This is a story about two women from distinct countries, distinct cultures; two women who never met; who would not share the same fate; two women who experienced distinct extremes of a culture gone wrong.
One of those women was hardly a woman, but a girl of eighteen. Her name was Roop Kanwar, and she lived in a settlement in Rajasthan, India. Some 7 months into her marriage, her life ended as she was burned to death-forcibly, agreeing to witnesses-on the funeral pyre of her husband. Her death caused a controversy, and divided a nation steeped in religious superstition and misquoted scriptures.
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The other woman was just a year older than Roop when she first came into sense with the same land, the same people, the same culture. Some years later, she moved to India, where she currently lives in a settlement on the banks of the River Ganges.
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That other woman is me. I will never share the same fate as Roop Kanwar, because I was born and bred in Australia. Some would say my upbringing was devoid of real culture, and they may be right. Others would say I had freedom of choice and the quality to avoid the same fate as Roop, and they are also right. Whatever, the fact remains that both cultures-eastern and western-have something to offer, and somewhere in the middle of the supposed decadence and moral bankruptcy of the west, and the pseudo-spirituality of the east, lies a truth that can set whatever free. Even Roop Kanwar...
I came over the story of Roop for the first time in 1998. I was living in Jaipur, and every now and then in newspapers and magazines her name would come up. Five years later, I was given a book entitled "Death By Fire" by Mala Sen. It was the story of Roop, and it left me feeling dissatisfied. That wasn't the fault of the author-it was the story itself. Most disturbing was the acceptance by a large measure of the nation that this was somehow "okay," that the burning to death of a beautiful young girl was a succeed of her purity and piety, and that seven generations before and after her were benefited by such a violent and gruesome death. I concluded that only a twisted form of a rich and philosophically marvelous culture such as the one Roop came from could condone such a barbaric act.
Throughout Sen's book were references to another, thought about the definitive study on sati, the practice of widow burning outlawed by the British in the 18th century: "Sati: A Study of Widow Burning in West Bengal," by Sakuntala Narasimhan. By this stage I was a resident of West Bengal, so the topic was 'local'. I began to read Narasimhan's book with some trepidation. My concern was twofold, an angle of vision from both sides of the fence. Firstly, I wondered how much Narasimhan's study was drawn from an ultimate feminist viewpoint, which was, as far as I could see, no explication to the problems that exist for women in India-even if it is an understandable reaction. Secondly, from the opposite end of the argument, I was concerned about how much of the book was based on a proper understanding of the scriptures quoted by those who were propagating widow burning based on some so-called "religious" standpoint, and how well Narasimhan could therefore argue the point on a reasonable and logical basis without being drowned in the religious melee that surrounds such issues.
I found Narasimhan's book fascinating. She held a PhD, was a published author and a noted performer who toured India, impressing audiences with her beautiful singing. She was man with an educated concern about the topic, a beautiful and feminine woman who hadn't hardened her edges in her desire to right the wrongs of the culturally warped environment of which she was a product. Her writing was solid and based on a clear and unbiased understanding of the scriptures that those she was arguing against were quoting. Overall, the book was an involving and refreshing coming to an old and ugly problem.
After reading Narasimhan's book, I realized that there was one crucial point she had missed: for a culture that has its roots in the most intricate and detailed spiritual philosophy available, no one seemed to have much understanding of it, and no ifs ands or buts it wasn't being offered as a explication to the ills the country faced. It led me to request what this culture was that the entire country claimed to follow, and I soon realized that it was something way off track than what it started out as. In fact, it seemed to be steering way out of control, heading with a thought about foot on the accelerator towards the materialistic mecca of the west, far from the spiritual roots that had bound it so long.
What does the western culture have to offer that can substantiate its claim to being "more advanced" than the culture that did this to Roop Kanwar, and why does her country seem so desperate to find their solutions in the west? While the women of India have an antique culture as their safety (and a reasonable whole of time it does work that way) stories like this Roop's are evidence that discrimination is rife, and worse, that it is entrenched in the "culture" of the entire country, crossing all religious boundaries, thereby granting it an immediate bona-fide with any religious sector in any collective class. The added hypocrisy is hard to swallow: that a country that apparently follows a stricter moral principle than maybe any country on the planet suffers from the reluctance to admit their human frailties; or worse, disguises them as "spiritual strengths." Roop's case is a sad reflection of a culture that believes a woman who can no longer be enjoyed by her husband might just as well burn on his funeral pyre. Her only other choice, agreeing to neighbors, was that Roop live a life devoid of any collective status: shave her head, wear only white saris, not eat fancy food (basically just rice and dahl for the rest of her life), not remarry and have children, not partake in any religious festival or collective event-in fact, that she never be seen in collective again, not even to draw water from the settlement well; her nearnessy would be thought about inauspicious by the entire village-the fact that she prolonged to live would be enough to bring all bad fortune down upon the residents of the village. In other words, even if she lived, she would be thought about "dead." Such a end hardly seems to fit into the tenets of a compassionate, spiritual culture, and one would be forgiven for thinking that the western culture seemed more 'advanced.'
Yet humans share common experiences, regardless of boundaries of culture, country and corporeal designation. The surroundings may differ, but the pain is the same. The only inequity in the middle of the plight of women in the west and the east is that the westerners, with our inbred independence and concepts of equality in the middle of the sexes, commonly administrate to escape. The Roop Kanwars of this world don't have that option.
I met my first husband at 19 and married shortly after. I don't know why it went so rapidly to hell the way it did, but I remember the first punch. I belief it was a cliche that habitancy used when they said they "saw stars before their eyes" when they'd been hit. It's not. The contents of my head swam in a murky, thick blackness; shooting stars exploded before my eyes, and my movements slowed to a surreal pace. That was the first time he broke my nose-it wouldn't be the last. We had a rifle in the house, and I woke up one morning simply knowing in my heart that I was about to use it on him, and if I didn't do the job right, he'd use it on me. I decided he wasn't worth spending time in prison for, and no ifs ands or buts wasn't worth dying for, so I left him. I have never seen him since.
There was one night, though, that was surrounded in so much sheer terror that it is hard for me to relive. So I don't-I repeat it as an observer. It seems to have happened to man else, and in a way, it did. I am no longer the girl who went straight through this, but in Roop Kanwar I saw it all over again.
I can't remember the details of how it happened. I just remember going home alone, leaving my husband where he was because he had to learn, somehow, that he couldn't talk to me like that. It wasn't long before he followed, but this time I belief I was ready for him. The house was locked up, but that infuriated him further. As he smashed the window next to the front door and reached in to unlatch the bolt, I grabbed my purse and keys and fled out the back door before he saw me. I ran over the road and hid in the bushes. I still remember the terror of hearing his voice calling out to me, oblivious to the neighbors and the late hour, yelling what he would do to me if he got hold of me. As I sat crouched in the bushes, trembling with the fear that he would find me, too scared to breathe, I knew that he meant it, and I knew if I wanted to live, I couldn't go back in that house. I sat and prayed. It was all I could do. Finally, the rage abated, and he left the house, walked down the street, and disappeared into the night.
I didn't hesitate. I ran toward the house, fast unlocked and threw open the trunk of the car, and ran inside to acquire as many of my belongings as I could. I jammed the trunk full, slammed the lid, filled the back seat, and backed out of the drive. I drove for 2 hours, to the nearest city. I was thousands of kilometers away from my family, alone in a city where I knew no one. But I got out. I had a car, I had money, I had a way to save myself, and that's a whole lot more than most of the women in India have. agreeing to the "culture" in India, I'm a fallen woman. But at least I'm alive.
There's not much inequity in the middle of Roop's situation and mine. Would I have been thrown on a fire? no ifs ands or buts not-but that doesn't negate the principle that women live in fear of their lives in every country; that those who claim a force of culture to serve their own needs are as hazardous as any unprincipled, materialistic country with seemingly no cultural foundations. What kind of lessons or inspirations, then, can a western woman hope to acquire from such a culture? Is there whatever safe bet it can offer western women?
Roop Kanwar's home state, Rajasthan, was and still is to a great degree a state that recognizes "purdah", or the veil. Women are still covered at all times by a veil, and were rarely, if ever, seen in public. Their living arrangements were detach from the men, and their lives were based colse to an enclosed society of women. The last reigning Queen of Jaipur, Gayatri Devi, was a well-traveled woman who graced the cover of Vogue; headed the list of "Most beautiful Women in the World;" rubbed shoulders with British royalty and American society; and who John F. Kennedy claimed was, on her entry into politics, "the woman with the most staggering majority that whatever has ever earned in an election," a claim backed up by the Guiness Book of World Records. Originally a Princess from the Bengal state of Cooch Behar, she married into the Jaipur royal house as the third wife of the reigning monarch, Sawat Man Singh, known to the world as Jai Singh. He was a gallant, handsome, romantic figure; an instant headline maker, the polo-playing Maharaja of Jaipur whose team trounced the British repeatedly, and who took the world by storm with his collective and sporting escapades in London, Paris, Rome and Monte Carlo. When Gayatri Devi married Jai, he already had two wives, both of whom observed full purdah. He wanted Gayatri to lead women out of what he perceived to be an intensive situation, and she dedicated her life to the emancipation of women over India. Although her life was only slightly touched by purdah, she had this to say in its support:
"It is difficult for Westerners to understand why...women were perfectly article with what seems, from the outside, a hopelessly dull and claustrophobic existence. In fact, their lives in purdah were much fuller and more active than one would imagine. Apart from running a large household, a woman with a wide circle of children, grandchildren, and relatives was the focal point of the whole family. As a girl in her own home, she would have been taught the basic accomplishments thought about valuable for any Hindu girl: cooking, sewing, taking care of children. Later, as a young bride, she would learn the ways of her husband's family, and eventually, as a mom and grandmother, her authority and her responsibilities would increase. maybe most foremost of all, she would never be without companionship and she would all the time be needed. Zenana life [the women's quarters], with all its limitations, had profound and solid compensations, too."
Gayatri Devi makes a strong point about the amelioration of the inner society of women. This female self-reliance is part of the traditional Indian culture, known as the Vedic culture, and there are more safe bet accounts of its benefits than negative-leaning more towards feminine than feminist. Women find equilibrium in a strong hold group of friends and advisers upon whom they can rely, as the women in cultured India did, and in some parts still do. Such a network of hold also serves to alleviate the stress settled on a man to be that sole victualer of everything, which is no ifs ands or buts only a banal cliche. Those who pursue it, or are willing to determine for it, are inevitably disappointed. Of course, this is in no way meant to cast aspersions on our men. It's simply a matter of fact that their quality to be all that a woman needs is a Hollywood myth, propagated repeatedly in every form of media. Unfortunately, a great division of the world is weaned on such myths; our conditioning runs deep and impacts our responses, our choices. We are products of our upbringing, without a doubt.
For Roop Kanwar-for all of us-the past is irretrievable; for those who suffer in a similar fashion, the future may not look any brighter, be they in the west or the east. I don't have any solutions: maybe none of us do. Some things, like the Indians will tell you, are simply karma.
I can't help thinking, though, that all over the planet, from London's High Streets to downtown Sydney, India has been the flavor of the year for a long time now. I'm sure in our pursuit of all things Indian, we might peruse a itsybitsy more intimately the richness not only of their fabrics and interiors, but the finer elements of their antique culture. Somehow I feel that Roop would appreciate such a safe bet approach.
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