Bholi - Part 2

4.2 Bholi

Part 2

Thus the years passed. The village became a small town. The little primary school became high school. There were now a cinema under a tin shed and a cotton ginning mill. The mail train began to stop at their railway station. One night, after dinner, Ramlal said to his wife, “Then, shall I accept Bishamber’s proposal?” “Yes, certainly” his wife said. “Bholi will be lucky to get such a well to do bridegroom. A big shop, a house of his own and I hear several thousands in the bank. Moreover, he is not asking for any dowry”. “That’s right, but he is not so young, you know-almost the same age as I am- and he also limps. Moreover, the children from his first wife are quite grown up”. “So what does it matter ?” his wife replied. “Forty five or fifty-it is no great age for a man. We are lucky that he is from another village and does not know about her pockmarks and her lack of sense. If we don’t accept this proposal, she may remain unmarried all her life.” “Yes, but I wonder what Bholi will say”. “What will that witless one say ? She is like a dumb cow.” “May be you are right”, muttered Ramlal. In the other corner of the courtyard, Bholi lay awake on her cot, and listened to her parents’ whispered conversation. Bishamber Nath was a well- to - do grocer. He came with a big party of friends and relations with him for the wedding. A brass band playing a popular tune from an Indian film headed the procession, with the bridegroom riding a decorated horse. Ramlal was overjoyed to see such pomp and splendour. He had never dreamt that his fourth daughter would have such a grand wedding. Bholi’s elder sisters who had come for the occasion were envious of her luck. When the auspicious moment came the priest said, “Bring the bride”. Bholi, clad in a red silken bridal dress, was led to bride’s place near the sacred fire. “Garland the bride,” one of his friends prompted Bishamber Nath. The bridegroom lifted the garland of yellow marigolds. A woman slipped back the silken veil from the bride’s face. Bishamber took a quick glance. The garland remained poised in his hands. The bride slowly pulled down the veil over her face. “Have you seen her?” said Bishamber to the friend next to him. “She has pockmarks on her face.” “So what? You are not young either.” “Maybe. But if I am to marry her, her father must give me five thousand rupees.” Ramlal went and placed his turban- his honour- at Bishamber’s feet. “Do not humiliate me so. Take two thousand rupees.” “No. Five thousand, or we go back. Keep your daughter.” “Be a little considerate, please. If you go back, I can never show my face in the village.” “Then out with five thousand.” Tears streaming down his face, Ramlal went in, opened the safe and counted out the notes. He placed the bundle at the bridegroom’s feet. On Bishamber’s greedy face appeared a triumphant smile. He had gambled and won. “Give me the garland,” he announced. Once again the veil was slipped back from the bride face but this time her eyes were not downcast. She was looking up, looking straight at her prospective husband, and in her eyes there was neither anger nor hate, only cold contempt. Bishamber raised the garland to place it round the bride’s neck but before he could do so, Bholi’s hand struck out like a streak of lightening and garland was flung into the fire. She got up and threw away the veil. “Pitaji” said Bholi in a clear loud voice; and her father, mother, sisters, brothers, relations and neighbours were startled to hear her speak without even the slightest stammer. “Pitaji”, take back your money. I am not going to marry this man.” Ramlal was thunderstruck. The guests began to whisper, “So shameless ! So ugly and so shameless !” “Bholi, are you crazy ?” shouted Ramlal. “You want to disgrace your family ? Have some regard for out izzat!” “For the sake of your izzat,” said Bholi, “I was willing to marry this lame old man. But I will not have such a mean, greedy and contemptible coward as my husband. I won’t, I won’t, I won’t.” What a shameless girl ! We all thought she was a harmless dumb cow.” Bholi turned violently on the old woman, “Yes, Aunty, you are right. You all thought I was a dumbdriven cow. That’s why you wanted to hand me over to this heartless creature. But now the dumb cow, the stammering fool, is speaking. Do you want to hear more?” Bishamber Nath, the grocer, started to go back with his party. The confused bandsmen thought this was the end of the ceremony and struck up a closing song. Ramlal stood rooted to the ground, his head bowed low with the weight of grief and shame. The flames of the sacred fire slowly died down.

Everyone was gone. Ramlal turned to Bholi and said, “But what about you, no one will ever marry you now. What shall we do with you ?” And Sulekha said in a voice that was calm and steady, “Don’t you worry, “Pitaji ! In your old age I will serve you and mother and I will teach in the same school where I learnt so much. Isn’t that right, Ma’am?” The teacher had all along stood in a corner, watching the drama. “Yes, Bholi, of course,” she replied. And in her smiling eyes was the light of a deep satisfaction that an artist feels when contemplating the completion of her masterpiece.

- K. A. Abbas

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