Changing Rhythms

Author: Nand Bhardwaj

Translator: Sheba Rakesh

           

                   My story is interesting. But it  might just not interest you; why would you want to know about a set of old issues in new lives?…. and I understand that. However, your interest or indifference cannot stop my thinking processes  and, there is one thing that I keep thinking – probably in my heart of hearts , wanting desperately to share it with you all… the question is – why on earth is my family bothered about the effects of my reputation on itself, when my existence was never bothered about in the same family?

          Personally, I was never granted the freedom of choices – choices of rules and regulations, whether in my family or community. They made them and I followed them. Never have I shouldered any responsibility in the overall successes or failures of their social endeavours. Frankly speaking, I was never considered worth it. Why today, am I then, expected to do anything to rectify the social or communal or even the family wrongs? Why at all?? I have grown up with the belief and also eventually learnt that every individual must work to ensure his own happiness – material or any other kinds – nobody hands it over to you on a platter, neither can one take away anybody else’s platter! so then, while I have  responsibly shouldered my share of chores – social or otherwise – in the way a responsible human being must do them… I do not at all feel responsible for the others’ stakes being heaped upon me along with their ultimate failure(s)….and don not feel guilty either.

 I was born into a family of artists – folk artists. My parents used to sing songs and play instruments to regale the community audiences – in marriages and other social occasions. Obviously, this profession could not have guaranteed them a secured future. How then, could they have thought about guaranteeing a secured one to their own children? Rectitude, piety and morality are not things that one considers when leading a hand to mouth existence. People overstep boundaries. Selfishness becomes the norm – even for parents. A child and moreso, a girl child is only born to  be disappointed under such circumstances . Her birth and her life is laced with irony – and so was mine.

          We were five siblings in all:  four sisters and one brother. Given the not so good situations of our lives; we were, as if, born with duty manuals etched out clearly in our minds. Bapu was a sarangi player and a very good singer as well. He was a regular artist at the rich functions and parties hosted by the native Thakurs and other rich people around the area; but with the passage of time, the number of invites  to such parties quickly declined as did the number of such events. The Rajwade songs were not as popular now…so bapu had almost given up his trade. The sarangi was more of a household decorative item now.

          Maa, however, continued to be invited to common marriages for her skills at singing traditional songs. Yashoda and Gauri; both my elder sisters had started accompanying her to such gatherings while Ganpat, our brother, who was the third in line had grown quite adept at playing the dhol. However, he was least interested in the family profession….and thus , our problems grew by leaps and bounds. Our parents could never sit down at peace and think about how our lives were to take shape – thanks to the more mundane worries about making two ends meet – obviously, when questions of existence dominate minds, the other ‘lifestyle’ issues and those pertaining to moulding us into better humans are relegated to the background .

          Good food, clothing and shelter, constitute the basic needs of families at large, but in our case, this was luxury too. Maa was a machine – she ‘manufactured’ us – the spare parts – we took shape and started jingling and clanging – just as musical instruments were expected to do. I was the fourth note in this eternally playing and eternally changing rhythmic cycle – They called me Vaadhu. It meant an ‘extra’. By the time, I could gather my name’s meaning and implication, it had become popular and I had been perennially tagged: “Vaadhu – the extra”. Today, when I look back, I think, how appropriate that name would indeed have been for me, if I had continued to lead the oblivious lifestyle that our lives and parents had originally gifted to us! Thankfully, however, that had not to be. Bina was the last child of the family and our youngest sister. She had been tagged in her own way – as the chudail who had devoured the last male flicker of the family candle – literally speaking, the son who had to come after her, but failed midway in his life’s journey. They said, it was because Bina suckled all her mother’s body, in the form of milk, that the unborn child could not survive – and thereafter, Bina became the child devourer. People suggested that she be formally named yuchki – like I had been called Vaadhu. This time however, Maa resisted and insisted that the girl be called according, to the constellations above – nakshatras – so then, she was called Bina.

          Maa could not survive much longer after the death of our still unborn brother….and we, the younger lot, could not comprehend what a mother’s love could be. Yashoda, our eldest sister was mother to us. She meant love, care, support and shield to us – till she got married and left us for her husband’s abode.  She was a responsible soul. Even when maa was alive, she used to support her in her odd jobs. She played the dhol, sang in family functions and knew everything about the rituals that were the norm at such gatherings. It was at one such gathering that Girijashankarji spotted us singing and immediately advised Yashoda to start sending us to school.

          Yashoda heeded his suggestion and sent me, Bina and Ganpat to school. She herself continued to complete her household chores and took care of her professional duties – and things became easier for her after we joined school; because otherwise she had us to take care of at home all the time and this obviously, made things tougher – the better part of the bargain was the fact that we were getting educated; although, I must confess that both Bina and Ganpat were least interested in coming to school.

          Such were  our lives when Girijashankarji – the school master came forth as my guardian angel, mentor and guide. He was a wonderful musician and could play the harmonium really well. People acknowledged his skills and he commanded quite some honour at the jaagrans in the vicinity. The master of mellifluous voice and rendition, his explanation of the Bhagvat defeated several acclaimed pundits of the vicinity, though, he himself never claimed that title. Content at being a very popular teacher of Hindi and music the local government school, Girijashankarji used to spend his time in teaching children – either the nuances of language or that of music. I was his favourite,  right from day one. I still remember the day when he had first called me to himself and asked me to sing a song. I had almost choked myself. He encouraged me and I sang – and Ishwar only knows what he found in the rhythms of my voice that I because one of his chosen ones in school for all singing purposes. No school function, thereafter, could be completed without my participation. He spent endless number of hours in training me, as if,  music had to be my sole education. Infact, I too had begun enjoying music more than my other lessons which were comparatively very drab. Singing ran in my blood and veins. I also adopted dance movements from the other village girls – the result was, I started earning handsome uvarangi amounts at family functions; and by the time, I reached the fifth standard in school ‘Vadhudi’ had earned the reputation of the best singer in the entire district.  Thanks to Girijashankarji, soon afterwards, my name was registered as Vasudha Panwar in the school records. Now, there was no looking back. Functions, honours, accolades and a reasonable amount of appreciation in the form of money coming in had doubled my courage.

          However, the new shining lights in my life could not light up  the bleak atmosphere at home. Bapu was a selfish man and least bothered with the flight of my talent. All he was concerned with, was the huge amounts of uvarangi come in – and therefore, he tried his best to ensure that I attended all the functions that I had been invited to; even if that meant, my missing out on school . I did not like this at all.

          He would accept invitations on my behalf, however,  when I resented and declined on the plea of being a disturbance in my  lessons, he would beat me black and blue and abuse me. “What can you learn at school!?...school!...school, school!...school will not give us any bread and butter; wasting time there would not lead you anywhere…we are professional artists…meant to be at gatherings; not your school!!”, he would thunder time and again. How could I have explained to him the debt that I owed to my school? Had it not been for it, I would have lagged behind in all this “professional artistry” act. He although, could never agree and never understand the way I thought.

          I had tried confiding in guruji regarding my family issues, but evidently, he was helpless too. However, as I appeared for my class final examinations, he sent an application on my behalf, for admission into the Navodaya Vidayalaya. That was a big leap indeed – towards a better and more independent future for me.

          Navodaya Vidayalayas are government aided schools where select needy students are kept at the school hostel and provided with all the facilities. In addition, children like us were also given scholarships. Talent or no, but I was lucky enough to have received all of these. But bapu had already made up his mind. He never wanted me to go anywhere – least of all to a place which would cut off all my connection with them at home and needless to say, affect their incomes too. Yashoda, proved to be a great help. After bapu had declared that he would not let me go anywhere I had equally stubbornly rebelled and told him of my resolve to go to Navodaya even at the cost of cutting off all ties from my family. It worked. Some further coaxing on Yashoda’s part led to the final success and next, she along with Ganpat came to see me off at the Pawta Navodaya Vidayalaya. The dream was now real – the rhythm life had begun to change.

          Barely about thirteen, I nonetheless, looked mature for my years – almost like a young woman. Besides, I had begun to grow more beautiful. My mellifluous voice and good presentation skills at school functions immediately caught the attention of all my teachers. Out of them, Anitaji, our music teacher, held me as her special favourite. Her chance meeting with Girijashankarji at Jaipur led to her knowing about my skills at folk dancing and singing. This resulted in her coming back to Navodaya and taking me under her ample wings. Whereas, I had only some rudimentary knowledge in folk songs and dances, Anitaji was already considered an esteemed dancer from the Jaipur gharana; besides  possessing a very good knowledge of classical singing.

          My dances were being increasingly appreciated. They said I was wonderfully flexible in my moves – almost compared me to a firki on stage – and that scared my co-dances to quite an extent.    My training under Anitaji’s expert guidance perfected a new kind of dance form – a unique blend of Kathak and folk dance, that captivated and mesmerized audiences like never before.

          By the time I had passed my high school and senior secondary, I had acquired the title of the new talent in town; though I remained blissfully unaware of all the adulation. Almost six long years had passed by and I had already presented at the state and National levels. Just about then, the  All India Radio called for its voice test, I was still at the senior secondary level, - I appeared and passed it with B - high grade. Radio, television, Tourism department functions and the other events had now given me a new sky to soar in. My successful completion of the voice test had presented me with an opportunity soon afterwards, to present a solo Kathak rendition at Delhi’s Kamani auditorium. This was a big one and I burnt the midnight oil for the event. The nervousness was gnawing, but Anitaji’s continuous encouragement helped like anything – The result was an excellent presentation of my skills at Bhawai and the folk dances. The audiences were left asking for more and the media flaunted my talents with an unabashed aplomb. I was now a household name. Of course, all this would never have been, without Anitaji’s support and guidance. She trained me, encouraged me and taught me to guard myself against all the unwanted attention that usually is generated by newly acquired popularity. She told me the necessity of having an academic degree in hand and cautioned me against being swept off by anything else in the world other than an undivided concentration at augmenting my academic and dancing skill. She was now my friend, philosopher and guide .

          After completing my senior secondary at school, the next step had to be college education. Anitaji was a great help here as well. She had her family staying at Jaipur – her mother and elder brother to be precise. Needless to say, this was my next destination. She got me admitted in the college and got my arrangements done at the hostel as well. My studies were going well and my connection in the Ministry of culture, Department of Tourism, Sangeet- Natak Academy, Radio and T.V. were helping me like never before. My rendition at such platforms did not only help at showcasing my talents, but also helped me financially. The perennial and unflinching support of mentors like Pt. Girijashankarji, Anitaji, Director of the Sangeet Natak Academy- Sudhaji and other senior artists was an added feather in my cap – and it helped in soar higher in the skies of talent and adulation.

          Amidst all this, my connections with my family were at an all time low. Two years after my admission at Navodaya, I had gone home for Yashoda and Gauri’s marriage, and the next year for Ganpat’s engagement. However, my arrivals were somehow always greeted by two things – one was Bina’s unspoken problems and the second, was obviously bapu’s perpetual ranting, “…Vadhudi…finish your studies and come back…I, have to get you and Bina married now…”

          His emphasis on my coming back and getting married was frustrating me no ends, and I often wondered at his dry unconcern…he had no appreciation for my talents, my reputation and my never ending efforts to earn my own scholarships so that I completed my education on my own. All, he was concerned was, with his own selfish interests. He wanted me to hand over all my earnings to him. Ofcourse, I knew him too well, so I had by now, already opened a personal bank account and started depositing my money, saving quite some amount by now. I had already known that I would be needing all that money to pursue my education further.

          Anyways, the point here is, that I had almost stopped going back, because of such selfish attitudes.

         Back here, however, the circumstances had gone to the dogs. After Yashoda and Gauri had got married, Bina could only manage to barely feed Ganpat and bapu. Even she did not have any control over the situation. Initially, Yashoda did try to awaken and jolt their sleeping senses into some sense of responsibility, but Ganpat proved to be beyond control; as a result Yashoda had minimized her visits to the family. The plaster on the walls had started coming off. The main door had already cracked and the courtyard was in a bad shape. Rajais and the other winter useables had already reached beyond repair. The two inner rooms were in an equally bad state – and there seemed to be neither the money, nor the inclination to get things in place. On top of it, other things were no less irritating the last time I had visited them – it was Ganpat’s marriage – I was treated like a ‘out of the world’ thing. People were amazed, critical and equally jealous of my clothes and my appearance. Some of them tried their level best to woo my bapu into “selling” me off in marriage. I was put off, like never before and come back immediately after the main rituals got over.

          I would not have returned but for certain special reasons – Bapu’s drinking bouts had deteriorated beyond repair. What was even worse in these circumstances was that people were pointing fingers at Bina. I guess this had to be. In the absence of a protective father and the onslaught of poverty – who can be the trustee of a daughter’s dignity? Anyways, asking Bina about it did not help. Thinking, that I was blindly trusting peoples’ opinion about her, she got annoyed and stung me with her question, “How will you be able to help me anyways?”

          “Bina!...I am not trusting anyone…I just want to get to the root of your problem so that things can be better handled…” My insistence broke her and she began to cry. The fact that she was the only one in the family to run around, and collect all the bare necessities for the household thanks to an irresponsible brother and a drunk father – it had led to the girl’s irreparable hopelessness. The icing on the cake was bapu’s habit of beating her black and blue into submission whenever she would ‘dare’ to budge from her fixed stance. Though, it is worth mentioning, that sometimes, she would be beaten even when she did not budge from her position. However, that maybe, Bina, under such a situation would run out of the house and go to our neighbouring chachi to protect herself. ….at times would even sleep in her house.

          And then nemesis fell. Bina finally confided – The fateful night was the marriage of a local Seth’s son. She had gone for the ritual of singing the ratjaga songs along with the neighbourhood chachi. It was here that she was beguiled into drinking an adulterated sherbet, and when she started complaining of being unwell, the Seth’s son took her along himself in his car. Ofcourse, he said to the others, that he would drop her home. Bina, next woke up and found herself next to a strange man who was shamelessly leering at her, when she opened her eyes. The unwanted had already happened. The man tried to talk, but Bina slapped him fight, pushed him aside and came out. She knew the area…it was the Seth’s farmhouse. On her way out, she had encountered the Seth’s son, who tried appearing her but Bina, ran home – barefooted and in the middle of the ominous night.   

          The girl had been raped – and the brother and father were sleeping dead drunk – oblivious of the devastation. She slept with the night but could not get up with the next day. By the time, she opened her eyes, her “well – wishing” bapu and Ganpat had already left. Bina did not have to really wait for the next catastrophe. It came to her walking. The so called “social media” was rather active behind her back – filled up ideas in bapu’s mind so that both he and Ganpat came to Bina, howling and scowling. They were hardly interested in knowing her version of things – people said that the Seth had already fuelled and quelled their greed – but ofcourse, the daughter had not remained of any value whatsoever. The family apathy had made it more difficult for her to survive in a village already raging with hateful fires – they threatened to engulf her alive!

          “…Now…afterall this…whom am I to look upto as a guardian? Is there someone to help me out?...I am located in between the devil and the deep sea. Nobody to help and no employment either. Basic survival guides me…although I still know, deep within myself that I will never ever do anything, shameful…the worst has already happened…but I am sick of this kind of life. Is it worth living?...you tell me! Bapu and Ganpat cannot be trusted at all…I have already started hating them beyond repair. Chachi is no better, but at least not worse than these two monsters, so I spend my nights at her place…although I realize, she is exploits me to the best of her benefits…but atleast, I feel physically safe there…”

          I was at a loss of for words. Bina’s pending marriage was the only shining ray of hope in this dark tunnel of life. She had been engaged to Ganpat’s brother – in – law. I asked her, “…but you got engaged!...what about your marriage?”

          “The boy’s father wants money, although the boy himself is ready to marry me. Since, his sister has already been married off, they are free of all liabilities…as for my own bapu and beera…you know them very well. Frankly speaking, there is not much demand for artists like us…whenever marriages or functions take place, people are happier with filmi music and cassettes, rather than our art…but then, whatever meager amount of money I get from there is fleeced away by the two of them…I feel so cheated and defeated in life…have lost interest in living…now am no more accepting any invitation etc…there is hardly any motivation….”

          I had to help Bina – somehow. But how…?

Girijashankarji was my next and only ray of hope under these circumstances. I went to him and told him everything. He suggested that we  go to Ramgarh to meet the boy’s father to sort out things. Next morning we were at Ramgarh and coincidentally the boy and his father were very much at home. Girijashankarji commanded respect in the vicinity and the boy himself had been his student. Presently, he was employed in a music orchestra as a trumpet player at Churu. He had already confessed his liking for Bina, who was good to look at. I had about twenty thousand in my pocket and I had told everything to Guruji. The marriage had to be solemnized after one month. We came back to Fatehpur, the same evening. The news of Bina’s marriage having been finalized by me was not welcomed at home. Bapu was quiet and bhojai did not even  look at me but Ganpat  could not hide his displeasure. He questioned my status in the family and my rights on Bina, to have settled this marriage. He felt, he had been badly insulted by me…and ofcourse, I did not even try reminding him that I was their elder sister. It would hardly have helped matters- Ganpat was already screaming at me,

          “…Who are you to have taken this decision…are you aware of our problems and issues?...you cannot be, since you have almost parted ways with the family!...how then could you get into this kind of panchayati with regard to Bina??”

          “…but bhai!...you had already settled the alliance…I have only gone ahead with finalizing the date!”,  I calmly replied.

          Blaming was at its best, “…You!...You!?...earning such good name for the family…going around…dancing and singing in front of all and sundry…people point fingers at as…do you realize?...or have you sold off all your laaj and sharm!??”, he thundered.

          I, had not lost my cool,

          “…What and how can this bring as a bad reputation, I fail to understand! Has this not been in our blood and earned us bread and butter since times immemorial?...and I have only made this better by earning a name and good money!...”

          “…I do not want to argue with you...but one thing…you are no more our Vaadhu…you are Vasudha…so remain Vasudha…you are no longer of this family…leave Bina and her marriage alone…we are still there for her…”

          I felt very angry, but did not want to sabotage matters for useless ego hassles. While I was still thinking of a reply, Bina rudely lashed out,

          “…Oh!...so now you…you, of all the people will look after me! And I am expected to leave my real sister aside for your caring attitudes!...Thanks to people like you and bapu…girls like us must die before their time…enough of your goodness…don’t make me speak…or else you wouldn’t find space to hide your wretched face!!!”

          A teary eyed Bina was heaving – panting – screaming…all at the same time. She felt helpless…and I felt helpless too. Before I could pacify anyone, Ganpat stomped out of the house in great rage, bhojai went inside and bapu was as usual – non reactionary, non – committal.

          Ganpat’s reaction conveyed his disinterest. Bapu’s existence was seeking apathy from all nook and corners. His sarangi was silent – as was the dholak – on whose rythms, Yashoda’s and maa’s voices gyrated and sang. Bina’s silence was screaming aloud – and I could hear her plea – these stale rhythms had to be changed anew – it was difficult for new lives to be supported with old thinking patterns… just like new rhythms could not be generated out of old instruments.

          It was time for independence. Afterall, why must girls think of ending their lives if they feel their guardians and caretakers are not good enough for them?...should they not become good enough to support themselves under such circumstances? To talk of death is to acknowledge self defeat – and that is detestable!

          Self – dependence was fine and yet, my heart had been cleaved into two. How could the family foundations be so solidly shaken by the earthquakes of selfishness and greed? If each person be so secluded and locked up in his own cell in such a small institution as family...how, then could we envisage a healthy and wholesome future – society and family?…I knew…rhythms had to be changed…only without affecting the overall harmony…it was now and immediately a much needed effort!!