Sati
Written By Pritpal Singh Bindra
Author & Columnist
Winner: Akali Phoola Singh Book Award  '98

Get up, O Woman, to the world of living;

thou liest by this one who is deceased;

come! to him who grasps thy hand,

thy second spouse,

thou hast now entered into

the relation of wife to husband.

-Atharvaveda-

(6,464 words)
Thesis

It was the Fourth marriage of Shah Jee, the Tycoon. To combat the derision of the people of the village, in view of his age difference, he wanted to make this an even more lavish affair than the previous three. Every man and woman coming to his house to celebrate the occasion had been given a new cotton suit, a turban, a sari or a scarf to wear on the day, and to keep. The garments distributed were of varied and very bright colours.

Outside the Haveli, the Mansion, huge Marquees had been set up. The chefs were busy there, and food was doled out in abundance.

Inside, the courtyard had been extravagantly decorated with bunting and balloons; people were sitting cross-legged on the carpets scandalmongering in low tones. Just besides the main door of the Mansion, a huge Mandap, a colourful canopy with four posts had been set up. The posts were covered with gold and silver trappings, and topped with a highly embroidered red brocade vignette.

In the middle of the canopy a Havan Kund, a small portable Fire Pit was laid. The pleasant smell of burning of the sandalwood, camphor, and Ghee, the butter oil, was creating a cataleptic atmosphere.

Pundit Jee, the Priest, in a sparkling white Kurta and Dhoti, was sitting in a yogic-posture, and chanting the Mantras, Vedic-hymns and incantations. Now and then he was pouring Ghee on the kindling wood.

The Bride, Malti and the Bridegroom, Shah Jee were sitting juxtaposed on the opposite side of the Priest. The Bride looked like a small bundle of clothes, wrapped in a red and gold embroidered vignette. Her long veil touched the ground.

The Bridegroom wore garlands on the front of his turban. Hardly any part of his face was visible. No one could see the ever increasing pain and anguish on his face.

`The stupid Hakeem hadn't given me effective medicine this morning,' Shah Jee thought pressing his chest to suppress the pain, `I'll teach him a lesson after the marriage ceremony.'

* * *

Shah Jee had summoned the Hakeem, the Ayur-vedic Doctor, early in the morning. When the Hakeem walked in his room, Shah Jee was still lying on his bed.

"What's the matter now?" asked the Hakeem.

"Nothing much really. I am feeling a bit unsteady and some congestion here," he pointed to his chest.

The Hakeem felt the spot with his fingers, and then massaged his chest and belly for a few minutes. "You have been eating too much during all these festivities in honour of your marriage today. You don't seem to comprehend that you are over fifty-five now. You are, I fear, nervous of handling her after the Phere, the marriage ceremony. She is just sixteen. Even my herbal love potions have a limit.... Not only are you marrying a sixteen year old, you have also been bedding daughters of almost all the low-caste people under your debt... I know everything.... You are killing yourself." The Hakeem was blunt.

"I did not want to marry Malti, silly! I am just trying to save her father's life," Shah Jee refuted the Hakeem.

Malti's great grandfather had borrowed a few hundred rupees from Shah Jee's grandfather; he wanted the money so that his daughter could marry into a very rich family. The interest rate charged was exorbitant. Even though three generations had been paying on the debt the amount now due was much higher than the original loan.

Malti was only thirteen when Shah Jee had first asked her grandfather for her hand in marriage to forgive all the interest. Although poor landowners, they were caste Hindus, and were acceptable to Shah Jee's Biradari, the Brotherhood. The old man did not survive the shock, and one morning he was found dead in his bed with aching secret in his heart.

Malti's father was the only male left in the family to manage the household, tend the fields, and repay the loan. The work load was wearing him out, he started coughing and running a temperature.

Malti had grown into a very delectable girl of sixteen. As she walked around the village, she stirred feelings in Shah Jee's heart.

After a lonely visit of Shah Jee to the Temple, the Priest entered Malti's house in half faked trance. "You have seen all the hakeems, and have been to Devi Mata, the Mother Goddess, a number of times but your condition is getting worse," the Priest told Malti's father, "You cannot be cured, there is patrial curse upon you. I was awakened last night by the afflicted souls of your father and grandfather. They are leading the lives of wretches up There because they died with debt of Shah Jee's family on their heads. They are further tortured by their conscience, for you seem not able to pay back the debt before you join them. They see no hope of emancipation now that you are on your death bed."

Malti's father lamented, "But what can I do, I am sick man, I am dying. Please Pundit Jee help me, conduct some Sankalp, some resolve. Please take some steps to rid all of us of the spell. I don't want to see them suffer... I don't want to die with a bad conscience too.... Please... please help me."

Pundit Jee suggested, "Go and see Shah Jee, he may help you.... But how can he help you? You haven't got enough land or property to pay off all those arrears. You will have to offer him something else... something... I don't know what.... You go and see him. He alone can indicate what he can accept to get the souls of your forebears liberated.... You go... go, and see him." He packed his pouch, and without giving Malti's father a chance to ask further question, he left.

When Malti's father visited Shah Jee, the Priest was there too. He sighed with relief when Shah Jee very `kindly' accepted Malti's hand in marriage to forgive not only the interest but also the principle.

Taking his hand out of his bag the Hakeem said to Shah Jee, "Now here, take these two potions, one now, and one before you go out for the ceremony.... They will set your stomach right," and with a sarcastic smile added, "You better get ready, the place is already teeming with the people to enjoy your spendthrift hospitality at your marriage."

* * *

The Priest stopped his Mantras, and waved the Bridegroom and the Bride to stand up. Shah Jee had to lean on the shoulder of his friend to get up.

"Now, following each other, you are going to pass near these four posts of the canopy seven times; `each post denotes the mind, understanding, thought, and pride....' Seven times you are going to be reminded of these ethics," and he proceeded with his long soliloquy.

The couple went round the Fire Pit very slowly. The Priest continuously chanted the Mantras and put the oil on the smouldering wood drop by drop.

Every round weakened Shah Jee. At the end of the fifth round, he stopped in front of the Priest, ferociously tore the garlands away, looked at the crowd absently, and collapsed.

The Hakeem rushed to check his pulse. "He is gone," he said, and closed Shah Jee's eyes.

All the bunting and balloons had been ripped, and thrown on the ground. A few children--without the usual interference from their parents, and unaware of the incident--played at the back of the courtyard. The canopy had been dismantled. Most of the people who had come to attend the marriage were still sitting on the carpets, gossiping with pretended grim faces. The motionless body of Shah Jee enshrouded in a white sheet was lying on the dais, his feet towards the congregation. Malti still in the wedding dress but wrapped up in a white sheet was seated on the right side of the body. Her mother was sitting on one side holding her tight in her arms. Malti's left arm encircled the waist of her friend Savitry, sitting beside her. People were waiting for the Priest to come and proceed with the funeral rites. Two hours ago he had gone inside the building to `console' Shahni, Shah Jee's wife, and seek her `final approval' for the funeral.

The door of the Mansion opened. The Priest, clad in a white sheet, came out led by a Sevak, an attendant who was sprinkling Holy Water on the ground before him. Another attendant emerged, slowly, behind the Priest holding a large hessian bag, and evasively walked round the corner.

The Priest sat down cross-legged at the feet of the body with his back towards the crowd. His hands--with index finger and thumb joined to make a circle, and with the remaining fingers wide apart--rested on his knees. He started reciting the Mantras while bobbing his head. As the speed of his recitation increased, his head shook all the more energetically. His whole body started to tremble after a few minutes.

With arms spread, he started gyrating his body vigorously. He fell flat, and started rolling left and right, moving his hands over his body from place to place as if trying to protect it from beatings. He began shouting, "No... no, Malti is innocent... it can't be done.... Please... please forgive her... forgive the village people... they are innocent too... please...." And his defensive display became much more dynamic. He continued with his babbling, "Whole village... no... no... please no.... Achha... Achha, O.K... will be done... yes... yes... Agni, fire... it will be done... please spare the village... it will be done."

His movements became sluggish. In a few minutes he was quite calm. The attendant with the jug came forward, and sprinkled Holy Water on his face a few times. He opened his eyes very slowly. Two of the attendants gently lifted him up to sit down, and very carefully unwrapped his white sheet.

"Hey Bhagwan, Oh God," the crowd exclaimed in astonishment--his body was full of lashes, many dripping red blood. Everybody was spellbound. An attendant sprinkled water on his body. One of them brought a new shirt, and helped him put it on. Then he was cloaked in a new, thick white shawl.

He stood up softly, faced the crowd, and raised his hands, "There is a curse on the whole village."

"Hey Bhagwan." The crowd expressed the grief with loud shriek.

The Priest commenced his pronouncement, "Dharmraj, the Lord of Righteousness, has declined Shah Jee's soul. It has been repulsed.... It is roaming around the village.... It is going to bring a curse on the village and its people.... ensuing a catastrophe .... The whole village and all of its inhabitants are going to be condemned."

"Kindly conduct a resolve, save the village from the curse," someone shouted from the middle of the assembly.

"The soul can be accepted by the Lord only if it has completed its assignment, and has been purified by the Agni, the fire...."

"Please... please, save us... save us... enlighten us with the resolution," a howl rose on the other side of the courtyard.

"It is written.... In Atharva-veda it says, it is a widow's ancient duty to ascend the funeral pyre and lay by the side of her husband, and this way she is rewarded with property and progeny. The Rig-veda directs the widow to rise from her funeral pyre and go forth in Agni...."

"Sankalp, Maharaj sankalp, Lord, please, resolve?" Loud voices emanated from a number of places.

"First of all Malti must complete her vow... two more circumambulations to complete her marriage allegiance.... Then... then purify her body along with the body of her husband in Agni... she must sit on the pyre with her husband in her lap.... Then, and only then, the souls will attain moksha, salvation. They will be accepted by the Lord, and the curse will be revoked...."

The crowd was aggrieved.

"Wait a minute... wait a minute." Master Jee, the School Teacher stood up, and went up to the dais, "Bhaiyo aur Behno, Brothers and Sisters, Do you realize what my respected Pundit Jee is saying. He is suggesting that to remove the curse Malti should become a Sati. She should sit on the pyre, and immolate herself, burn herself to death with the dead body of her so-called husband."

The audience started murmuring.

One attendant stood up, and was going to shout but the Priest stopped him. The Priest covertly waved all the attendants to come near him, and started a whispering conference.

Master Jee kept on with his expose, "Pundit Jee has told you about the writing in the Veda imparting the ritual of Sati. It is absolutely distorted and deviated. The Rig-veda asks a widow to rise from the funeral pyre and go forth in Agre, the front. Brahmins and the primeval Priests altered the word Agre to Agni to make fool of the people. The Rig-veda says `come! to him who grasps thy hand, thy second spouse....' The Veda specifically permits a widow to re-marry."

The Priest stood up with both the hands up in the air requesting calm and quiet. "Brothers and Sisters, Master Jee is right." There was a pun in his pronouncement. Silence prevailed. He resumed in an aggravated tone, "Is that what he is paid to teach our children?" He paused for a few seconds, "He wants us to defy the centuries old Manu's Law, he wants the widows of our village to be remarried. That is how he is preparing our next generation. There are a number of unfortunate widows in our village. Would you like them to get married again?"

"No... no." A few people roared.

"Master Jee is ruining our Sanskriti, culture. Do you want him to carry on like this?"

"No... no."

"Teach him a lesson, a real lesson," somebody screamed. An attendant slyly pushed him off the dais.

"Throw him out," somebody added. The crowd leapt forward with fists and kicks. By the time he was picked up and thrown out of the main gate, he was totally unconscious, a mere lump of flesh.

The Hakeem who was standing on one side raised his hands and pleaded, "Please... please be calm, listen... listen...."

"Hakeem is Master Jee's sycophant and stooge." The Hakeem heard this threatening pronouncement. Luckily no body took notice of the call. Anticipating what would be coming, he ducked down and zigzagging his way through the crowd went out of the gate.

An attendant walked in with an earthen pitcher on his head. The pitcher appeared to be very dusty and had yellowish smudgy cloth-cover tied on its neck. It seemed to have been stored in a cellar for a long time. The attendant opened the neck and poured the liquid into two copper bowls.

"Beti," the Priest addressed Malti, "you will have to fight the devil to get the curse on the village rescind."

The congregation responded imitating the attendants, "Hari Om, Hari Om, God Almighty, God Almighty."

"You need courage." The Priest stressed

"Hari Om, Hari Om."

"The Rig-veda proclaims, `invigorated and emboldened by the Soma-juice, the gods, then found courage and strength to engage in cosmic battles against the powers of demons and other enemies.... We have drunk the Soma-juice (and) have found the gods! What can hatred and malice of a mortal do to us now?... The splendid drops I have sipped have set me free.'" and he continued with his long discourse on the miraculous power of soma-juice.

"Hari Om, Hari Om."

Then a Senior Dasi, a female attendant, in bringing the copper bowl full of liquid to Malti, noticed Savitry sitting next to her. "What is this ugly girl doing here?" she asked and shouted, "Out... out... you go away from here." Looking at other two junior attendants, she ordered, "Go drive all those children out of the Mansion. It is none of their business." She handed the bowl to Malti.

Priest continued, "Drink it my child, drink it. It is the juice from the Soma plant; in the ecclesiastic times this plant was lying in the Heavens; a high-flying heroic eagle carried some of it to earth where it took root in the high mountains and was discovered by the Vedic Pundits.... By drinking this you will be half absolved of all the sins, your merger with the Ultimate will be smooth.... You will save the whole village and its people from a curse. Your father and your mother, everybody who loved you from the childhood will be saved. You are going to be the saviour of your little community..." The attendant pressed the bowl to Malti's lips. The strong smell of fermentation and its bitter taste made her choke and cough. "No, Beti no, you must not stop drinking. You must not leave even a drop in the bowl, it makes the gods wrathful," the Priest added. The attendant pressed the bowl hard and Malti swallowed the entire contents in one go.

An attendant shouted, "Sati Mata Ki...Jai, Glory to... Mother Sati," and everybody joined in.

The whole crowd chanted, "Sati Mata Ki... Jai, Glory to... Mother Sati."

Her mother was totally perplexed. Her mind was back home with her ailing husband. She did not comprehend all the rhetoric. Without posing any objection, she took the other copper bowl when offered and willingly drank it down.

An attendant came from the outside and conferred with the Priest in whispers. The Priest stood up and pronounced, "Now, Brothers and Sisters, the time has come for the marriage party to depart. The Bride would lead us to the ultimate goal."

Two female attendants, who were holding Malti, forced her to walk. She was drowsy, and staggered. A third attendant was walking backwards, holding a mirror in front of her face and continuously repeating, "You must look into the mirror, keep your eyes open. You are ultimately going to meet your husband, you must not show any grief; grief makes the gods indignant; you must not earn their displeasure.... You are our saviour, you are going to save us, save humanity from a calamity."

Four men from the crowd carried the bier and an attendant sprinkled Holy Water in front of the procession. The Priest, chanting the Mantras very loud followed behind. The people trailed, chanting, `Hari Om, Hari Om' in unison with the attendants. From time to time the crowd joined them in raising the slogan, `Glory to Mother Sati.'

A very wide platform had been built of the split pieces of wood, set crisscross in layers, They had been abundantly doused in butter oil.

After going round the pyre twice, Malti was helped up onto the platform where she sat cross legged. She was half conscience and an attendant had to hold her from falling.

Her mother roused herself and asked, "Why are you making my daughter sit on the pyre?" A crowd of attendants surrounded her, one of whom hit her over the head and knocked her unconscious. Two of the attendants picked her up and took her outside as another announced, "Mata Jee has collapsed, she has fainted." They rudely dragged her away and dumped her in her house where two of the attendants were already looking after Malti's father.

The attendants put wood around Malti's knees to make them in level with the platform, and placed Shah Jee's body in her lap. They stacked more wood on top of the dead body and around Malti until they reached her chin. They soaked each layer with butter oil.

Induced by the attendants, people continuously chanted, `Hari Om, Hari Om' and `Glory to Mother Sati' at their loudest pitch.

With long ladles, the attendants poured oil on Malti's body; she often tried to open her eyes but was heavily under sedation; absolutely insensible.

The Priest lit a torch and went round the pyre seven times.

`Hari Om, Hari Om.'

`Glory to Mother Sati.'

The Priest thrust the torch into the bottom of the platform at a few points.

Just one loud shriek came out of Malti before the silence of the death enshrouded her humanity.

* * *

Shahni was barely eighteen when she had entered Shah Jee's mansion as his bride, followed by a dowry of seven cart loads of household goods and trunks full of personal effects. Within a few weeks she observed her husband philandering with other girls and women in the out-house. She pretended not to notice; as had her mother and the wives of her two brothers before her. In a high caste well-to-do family chasing after low-caste women was a man's prerogative. Her mind had been conditioned to accept this dangling since from the day she had learned about the birds and the bees.

Eight years passed and Shahni had not conceived. Her mother took her to many famous doctors and hakeems, and the places of gods and goddesses--but to no avail. Her infertility gave a certain amount of latitude to Shah Jee to persuade her parents' household to agree to his second marriage.

Shahni had determined, child or no child, she would not accept a Sautan, a co-wife in her life time.

Shah Jee's second wife had run away with a young servant a few months after the marriage. Shahni instigated a plot by giving the servant sufficient money to start a new life a long way away.

The Third wife had died from bleeding during her pregnancy. Shahni forbade any servant from calling medical help. Shahni had told them that she was just pretending to be sick to avoid house-work. No one knew that the milk Shahni had `affectionately' been giving the mother-to-be for her nourishment was boiled heavily in special herbs secretly obtained from a lay-doctor. Shah Jee had been conveniently made absent from the house at that time.

Shah Jee would have gotten rid of Shahni a long time ago if he was not so afraid of her very rich and influential family. Above all she would often bring expensive gifts of jewellery and household goods at Diwali, Dusehra, Karwa Chauth, and other religious festivals.

On the day of his fourth marriage she had kept herself aloof and confined to her room--the way she had behaved on the previous two occasions. When a servant informed her what had happened, she rushed out. After wailing over her husband's body for a few minutes, she pounced upon Malti, "You... you, the witch... you have eaten my husband, you are harbinger of bad luck, you are a curse, there is no place for you in my house.... I will kill you."

The Hakeem with the help of a few sympathizers pulled her away and dragged her inside the house. He tried to pacify her and advised her not to come out till the funeral arrangements were complete.

"Funeral? To attend his funeral, he was a wicked man, I don't want to see his face again.... You all go away.... Leave me alone." She shouted and then diverted her attention to an old maid-servant, "You... you all the servants... get out of this house.... You all were his Chamchas, sycophants... his spies and stooges.... Never ever show me your faces again." The four servants left the room one by one. After persuading her to keep calm the Hakeem went out leaving her alone.

When she saw the door opening again after sometime, she rapidly pulled her veil down and started wailing, "Vey, you left me alone in this world.... How will I live among all these wretched people?"

The Priest, who had entered the room put his hand on her head and said, "Patience Beti, patience."

Surreptitiously she looked at the door, it was closed. She threw the veil back, jumped up to the door, put the bolt on, and said, "Pundit Jee what will happen now? You are not going to let this witch give me headache rest of my life."

"She has completed five rounds out of seven and according to the Books and the custom she is Shah Jee's widow, your Sautan, co-wife," he informed her.

She slipped out one gold bangle from her arm and put it in his hand, "Pundit, do some resolve.... I would rather die than live with this crone." She did not use `Jee', the reverence had dissipated.

The Priest closed his eyes and chanted, "Hari Om, Hari Om" and mumbled Mantras for few minutes. He said, "Done... it will be done," and opened his eyes, "but Beti, it will take much effort and the cost will be very high."

She got up and moved a painting away from the rear wall, a steel vault was visible. She pulled the corner of her sari from her waist; a bunch of keys was tied there. She inserted one key in the vault and rotated the knob looking at the numbers. She opened the vault, took out two thick wads of the currency notes and extended her hand to give them over.

The Priest caught site the inside of the vault; piles of currency notes and jewellery boxes sparkled in his eyes. He pushed her hand back, "No, Beti no... not yet. When the work is Sampoorn, complete, we will come back. It all will be a charity for the temple. Relax Beti, relax."

She put the wads back and closed the vault.

The Priest called two of the elderly attendants in and conducted a whispering conference with them. In a few minutes an attendant brought the hessian bag and they all went into Shah Jee's bedroom. For more than two hours, a number of attendants scurried in and out. Shahni just sat and watched in curiosity.

* * *

Late in the evening, after the funeral, the Priest, along with a couple of attendants, returned.

"Beti, she can never bother you again," the Priest announced, "now you can do the Daan Pun, give the Temple whatever you like in Charity."

She walked up to the vault, put the key in, fiddled the knob and opened it.

Bang and she was in void

She opened her eyes very slowly and found herself lying in her bed. An intense pain at the back of her head caused her to reach back to touch her neck. Something was missing. She immediately felt her ears; there were no ear-rings. She jumped up and looked at the back wall, the painting was on one side but the vault was closed. She felt the corner of her sari, the keys were still tied there. Thank God, she thought. She got up and went to the vault, inserted the key, rotated the knob, and pulled the door open, "Hey Parmatma, main to loot gayee, Oh my God, I am robbed," she screamed and was passed out on the floor.

Antithesis

Savitry was only two years younger than Malti but being thin, lean and small of stature, she did not look more than nine or ten. The day she was born her two brothers were caught in a landslide and killed instantly. She was blamed for having brought ill-luck to the family. On top of that her skin was of the darkest colour, splotched with white patches on her face, and had squint-eyes. She was frequently made a laughing stock, not only of her age group but also of the elderly. Whether mocked or ignored, she was always determined to find out what was happening around the village, and if she did not understand she would persistently force others to explain matters to her.

Everybody tried to drive her away except Malti. Malti, her only consolation, would talk to her, play with her, and try to teach her the alphabet.

Savitry had not anticipated what was going to happen to Malti when she was shunted out of the Mansion along with the other children. She was standing at the far end of the field where funeral pyre was set up; a few other children were there too.

Good, Shah was dead, she thought, she didn't like him any way, soon Malti would be coming home. It was all a play for her until they started putting wood around Malti. "Why were they doing that?" she muttered to other children.

The attendant heard their cacophony and shouted, "Be quiet; otherwise I will drive you away from this place. The gods get angry if anybody disrupts their concentration at this juncture"

When the Priest gave fire to the wood, Savitry could not bear and ran forward, "Don't do that.... Don't do that, Malti will be burned." An attendant leapt forward and caught her. Her father ran back and grabbed her by the neck.

"Bapu, Bapu, father, please father save her... she is burning." Savitry tried to shout.

Instead, her father gave her hard slaps on the face, "You witch, you are making the gods angry. Do you want us all to die of the curse. You are becoming too big a nuisance. I'll lock you up, that will teach you a lesson...."

Except for half hour in the mornings, Savitry was not let out of the room. With persistent pleading and moaning, her mother won her freedom after four days. Savitry showed no regret and no remorse; this was not the first time. Any way, she was happy as she was fed, through the window, more than normal, at odd hours, by her mother.

The whole world was changing in and around the village. The High Priest had come from his lofty headquarters in the North of the Country and was staying in Shah Jee's Mansion. Every morning and evening hundreds then thousands of people started to congregate to hear his sermons.

Outside, the fields abounded with motor vehicles, especially vans with very long antennas and dishes on their roof tops. People of all colours--pink, brown, black, and white--with huge cameras on their shoulders, ran around in frenzy.

A few Federal Ministers and almost all the Provincial Ministers came to pay their homage to the High Priest. The Police, including the Chief Commissioner and other high Government Officials, were running around like errand boys.

Shahni was taken away for investigations by the Police. She was let go free after a few days on the indulgence of the High Priest. Because the keys were still tied to the corner of her sari and since none else knew the combination of the vault, nobody believed her story of being robbed. She was ridiculed, especially after the High Priest had made it known that one bangle, one necklace, and a pair of ear-rings, which she had very kindly denoted to the Davy Maa, Mother Goddess, were still on the Moorty, the idol, in the Temple itself. The Police Minister had nodded in agreement.

Shahni's influential and affluent brothers eventually came and took her away. The Mansion and the adjoining land were denoted by her to the Temple Trust and she appointed a Munshi, a scribe, to manage the rest of the land and deal with the money matters.

The Police vigorously tried to find the Priest who had performed the Sati rites, and his accomplices . They abruptly suspended the investigation when they were informed by the Chief Commissioner that all were located, punished, and banished by the High Priest. No body dared to ask how or when.

A big car followed by an ambulance with two Americans and Master Jee stopped in front of Malti's house. Both her parents were hustled into the Ambulance and taken away. They had been talking with Americans through Master Jee for a long time. Afterwards, townspeople were frequently seen studying foreign-language newspapers and magazines with pictures of Malti's parents. The village folks constantly talked how lucky both were to be kept and treated in such a big hospital.

Workers started digging up the earth around the site of the funeral pyre. Huge truck loads, of bricks and building materials, were delivered. Soon the Mandir Sati Mata Ka, Temple of Mother Sati, was complete. Its architecture was magnificent of rare marble.

Busloads of people came endlessly. Pilgrims entered the Temple after donating `voluntarily' and `generously' into the cash boxes outside the main gate.

Malti's parents returned very healthy and happy after a year. They were accommodated in Shah Jee's Mansion along with the New Priest, a few disciples, and the attendants. Their life style was quite luxuriant now. Their clothes were always sparkling white and a car with a chauffeur was always at their disposal. The mother was hardly seen in the kitchen; two of the junior attendants did all the cooking and household work.

Their old house was elaborately refurbished. The attendant sitting outside, perpetually reminded visitors of the costs for preserving the place and encouraged them to donate profusely. Malti's parents were often called to stand outside the house and inside the rooms for photographs to be taken by visitors. Most of the visitors were Europeans and Americans, always extravagant in handing out currency notes.

Everything changed except for Savitry's father, he was continually abusive to her. As she grew older, the treatment became even worse. He always reprimanded her,"Who would marry you, the ugly duckling? I wish I had enough money to get you a husband with a sufficient dowry. I wish you were a boy to help me in the fields and earn more money, or I wish you were simply dead rather than a burden on my household."

Amidst all this sordid fanfare, life passed quickly and soon Savitry was eighteen.

Savitry was passing through the bazaar one day, when she saw Laaloo coming out of the Hakeem's shop. As usual he was on crutches. By the time she approached the shop, the Hakeem emerged talking to a visitor.

"I am sorry for Laaloo," The Hakeem was saying, "he was only two when his mother died of the shock of his father's sudden death; he had fallen of a mule into a mountain ditch. Laaloo practically grew up on the floor of the Temple. He became an ardent and most devoted attendant of the Temple. An Army Recruiting Officer visiting the temple was very much impressed by his religious fervour and sturdy body. He enlisted him in the Army as a Sepoy, a private. A year later, he came back home with one leg missing and a meagre pension. And now the poor man has just a few months to live. He is in the last stages of the T.B...."

Savitry quickly withdrew. In a contemplative mood, she could not stop thinking about Laaloo. One morning, as soon as her father left for the fields and her mother got busy in the farmyard, she sneaked out of the house. She was used to her mother's scolding for skipping the housework.

Laaloo was still in the bed coughing when she arrived. "Can I make tea for you?" she asked. Without waiting for a reply, she put herself to work in the kitchen area. By the time the water boiled she had organized most of the kitchen gadgets in the corner.

"Is this the medicine the Hakeem gave you?.... Don't talk, it will make you cough more.... Just take the medicine and tea." She did not give him a chance to speak. In about an hour, the whole room was spic-and-span. Then she cooked Dal, lentil curry, and made chapattis for his lunch and dinner.

"Laaloo I am going now. You must eat at the proper time, Acha, O.K." She instructed him and walked towards the door. At the door ledge she stopped, stood there for a few minutes, spun round and said, "Laaloo I... I... want to marry you."

He coughed hard, while trying to suppress the outburst he said, "You... you.... gone mad? .... Crazy?... You know I'm... I'm... going to die soon."

"No, you are not going to die. All you need is somebody to look after you properly. Don't say no.... O.K., O.K." and she left the place.

Her mother was flabbergasted, as was her father--but for a few minutes only. He asked Savitry to go and wait outside.

"Who else is going to take this ugly and frightful creature in marriage?" He continued in a whisper, "Laaloo is the guest of this earth for only a few more months. Savitry will get his widow-pension and ... and moreover, his little land and mud-house will be quite handy to her, and to us as well." Her mother had to acquiesce although she could not conceive his intention.

After a week Savitry moved into Laaloo's house as his wife. She was a very skinflint house-wife. Her cooking was confined to lentils, chapattis, and tea with a very little milk. Every penny she saved she spent on buying wood and oil.

After six months, Laaloo's condition had not improved. Just before midnight Laaloo started coughing interminably, spitting blood on the floor with each seizure. She put the kettle on the stove. By the time the water boiled, the place became soundless. Laaloo was imperturbable forever.

She picked up a piece of charcoal, took the kerosene lantern in her hand, and went out. The platform with split pieces of wood was quite high by now; nobody paid attention as it was a common practice to keep wood in the sun to dry for the winter.

With great effort, she dragged Laloo's body out and placed it on the platform. She, then, brought out three tins of oil, which she had collected, one by one from the innermost dark room. She poured two tins over the body and thoroughly soaked the wood. Then placed the third tin on one corner of the platform and put small metal box, in which she used to keep money, next to it. She climbed the platform and with great exertion slid the body onto her lap. Opening the third tin, she discharged the whole lot on her head and clothes. She picked up the small metal box, slipped the lid back and took the match-box out.

And she lit a match.

The sun had been shining more than an hour. The villagers stood around the now smouldering `pyre' and lamenting.

Savitry's mother, sitting on the ground, was still wailing. From time to time, she was beating her breast with her hands.

Her father had his head buried in his knees when somebody tapped his shoulder, and pointed him towards the writing on the mud wall:

Bapu

Soon you'll be a rich man

~THE END~

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