The older generation often talks of the 'good old days' when women obediently produced heirs and looked after their ageing in-laws. The inevitable comparisons with 'modern' educated girls always leave me frustrated, cheering every time I see one cock even the slightest snook at patriarchal fantasies. It's taken, however, poor Ram Singh's story to show me that even today, rebellions big and small wear a variety of guises.
Ram Singh is a pahadi, a Kumaon man with a limited intellect but a good heart. When he told me that he was getting married to a girl, who was more educated than him, and returning to Delhi, leaving his young bride to look after his widowed mother, I was a little sceptical of his plan. He was looking forward to someone who'd look after the family home and land, he said. When the uncomprehending patriarch returned after marriage, he had a happy glow. His wife was a very good girl, he said, adding that she seemed very obedient. Although she had completed school and was, from all accounts quite good at studies, she seemed content to stay in her village home after marriage, in service of her widowed mother-in-law while Singh sent home the bacon from Delhi. "It's worked out very well. My elderly mother won't feel lonely anymore," he said.
It didn't seem like much of a life for a girl, and I wondered how long this happy state of affairs would last. Surely enough, barely months after their marriage, the phone calls from home began to leave Singh bewildered and upset. "My wife is unwell," he said. "She's having fits and my mother is finding it hard to cope with her...." The girl had no history of epilepsy, and her illness was mystifying. The village elders believed that she had been possessed, he told me, as he hurriedly scrambled to raise money and take an extended leave of absence (unpaid) to go home. Even more mysteriously, the young bride seemed in perfectly good health during the time that Singh was in the village.
As soon as Singh returned to Delhi, the young bride began to suffer even more troublesome episodes. His old mother declared that she was finding it near impossible to look after her. Singh's post-marital glow had long been replaced with a careworn pallor. Matters came to a head soon. His panic-stricken mother called Singh yet again. Apparently, the young bride had suddenly begun speaking in a masculine voice and said she had been possessed by the spirit of Singh's long-dead father. The villagers were all agog at this latest development, wondering if all the necessary death rituals had been followed when Singh's father passed away, almost 20 years ago. When the daughter-in-law suffered a second episode, the old woman packed her off to her parents' home. The girl also declared that she would never return to her marital home as she was afraid of her father-in-law's ghost. So it came to pass that Singh, who in the manner of most migrants, had barely spent a week with his bride, faced the prospect of never seeing her again.
Once again, he made his weary rounds to borrow cash and took some more leave (unpaid and given very grudgingly this time) and returned a few days later, wife in tow. "I thought if I brought her to Delhi I could have her treated in case she has a fit again," he said solicitously. "Also, I can look after her better than my poor old mother." I looked at the girl and smiled. Something told me that the spirit of her father-in-law won't be visiting her again any time soon.
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