A rangOli story - Part I

This is my story, rather our story, mine as well as my rangOli’s. My name is Lalita (lalitA). My husband is no more. He retired as a school teacher and within a short time after his retirement, he passed away. I am all alone in this house. I have three children, the eldest is Chandru (chandrU). He lives in America with his wife Mallika (mallikA, we call her mallI) and their child Sarada (SAradA). The next one is Ravi (ravi), he lives in the city. He is working for his literature doctorate and teaches in the university. The only girl in the family is Usha (ushA) who got married before her father’s death. She just delivered a female baby last week. I live in the village and that is why she was hesitant to come here for the delivery. They are all coming to my house for the nAmakaraNam. All of them call me daily. The first call will be from Chandru in the morning. Usha calls in the afternoon and Ravi late in the evening. Of course, all of them have invited me to stay with them. I don’t want to leave this house where I spent the best part of my life. Besides where can I get a large frontyard like this for my rangOlis?

I was born in a poor Brahmin family. My grandfather was a great Sanskrit scholar. He was a master of vEdAs and well versed in poetics. My father had rigorous training under him and other gurus. He too tried to follow his father’s footsteps. By my father’s time, values and tastes changed. People were keen to get their children educated in English schools and colleges so that they could get plum jobs in the rAj. While my father knew how to read and write English, he did not pass even SLC. It was quite difficult to run the family. By then he was married too and had two children. My brother was the older child. Reluctantly he took to priestly duties like conducting marriages, ceremonies, pUjAs, etc. The income thus generated was seasonal. While ceremonies for the dead occurred at all times, during certain periods of the year marriage ceremonies are forbidden in the Hindu calendar. He used to supplement his income by reading harikathas in the local temple.

My mother was very beautiful. Everybody used to exclaim that she was like the goddess lakshmI. Later on I always used to chuckle within myself - “lakshmI going to other’s houses to do sundry jobs during the pUjA and in the end get some jacket piece and coconuts or a cheap sari. I inherited my mother’s looks in a beautiful face with long eyelashes, long tresses of hair and my father’s dark complexion. Any way, my name lalitA sounded quite apt. When I was ten, suddenly one day my mother passed away. My brother and I cried for days together. After the year passed, my father married again, out of necessity. There is a custom in the Brahmin households. People invited a Brahmin for priestly duties only when he has a living wife. Otherwise he is deemed unfit for Hindu rituals. In fact, even the great rAma had to have a golden sItA by his side when he was performing the horse sacrifice.

Unlike my mother, my stepmother sAvitri was plain and even looked different with her slightly protruding teeth. However, her ringing laughter and easy banter used to announce her arrival and for this reason she was very popular wherever she went. In the beginning my brother and I were very hesitant and never approached her for anything. My brother, senior to me by two years, was even hostile. She ignored it and looked after us as any mother would treat her own children. She was kind, but strict. My brother was not faring that well in school. After returning from the school, he used to throw the books and run away to be with his friends, and arrive late in the evening at about eight or so, and eat and go to bed immediately. No wonder he got poor marks in his exams. My chikkammA, that is how we address stepmothers, told him in a nice way to concentrate on his studies and promised him some goodies if he obtained better marks. Also, when once he fell ill with measles, she was by his bedside night and day. This ended the cold war between them. She was really nice to me. People always scared me that stepmothers spell disaster and they don’t treat their stepchildren in a proper manner. May be she looked ugly on the outside, but her heart was indeed beautiful inside.

... to be continued