Where husbands rape wives: What if Mother Goddess could talk?
Our Kolkata domestic help Mangaladi’s oldest daughter, Shukuli, is visiting us in Kolkata, with her five-month-old son. Yesterday, the child took part in "Mukhe Bhaat", a rice-eating ceremony, in West Bengal. Mangaladi's son tells me she was beaten by her husband and in-laws over a petty argument regarding her cooking and the food not being served on time for guests.
I summon Mangaladi at once and ask her why she doesn’t confront her son-in-law and threaten him, considering he's a loafer and doesn't support his family. I know for a fact that he blows up Shukuli's hard-earned money. She has anyway been under a strain ever since she lost her first child shortly after conceiving.
Mangaladi’s son interrupts me and says her daughter has instructed her mother not to intervene in her domestic affairs. She also has no right to utter strong words about her "jamai". (Son-in-laws are treated like royalty, more so in eastern India. There is even a day, "Jamai Shashti", dedicated to them, to stuff their mouths with the most exotic fare and shower them with rich gifts.)
Mangaladi feels that confronting her son-in-law will invoke the wrath of her daughter's in-laws. They will use this to torture Shukuli because it was her decision to marry the boy and so she must suffer.
I suggest Mangaladi to file a case of domestic violence against the family. There are laws to support an abused woman.
Mangaladi has herself been a victim of domestic abuse. Her drunk husband would not only rape her, but beat her, and once even inserted a burning piece of wood in her private part. She was heavily pregnant at the time and almost bled to death. Mangaladi's husband then kicked her out and took a younger woman in.
"A husband has the right to sometimes hit his own wife, if there is an argument," she said. "But she has nowhere to go... "
From reality to worship
In exactly a month from now, West Bengal will orgasmically celebrate Ma Durga for five whole days. Shops will be shut, all offices will be closed, the whole city will grind to a halt, along with the traffic. The most elaborate pandals will adorn the city; people will wear new and expensive clothes, stuff their mouths at newly opened eateries; the lights from Chandernagore will decorate street corners; all-night pandal hopping will begin; stars will inaugurate pujas; new music albums and movies will release; it will be a sensory carnival – sadly one of Bengal’s last surviving selling points. (Unless of course you count Tagore, Satyajit Ray, Hemant Kumar, Netaji – our prime, our past.)
Everything will be okay?
We will forget that today cases of violence against women at home have shot up. The women and child development ministry has recorded an increase in cases of domestic violence from 89,546 in 2009 to 99,135 in 2011. This is a significant growth of 10.7 per cent. According to the data, West Bengal has the most number of incidents of domestic violence among the 28 states with cases in the state up by a gory 22 per cent from 16,112 in 2009 to 19,772 in 2011.
We will forget this while we fast during Navratras and chant "Jai Mata Di" with fervour before doing an important task, or pray to Sherawali Ma, and wear pendants inscribed with images of various goddesses, and take loans to make that pilgrimage to Vaishno Devi. Here in Bengal, as all over the country, the money we spend on feting our goddesses, will not be seen as ironic.
We will forget that ordinary, everyday, poor women are beaten, threatened, mutilated and raped within the sacred lakshman rekha of their marriages.
They must wear their customary shaka-pola (red and white bangles), smear their foreheads with red vermillion and be forced to stay silent, stay scared to return home for fear of being stigmatised; to produce children till they are old and their wounds have turned to scars.
Sadly, not every Indian woman is a goddess in India.