Aatish Taseer - The Temple-Goers

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?”

‘The king is mortified,’ the MC breathed, ‘and asks the barber what he should do. The barber tells him to tie a salt bandage around the wounded finger. This way he’ll run a fever and he can ask his wife to be at his side. She won’t be able to refuse him. And this is just what he does. He returns to the palace moaning and complaining. The wife is bound by his request and rests his head in her lap.

‘In those days,’ the MC said, changing his tone, ‘the dutiful Hindu wife considered it her religion to obey her husband. Not like today, where the woman is walking ahead with her handbag.’ The MC did an imitation of a woman stomping ahead. He looked quickly down at the colony boy whom he was still holding captive, then raising his eyebrows at the audience, he said, ‘And the man is running behind, with the money, buying her things.’ He trotted down one side of the stage, his hands hanging limply by his large chest. The colony boy saw his chance and fled. The late-night crowd howled with delight at this spontaneous entertainment. The MC walked mournfully back, returning with a sigh to his story.

‘Tara puts her husband’s head in her lap and settles down into one position for many hours. But when it becomes dark, Tara, true to her vow, replaces her leg with a pillow and sets out into the night for Rukmani’s house. On the way, she encounters two bandits who try and rob her. She falls to her feet and prays to the goddess. Immediately one of the men is mauled by a wild animal; the other loses the light of his eyes. When finally Tara arrives at Rukmani’s, the two of them, within closed doors, perform the animal sacrifice to Kali.’

The tent was silent. A new urgency entered the MC’s tone. The open sky above the tent had become pale. The MC looked up and was alarmed.