Awakening
It was the year 2040 and the world was coming to an end. Or more accurately, thought Rashida, as the dusty breeze barely filtered clean through the fine pores of her black veil, the world as she knew it, was ending. A transient smile graced her soft face before she joined the group waiting outside her front porch. Locking the front door she joined them. This time, she did not ask permission.
The rumours were true after all. Virtually every mature woman in the world had lost the ability to bear children. Barren. Cold. Bleak. If a woman was indeed inextricably linked to nature, she reflected it to a haunting degree of perfection. Both were wronged, exploited and ruled over. Nature had already exacted its revenge. Now it was time for woman to deliver hers. Childbirth and vulnerability had been a given characteristic in every woman for time immemorial. When that was no longer true, it was bound to unstitch, tear and restitch the fabric of society on a fundamental level.
In the otherwise sleepy town of Indira Pally, the entire government turned upside down in their chairs. Several high level meetings were held and numerous action plans were prepared. All paperwork was relegated to termite infested cupboards. Even the khap panchayat, a committee that was as vocal and opinionated as it was backward, was left mum. There appeared to be one general consensus: the only thing more dangerous than a menstruating woman was a woman who could no longer menstruate. It was thought unnecessary to consult social scientists who could provide valuable insight into this unique situation. On the other hand, local priests of all religions delivered emotionally charged sermons thrice a day, saying nothing at all. There were other alternatives available. Science had achieved more in the last thirty years than it had in the last century. But, the people of Indira Pally were immune to those avenues. Even if they did know about them, availing them would be out of their modest reach.
Rashida had gone through the entire cycle of the medical tests and gynecologist visits. Astrologers were sought and so were Godmen. But nobody, not even the stars could pin the blame on her. Not this time, not for this. She was relieved that she was not at fault; Angry, because the blame fell on her in the first place. At first she was disoriented, left mast less. Through childhood she was told her destiny was to be a loving mother to an army of beautiful children who would be her world. She grew up to believe this, uncertain at first, but being a minority of one, she caved. Until recently, she had lived up to all expectations, her parents, in-laws, husband, society and even God (if He was indeed keeping track, He would be satisfied.) Then like an unused switch flipped for the first time, a light flashed in her out of nowhere. She was no longer bitter or sad. Her womb would forever be empty; but she felt that it was now that her life started. And this time, she would not cave.
The truth was met with denial, shame, anger, violence and the threat of desertion; then silence. Karim loved Rashida. He also loved children. Karim hated Rashida; her inability to fulfill her foremost duty as a wife, daughter-in-law and as a woman: obedience. Things had started to get out of hand. Rashida no longer was at his beck and call. The demands for tea were met with silence, and when tea was provided, it was tepid and unsweetened. She was away from home often and long, without his express approval or permission. It had not always been like this. The sheer strength of his glare and often fist had reduced Rashida to submission. But it was more than that which had held her back. Maybe it was the fear of living a lonely hag, or rejection by the unforgiving society. But now that fear had evaporated, the scales had been leveled. Re-marriage was not an option; a child was a dream. He crushed his cigarette stub and wished he was born in another time, where things were fair. Natural.
The lone banyan tree provided some respite from the sweltering rays of the sun. It was the only one remaining in town. The women of town sat in silence. No one had uttered a single word but the bruises on their bodies all told the same story. Rashida saw an invisible thread of solidarity and kinship running through each one of them. The gathering had more members than ever. It had started as a small group of childless young wives who were tired of being wives, then came mothers tired of being mothers, daughters tired of being daughters and finally included any woman who was tired of being anybody but herself. The elders protested this alliance very much; but divisive strategies, threats and blackmail only made their resolve stronger.
It was nearing lunch time. Snacks were arranged for. They relished the food without guilt or the thought of home. Intermittently feeding themselves, and the odd stray dog that passed, the women discussed the past and the future. But mostly the future. The future, however short, would hold the promise of freedom, self dependence, open spaces and open minds. What these women demanded was simple. So basic they could not put it into words. Rashida knew what they were doing, rather undoing; Undoing oppression, submission and injustice. Every step of hers away from home, every moment of subversion was a pilgrimage towards herself, to the little part within her which had refused to cave. She was no longer alone.
Through her half folded newspaper, Rashida saw the elders approach the tree. It was time for their evening assembly. She was surprised to see no one move. She could not hear the rustle of cloth being hurriedly tugged over bare heads, in a proper fashion. Deference was demanded, but denied. Rashida did not know how long the two parties stood thus, eyes locked and burning. It could have been a few seconds, hours or a hundred thousand years. In the end, the elders left, defeated. More tea was arranged. Not one cup, but many.
Authored by: Muskaan Aggarwal who is a final year student of psychology, political science and economics at the Symbiosis School for Liberal Arts, Pune. Her interests lie at the intersection of gender and public policy. She is striving to learn, unlearn and relearn and constantly starting more things than she can finish.
