The Temple Is Not My Father: A Story Set in India Read online

  As usual Neeraja watched, letting her younger sister do the answering, which she did with a snort. “Yeah, yeah. What are they going to do? Kick us to some remote corner of the earth? Been there, done that. Besides, Sreeja is our second cousin. No one said we couldn’t go over to the houses of relatives.”

  Godavari picked up a couple of backless straw chairs from a corner of the yard and placed one close to Neeraja. She sat down on the other. “You don’t believe in holding back, do you?”

  Vanaja grinned and settled herself more comfortably.

  “You’d better tell me what you’re doing here in the village, so far from home.”

  Vanaja stretched out on the cot, head resting on the wooden edge of the frame. “Home? Where is home?” Her voice was bitter.

  “Why don’t you start from the beginning?” Neeraja said.

  “All right.” Vanaja took a deep breath. “It all started when my father’s friend’s daughter was caught kissing someone.” She pointed her chin at Sreeja and asked Godavari, “Too much for tender ears?”

  “How bad does it get?”

  “Not very.”

  “Tell us, then.”

  “All right. When my parents heard what happened, they lost it.”

  At Godavari’s puzzled look, Vanaja twirled a finger near her head. “They went crazy,” she said in her awkward mix of English and Telugu. “Mad?”

  Godavari nodded. She did know some English, but Vanaja’s accent made it difficult to follow.

  “So our parents decided that the best solution for us would be to grow up in India with our grandmother. No telling what we’d do in America, you know? Lose our virginity to the next boy who came along, get pregnant – that sort of stuff.”

  Godavari winced. “Why should something your friend did concern them?”

  “We could have caught the bad behaviour from our friend – you know, like a virus or something.” Vanaja rolled her eyes. “A couple of years ago another friend of ours was sent to live in India because her parents didn’t want her morals corrupted. Since that time, those parents are the ideal parents as far as my father is concerned. It’s not as if we ever gave our parents reasons for complaint. They lectured us often enough on proper behaviour. This incident gave them just the excuse to pack us out of their lives.” She blinked away tears. “In preparation for our banishment, they threw away our indecent clothes – you know, the sleeveless t-shirts, the knee-baring skirts. Luckily I was able to hide this pair of shorts. The rest of our clothes were stuffed in two suitcases. Next thing we knew, we were on our way to India, escorted by a colleague of my father’s, who, happily enough, was traveling to India on business. He dumped us in Hyderabad, and here we are.”

  There was silence. The expression on Neeraja’s face was sad, while Vanaja’s expression was bitter.

  Godavari didn’t know how to comfort these girls. Confined as she was to her house, she had no experience in dealing with people.

  “Our parents couldn’t even be bothered to bring us to India personally. Said they couldn’t take the time off from work. They assured us they were sending us away for our own good. They said they wanted us to be immersed in the culture. I pointed out that we went to the temple each week and that we were respectful of elders and traditions, so what more did they expect from us? My father said this constant questioning was precisely what indicated a complete lack of respect for elders and was the reason he wanted us raised in India. He slapped me as he said this. Can you believe it?” She raised a hand and looked intently at her painted nails, trying to hold back the tears. “And you know what’s worse? Jayant, my own twin, he gets to stay with them. Poor Jayant, he fought so hard to have us stay. He assured them he’d never seen us behave inappropriately. In desperation, he even told them about the time he’d kissed Suzie from next door. And you know what? They didn’t care!” She sat up, her lips tight with anger. “Can you believe that?”

  Godavari put a hand on Vanaja’s arm in sympathy.

  Vanaja gave her a flicker of a smile. “So if we wish to spend our summer vacation in your house, it is nobody’s damn business but ours.”

  Godavari found herself sympathizing with the girls. She knew first-hand what it meant to be so badly let down by a parent that trusting others didn’t come easy. But she had to make the girls understand how disastrous – even dangerous – it could be for them to be seen associating with her. “If someone finds out that you girls have been visiting me, there will be a scandal the likes of which you couldn’t begin to imagine. Your reputations will be ruined.”

  “We’ll take our chances,” Vanaja said, and that was that.

  Was she even getting through to the girls, with their Telugu and her English? Godavari wondered how much Telugu the girls understood. Probably about as much English as Sreeja did, from watching all those American cartoons on TV.

  “Our grandmother begins her prayers at 9:30 each morning and goes on till 11:30. If we sneak back before she’s done, we should be good.”

  “What about when you’re coming over? What if someone sees you then?”

  “We’ve been using the narrow lane behind our grandmother’s house. We’ll make sure to look around carefully before darting into your house.” Vanaja leaned forward. “Think about how good it’ll be for little Sreeja. She’ll get to know her American cousins. In the two hours we’re here, we’ll play with her, we’ll teach her stuff – and we’ll keep her out of your hair.”

  Sreeja giggled at the unfamiliar expression.

  Vanaja smiled. “Good for you, good for her, good for us, don’t you think?”

  Hope lit Sreeja’s big eyes.

  Godavari looked at her daughter for a long moment, then nodded. She would just have to prepare for the worst, because nothing good could come of it. That much she knew.

  ><<>><

  On the veranda Godavari sat on a straw mat, slicing a raw banana on the vertical blade of the floor knife, the wooden base of the knife firmly wedged underfoot. In the days since the girls had been coming over, they’d settled into something of a routine. Vanaja played with Sreeja for an hour or so, while Neeraja asked to help with the cooking, watching carefully as Godavari added various ingredients to the pan.

  When Vanaja had tired herself and Sreeja out, she’d flop on the cot in the courtyard and Neeraja would take over. Occasionally Vanaja would call out to Godavari, wanting to talk.

  Today Vanaja asked, “You got a minute?”

  The girl had a strange way with words. Godavari waved her over, checking to make sure that her daughter wasn’t within hearing distance. Fortunately Neeraja and Sreeja sat a little distance away, giggling over a book. Godavari indicated the straw mat with her eyes, and Vanaja’s legs folded on it like unwieldy limbs on a newborn calf. Mere weeks ago Godavari would have shaken her head at the girl’s clumsiness. Now she was beginning to see past the ineptitude, to the caring girl within. Because of this girl and her older sister, her daughter had blossomed. These weeks had been an incredible discovery of friendship and bonding for her child. She had learned what it was like to have friends, what it felt like to giggle over nothing, what it meant to look forward to their visits for no reason other than the pleasure of their company. Of the two sisters, Vanaja was the more boisterous – she chased little Sreeja all over the courtyard, taught her silly songs in English, played endless rounds of hopscotch. Neeraja was the decorous one, motherly almost. She listened to Sreeja’s stories, taught her numbers and English, read her books. Sreeja, in turn, was helping the sisters improve their Telugu.

  Godavari worried about what would happen when the grandmother found out that the girls had been visiting her – and find out she would. In a village of this size, it was only a matter of time. Though she often reminded them about the consequences of associating with her, lately the warnings were half-hearted. She had grown used to their coming over. She did fear that Sreeja was getting too attached to them, but she could not bear to deprive her child of the only friends she’d ever had.
They were the only friends Godavari had ever had, too.

  “Why are you the village scandal?” Vanaja asked.

  Godavari smiled in amused affection. One couldn’t accuse this girl of holding back. She set the knife aside and rested her chin on an upraised knee. She’d been expecting the question, wondering how long it would take for this one to work up the courage to ask it. For all the trouble that was bound to follow, she owed these two an explanation. Releasing a heavy sigh, she said, “Do you know what a prostitute is?”

  Vanaja looked at Godavari in shock. “You mean . . . you mean?”

  It took a lot to ruffle this one. Godavari nodded. “That’s what I’m known as in the village, yes.”

  “But . . . I mean . . . Sreeja said no one ever comes over other than us.” The girl blushed.

  Deciding to put Vanaja out of her misery, Godavari said, “Each night a man used to come over. It was… horrible. Then something happened that changed my life for the better.” She swallowed. “My mother committed suicide.”

  Vanaja looked shocked. “How could your mother’s killing herself be a good thing?”

  “It was the best thing that could have happened to my daughter, to me, even to my poor mother – given how miserable all of our lives were. Because of her great sacrifice, I was able to protect my daughter from the sordidness of my own life. Before she died, my mother left me this house and all of her money. She went behind my father’s back and hired a lawyer, making sure my father couldn’t touch a paisa of the money she’d inherited from her own mother. Then she hanged herself from a ceiling fan.”

  Vanaja was speechless.

  “Because I had the money now – not a lot, but enough to live a life of dignity – I was able to put a stop to the . . . all that. My mother made the ultimate sacrifice for me. I miss her terribly . . .” Godavari’s voice caught. Clearing her throat, she continued, “But if that’s the only way the Goddess would protect my child . . .”

  “In America prostitutes usually have pimps, men who make arrangements with clients.” Now that the shock had worn off, Vanaja’s eyes sparkled at the prospect of scandalous gossip. “Did you have one, too?”

  Godavari had to laugh at the relish in the girl’s voice. “Yes, I did.”

  “Who was he?”

  Godavari sobered. “My father.”

  “Your own father?” When Godavari nodded, the girl said, “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God! Your father makes my own look like a saint.”

  “I don’t doubt it. He set me up in a small hut with two other girls as pathetic as me. My mother braved social scorn and my bad attitude, and visited me every evening, rain or shine. She brought me food, clothes, and more importantly, unconditional love. And, as long as she lived, she stood guard at my doorstep. There were times when my father hit her or tried to drag her away by the hair, but she fought back, never letting anyone in.” Godavari sighed. “I was too naïve to see her love. All I saw was the embarrassment she caused my father by creating a scene.”

  “What about that first client? How did he get past your mother?”

  “My mother came each evening and sat through the night, so she got a friend of hers, a woman, to stand guard during the day. My father was able to pay the friend off for the first client. Fortunately, the friend had some decency left, so she didn’t allow any others in.”

  “Wow!” Vanaja was quiet for a bit. “But one client hardly makes you a prostitute.”

  “You’re but a child. You don’t understand of the ways of the world. If you . . . , you know, with anyone not your husband, you deserve everything society dishes out to you, and more.”

  “But it wasn’t your fault!”

  “In the eyes of God it is.”

  “Huh!” Vanaja shook her head in disbelief. “All that leftover British Victorian morality? In the land of the Kama Sutra?”

  Godavari had no idea what the girl meant, but she shrugged.

  “Why did you allow the client to continue abusing you?”

  “My father told me it was what the Goddess wanted. I was eleven years old and madly adored my father. What did I know?”

  “Eleven!”

  “Hmm. Fool that I was, I continued to worship him. And, because he treated my mother with contempt, so did I. It broke her heart when she found out I was pregnant. She created a major scandal by leaving my father and moving in with me. She even left behind my brother – the much wanted son – because she didn’t want my stigma touching him. She helped me with the baby for the first three years. But, at some point, she must have decided I needed more than what she could give me. That’s when she got the lawyer.” Her voice turned sad. “It was only after my mother died – five years ago, it was – that I began to see my father for who he really was. Now, when I think of my poor mother and how badly I treated her . . .”

  She leaned forward and wiped the lone tear that ran down Vanaja’s cheek. “Don’t waste your tears on me. I’m so much better off than a lot of others. I have a place of my own, I don’t depend on anyone for money. And I have a daughter I would give my life for.”

  “But you have no dignity.” Vanaja’s voice was small.

  “So I cannot walk in the village with my head held high. But my body is my own. And – more importantly – I have the money to ensure that my daughter never suffers the same fate as me.”

  “For that you need to send Sreeja to school!”

  “Don’t I know?” Godavari sighed. “The village elders – the same ones who keep trying to belly-crawl through my door in the dead of the night – decided my daughter would be a bad influence on their children. They won’t allow her to attend the village school. Besides, what would I write on the line for ‘father of the child’?”

  “The man won’t allow you to write his name on the birth certificate?”

  “He said he would kill my daughter if I even thought about it.”

  “Can’t you move away?”

  “How?” Godavari said, idly playing with a vegetable peel. “I tried selling my house. Without the sale, I wouldn’t have enough money to survive elsewhere. I used to dream of putting my baby in a good school and living out my life as a widow in some big, anonymous town. That kind of respect is unimaginable for someone like me. But who would buy a house from a fallen woman?”

  “Aren’t there helpful people around, people who do good?”

  “There are a lot of dedicated women who work for various NGOs.”

  “NGO?”

  “Non-Governmental Organization. They’re made up of good-hearted people who spend a lifetime helping women like me. But they’ve largely ignored me because there are so many women who are worse off, believe me. I no longer have the indignity of men abusing my body, I never had multiple abusers. I have a roof over my head, and I can put food in my child’s mouth.”

  “Would it be terrible to ask you more about this ‘married to temple’ business?”

  Godavari gave a short laugh. “Women like me are called devdasis – servants of God. Or Goddess. Except that it isn’t God we are serving. There is a Goddess, Yellamma. You’re not likely to find her idol in the home of decent folks. She is the patron Goddess of the fallen. What happens is that, for one reason or another, parents come under extreme pressure – a sick child, great financial worry, the desperate desire for a male child. They feel they’re being punished because the Goddess is displeased, and the only way out is by great sacrifice.”

  “And you were that sacrifice?” Vanaja looked horrified.

  Godavari nodded. “My parents had five children – all daughters. My mother was happy not to have more children, but my father was desperate for a son. I was the middle daughter, the third child. My father couldn’t offer the older two to the Goddess because they had reached puberty. I was the next in line so, by default, I was the one to be sacrificed.”

  “And your mother?”

  “She begged him not to do it. She cried, she pleaded with him, tried to get various relatives to make him see reason. She e
ven promised to keep having children until they had a son. But once my father makes up his mind, nothing can change it. So he talked to the priest in Yellamma’s temple and arranged for me to be dedicated to her.”

  “The NGO did nothing?”

  “They did try to intervene, but they didn’t know my father.”

  “Couldn’t they have called the police?”

  “You must remember, the police are also part of society. What the society believes, they believe. The government can ban all kinds of things but, if the policeman’s faith is offended, he’s not going to follow the law.”

  “So where did prostitution come in?”

  “You know that India was ruled by the British?”

  “Yeah.”

  “In the kingdoms of the Indian subcontinent, the kings were the patrons of temples and the arts. This included the devdasis. When the British annexed their kingdoms, the kings were stripped of power because now all their income went directly to the British. They were so busy trying to survive, they didn’t have the time to worry about devdasis. If that wasn’t bad enough, the British tried to outlaw the devdasi practice on the grounds that it supported prostitution. Because they couldn’t tell the difference between the respectable devdasi and the common dance girl, who was indeed a prostitute, they ruined the lives of many.”

  “How come?”

  “Well, girls were still dedicated to the Goddess. Because she was married to the Goddess, mere mortals couldn’t marry the girl – though, obviously, kings and the wealthy had higher opinions of themselves. But the kings no longer had the money. And, because of the prostitution stigma, the wealthy distanced themselves. Having no way to support themselves, these girls were forced into prostitution, the very thing the British were trying to prevent.”

  “But the devdasi system started in a good way, didn’t it, when dedication meant to be in service of the Goddess?”

  “It did. But men are capable of unimaginable cruelty. Perhaps, when the devdasis started to be equated with prostitutes, the intentions of those dedicating the girls also changed. Instead of thinking of the Goddess, they began to think of what was in it for them.”