The First Chapter of 'The Fiery Women'

 CHAPTER 1

The Village of D’Salem

‘When l watch flickering lights, In distant homes,

From my window seat on a train, Or when I watch them,

As I walk spiritedly under an umbrella, Or in a two-,

Or four wheeler in a rain; The great spirit of wonder,

Gives birth to the dawn of realisation- Every human and home is different,

This is most evident,

Everyone is searching for their Destiny....

This was the poem that Preetha’s elegant mind was conjuring up as she walked towards her friend’s home. Our young protagonist had just shifted gears and ----- had made the transition from being a painter of colors to a painter of words!

The year was 1925. Twenty-two years later, India would become an independent nation. The people of Hindustan had already started to receive the fruits of intellectual freedom. Rabindranath Thakur, the Indian philosopher-poet had already  won  the  Nobel  Prize in  Literature  in  1913 - inspiring  a  large  number  of fellow Indians to pick up the pen and turn into happy practitioners of metro-mania. The years between 1913 and India’s freedom were the years when many Indians had begun to turn to writing in English to express their minds – their longings, angst and sufferings. Preetha was one of them.

Many foreign invaders had politically and economically conquered Bharat, several times - only to have their own sub-consciousness invaded by the deep spirituality and cultural vibrancy of the scintillating and exquisite land. Bharat was an ancient land – a thriving home to thousands of great seers and philosophers. It was the land of the Mauryas, the Guptas, the Mughals, ancient lore, mythology and a mind-boggling number of diverse cultures.

India had lost much of her regal splendour owing to British rule, which had replaced the ancient Indian cultural supremacy with its own. India was struggling to know her real self. Was she, the ancient Goddess or a modern one? 1947 would be the year that Mother Bharat would realize that she was still the same time-revered Goddess but in her modern independent avatar. Yet, ironically it was the same British rule which gave India, the ideas of  parliamentary democracy, institutions like the judiciary, executive and legislature, mega infrastructure like the Railways and enduring means of communication such as the Indian Postal services. 

      Preetha’s story begins in a village in British ruled India. The year was 1906. A year ago, Lord Curzon had partitioned Bengal. The name of the village was D’Salem. It was nestled far away from the hustle and bustle of crowded towns. There had been a huge uproar in the nation against the divisive imperialists. The people of the subcontinent of India were feeling very angry and rightly so. They were feeling anguished and terrorized by the evil state policy of ‘divide and rule’, practiced by the British Government.  This was a favourite policy of the British imperialistic rulers - used by them to terrorise all their conquered colonies, be it in Asia or America or elsewhere. The British imperialist rulers were known to be using every kind of human trick to deceive Indians and steal the vast wealth of India; be it spices or jewels. The rich land of India and millions of its people were exploited by the British imperialists. India had sahibs, memsahibs, dirt, the genteel, the not- so-genteel and millions of tolerant suffering Indians, who had endured incessant exploitation by the white masters for almost two centuries. Britain had exploited India to the hilt, taking away, just about everything from her including cotton, gold, the ‘Kohinoor Diamond’ and the ‘Peacock Throne’. England practised mercantilism and lived up to its reputation as the ‘land of shopkeepers’. The English rulers became richer at the expense of India. The powers, which lay with The East India Company, had now been wrested by the British Crown. For the English imperialists, India was like the legendary ‘Kalpavriksha’. A Kalpavriksha is a wish fulfilling tree. 

   Yet nothing could satisfy the gargantuan greed of the rulers of the ‘land of shopkeepers’. The English leaders and businesspersons were known for their greed and it was the greed of the English masters forced upon the Indian masses, which led to the decline of the great and ancient land of Bharat. Of course, the Indians too, were responsible to a certain extent to what was happening to them. The Indians had indulged in in-infighting, greed and backstabbing instead of concentrating their efforts on fighting against the greed of the British masters. Slowly and  surely, the  rich  Indian  cultural ethos  of  goodness  and  tolerance  began  evaporating and started to disappear into the disturbing, gaudy and shady atmosphere  created by the despairing oblivion of colonial rule. India like other countries, which had been ravaged by imperialism, faced a state of complete dissolution. Thus, India became poor and weak under the British rule.

   However, before leaving the subcontinent in 1947, the imperialists gave India, a most precious gift. In the future, the gift of the English language would help generations of Indians to reach out to the entire world. It would go on to become one of the most respected and widely spoken languages of the world.

   D’Salem was situated in the southern part of British India - quite far away from the predatory eyes of the British rulers! It was as picturesque a place as a brilliant imagination could conceive. It was a hilly place where rainy days were as common as memories and dreams. It often rained so hard and for days together that during those humid times, the simple people of the town  would not  venture  out  much  during  the rains. They would become captives, in their own homes.  Landslides were a constant threat here and thus, the people were incessantly bothered by the possible losses to people and property.

  The heavy rains and the resultant continuous possibility of landslides were efficient deterrents. The British ruling community did not want to visit D’Salem. According to them, D’Salem  was ‘too  insignificant’. Thus, while most parts  of India  were reeling under the pressures of the British rule, a few places including D’Salem escaped the radar of the preying eyes of the imperialists.  People  in  D’Salem  worked  very  hard and the forces of nature were feared and revered. The residents of D’Salem kept themselves busy all the time. They were almost always engaged in various agrarian tasks. Agriculture was the main occupation of the people who lived in D’Salem and persons of both genders were involved in the agrarian way of life. Here, the women worked as hard as the men on the fields (along with taking care of their home and household chores like cleaning, cooking and child-rearing) but received only half the  wages that  their  men  folk earned  (and  this happened even in the civilised twentieth century!). But overall, the people of D’Salem were a mostly a bunch of contented souls, where the women were respectfully treated (in most cases!) by the men folk. 

   It was D’Salem - the non-descript place, which gave Preetha, her identity. This was her first home. This was where she felt safe and happy. She was over seven but less than eight. Her tall and elegant frame often made other people to guess her age to being closer to ten than to seven. At the tender age of five, she was already helping out her grandmother in the performance of household   chores.  Her   scanty experience brought with it, enormous positive thinking. She was a happy kid. She loved her grandmother more than even her parents; for they were always busy and had no time to spare for their daughter. Each day, Preetha’s   mother   would go to work in the fields after completing the household chores.

   Her contribution to their land was immense. She was an expert in both paddy and groundnut cultivation. She worked harder than most of the men in the fields and was able to earn and save more money for her family than her male colleagues (who would sometimes drink toddy and keep lying like snakes among the green fields, a real trouble!). And since, her mother was both a smart and selfless worker, the landowner often trusted her with more work and less wages!

   Preetha’s father was a postman. He was an honest government servant, who would discharge his duties of delivering letters judiciously. No rain, flood or landslide could ever stop him as he would zigzag his way over hills and plains. It used to be a delightful experience watching the actions of this spirited man on his mission of delivering messages. In fact, the whole village was always busy. Sometimes, Preetha had a lot of time to do anything that she liked after completing the household duties, assigned to her by her grandmother. She would then, spend her time listening to her grand-mother’s stories, doing a little bit of this and that!

Ignorance about the queerness of life provides children with natural  immunity   against  imbalances, deficiencies, sorrows  and   negativity.  Existence  was beautiful and simple. There was no fear, no anger, no sorrow and no disgust. There was no need to display any emotion in excess.

Preetha  went  about  performing  her  little  duties with  faith  and  happiness.  She  would  listen  to  the stories  narrated  by her  grandmother.  She loved her grandmother’s spellbinding ways of storytelling. She would  go  into  raptures  and  would  feel richer  than the richest children in the world. The simple and inexpressible joys of happy experiences coupled with a wonderful imagination made her feel so. Preetha was neither  rich nor  famous but  she always felt insanely happy!

Adults tend to seek fame and wealth but thankfully, the requirements of children are different. Then again, sometimes, some adults never seem grown up. These rare adults are like children and seek security, love, peace and happiness, above everything else. And this was the area wherein Preetha scored full marks.

Preetha was very happy. It was a state of natural happiness  with  small  influencing  factors  like paper 

rockets, paper boats, terracotta clay, hot samosas, kachories  and   other   Indian   savouries,  mud   toys, coconut water and sugarcane juice! There were almost no worries at all! It was just the rhythmic cycle of life playing out without many mortal fears or favors. Preetha felt blissfully blessed and contended.

 She would retain a child’s curiosity and characteristics throughout her adult years in spite of all the challenges and obstacles that life would throw at her. She would grow up to be a fiery woman – a woman, who would have the courage to speak The Truths and to express her thoughts, well. She would grow up to be bold and strong with a penchant for overcoming obstacles.

 Preetha loved lying on the mud, in the cold mornings and  warm  afternoons,  with her  face turned  towards the occasional sun, (the flirty happy sun, playing hide and seek amongst the clouds in the azure expanses!) tilting it at appropriate times to catch the mercy of the Sun God. The Sun God would often oblige. He would invariably stand over her and she would sleep for hours, under  his protection.  It was a most beautiful feeling; very earthy and very real. This was the beginning of the life and times of Preetha. Preetha loved the rains, the rainbows, the sun, the sunshine, the rising and setting of the sun, the dark flora and their dark shadows on darkened wet evenings, the smell of the wet earth and in fact, everything natural  and God given; free from wickedness, human  chicanery and  the  strappings  of materialism, thus enjoying the subtle beauty of every natural  creation  without  the  kind  of  prejudice  that adults often display. For Preetha, all these natural occurrences created a deep sense of joy and her artistic mind enabled her to enjoy all that was aesthetic around her with even greater fervour. Preetha had a beautiful mind, which had created in her, an extraordinary connoisseur of beauty. She was beginning to observe the transience of life. Nothing is still. Everything moves. Preetha was beginning to realise that everything including time and destiny keeps changing. She always thought, ‘This too, shall pass.’

   This twenty-eighth day of February of 1907 felt truly beautiful to Preetha. It was just a month ago when Preetha had observed that several trees in her locality had become barren. The leaves on them had withered and fallen away. Now the trees were laden with leaves. Preetha felt blessed to have observed so closely the miraculously rejuvenating powers of nature.  Till this moment in her life, Preetha had not understood the magnificent powers of nature.  ‘Everything in nature rises and falls. Man may fall but man can rise, too,’ thought Preetha.

  Time leapt and several of Preetha’s playmates enrolled in school. Preetha’s father, the postman of D’Salem  was confident  that  his daughter  was better off at home than at school. The postman decided that it was not necessary for his daughter to go to school. She was asked to assist her mother at home and on the agricultural lands. Preetha didn’t mind this at all. At her  age, she did  not  realize the  impact  that  this single wrong decision would have had on her entire life. Her entire reality would take a beating because of her late schooling. In spite of the bitter fact that she was not able go to school herself, she maintained her friendship with her friends, who had started going to the village school. Her young friends obliged her by teaching her, a little bit of language and  art  and giving her, some of their pencils, erasers and brushes. Soon, Preetha picked up the fundamentals of language construction but her heart was more drawn to drawing and  painting.  Preetha  began  drawing  pictures  with her handsome instruments: pencils and paint brushes. Her understanding about the world increased with the progress in her artistic talents. Painting was Preetha’s first love. It would many years later that her passion for colours would give way to  a lasting passion  for patterns with words. It was only later that she would realize the value of formal education, when she would get the opportunity  to attend school. Since paper was a luxury for Preetha, she made up for the loss by using the village walls. Preetha was a wonderful artist and her strokes produced a kaleidoscope of colors and images on the sun-burnt cement walls. The village people were gentle folk and  did not  consider this blatant  display of a child’s artistic talents on their walls, as an irritant and were rather  happy to have their walls decorated, free of cost. Every now and then, a kind person of the village would appreciate Preetha and her being would turn warm with gratitude and joy. This unadulterated experience of joy caused by genuine appreciation created confidence in the little girl to want to do more to  make  her  people happy.  Drawings and  paintings were the only two gifts that she could offer and those gifts were graciously accepted by the  wise villagers. With such an understanding and adoring group of fans, our little artist felt very appreciated and respected. She drew many pictures: father, mother, brother, sister, the farms, the ducks, the hens, peacocks, pigs and just about everything from her surroundings  that  could inspire her creativity and most importantly, which she could relate to. She used natural colours made from flowers and leaves. The green grapes yielded a yellow colour and  the  black  berries  yielded a  dark  violet colour, which turned  brown when used on the whitewashed walls. By the time, she was past eleven; most of the village walls carried the impression of the strokes of her brush and were drenched in colour. Preetha imagined that such wondrous days would last forever. She loved the tortoise paced life of her village. The pace seemed enchantingly endless. But as is the case with all good things, the good times didn’t last.

  One day, there was an earthquake. It was one unlike any other and the first one in a long time in D’Salem. It was a scary experience for Preetha. The houses fell, the trees fell, the rocks tumbled, the bricks tumbled and the delightful village lake as well as the adjoining land rocked liked a cradle. However, for some inexplicable reason,  some of the  walls of the  village, which had her artistic revelations on them, remained intact. The drawings and paintings dazzled like gems in the sun. Relief work started in full swing. 

  At first, Preetha did not understand the repercussions of the earthquake. The earthquake felt like a giant monster, which ate up everything which came its way. Many villagers had perished and property had been destroyed. Only a few walls in the village could resist the devastating impact of the  earthquake. Patriots and humanists provided food and clothing in abundance. The entire nation came together and even the British administrative  machinery  did  its best to contribute to the welfare of the injured and homeless. The good work of the British nurses and doctors during this devastating earth-quake were one of the few high points of the British rule in India.

   The earthquake was an eye-opener for Preetha. Till then, she had imagined that the entire world was full of bliss and peace. For the first time, in her short years of existence did Preetha realize that the world was not all that simple and that neither relatives nor friends can be present there for an individual, at all times. It would be many years later that she would get to read about the spiritual teachings of The Lord Gautama Buddha, who said, ‘No one saves us except ourselves. No one can and no one may and that neither mother, father nor any other relative can do one greater good than one’s own well- directed mind. Not God, but goodness is the support of man.’ From her future studies, she would be able to understand the same message given in different scriptures that one ought to lift the self by the self. This would be given in the Upanishads, the ancient Hindu scriptures containing the commentaries on the Vedas. 

  One would need to acquire strength of one’s own by one’s own hard work and sustain that strength on one’s own merit, throughout one’s life. That would be the secret code of success in life.

  Preetha became very upset when the news of the disappearance of her parents reached her. Their house was now a huge mass of mere debris. The earthquake had struck at eight in the morning and that her mother had perished was quite certain. Her mother  must have been inside the kitchen.

  Preetha had been playing outside on the fateful day. Her father was nowhere to be seen and it felt as if he had disappeared from the face of the earth, forever. Preetha cried and cried. Preetha thought  that her uncles and aunts would be out there to support her. But she soon realized that her relatives were distancing themselves from her. They appeared to be pretty certain that the child would eat up their resources! At that tender age, it  was  beyond  Preetha’s  understanding   that  people could be so full of the milk of human  kindness and compassion! She shrank into her immaturely formed emotional shell, which was full of anger, desperation, irritation and a growing anger against all mankind. In the long trek through tricky, treacherous and timeless time, she would grow up to understand  about human wickedness, ingratitude,  cruelty  and  chicanery,  the strappings  of  materialism  and  artificialism  and  all about vanity and diabolism. The first flame of life had engulfed her.  The first  and  important  lesson  about life had entered her conscious and sub-conscious; the lesson, which taught  her  that  not  all people can  be trusted. But she would also realize that dark clouds give life-sustaining cool rains. Preetha forgot her tears and swallowed her rage. She didn’t want to waste her life in regret. She wanted to pick the fragments of her, which had fallen. She knew that she would have to rise each time she would fall – and on her own. The first fiery and difficult experience of life had burnt her. Preetha wanted to  progress, now  as a  person  of fiery spirit would!