shubhkrish
Queen of The Night
Tara Mull’s Haveli in Old Delhi
2003
Dear Diary,
“They bloom only at night--the virginal white flowers of Raat Ki Rani --Queen of the Night. When the moon shines, they release their intense, sweet scent.
But don't let its innocuous beauty fool you, Madam, says the dusky maidservant, this tree is dangerous. Its intoxicating scent entices deadly snakes, who slither up and wrap themselves around the slim bark like besotted lovers.
I am learning a new word, a new scent, a new story, every other minute. It is almost too much for my 55-year-old heart.
Madam, the maid is saying, let us go inside. The chai will go cold.
*
"Tomorrow, Missis Rich-chards," says Mr Chowdhry, sipping chai,"You will see Indian festival for brides. Lot of colour, lot of food. You are very lukky to be here right now."
His son, Sundeep, says, “Yeah, it’s fascinating.” Handsome, polished fellow. Went to management school. Chaudhry Senior is a jeweller, unschooled but rich. Rich but unschooled.
"We call it Karva Chauth," says Sundeep, "My wife will fast all day, and eat only when the moon comes out. It’s for my long life. “.
“And you?, I ask, ””You’ll fast for her long life, too?”
“Of course not! Only women do all this. I’m out for a polo match. But hey, that doesn’t mean I don’t love my wife!”
Dear Diary, it’s touching. So much tradition. Perhaps that is why marriages in India don’t break easily?
Morning. Kusum, in garish green, dripping jewellery. Small mangoes appear on her hands as a woman squeezes henna on them from a tube. A big red dot in the centre of her forehead, a river of red vermillion along the parting of their hair.
"So,” I ask, “After the moon appears?”
"Well, I'll watch it through a sieve, then touch is feet, and he will bless me to live saubhagyawati forever. It means, blessed with a husband. A way of saying 'May you die with your wedding bangles on your wrists…"
"…May your husband outlive you?" .
"Yes, exactly."
I stare.
"Otherwise, it’’s hard for a woman, you know…" .
"Hard…" I, widowed 10 years, reflect on the word. “Yes, it’s been hard. Should I feel guilty for not having prayed to die before Dave?”
I shiver. She smiles.
“I do it for love. It makes me strong."
Night. Kusum is in the kitchen, frying more bread. She has been on her feet all day, without a sip of water even.
Out in the lawn, the asoka tree sways. I close my eyes, soak in the stillness. Leaves flutter. Another sound…silk?. I open my eyes, My breath stills…two snakes underneath the Queen of the Night.
In my head, they scatter into many snakes…Sundeep's arms around the maidservant’s waist, their tongues entwined.
“The clouds part, the moon appears.
Caught in its naked light, they detach. Then he walks in, to bless his 19-year-old wife to die before he does…”
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Tara Mull’s Haveli in Old Delhi
2003
Dear Diary,
“They bloom only at night--the virginal white flowers of Raat Ki Rani --Queen of the Night. When the moon shines, they release their intense, sweet scent.
But don't let its innocuous beauty fool you, Madam, says the dusky maidservant, this tree is dangerous. Its intoxicating scent entices deadly snakes, who slither up and wrap themselves around the slim bark like besotted lovers.
I am learning a new word, a new scent, a new story, every other minute. It is almost too much for my 55-year-old heart.
Madam, the maid is saying, let us go inside. The chai will go cold.
*
"Tomorrow, Missis Rich-chards," says Mr Chowdhry, sipping chai,"You will see Indian festival for brides. Lot of colour, lot of food. You are very lukky to be here right now."
His son, Sundeep, says, “Yeah, it’s fascinating.” Handsome, polished fellow. Went to management school. Chaudhry Senior is a jeweller, unschooled but rich. Rich but unschooled.
"We call it Karva Chauth," says Sundeep, "My wife will fast all day, and eat only when the moon comes out. It’s for my long life. “.
“And you?, I ask, ””You’ll fast for her long life, too?”
“Of course not! Only women do all this. I’m out for a polo match. But hey, that doesn’t mean I don’t love my wife!”
Dear Diary, it’s touching. So much tradition. Perhaps that is why marriages in India don’t break easily?
Morning. Kusum, in garish green, dripping jewellery. Small mangoes appear on her hands as a woman squeezes henna on them from a tube. A big red dot in the centre of her forehead, a river of red vermillion along the parting of their hair.
"So,” I ask, “After the moon appears?”
"Well, I'll watch it through a sieve, then touch is feet, and he will bless me to live saubhagyawati forever. It means, blessed with a husband. A way of saying 'May you die with your wedding bangles on your wrists…"
"…May your husband outlive you?" .
"Yes, exactly."
I stare.
"Otherwise, it’’s hard for a woman, you know…" .
"Hard…" I, widowed 10 years, reflect on the word. “Yes, it’s been hard. Should I feel guilty for not having prayed to die before Dave?”
I shiver. She smiles.
“I do it for love. It makes me strong."
Night. Kusum is in the kitchen, frying more bread. She has been on her feet all day, without a sip of water even.
Out in the lawn, the asoka tree sways. I close my eyes, soak in the stillness. Leaves flutter. Another sound…silk?. I open my eyes, My breath stills…two snakes underneath the Queen of the Night.
In my head, they scatter into many snakes…Sundeep's arms around the maidservant’s waist, their tongues entwined.
“The clouds part, the moon appears.
Caught in its naked light, they detach. Then he walks in, to bless his 19-year-old wife to die before he does…”
Poll Rate this entry