MISSING BRIDE

Ramda passed away, just sometime before. Thus he was spared of the injury where his own hand could not reach to apply balm. He was living with this injury for the last twenty or more years.

Ramda belonged to a lot a populace residing in country Bengal. He was a resident of Polba village in Hooghly District Polba was a village off Mogra Station from Howrah over Indian Railway.

Ramda served in Indian Railway. His this profession was a low key profile. Actually he was a big shot in farming. He owned a sizable farm land, had business of crop producing and trading. His this profession optimised his pocket to place him in affluent society of farmers. But his this affluence could not deter him to have a mindset of a child. He lived a mindset pure, fresh and floral. We never saw Ramda morose and gloomy. Always vibrant and vivacious Ramda’s mental stature resembled a child. In fact we could not help appreciating his simplicity that we lost. A child in this complex earth lives in his own world, so also Ramda. But he was rational mature and arduous adult. Yet he instinctively lives a simple life. We envied it. And we also wondered how he had been bearing his such injury for years. We could not help wondering.

Ramda had two children – one daughter and one son. He had arranged to marry his only daughter. He invited his villagers all around. This was a village culture. In fact he could not help it, particularly being an affluent farmer. He entertained a huge crowd of invitees. His office colleagues were also the part of the edifice. It was a grandeur. It was obvious.

The daughter was elder, so naturally was the first in queue to be married. Ceremony was drenched with affection, was filled with exhaustive list of invitees and was exclusive of menus. What was not in that menu. Festival flavoured with typical Bengali sense began with Radhaballavi with alur dom. Negotiating through spicy items invitees devoured varieties of fishes. Without mutton no one can maintain his own prestige in village Bengal. Ramda also arranged to maintain the prestige. He was a sentimental Bengalee father.

—“How is arrangement?”, Ramda was eager to listen to appreciation.

–“Grand”. Invitees apprised the host of appreciation.

–“How is cuisine? How is preparation?” , Ramda brimming with curiosity wanted to hear more and more, if not the most.

__”Delicious, particularly mutton.” One invitee lauded.

Instantly some or other invitee disagreed, argued, “Why are you mentioning the particular. Every preparation contested each other. Greed for acclaim overpowered Ramda. He was keen to listen to more. It seemed that everyone tried hard to satisfy hungry soul of Ramda but succeeded little, possibly. He seemed to be running short of acclaim.

Talks obviously switched over to profile, family, pedigree and in nutshell whereabouts of the groom. Groom was of nearby village, also of Hooghly District, also a big farmer, owned big grocery shop in addition to his farming profession. Invitees concluded after discussion that the groom was well built, handsome, somewhat tall, taller than bride, but they differed on the issue of colour of the groom’s skin. One school of thought identified him fair, other noted him dark. But both schools were united in admitting their failure in definite judgement owing to light and shade of ceremonial house. But both schools were united in judgement that the bride and the groom were going to matching mates, “One shall match the other. Ramda your daughter is no less than a paragon of beauty. A befitting match was indeed necessary. The groom touches the mark”. A pool of happiness embedded Ramda.

All ran smoothly. Invitees – villagers and outsiders were amply satisfied, unmistakably satiated, their belch proved enough.

Lagna, the precious confluence-timer for bride and groom was yet to come. It was scheduled at well-nigh midnight. Invitees came from distance went home, most of the villagers followed the suit. Everyone lauded Ramda. Ramda was brimming with satisfaction. He was seen rushing entertaining each and every invitee, running from here to there for some business, or for nothing, watching all the round.

Time of lagna ticked al last. Bride was brought to marrying spot. She was dressed in a queen’s attire. She wore a Benarasi saree with matching blouse. She was painted with sandal paste on her whole face. Was adorned with garland or tuberose. She wore a chignon. Chignon was furnished with small garlands of Arabian jasmine. She wore a female coronet made of sola. A natural beauty by birth daughter of Ramda looked a paragon of beauty.

Since evening she was sitting on a gorgeous seat meant for bride receiving presentation gifted by invitees. It was her day. Now it was her time. Now she sat on a wooden altar her ritual seat for bride. Seated on the altar she was lifted by four men. As the planet revolves around the sun, she was being revolved around the standing groom by those men for seven times. Hindu rites set rule of seven round of revolving for tying the know tight. She held beetle leaves covering her face.

After seven rounds she was stopped. She was sitting on the altar still. A white sheet of cloth was hung over covering both groom and bride like a makeshift ceiling. Now it was time for shuvo drishti, an exchange of infatuating look from both sides of bride and groom. Groom was already in a standing position wearing male coronet made of sola. His face was uncovered. So he couldn’t help looking forward. So he couldn’t help awaiting his bride’s look till hidden. Finally she was ordered to take away the cover. She abode by, withdrew the cover of beetle leaves, began looking shyly. Finally there was exchange. They exchanged their good look, infatuated prelude to next romance as it uses to be in the case of other would-be couples.

It is the ridicule. Couples in their conjugal life look at each other for innumerable, countless times. Even the four eyes speak themselves when there is all infatuations situation round the corner when the couples fall in love in premarital stage. Yet Hindu Bengali rites believes that only a ritual exchange of systematic infatuating look between bride and groom brings happy chores in future conjugality. This exchange of look is baptised as Shovo drishti.

Now it was time of exchange of garlands. They exchanged garlands, so exchanged inaudible utterance of invisible tie. Then bride and groom sat on their own pious seats face to face. Between them holy earthen pot covered with tiny gamchha, tiny Indian towel with infant, immature coconut with no kernel and water inside, dressed with small garland was placed upon it. Two priests both sides got themselves ready for preaching sermon for making conjunction of two lives.

They were seated. Onlookers and spectators surrounded them. But the bride stood up abruptly.

–“What’s wrong?” An influx of query jumped over her.

–“Nothing. But an uneasiness.”

–“Are you well?” Again an influx of question.

–“No. No. All are well. But something may have entered in my garment”. She whispered to women standing close to her. Her secret feeling got propagated.

–“Go. Go to the room. Inspect thoroughly”. A hurried suggestion rushed in.

Hurriedly she entered back to her room, alone. Locked the door from inside.

Everyone awaited her. Some smiled on the floor, some giggled clandestinely. Groom all smiles enjoying the situation awaited her, on his seat. His wait became to begin a bit lengthy. She was a she-gender after all, has more secrecy than a he-gender, moreover was dressed with gorgeous dress. It must have taken some time more. A minimum time should be given to her, it was an accomplished fact. Okay. Seconds ran to minutes, five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen. All were engaged with variety of amorous jokes. Ramda, complacent, found some time chiselled out of his busiest schedule, fructified the time by lighting a cigarette, sat on a chair a little away from the hustle bustle.

Half an hour got past. Ramda savoured his smoking. But his daughter did not come out of the room. Had she completed her change? What non-sense! Her relatives began calling her. Calling became louder. It turned to shouting. Waiting lot outside the room began shouting. Then shouting turned to shouting and knocking, “Jaya, Jaya, Jaya”. There was no response back from inside. What happened? Had she fallen sick? She was a bride. Abiding by Hindu rites she had to keep fasting all through the whole day. A dumbfounded Ramda rushed to the spot. He began sweating in an early winter in Bengal. Jaya’s mother overwhelmed with fear. Omen was creeping into.

The groom sat on the ritual seat cross legged. His right elbow basing upon his right knee held his chin in a posture as if his face rested in his right palm. His left hand was straightened from the shoulder resting onto his left knee. All his men and women frowned.

“Jaya, Jaya, Jaya” a shouting chorus with hurried banging on the door engulfed the ambience. Ultimately the door was broken. Entered into the room all found that Jaya, the bride lay on the floor. Froth came out of her mouth. An empty bottle of poisonous insecticide was also beside her. She devoured this highly poisonous insecticide. She was rushed to hospital.

Ramda and his wife, Jaya’s parents sank to chairs. They could feel the danger. They breathed out sobbing. Ramda ran beating his forehead, cried out,–“Only for you and your paternal relations this happened”.

His target was his wife. Though he did not stop thumping as if he targeted himself also, his fate also. He forgot the ambience. A vehement cry from a losing father it seemed. His wife could not hold herself, swooped down on to the ground, could not even hold herself sitting, lay on the floor, on the dust, almost fainted. She refrained from accusing, resorted to panting, thumping on own chest as if to share the pain of her daughter. A debacle tore surroundings of happiness to pieces. Those amorous smiles and giggles, open and clandestine turned into commotion, confusion. There was crying outburst. There was shouting holocaust. There was yelping repentance.

Why the bride was allowed alone – had it not been judicious to provide with helping accompaniment from the women folks among the crowd, there were many, in fact a bride did need one or more in changing her dress, because of gorgeousness of her attire. All discussion, all humming turned then instinctively to investigation. Each and everyone tried to detect and find the cause and fact behind this devastation.

Jaya’s only brother Raju was visibly dumfounded. He was full of celebration just a few minutes back . He was with his group of pals. All on a sudden he was halted. He began looking at face to face of his pals. Certain breakage of prestige pinched him. Certain fear made him shudder to the core of his entity. He could not make any head or tail. He looked to every corner, every face, to his father, to his mother. He wildly felt darkness even under glare and illumination of the light ceremonial house.

Darkness loomed over all through. All on a sudden it appeared that it was a farm of darkness . Yet a flicker of hope did persist. A high expectation of return of cured Jaya was hung over. All present could not help expecting. Expectation was for life. A ceremony turned into a pool of grief and anxiety. Someone forbade the Senai players to stop playing. Melody of silence was the need of the hour. It was justified. But it was obviously rare.

Quietude was intercepted by shrill of grief and raucous rebuke by the party of groom . The groom and his party taken aback at first hand began to harvest suspicion. It was natural. They were afraid they had now to return home with blank hand blank prestige. They had now to face blatant disgrace on return to home. They also had village mindset. They also lived in village culture. Where could they hide? Won’t they be blamed for ignorance of any information about the bride beforehand? Frightened the sight in the fore they became virulent. They did not hide their suspicion. They not only cast suspicion on affairs of the bride but also cast upon the chastity of hers. An over-benign Ramda begged excuse with folded hands, lamented the happenings, entreated to understand the soul of a losing father. But all the begging went in vain. They called his name, they called the names of the bride and her party.

“—Obviously this girl has affair with some fellow. You hide it and marry her to an innocent boy of ours”. A thunder got upon nerves on Jaya’s people.

A meek people had nothing to do but to plead and apologise.

“—Apology ? What for? That means you know the affair previously. Ra*cal you hid it and tried to spoil the life of an innocent boy? Have our boy done any harm to you, the lot or to any single one, or to your girl? Does he deserve such type public ignominy, disgrace and humiliation? Or any among us did any harm to you, to anyone among you so that we deserve it? Or is it crime to trust you whole heartedly? How we shall face our villagers? What explanation shall we give? ” There was an avalanche of queries. It was natural.

Sound of fury and fury of sound stole the show. Two priests of both sides till now seated on their seat stood up to their feet. The groom stood up already. Mutely but definitely he threw slang to the air, as if to none, but surely to the bride and her parents and her people. All of bride-side appeared to be foes. He lifted his right leg keeping base on the left to make a footballer’s kick to the sacramental earthen pot kept ready for his marriage. But some innate feeling of his being Hindu by birth set aside his kick to the air. Instead he pelted the wrist watch that he qualified to be gifted as a groom by the then would be parents-in-law, called them names with hissing sound, put off his upper ritual apron to the air. He put off his marriage ring, threw it into air. He was on all destruction mood. He was disgusted. He was disturbed. He was dejected. He tore the marrying garland into pieces. He smashed his coronet. Someone of his relations pulled his back, tried to calm down him. Seething with rage veterans of his side busted in cursing and casting shame upon the bride’s side , youth exploded with provoking unbearable slang .

“—Didn’t you know her state of mind? Why didn’t you acknowledge her affair? Isn’t she an unchaste Cupid?” There was an influx of questions flooded the whole of ambience.

Jaya’s side could only but plead plea, apology, agony. They even pleaded for prayer for life for Jaya. In response someone from the groom side posed with a sarcastic relief, “—God may or may not save her. But surely God saves our lad. Otherwise had it been happened after marriage then sure our lad and close kins must have been guillotined under the yore of Police case – domestic violence or case under Section 498A of Indian Penal Code, isn’t it?”

“—Please let her come back on good condition”

“—What could have been your position had you been destroyed by us in turn? Could you have been poise if juxtaposed on our side, eh!?”

They, their now created foes, kept mum.

Jaya had an affair with a local lad. Ramda was not in disagreement with his daughter in marrying her to that lad. But there was virulent objection from Jaya’s mother and maternal side. Status was the criterion. By excuse of status Jaya’s state of mind was ignored, her plea was rejected. She was forced to sit for marrying a face unknown to her, chosen by her guardians.

Their choice was costly. Jaya succumbed to her own choice. She expired.

Left were outcome of holocaust , Jaya’s guardians’ shattered ego and caustic rebuke by the groom-party.

The bride was missing for ever.

__END__