tales of Suchita

I was seventeen years old when my mother first told me that I would bring shame to the family. It was something I was used to hearing from my father, grandmother, aunts and uncles but for the first time, it felt like the ally I had always relied on was no longer available to me.

I am seventy-four now and decades have passed but I still don’t know the chain of events that led to my mother saying those words to me.

I tried, following my family’s rules. They said I was old and unmarried which meant my identity was no longer that of a princess. I did not deserve the luxury of space or agency because that was reserved for wives and mothers.

I am not going to lie, I was disappointed by their words and rules – they had so many that defined how to be a successful member of society.

If the rule to be a successful woman was a husband and child, the rule to be a successful man was worse: to have gone to war and killed at least one innocent. It was bizarre and it took my younger brother and I almost three years to finally pack our bags and leave home. Surely, there was somewhere in the world where two misfits would be welcome?

Palash and I were lucky that we ran into Justice Gundavali. He was an elderly man who agreed to give us shelter if we tended to his garden. Palash was exceptionally good with things that grew and he knew just how to coax a flower out of a stubborn plant.

He was happy but I was withering. That’s when Justice Gundavali told me that I needed to find something of my own. He said, “Ganga, just like Palash finds peace among flowers, where do you find peace?”

I pondered days and nights but the answer came from my sweet brother. He said, “Didi you are like the bees in my garden. You will never be content with just one flower.”

First, I was angry. Did Palash mean to say I was fickle? But the more I thought about it, the more I understood what he was saying.

So one day, I bid Justice Gundavali and Palash goodbye and joined a troupe. There was a bard, a singer, a dancer and a horse. They travelled from one city to another, singing, dancing and telling stories of afar. I remembered such troupes visiting us in the palace but I did not know how I could contribute. They said they needed a manager.

“A manager?” I said, “but what would I do?”

“Why,” said Sama the bard, “you will manage. Where we go. How much we earn. How to make sure the cunts in the palace pay our dues. You will help.”

I didn’t know how Sama observed these talents in me when my own mother could see none. But I joined them and I finally found my peace.

I stayed with them or rather I should say, we were together for many moons. We were a family and we took such good care of each other. They even took me to meet Palash once who I was delighted to see was married with a boy of his own.

I had found peace but one morning, I realized that it was gone so I left. Like I had done before, I answered the call once more. I said my goodbyes and I started on the road again.

Looking back, maybe that’s why my mother thought I would bring shame. While she had a family she hated, I had a family in every city I visited, one I loved.

Even though I am old now, the call comes, of the wild, of curiosity, of undertaking a journey. Am I am happy to say, I answer it still.

---

For Letter M, written as part of #BlogchatterA2Z