and the need of doing one’s duty at any cost. However crude the stories and legends were they all shewed how good deeds were rewarded and bad deeds punished even in the next life, how humility had its reward, and love, chastity, honour, and respect for elders were looked upon as the distinguishing virtues of a noble life. This was the sum and substance of Kamala’s moral code, and this gave her an impetus to be good. But there was another kind of teaching mingled with it all and that was that whether she was good or bad, whether she enjoyed pleasure or suffered pain, she ought not to grumble but accept it meekly, for it was her fate. This gave her very little consolation. It only made her feeble in purpose and in will. She lost even her simple interest in life; for life was a poor spiritless affair and whatever was written in the book of fate would come to pass do what she could to avert it. She wished to be exemplary like Savitri, Seeta, and other noble women; but even they had to submit to fate and did not get their due in this world. So Kamala reasoned while she bore meekly all the taunts and hard words of her sisters-in-law and wondered why she ever felt happy at all, as she did when she looked on the blue sky, the radiant sunset, or the swollen river,—why she felt such longing to be lost in a great wild wilderness, where she might dream in silence and enjoy to her heart’s content the glory and the magnificence of earth and sky.
Kamala was not entirely absorbed in her own affairs. The lives of her girl friends were to her the objects of a great deal of interest and sympathy. She heard story after story of trials and troubles undergone by girls of her own age; and she often with her own eyes witnessed scenes which shocked her and gave her food for much painful reflection. In the opposite house, for instance, was Bhagirathi, suffering terrible persecution at the hands of her enraged husband, who thought that she had set at nought his orders and had openly defied him by leaving the house. She was a girl with some education and a great deal of spirit. Her husband, who was wealthy, but illiterate, did not care for her; and he slighted her in every way possible, ridiculing her learning and taking a delight in breaking her spirit, as he called it. She spent days and nights in great mental agony, and when he openly insulted her by bringing in a mistress she left the house, flinging aside the jewels which he had given her and even smashing the bangles on her wrists which were not to be removed so long as she lived. But, poor girl! she was not allowed to remain in her mother’s house even for a day, lest her husband should cast her off for ever. So she was brought back disgraced, by her angry mother, who tried to act as peace maker. Kamala was returning from the well when Bhagirathi was brought back to her husband’s house. Bhagirathi was writhing in anguish as she stood at the door with her mother, but nobody seemed to take any notice of them. The mother made a great noise and began abusing her. – There! See what you have brought yourself to, go in now,” she said, pushing her.
“I won’t go in, mother! You can kill me with your own hands, but I won’t enter this living grave,” she said, with quiet firmness. It was a painful sight to Kamala. A number of women gathered from the neighbouring houses, but very little sympathy was shown for Bhagirathi. One said mockingly: “What? You went away in such a temper and you have come back again.” “Shame to you, girl,” said another. “Don’t you know that if a man be tied to you once, you cannot free yourself from him, even if he be an ass. The halter is round your neck, let it be wooden or golden, it is all the same.” “What a fall,” said a third triumphantly. “What jewels he gave you! Can’t you at least be satisfied with them. Go inside and fall at his feet.”
Bhagirathi did not answer, nor did she shew by any signs that she heard these remarks. She had at first a fixed scornful look, but afterwards she sat on the steps with her head bowed down. What pangs passed through her nobody knew. Kamala stood for some time looking at it all from afar. She was afraid of the people, but when she heard the cruel taunts she rushed to her friend with the water vessel in her hand. Just then the door opened and Bhagirathi’s husband asked carelessly what the noise was about and then added: “Has the ‘spit-fire’ returned?” Bhagirathi rose quickly. Her breath came fast and quick, but she suppressed her sobs, and covering her head entered the house. Her face was full of determination, and she cast a withering look around her. When inside the house she turned to her mother who was apologizing for her conduct, and said: “Don’t talk mother. Don’t demean yourself any more. You have brought me back and nothing shall make me leave this house again alive. Go home.”
The husband chuckled and said, “But who is going to take you in? She talks high. She has broken even the bangles which can only be removed after she is dead. Let her break the sacred knot round her neck as well.”
Kamala went away heartsore and feeling a choking repugnance for the coarse and heartless man. She realized for the first time the extent to which a husband can tyrannize over his wife when he chooses to do so. She did not as yet understand, however, what pangs rend the heart of the wife who craves for love to find only hatred. She knew not how the better feelings of the soul are turned to bitterness and gall by looks, contempt, and insults undeserved.
There was, too, the fair looking Harni close by, who, though she belonged to a wealthy family and was blessed with a good husband, had a very ill-natured mother-in-law who tyrannized over the little girl in a shameful manner. Though brought up in luxury, Harni did not shrink from even the hardest work, but nothing that she could do pleased her mother-in-law. In fact the more pliable she was the more the mother-in-law hated her. Her husband tried all means to bring about peace and good will between them, but the more he interfered the more exasperated the old woman became, assigning all kinds of evil motives to his efforts at peace-making.
“He cares not for me. He loves her, and would like to see the chit of yesterday lord it over me. In one or two years she will drive me out of this house and she will have it all her own way. I shall be left in the street, I who brought up that boy and have made a man of him.”
Harni heard such remarks daily and hourly. In the mornings when she was busy her mother-in-law would inquire in a harsh voice:—“What underhand work have you been doing to-day? What lies have you been telling about your mother-in-law? What secrets have you confided to your husband? He can’t bear me, he who was so fond of me. You have thrown dust in his eyes, you have drugged him with draughts, so that his heart is against the mother that bore him.” Then, irritated at Harni’s calm demeanour, she would work herself into a frenzy and exclaim:—”Oh! the day will come when I shall see you dishonoured, trampled on, and it will soon come.” And as a climax she would burst into tears and say: “The gods will have their revenge, on him also for his unnatural conduct,” and cry loudly while the timid son would slink away from the house and go to his work. The poor girl, after weeping her eyes out and seeing her husband go out despondently to his work, would refuse to eat and thus provoke more grumblings from the old dame. When the grumblings became unbearable she would on pretext of bringing water, go to the well side with her brass put. There she was sure to meet with some sympathy from her girl friends. They would gather round her to give her counsel and advice and cheer her up. But such comfort was only for a short time and then she would return home—a home made dark and dismal by the hatred and jealousy of a foolish ignorant woman.
But there were other girls, like Kashi and Rukhma, who were supremely happy in their homes. They went in and out among their friends spreading joy and happiness everywhere. Kashi had a dear mother who had a high sense of duty and was full of wisdom and goodness. She hated double-dealing and had little sympathy with weak people who were easily led by others. She pitied Kamala for having a mother-in-law who did not know how to manage her house and family. She knew how it would all turn out in the end for Kamala, how the first extravagant love and praise for the beautiful girl-bride would change into indifference and coldness, and then into hatred at the instigation of others. She loved Kamala from the beginning; for her truthful and innocent spirit quite won over the grand old dame, who regretted that because she had no son she could not take Kamala into her own family. She showed great wisdom and discretion in choosing a husband for Kashi, and affairs were so managed between the two families that there was no misunderstanding between them. Kashi was extremely happy in her husband’s love, and her mother-in-law was as fond of her as her own mother. The two families lived near to each other, and the old dames regarded each other as sisters.
Rukhma, the shastri’s daughter, was also intensely happy in her husband’s home, though she was not so rich and highly connected as Kashi. Both these girls got their mothers to provide amusements for their less fortunate friends and came and took them away on the plea of feasts, festivals, and ceremonies to their own houses, thus bringing sunshine and happiness to girls whose lives were dark and dismal compared with their own.
The relations between a husband and a wife in an orthodox Hindu home are, as a general rule, much constrained. The two have not the same liberty of speech and action that are accorded to them usually in European countries. The joint family system is the chief cause of this anomalous state of things. The Hindu wife, unless she lives with her husband in a house of her own, scarcely exchanges a word with him before other members of the family. They behave as if they were strangers to each other, the woman covering her head at her husband’s approach, or leaving the room when he happens to come in, or standing aside, and when talked to, either not taking any notice of what is said, or, with head turned aside, answering in the most distant manner possible. The mother-in-law’s jealousy prohibits the young people from having anything like liberty of speech or action in her presence. Kamala had no desire to speak to her husband nor did she court any notice from him. At the marriage ceremony all eyes had been on them, and if they were at any time caught looking at each other the fact was made the subject of ridicule. After that Kamala had not seen her husband for a long time, and now she dared not lift her eyes in his presence. This was due not merely to false shyness but to the feeling that she was a creature to be despised and ill-treated. Hence it was that she avoided her husband as much as possible. She, however, had opportunities of watching him. He was very fond of his mother and often sat by her, petted by her. When anything took her to the room where he was he would look at her frankly as if she was his property, and this brought a flush of shame to her face, but she drove away any feeling of regard for him by saying to herself:—“He will not long take an interest in me. He will despise me when he finds out that I am low and poor and that I have not a soul in the world to care for me.” But her husband’s interest in her deepened the more she recoiled into herself. He wondered why when girls of her age craved for flowers and jewels and courted admiration she was so perfectly indifferent. His mother had often hinted that as a sanyasi’s daughter she had lost all the instincts of civilized life and behaved differently from other girls. Was this all true? Was she really without feeling? The thought of Kamala being unlike other girls disheartened him, but as he observed her more closely he found that the immobility of countenance and indifference of look were not natural but were due to a long course of wrong suffered by her at the hands of his sisters. His mother, he knew, was easily led by her daughters. Already she had begun to make remarks to him about Kamala, whom she accused of being ungrateful and obstinate and not having any regard for his sisters, who, she made out, were most kind to Kamala. “They are not like other sisters-in-law,” she would say. “They teach her work which will be most useful to her hereafter, but she has no love for them, and behaves still as a stranger.
A term of abuse
The interpreter of Puranas