This Is Not That Dawn: Jhootha Sach Read Online Free PDF Page A

Kaula, this performance was enacted in a slow rhythm, sometimes more quickly and then at times at an intensely fast pace; sometimes the women were seated and sometimes they stood.
    The naun led this ceremony with alertness and discipline. If a woman fell out of rhythm, the naun could eject her from the gathering. If someone with closed eyes or, on the other side of a wall, heard the women, it would have seemed to them that a squad of well-drilled soldiers was doing the quick march, about-turns and marking time.
    The intensity of a syapa is always proportionate to the grief caused by the bereavement. The grief is enhanced for a death that has occurred in the fullness of youth and less so for the death of an old person. The death of Ramjwaya’s mother was an occasion where the joy was greater than the grief. But no slackness was shown in the performance of the ceremonies. Whatever negligence the old woman faced in her lifetime was compensated for with respect after her death.
    Each stage of the refrain and the chest-beating lasted for four or five minutes. During the intervals, when they rested, the women talked about syapa ceremonies that they had attended in the past, and also probable marriage engagements. Distant relations and other women from the community who came would sit close to the mourning women and talk about other things, or work on the handiwork they had brought along. Their presence was taken as their participation.
    A dhurrie was spread out on the chabutara to make a reception area for the men so that they could observe the mourning. Both brothers had shaved their heads and faces. The brothers sat in the midst of their guests,heads bowed. The redness of weeping lingered in their eyes. People came and sat near them quietly for a minute or two at first. Then the visitors would begin to talk about the love and kindness of parents. They expressed sympathy for the two brothers now that the shade and shield of their mother’s guiding hand had been lifted from their heads. They would go away after repeating the precept of obtaining peace of mind through indifference to worldly things.
    Babu Ramjwaya and Masterji would join their palms together and say, ‘Please come again,’ and thank them for their condolences. This was the sign for the guests that they could get up and leave; they would not go away until they received this kind of signal from the mourning family two or three times.
    In this practice of mourning, all these efforts of vigilance, care and control were necessary so that the bereaved minds would not have a chance to dwell over the shock of grief. Grief was thus turned into a ritual duty as also a psychological remedy for mastering it and then releasing it.
    On the fourth day after the death, the final rites were carried out. Ramjwaya’s daughter-in-law came dressed in jewellery and special clothing. Masterji’s daughter Tara, and Ramjwaya’s daughter Sheelo, also had to wear new, colourful silk clothing and sit near the mourners for a while.
    In the afternoon, Sheelo and Tara took their little brothers and sisters to Masterji’s house to chat and have something to eat and drink. They asked Sheelo’s sister-in-law to come with them too, but she said she had a headache and went back home.
    Sheelo usually liked to nibble on salty or sweet tit-bits as she chatted. Because she got engaged six months ago, she had received two rupees at her grandmother’s funeral rites. Poor Tara was not engaged yet, so she didn’t get any gift or money. Before leaving for Tara’s house, Sheelo went to the bazaar at the entrance to the gali and bought two annas’ worth of freshly fried
mongra
in leaf cups.
    Tara’s house was empty. Her elder brother Jaidev was away at college. Tara gave a rubber doll and a rattle to her one-year-old sister, spread out a straw chatai and lay down next to Sheelo. They placed the leaf cups between them, and chewing on the snacks, they began to talk.
    Sheelo said, ‘You know, my