My daughter wanted to marry a Haryanvi Jat: When Love Jihad hit home
The year 1973 of the Common Era. A year that refuses to die on me. One of the brightest girls I ever met showed explicit interest in me. This pleased and unnerved me; for she had a label. She was scheduled caste.
"Will you consider marrying a scheduled caste girl," asked my aunt, who was friends with the girl’s family and had been approached.
I wanted to say, yes. But words stuck in my throat. I had three sisters. We were orphans. The responsibility to marry them off was on my shoulders. Valson getting into an SC marriage would be, I feared, the end of the road for them.
"Perhaps not," I replied.
Now fast-forward some four decades. The year is 2008.
"Dad," said my daughter, "I love a Jat boy from Haryana and want to marry him. I know it is hard on you. Your priesthood is at stake. This could ruin all that you’ve built up for years. I know I cannot expect you to attend my wedding. Only give us your blessing."
I asked my daughter if she had thought through the whole thing. The cultural divide and the rest of it. There wasn’t a shadow of doubt in her mind.
"Give me a day to think through this," I said.
The next day I told my child she could go ahead. That I would stand by her all the way. That marriage is an adventure in love. Was her love deep enough and unwavering? That was all I needed to know, all that mattered.
A few weeks later I attended the Hindu wedding ceremony in Bhiwani clad in my cassock, the formal attire of a Christian priest. Curious eyes, unused to the proximity of Christian ecclesial costumes, peered and stared. Voices whispered ever and anon, like glow worms at large on a country landscape at night. Women were intrigued. And some, amused.
"Will you kindly explain to me in English," I requested the Arya Samaji, who was officiating over the seemingly unending nocturnal ceremony, "the meaning of the scriptures recited and the rituals involved?"
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| Those who seek to choke love have to be raving mad. |
He did. I participated in this most important step my daughter was taking, with my soul rooted in the meaning of the otherwise strange ceremony in progress.
Till that day, I was the most sought-after Christian preacher in the country. (Sounds like blowing my own trumpet? Sure. But there are times when such a musical performance becomes pardonable) Tens and thousands used to listen, each time, in rapt attention. Every important convention anywhere in this country and several other countries used to feature me as the star speaker.
Now, in the wake of my daughter’s wedding, invitations began to dry up. An invisible, yet formidable, wall of alienation sprang up as if from nowhere. Valson became an embalmed embarrassment for a whole community.
I had grown up among women. Apart from my maternal grandfather - who was a formidable patriarchal figure and out of reach- there wasn’t a male in my domestic proximity.
My siblings - three of them - were female. Being unused to male presence, I had considerable difficulty all through my life in relating to males. Even when I made an effort, it was strained and the result, less than felicitous.
Nearly eight years passed since my daughter’s wedding. It took me that much time to strike a chord with Anuj Deep Dangi, my son-in-law. This was also due to the exigencies of circumstances. Life today gives us too little time to stop and grow into relationships. Your tail is on fire. Others see the fire; they do not see you. Or, they think that you are fire.
I know my Hindu son-in-law now. I love him. I feel grateful to my daughter for enriching our family with a wonderful human being like him. For over 40 years, I have lived among -and for- young people. I haven’t seen many like him in maturity and steadfastness.
I feel as though led out of a forest of prejudice. Embarrassed that I judged individuals -albeit tacitly and tactfully- by external labels.
How could I have assumed that good and compatible human beings were to be found only in my own community? That the boundaries of humanity coincided with the arbitrary communal lines of control (LoC) that men drew and policed with ferocious zeal?
The worst form of slavery is that which makes one blind. If that is what religion has done to me, I should be, among all men, the most miserable.
I scoured through the gospel texts. I did not see any instance in the life of Jesus, with even a shadow of prejudice towards "outsiders". On the contrary, Jesus singled out several gentiles as exemplars of sterling faith. Told his fellow Jews that they were superior to them. How could I then, a follower of Christ, harbour prejudices of the sort that lurked within me?
Today, I feel indignant at anyone erecting walls of caste, class or religion to obstruct the love of young men and women. Those who seek to choke love have to be raving mad. Madder, when they believe that they do so to favour their gods.
It is not less, but more of daring, path-breaking, subversive love that we need. Love alone can heal and set us free. Love is the seed of unity. Those who care for the unity and integrity of India, should promote inter-caste and inter-religious marriages.
I love my daughter’s "love Jihad". Jihad is holy war. Love alone is holy. Whatever is deficient in love is ugly and unholy. Loveless marriages, no matter how orthodox, are unholy and demonic, even if solemnised by the most grandiose Popes and Pontiffs. Religion, itself, becomes a curse, when it rejects love in favour of hate.
When put to the test four decades ago, I was found wanting. I have faith in the present generation. When I think of my daughter who dared to venture beyond the line of control (LoC), I cannot but believe that love is the ultimate force and it will prevail. It will prevail because God is love.