Woman with a secret desire

Close to the city of Paithan, in a small village called Sauviragram, which lay along the banks of the great river Godavari, lived a woman named Ilaa. Being cotton farmers, her family was well to do, but not among the richest in their area. It was the harvest season and cotton had to be picked from the plants. The wholesalers and traders from Paithan would be arriving in just a few weeks carrying gold and goods for barter. They would exchange what they carried for the cotton that the farmers grew. The bales of cotton had to be ready in time! Work was at its peak!

But Ilaa was not to be found in the fields. She wasn't working. Instead, she was sitting by the banks of the great river Godavari.

“I am sick of this!” she grunted loudly. The sun glowed on her face which had turned crimson with anger. With fists clenched tightly, she sat looking straight at the sun. Her body was burning inside. Even the calm waters of Godavari were not enough to ease her pain. Her father had been so definite in his comments. He had stated it so plainly as if it was some divine doctrine which couldn’t be questioned.

"We are certainly living in the dark ages", she thought. "Rules made by insecure men are being flaunted as unbreakable".

'Rules made by men', these words resonated in her mind for long. Made by men, of course, in which the women had no part to play. Last night, while at dinner, Ilaa had expressed her desire to go to Paithan.

“I've never been to the city”, she had said hesitatingly.

Sudraka, Ilaa’s father, was once the headmen of Sauviragram. They were a well-respected family of the village and Ilaa, being their only daughter, was expected to be well-versed with the values and customs of the village. That is why such a request took him by surprise. But he maintained his calm and placing his hand over her head replied, “There is so much to do here. The traders will be here soon”.

“But a few days ago, Virak, your nephew, went to the city. He is planning to go again this week”, Ilaa protested.

“Women are more suited to pick cotton. Let the work in the city be looked after by males”, Sudraka replied plainly and continued eating.

“Why?” Ilaa was getting impatient now.

Sudraka watched her for a moment searching for words to reply.

“Why?” Ilaa persisted.

“I am surprised by your impertinence. It has been like this for centuries and we won't change it for you. People should not meddle in each other’s business. Women are created for a purpose, not to go prancing around in the city. A constant fear of thieves, scoundrels and wily traders lurks there”, her father was almost shouting now, “It's not as easy as picking cotton. What will you do if the cart wheel gets stuck in mud?” Sudraka stood up in a huff to wash his hands. Ilaa ate silently thereafter. The food had lost its taste. Her anger was palpable at being denied and hot tears kept rolling down her cheeks for long.

Her father had so easily dismissed picking cotton as an easy job. With almost no experience in doing it, how would he understand that it was a pretty arduous task? thought Ilaa. Picking cotton was mostly done by the women while men took upon themselves negotiations with traders, a more ‘intelligent’ task. Paithan was a centre of trade for Paithani sarees, cloth known for its smooth fabric and intricately carved delicate designs in gold which were exported world-wide. Ilaa had read about certain women who carried out trade with the Roman Empire in ancient times. But with attacks from the northern frontiers, Paithan, like its neighbourhood had turned conservative with women being treated as property and kept shackled.

Ilaa was in no mood to go to the farm the next day. She directly went to the banks of Godavari to allay her frustrations. While the gentle flow of water soothed her senses, it also made her problems look so insignificant in front of its size. There was so much to learn from the river which had been flowing through that terrain for thousands of years patiently watching the lives of so many puny men unfold before her, who remained wrapped in their own cocoon of problems feeling as if they were the centre of the universe. A firm resolve was set on her face as she arose to go home and she knew she wouldn't rest till she had achieved what she wanted. A woman had decided to stop following the rules of men. The patriarchy was set to crumble!

Her family farm still needed three days of crop harvest as per the normal schedule. When the other villagers came to their farms the next day, they saw a thin girl, sweating profusely, working as if there was no tomorrow with heaps of freshly cropped cotton lying beside her. Ilaa had been working for almost three hours by then and she didn't even stop to greet them. Some mad desire had possessed her.

As the afternoon sun blazed and it became difficult to work, Ilaa rejected the others' call for lunch. Her father while preparing for an afternoon siesta under the shade of a nearby tree; the other villagers doing likewise, saw a lonesome figure working like a well-oiled machine under the fiery sun. In his fifty years, he had never ever witnessed such a scene. Some madness had plunged deep into Ilaa and only she understood the meaning of it.

Soon, it was evening and the villagers prepared themselves to return to their homes. The fresh heaps were loaded on to the cart to be carried to the village godown. As Sudraka started to load the family share on the cart, Ilaa called out, “I will load it once I am finished”. Soon, the evening turned into night. As her father prepared for sleep, the winds carried the voices from the farm. Someone was still working there!

When the village woke up the next day, Ilaa was nowhere to be found. The mountain of cotton that she had created the other day along with the cart had disappeared. She had been able to complete three days’ work in one! The village was overtaken by commotion. “I had warned her not to work late. May be she got abducted”, said one. “Did she become victim of the thieves who stole her cotton?” wondered another. It was only in the afternoon that few of the villagers started working while others kept looking for her. Ilaa’s mother invoked the holy river Godavari and asked her to protect Ilaa.

As the sun waned, Ilaa's father settled himself on the cot lying by a tree. It was the first time since morning that he was resting tired by the fruitless search for Ilaa which was still going on. All of a sudden, a familiar tinkering of bells reached his ears. At a distance, he saw his bullock cart making way. Guiding the bullocks, sat Ilaa, her face tranquil while greeting the villagers passing by.

A volley of questions was thrown upon her as soon as she alighted. “I had gone to the city”, Ilaa replied peacefully.

Never in their lifetime had a women dared to travel to the city. A long held sacred custom was broken today. A woman, who was created for taking care of her husband and children, had digressed from her path! The chaos, soon, turned into a cacophony with voices asking for convening Panchayat. “Let the Panchayat be convened tomorrow morning”. The villagers heard the voice of the village headmen over the din and so, it was decided.

Once inside the house, Ilaa met the stony silence of her father. Weary from the travel, she decided to freshen up. After taking a long bath, she came to the kitchen for dinner. She caught glimpse of her mother's face while heating up the vegetables. Dried tears had left their mark but her daughter’s acts were gnawing at her heart. Sudraka joined them soon. He was in no mood for any simple talk and the only voices that emanated from him were the grunts whenever he asked for another helping. “I did what was best for the family and the village and I will prove it to you tomorrow in front of the Panchayat. I will never let you down”, said Ilaa as she was about to leave the kitchen; the only words spoken that day.

The sun was already high in the sky. Ilaa woke up to find her parents left for the Panchayat without telling her. She dressed up quickly and reached the venue. The whole village was already present there. The elder ones were sitting on a raised pedestal around a tree. She saw her parents sitting near the pedestal and joined them. The village headmen, an elderly fellow called Samrat, raised his hand as a signal for the crowd to settle.

“So, Ilaa, what prompted you to leave the bounds of our village?” asked Samrat.

Instead of answering him, Ilaa untied a small purse from her chunri and laid it before Samrat. He opened the purse and peered into it. A curious look crossed his face.

“What is this about? You haven't answered my question yet”, Samrat gave her a quizzical look while emptying the purse for the whole village to see. There were 18 gold coins inside the purse.

“I went with a cartful of cotton to the city and got this amount in return”, Ilaa replied.

“If what you are saying is true then I am thoroughly astonished. It is almost three times what we get from the merchants who visit us. A journey to the city to sell it at their doorstep won't fetch you more than a couple of gold coins”, Samrat was not convinced.

“I know it has never been done. But for the last five years, since I had started picking cotton, I was tinkering with this idea and I will reveal it only if you make a promise that the women will be allowed to trade while men will start helping them in picking cotton”, Ilaa said quite determinedly.

Never before had someone made such a demand. It was something that was held divinely ordained. The whole village broke into commotion. Samrat discussed Ilaa’s proposal in hushed tone with the other elders.

“Let the woman speak”, Sudraka's heavy baritone was heard over the din. “Samrat”, Sudraka directly addressed his successor, “Traditions are meant to help people realize the different dimensions of their personality and not to keep them grounded. If her story holds any weight, the whole village will be hugely benefitted by it. Besides, her fortune proves that women do not lack business acumen and may be, us, men might understand a few things while picking cotton”.

Sudraka was known for being impartial and the villagers understood that he is siding with Ilaa not because she was his daughter but he did find some credit in her proposal. “I'll speak only if my demands are met”, Ilaa repeated.

“We will think about it. Now speak”, Samrat said reassuringly.

“For years, during the cotton harvest, merchants from the city visit us and buy cotton from us cheaply. They transfer this cotton to the rich weavers who trade in Paithani saris with nations beyond the seas; saris so expensive and so intricately designed that it will make your heart stop. I knew about this lucrative trade from the ancient books I have read and yesterday, I went out to try my luck. I stopped at the first weaver shop I saw and he gave me this amount in return of the cotton I traded. The traders who visit our villages are robbing us of our legitimate money while making their profit as middlemen. If we sell our cotton directly to the weavers, we can make better money. I also took up the liberty to strike a deal with two of the weavers in the city for harvest of the village this year and they are ready to buy our crop at the same price”.

It seemed too good to be true. Making a third of their legitimate amount for years just because no one ventured to directly meet the weavers! Ilaa's eyes fell on her parents. They looked at her with proud eyes. She had never seen her father happier. Men were looking at her appreciatively while women rejoiced in her glory. Samrat stood up on the pedestal to speak to the whole village.

“Ilaa, through her acute sense, showed us, naive villagers, path to prosperity. I have no hesitation in accepting her proposal. From now on, let the women of Sauviragram be equal partners in trade of cotton and let men contribute equally to its harvest. I ask Ilaa to head the committee which will train our women in cotton trade. Let this decision be made known all over Paithan”, Samrat concluded and dissolved the Panchayat.

Later that night, Ilaa went back to the banks of Godavari. Water was flowing silently as if waiting to hear from her. She could see a small distant fire burning in one of the fields. She looked at her reflection in the water. The steely resolve stared back at her. Holding back her tears, she vowed to make Sauviragram an example of plenty. In darkness, she heard her name being called out. She squinted to see thirteen year old Maitri waving at her. At her signal, she came along and sat beside her. Minutes passed while Maitri and she sat motionless. Then, in a feeble voice Maitri asked, “Can I join your committee?” This time she didn’t hold back but started crying freely.