‘But when the daughters had their astrological charts sent to be read, the royal priests returned with grim news. They said that while Tara, the eldest daughter, was born with a great future and would make the kingdom proud by marrying another powerful king, Rukmani, her sister, was twice accursed and would live among fishermen, among scales, among boats and black water.’ The MC, with his special Hindu horror of the sea, dragged his words. The crowd howled with dismay.
‘The king was shocked to hear this news. But the Rishis consoled him, telling him that the girl was no ordinary accursed girl, but Bhargavi, the sister of Suraya.
‘ “Who is Suraya?” the king asked timidly.
‘ “Suraya,” the pundits began, “was a very pious princess who, about to make a ritual offering one morning, saw that there was no food in the house for the offering. So she asked her sister Bhargavi to go out and buy some. But when Bhargavi arrived at the market, she found that there was nothing available except for raw meat. Seeing no other option, she returned with the raw flesh, and putting a cover over it, left it in the kitchen. When, a few moments later, Suraya resumed her prayers, asking her sister for the offering, Bhargavi handed her the covered vessel. But it was only once Suraya had made the offering that she discovered her sister’s deception.” ’
The people in the tent, each with food anxieties of their own, emitted a collective gasp of horror. The MC, answering their consternation, picked up the pace: ‘Discovering her deception, Suraya was filled with fury. And in that instant she cursed her sister. It was a vicious curse: “In your next life,” she said, ”you will be born a creature that eats flesh its entire life and scavenges after tiny, many-legged creatures.”
‘And in her next life,’ the MC said with some resignation, leaving a pause for the crowd to wonder what creature Bhargavi would be born as, ‘Bhargavi was born a lizard, clinging to walls and eating spiders, insects and other many-legged creatures her entire life.’
Toning down the horror in his voice, and seeming almost to begin a new story, the MC then said, ‘Now, just at that very time, etasminn eva kaale, as they say in Sanskrit, the Pandavas were performing their great ceremonial sacrifice, their mahayagya. And our little lizard, by some happy chance, finds that she is a lizard on the wall just as the mahayagya is about to begin. Not only this; she is an eyewitness to the revenge of a sage whom the Pandavas had forgotten to invite to the sacrifice. The sage, blessed with the ability to take other forms, in his revenge adopts the form of a small animal, a mongoose, and sabotages the Pandavas’ sacrifice by polluting the offerings with the body of a dead snake. As it happens, our little lizard sees him do this. But what can she do? She can’t speak; she has no way to let the priest know that the offerings are polluted. All she can do is sacrifice herself and save the ceremony. So just as the priests and sages are beginning their incantations, she lets herself drop from the wall and lands in the offerings. The priests see this and are enraged. The ceremony is brought to a halt and they curse our little lizard, telling her that in her next life she will live among fishermen, among scales, among boats and black water.’
The tent roared with delight, being brought, two lives later, to where the story had begun.
‘When the priests,’ the MC said, begging the tent’s patience, ‘when the priests tell the servants to throw out the offerings, or rather bury them, so that no other creature should eat them, they discover the dead snake at the bottom. The men come running back to the priests, saying, “But this lizard has saved us: the offerings were polluted anyway!” The sages and the priests sadly confess that a curse once given cannot be taken back, but they offer an amendment: in her lifetime, the accursed girl will see the curse broken.’
The crowd in the tent murmured at the excitement of this fixed outcome, with the respectable depth of two lifetimes behind it.
Taking the voice of Raja Patras’s advisers, the MC picked up the story’s original thread: ‘ “This girl born to you,” ’ he said, ‘ “is that very same girl!”
‘But Raja Patras was disconsolate. “What can I do?” he asked. “I can’t abandon her. She is my daughter, and a royal princess.” The priests thought hard about what might be done and at last advised that she be placed in a gem-encrusted vessel, half-filled with jewels, and set adrift in the river to find her own fortune. And this was exactly what was done.
‘On the morning the vessel was set afloat,’ the MC said, ‘a Brahmin performing his ablutions on the banks of the river saw something glitter in the water and his heart was filled with greed. He asked a nearby fisherman if he would help retrieve the vessel. The fisherman said, “Why would I do that? With the time I waste retrieving your vessel, I could catch so many fish and feed my entire family.” The Brahmin answered, “All right, whatever is in the top half of that vessel is yours, whatever is in the bottom is mine.” The fisherman agreed and the vessel was retrieved. When the two men looked inside, they found the girl in the top half and the jewels in the bottom half. The fisherman was delighted. He said, “All that was missing in my life was a child and now I have one!” The Brahmin, also now cured of his greed, said that the fisherman should take the jewels, sell them and spend the money they would bring in on the girl’s marriage. And,’ the MC added pointedly, ‘her education.’
At that moment one of the colony boys yelled, ‘Sure. Did the “Save the girl child” commission make you put that in?’
The MC bristled. ‘Who said that?’ he shouted.
The colony boys offered up a thin-limbed, bespectacled candidate, who grinned sheepishly at the congregation.
Seeing him rise, the MC bellowed, ‘Come here, you little wise ass. I’ll show you “Save the girl child” commission…’ As the boy approached, the MC took hold of him, and shaking him up like an old rug, said, ‘Who will save your girly little neck?’
The boy, with his faint pubescent moustache, feigned fear. ‘Please, sir, forgive me, sir. I didn’t know what I said.’
‘Shame on you,’ the MC said, and becoming serious, added, ‘You know what a remark like yours is saying to those around you?’
‘What?’ the boy whined, as the MC clenched his ear.
‘That our great religion, that our great forefathers, who produced these marvellous texts and stories, were not wise enough to protect our lovely damsels. That we need the government of India to tell us what to do with our girl children.’
An expression of fear crossed the face of the young boy as he realized the gravity of the offence he was being charged with. ‘No, no,’ he said, squirming, ‘I would never say that.’
‘But you did,’ the MC said, laughing, ‘you did. And now, for the rest of the story, my little girl child, you will sit at my feet.’
The congregation made known its approval of this punishment through loud applause and laughter, then the MC resumed the story: ‘And so, gradually, both girls grow up. Tara, a prize catch, is married to the king of a neighbouring kingdom and lives the life of a queen in palaces. Rukmani, coincidentally married to someone who works in the same palace, lives the life of a maidservant.
‘One day Rukmani’s husband falls sick and she goes in his place to the palace. There she sees the palace temple and falls to her feet outside it, asking for a child. For some reason, perhaps being very tired from nursing her husband the night before, she falls asleep in this posture. And this is how Tara finds her. Waking her, Tara asks her why she is outside the temple. “I am of the fisherman caste,” Rukmani replies, “and forbidden entry into the temple.” “But this is nonsense,” Tara says. “Don’t you know that in front of the goddess there is no big or small, all are one?” Rukmani, moved by Tara’s compassion, tells her of her longing to have a child. Tara advises that Rukmani perform a jagran.
‘Victory to…’ the MC prompted.
‘Victory to the true durbar!’ the tent thundered.
The MC smiled and returned to his story: ‘And to help her, she gives Rukmani a pouch of money. Rukmani takes it and wanders from temple to temple in the vain hope of trying, as a low caste, to organize a jagran in her house. Who will come to her house? One priest says, “You can give me the money and I’ll have it for you in the temple.” But she refuses: “It must be in my house.” At last, in tears, she bumps into a holy man who tells her that she must give her pouch back to Tara and ask her to host the jagran at Rukmani’s house on her behalf. If she accepts, then everyone will come. Rukmani follows this advice and Tara accepts.
‘In the meantime,’ the MC said, his tone becoming conspiratorial, ‘in the meantime, a barber has overheard the entire exchange. And when the king comes for his haircut, the barber accidentally cuts the king’s finger. The king starts yelling at the barber, but the barber, low as he is, says, “This is nothing. What is a slight cut on the finger of a man whose wife is going to the house of a low caste tonight for a jagran?”
