BaBy KAMBLE (b. 1929) Marathi In the preface to her autobiography, which describes in detail her life as a woman in her community, Baby Kamble says she has taken care to doc- ument everything ‘to show my grandchildren the agnidivya, the immola- tion by fire, that Mahars have had to perform to gain what little status they have today.” Formerly, the Mahars were untouchables and lived out- side the boundaries of the main village, which housed the upper castes. They were responsible for guarding the village and keeping it clean. They also carried messages and assisted the village headman. Since they were the principal sources of information about village and family history, they often settled disputes about land. The book concentrates on the period before Independence, and, in distinct contrast to carlier women’s autobi- ographies (such as those by Lakshmibai Tilak, Ramabai Ranade, and An- andibai Karve) that focus on the writers’ marriages and their husbands, Baby Kamble deals with the life of her people. She is the first dalit woman to have written an autobiography in Marathi. She was born in Veergao, a village in western Maharashtra, in her grandparents’ house, where she lived until she was nine. Her grandfather and his two brothers worked as butlers in European households in the cities around. Since they sent money home each month, their family was somewhat better off than the others around it. Her father, Pandhrinath, was a contractor, and earned much more than he would have had he con tinued with his traditional work. Baby Kamble speaks of him as a kind man, generous towards his poorer relations. It was from him, she says, that she learned many of the most valuable lessons of her life, such as a disinterest in materialism: “I have never tried to collect wealth, and was happy to carn just enough for my basic needs.” But this was only one side of him. As a husband, he was stern and authoritarian, and kept his wife confined to the house, taking pride in not letting her go out. As a conse- quence, Baby Kamble feels, her mother grew bitter and harsh. As Baby Kamble was growing up, the movement of the formerly untouchable Mang and Mahar castes started by Babasaheb Ambedkar (1891- 1956) was at its height. In December 1927 Ambedkar began a satyagraha to establish their civic rights and confront the tyranny of the upper castes. In what has been called an event of as great significance in the nationalist movement as the first bonfire of foreign cloth and the Salt Satyagraha, Basy KamsBie 9 307 Scanned with CamScannerhundreds of Mangs and Mahars gathered at the Chavdar Tale at Mahad, drew water and drank it. The Kalaram Mandir Satyagraha was another mass attempt, this time to gain entry into the temple. Similar movements arose all over India and Baby Kamble recalls how inspired she and her siblings were by Ambedkar and the other activists. In her own village the Mahar community forced its way into the temples and cating places, and as a result, the whole atmosphere changed. Also under Ambedkar’s influence, her father sent Baby Kamble to school. In the sections of her autobiography about that period, she de- scribes how fights would break out between the untouchables and the higher-caste Hindu girls. The Mahar girls became very insecure and were forced to form a close-knit group. There was no interaction between the castes, only a great deal of hostility. Baby Kamble has seven children, most of whom have had a university education. Jina Amucha (Our [Wretched] Lives), her autobiography, was serialized in the Pune women’s magazine Stree shortly before it was pub- lished as a book in 1986. ° From JINA AMUCHA (Our [Wretched] Lives) Chapter 8 On the fourth day [of the wedding rituals], there would be the cere- mony of taking off the bridal crowns. This would always be done in the morning, The people from both families gathered for the occasion in the specially built pandal. A brass plate would be put on the head of the bride’s mother, and the other women held that plate in place. The men sat quictly at one side. Tears would stream from the eyes of the women. Weeping, sobbing, they sang “Zalu.’* Zalubai zalu, in front of the house There was a lovely jujube tree Then came a thief, the son-in-law He carried it off, for all to sce But the tree was his, that’s how it is How my poor love, helpless, weeps. *“Zalu” is a song sung on the fourth day of wedding festivities, before the bride leaves for the groom’s house. The women from her household sit by the bride and her mother and sob as they sing the song. The men stay quietly in the background. 308 9¢ TWENTIETH CENTURY Scanned with CamScannerZalubai zalu, in front of the house There was a jasmine vine Weep not O poor mama mine... Zalubai zalu, in front of the house There was a champak white Weep not O poor papa mine .. . Zalubai zalu, a flock of birds Weep not O my poor brother ... Zalubai zalu, what's left behind Is a reflection in the mirror Weep not O my poor sister . .. While the women sang this song, everyone around started weeping and sobbing. After the crowns were taken off, the bride and the groom would ultimately be freed from the weight. Marriage for the girl meant nothing but calamity. She went back to her people, but after a couple of days, her father-in-law went to fetch her. He would take with him gram, rice grains, and jaggery. The bride’s mother prepared small sweetmeats with the material he had brought, and filled a basket with them. The girl carried this with her to her new home. And thus she would embark upon a really arduous life. She would be such a young child, a baby, still immature, yet the poor thing had to break all the ties of parental love and had to go to her in-laws’ place to lead a married life, without even knowing what “husband” meant, or what it was to be given away. What would that child know of these things? Besides, in those days there were no vehicles. When the cock crowed carly in the morning, the father-in-law started with his daughter-in- law on foot. It took two to three days to reach home. If the place was close by, they had to walk from morning till evening. When the bride arrived at the in-laws’ place, she would be required to cook bhakris. Two basketfuls of them. The child sat down to make them. But she wouldn’t be able to pat the dough out into cakes bigger than her palm, When she put them on the pan to bake, they were so thick that they either got burnt in places, or remained uncooked. Then the mother-in-law would call all her friends and neighbors and hold an open exhibition of the tiny bhakris. “Atyabai, come and see what's happening here! Didn’t you think that I'd brought the daughter of a ‘good’ woman into my house? Look at the bhakris this wench has made. She can’t even make a few bhakris well. Oh well, what can one expect of this daughter of a dunce!”” Basy KamBieE @ 309 Scanned with CamScannerThe child wasn’t even allowed to sleep. When the cock crowed at three in the morning, the mother-in-law would pull her out of the bed, dragging her by her hair, make her clean the handmill in which the grain was ground, put in some jowar, and sit down at the mill herself with the daughter-in-law. But immediately after they had be- gun, the mother-in-law’s newborn babe would wake up and start cry- ing. So the father-in-law would call, “Come here, you. This Dhondya is awake. Come and stop his wailing. Leave the grinding to her. Oth- erwise when will she learn?” The mother-in-law would promptly get up and, suckling her baby, go back to sleep. The young girl would have to continue the work alone. Her tiny hands often could not pull the heavy stones, and she had to stop frequently. Her palms would be blistered all over. Later they would harden. After the grinding was done, she would be sent to the river to fetch water, with a small vessel. When that was done, she had to sit down to make bhakris. If the bhakris weren't perfect, the mother-in-law ex~ amined the kneaded flour and slapped the girl on the face with the un- baked bhakris, pinched her cheeks, and showered a million curses on her. Pinching her cheeks, she would say, “What's your mother really? Tell me that! Is she a good married woman at all? Or does she know only how to run after the potmaker’s donkeys? Didn't she teach you anything? I pampered you a little, but you took advantage of that. Look what a nice mother-in-law I am! My own mother-in-law was a spitfire. A burning coal! Actually one could hold a burning coal in one’s hand, but staying with her was a far more difficult thing.” These speeches would be punctuated with loud wails. “In our time one had to be polite even to a dog in the in-laws’ house before kicking him out. Where would you get a mother-in-law as nice as me? Is that why you're being such a pest?” On and on it went. The poor girl had to endure the curses of every- body in the houschold, including the snotty sister-in-law and the slov- enly brother-in-law. By the time she had finished all the work in the house, it would be around one-thirty in the afternoon. Then she could wash. By then all the bhakris in the house would have been eaten up. And she had to eat the leftover blackened, half-baked bhakris. But what could she eat them with? She would steal some salt from the kitchen when the mother-in-law wasn’t looking, and hide it in her sari. These daughters-in-law had, however, one comfort. There were no pots in the house to clean and no clothes to wash, because there weren’t even any rags to wear. So the problem of washing clothes and cleaning pots was automatically solved. When the mother-in-law’s pe- 310 ¢ TwenTIETH CENTURY Scanned with CamScannerriod started, she went straight to the river to bathe, as she didn’t have another sari to change into. There she took off half of her sari, keeping the other half wrapped around her. And that she washed first. Then when that portion was dry, she wrapped it around her, and washed the other half. She would dry that in the same manner. And that sari also was never in one piece. It would be patched in several places. It would be afternoon by the time she reached home. Till then, the daughter-in-law had to do everything. This rigorous punishment at a young age, however, was far prefer- able to what she had to go through once she became mature. When the daughter-in-law got her period for the first time, the mother-in- law became terribly agitated and kept a close watch on the daughter- in-law and her son. She watched them with the eye of a hawk, and wouldn't let them even glance at cach other. The husband of the bride kept hovering around, yearning to talk to his wife. But the mother- in-law was far too clever for him. She would not let them meet. She kept awake in the night for fear of their coming together. She would be terribly scared that her son would be snatched away from her and that he would forget his parents and begin pampering his wife. Immediately after they went to bed, she would wake up the daughter-in-law to grind the grain. And the other women added fat to fire. “You are such a stupid one. Don’t let her sleep with your son for a long time. Your delicate shoot will break. Beware of her!” Then she would also listen to them and poison the son’s mind against his wife. She would be worried all the time about his falling in love with his wife. The daughter-in-law was nothing but an enemy for her. She was terribly jealous of her youth. She would constantly try to poison her son's mind against his wife. When the daughter-in-law finished grinding, she would send her off to fetch water. While she was away, the mother-in-law would grind some glass bangles and mix the glass powder with the flour.* When the daughter-in-law returned, she would be asked to make bhakris with that flour. When one bhakri was made, the mother-in-law would herself put one piece of it in her mouth and spit it out. Then she would go from house to house with *It was not unusual for glass bangles to break when the handmill was being op- erated. A woman had to take care in that case to pick all the pieces out. A careful worker kept her bangles intact and mentioned with pride that she kept them from one Diwali festival to the next, when the old bangles were replaced with new ones. Bay KamBieE @ 311 Scanned with CamScannerthat bread, showing it to all. ‘‘Just taste this bhakri! It feels as if glass is mixed in it.” The other women also loved such happenings. They would get ex- cited. The whole village gathered in front of her door. “The witch! Wanted to kill off the whole house! Oh, she shouldn't have attempted such a stab in the back.” Then the sasubai would moan loudly, beating her breast. She complained to any passers by. “See, master, how this witch tried to do away with my house and the kids as well.” To make things worse, some women would get possessed by a god- dess. They started chanting, ““Ahhhh, it’s because of my blessing that you were saved from this woman. This woman is an evil in your house. Don't ever trust her. But you, too, forgot God. Give away the firstborn baby of your son to the Madmalu.”* A fear that went deep into their bones would grip the women. They would put kumkum and turmeric on the possessed woman's forchead and fall at her feet. In this chaos, the poor daughter-in-law trembled with fear like a leaf, She just lost the power to protest against this injustice. The furious husband would beat her to a pulp with a stick, and drive her out of the house. Anybody could torture her as they wished. When she went to fetch water, the mother-in-law whispered in her son's ear, “Watch her, you fool! Look how she goes out all the time! That Sirangya follows her to the river and whistles at her. Keep her under your thumb. Otherwise you will be disgraced in public.” Translated by Maya Pandit. SAROJ PATHAK (1929-1989) Gujarati She may have begun writing, Saroj Pathak once said, in reaction to the conservative, middle-class environment she grew up in, for there was nothing in it to encourage a girl who wanted to write. In fact a girl in- evitably developed a sense of inferiority in such a context. Though Saroj Pathak married a fellow writer, Ramanlal Pathak, marriage led to a break in her education, It was not until 1964 that she received her master’s *The Madmalu is a local goddess. 312.9 @ TWENTIETH CENTURY Scanned with CamScanner