The Dance Of A Woman by Rani Jhala
EDITION
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Cover courtesy Sahua and Dreamtime.com
The Dance Of A Woman
Copyright 2012 by Rani Jhala.
The author wishes to thanks Indian Link for their permission to reprint the short stories. This is a work of fiction
Index
1.The struggle it is to be a woman.
2.Idiot, Rascal and Fool.
3.Happy Mother’s Day.
4.Freedom comes at a price.
5.A modern day wolf.
6.The lamp, the wick and the oil!
The struggle it is to be a woman
My dear grand-daughter,
I saw your article in the papers and am pleased that the Women’s Reservation Bill is being passed. It is not a gift to women. It is a right.
I know, what I write will come as a shock to you. You always said that I was an epitome of Indian womanhood. Silent, tolerant, accepting and dutiful! These are good qualities to have, but they also weaken us, prepare us for a life of servitude – to our family, our relations, our friends and most of all, to men. And the very moment when men decide to take control, we move from being ‘protected’ to being ‘abused’. The only line that separates these two situations is empowerment. No I don’t mean the power that comes from ridiculing your in-laws or ill-treating your parents. I mean the freedom that comes when people understand that you are a person in your own right, with your own privileges and identity.
From the dawn of history, women have had to fight for everything. The right to an education, the right to vote, the right to keep her children, the right to prayer and to represent her religion, the right to be elected and the right to speak for her fellow sisters. None of these rights were given to her. It was earned. It was fought for. It was won.
Whether the ‘Bill’ will give women equal say in the nation’s future and whether it will empower women to be able to control their own fate, is yet to be seen. I believe that this main battle will have to be fought for on a different platform. The platform of social awareness! And it will have to be done by women themselves, for no man will do that for her. As hard as it will be to fight in the male domain, the weakest link in this fight will be those women who like my daughter-in-law will hinder women’s progress for their own selfish needs.
You must now be questioning my sanity, my bitterness. Those first days after your grandfather’s death, I was tired from having cared for him through his illness. I was exhausted from having to make all the decisions and I was truly glad that I had a son who would see to my safety and well-being. As you know, after the last rites were over I went to live with your uncle and his family. The first months flew quickly. Everything was looked after for me and I was glad for the opportunity to rest and forget the difficult months that had gone by.
Your uncle said he would look after the financial transactions for me and I let him do it. I signed the papers he brought and he looked after the details. He assured me that he was securing my future and also transferring your mother’s share left to her by your grandfather.
Unknown to me, all that was mine was slowly being transferred to his family and I, in my maternal love did not see it coming. Six months after I became a widow, I had become practically penniless. Everything had been signed over to their names. My own son, a party to every act! So well planned was the treachery, that to prevent me from regaining my property, instead of it being put into my son’s name, my daughter-in- law got everything signed to her own.
My name in shred, my loyalty questioned, my future desperate, I became what many women before me had been turned into. Helpless! Had your mother not been there, I would have been a destitute in the streets. They had locked up half the house. My house! They had dismissed most of the employees. My employees! And they withheld from me everything that was mine including my finance.
And who did this? My son! My grandson! Two generations of men bearing my blood.
The court chose to ignore my evidence. Chose to disregard your grandfather’s will. They said I willingly signed over my assets, that I should have protected my own property and not expected others to do it. Others? This other, was my own, once ‘beloved’ son.
And my faith was totally shattered when I saw the names of the people who had acted as witnesses for them or aided them - An uncle, a brother, two nephews, an army officer, an advocate, a notary and two of my daughter-in-law’s brothers. All men, who by the nature of their profession and position in society should have defended women, should have protected me, yet most went on to perjure themselves in a court of law.
I will fight until I can, but I know my fight will not be long. I am old and tired. Nor do I have the strength to fight society and its prejudices. I was brought up in a different era. But you my grandchild, you can do this for me. For us women! Just having a representation is not enough, tell the women they must unify and must ensure that the laws of this land are amended so that a woman’s assets cannot be taken away while she is alive by anyone. Only after her death, can it be given to her husband and children. Yes there is the risk that she could be murdered for it, but those who are so inclined, will do that anyway once their aim has been achieved.
You have taken the first step with your article. Take the next and fight for our rights. Wake the world up to the plight of women - the widow, the unmarried sister, the childless wife.
I know I am putting a heavy burden on you, but your article has given me hope again. Tell my story to the world, so they know that even in this, the 21st Century, what struggle it is to be a woman!
With my love and blessings
Your ever loving
Grandmother.
Idiot, Rascal and Fool!
Her hands shook as she placed the receiver down, yet she refused to believe the news. Her husband was a sports athlete, who had just had a physical as part of his company’s requirement, so how could he suffer a heart attack? It took her a few moments to calm herself as the truth slowly sunk in.
She asked her neighbour to collect the kids from school and then left for the hospital. The registrar met her at the entrance. Her husband’s body had already been moved the morgue and they were waiting for her authorisation to conduct the post-mortem. She agreed, but asked them to wait until his sons had seen their father.
Her son’s arrived minutes later but were only prepared to look at their father from a distance. It was as if death had drawn a fine line between them and the father they had known all their lives. And the area beyond that imaginary line was now forbidden to them. Seeing their fear, she knew that she had taken the right decision in delaying the autopsy.
Once the post mortem began, she took her sons and left the hospital building. Much had to be arranged including the funeral rites. Her sons were too young to manage things but she needed their support as she faced the new tomorrow. Later that evening, it was confirmed that her husband had suffered myocardial infarction.
Her parents reached that night and it felt so good to be encircled in their arms and to know that the two people who loved her the most, were there with her. Her father took over the financial matters, the locating of the will, the meeting with the lawyers and the arrangement of the final rites. Her mother took over the social side of things -looking after the mourners and well-wishers and speaking on them on behalf of her daughter.
She sat and heard the praises being sung of her husband and for hours she wiped the tears that fell. Her mother held her when the weeping was the worst. Her sons grabbed her when she fainted. On the day of the funeral, she was unable to stand and a wheel chair was brought so that she could be transported to the prayer hall.
But she soldiered on and saw it through. Her parents made sure that all th
After the funeral, they stayed on with their daughter until the month was over. Only when they saw that their daughter could cope on her own, did they leave for their place. It was agreed that they would go and put their home on rent and move in with her. They would have preferred that their daughter stayed in their home but the grandchildren did not want to move schools or be separated from their friends.
She too was happy to know that her parents would be close. She needed their presence as she adapted to the life of a widow, to the freedom of thinking for herself and to the power of deciding for her kids. With all the money her husband had given her, these were things that had been missing.
And so she spent the next year becoming her own person. Her parents insisted that she break with tradition and disregard the restrictions that were normally placed on widows. Her sisters demanded that she go out with them and return to a normal life.
Just months later, her life began moving to an established routine. Her children were finally at peace and they confidently took on their new role as independent beings just as she took on hers as an independent person. She established her friendships again. And even went on a shopping splurge. Her husband’s estate had left her a wealthy woman. She had known they were rich but never realised what her husband was truly worth in monetary terms. Now she owned all, for he had left everything to her and the kids.
It took a while before she was truly able to stand on her own two feet. But she achieved that. She took over the financial dealings from her father and she gained independence from her mother. Never were parents more proud than the moment when they saw their daughter break away from them with confidence.
On the first anniversary of her husband’s death, they went and laid a monument in his honour. She even opened a charity in his name. She bowed in front of her husband’s statue in reverence as the crowd cheered the inauguration. Her sons lit the lamp in front of his photo. She promised the crowd that the light would remain lit forever.
As with the funeral, mass feeding was undertaken and clothes were given to the needy. There was not a soul in doubt that they were witnessing true devotion and felt sorry for the woman who was not yet forty but was facing a long lonely journey ahead of her. At the same time they also marveled at her peace and held her up as an example.
Despite her solitary life, her parents saw that she was content. She once again laughed but more importantly she once again smiled. She had become human!
Soon after, her parents moved back to their own home. Their work was done. Their daughter was finally her own person. Confident and strong, she had become what she was before her marriage.
In all the years no one knew, apart from her parents, of the abusive marriage she had endured. Of her relationship with a man who bashed her at whim, who dictated her behaviour, and who terrorised the children with his violent outburst and insults. Nor did they know of his attack on the family maid and of the assault on his own father.
They had watched helplessly as she continued in that marriage for the sake of the children. She had said that she would not leave without them and he would never have let them go.
But the Gods had been kind and they were now free of him. He was now where he should be and his children were in a far better place.
On leaving, her mother said “You are better off without him. You know that, don’t you?”
“I know. I am better off and so are the kids. He will never again call me an ‘idiot’, nor will he call his kids, ‘rascal and fool’.
Happy Mother’s Day
What is this obsession women have about being a mother? Why do they feel half a person without a child? Being a man, I could never understand my wife’s unexplainable desire to be a parent. We could not have a child, it was sad, but it was not a tragedy. I still found myself grateful for all the other things we had together – a great home, super jobs, loving families and a love that few could boast off. We had plenty of nephews and nieces between us too. But after ten years of marriage suddenly, they were not enough for Rita.
Two years earlier, we even tried being foster-parents. But each time the children went back they seemed to take a part of her heart away. Six months into the exercise, I pulled her out of it. I could not see Rita breaking apart, time and time again.
It was then that my mother suggested adoption. The gleam in Rita’s eyes spoke of the hope that the comment had raised. I was not sure if adoption was the answer. To bring up someone else’s child as your own, to give it your name yet know you do not share the same blood. To have people say, ‘now who does it look like?’ and know there will never be a resemblance. There were too many negatives to warrant a serious thought, but looking at the hope in Rita’s eyes, I could not deny her the effort of at least pursuing this avenue.
The next morning, she had already set up the interview. A week later we sat in front of our consultant Jenny and gave her every detail of our life. Signed authorisation forms so they could do the criminal and credit checks on us. We even gave our medical records, birth certificates and financial papers. And after a long and exhausting interview, we were told that if all the checks were cleared we would be put on a waiting list and that it could take up to a year or two at the earliest.
And so began our wait, and with it our disappointments. On paper we proved the ideal candidates, but for some reason we met delay after delay.
Finally after a year, I had enough. I told Rita I could not cope with the wait any longer and that I never really wanted to be a father this way either. That sometimes accepting destiny did not mean accepting defeat. It was just compromising with the inevitable.
I expected a fight from Rita, but this time she calmly said ‘If that is how you feel then go and let Jenny know tomorrow before we change our minds. I want this waiting to end too” Rising she had touched my hand and left the room with the words “I need some time alone.”
So today after my morning meeting was over, I drove to the ‘The Perfect Match’ our adoption centre. I was asked to take a seat in the glassed in waiting room.
And it was then that I saw the baby - with curly hair, huge baby brown eyes and chubby dimpled cheeks. It was like looking at a cherub. Even the mischievous grin had been packaged in. And the infant was looking at me. Just me! Of the four people seated in the lounge, it was me it smiled at. It was me it reached out for. Sitting on its carer’s hip, it was me it tried to leap towards and almost fall in the process.
And of the four people in the waiting room, it was my arms that automatically reached out to save the fall only to meet the glass screen. It was my heart that stopped and then raced away. And it was me who felt the pain as the carer holding the baby securely again, walked away.
And I knew then, even if Rita and I had to wait a hundred years, we would wait it through, because somewhere in the future would be a child who be ours. Only ours! A little babe who would make my heart stop, just at this little one had.
Changing my mind about withdrawing our application I turned to walk away. At that very moment I noticed Jenny.
“I am sorry to have kept you waiting.” she said
I turned back to look at where the baby had been and said “Actually I have changed my mind. We will continue to wait.”
“Come in to the office, we can talk there,” Jenny pointed towards her room
After we had seated ourselves she said “I am presuming you were going to pull out. What changed your mind?”
How could I answer a question that I did not understand myself? How could I explain the feeling of wanting to protect that baby? How could I explain the feeling of loss as the infant went out of view? All I could say was “I guess, that baby.”
Jenny then asked for a Tina to come in. A second later, in walked the carer and clinging to her with little tubby fingers, the infant.
“Thanks T
After Tina left, Jenny went on to explain that our name had come up twice before, but each time she felt I had not been ready. Jenny said she had to make sure that both parents wanted a child equally. Unlike biological children, kids who are adopted at some stage or the other have to confront the knowledge that they were taken from their biological parents, whether by nature, circumstances or other forces. And they must confront this knowledge from within a safe loving haven made for them by their adoptive parents.
“I knew of Rita’s pain, but I could not in all honesty, look at anything but the child’s well-being first.”
As I looked down at the bundle now chewing at my knuckles, I was truly glad. Not only was I finally ready for parenthood, but it meant that this little one had been specially sent for us.
“Are you saying this baby is ours?” I fearfully asked.
“Well she has chosen her new family. Her mother this morning. Her dad just now! I can see your wife agrees.”
“My wife?” I followed Jenny’s eyes to see Rita standing at the doorway, beaming as a new mother does.
Looking at Rita I questioned. “This morning? What if I had stuck with the original plan?”
As if on cue, my daughter looked at Rita, and I smiled “so you worked in partnership with your mum did you? Her answer - more dribble as she laid her cheek against mine. I was seeing women’s power at its best. No plan of mine would have ever worked against this.
“You know it is symbolic, that you came in today. I know you have not celebrated this day before, but you might as well start now.” Jenny addressed to Rita.
Cradling Niki, I rose and walked over to my wife. Handing her baby to her I said ‘Just for today and only for today, she is completely yours - Happy Mother’s Day’