I’m
stopping at Jitvapur now, so I might as well tell you a story connected with
this place. Jitvapur seems no different from any other little village in Bihar,
which as I’m sure you know is the poorest and most rural district in India, but
appearances can often be deceptive.
Just
like certain bridegrooms…
Not long before my arrival, there was a wedding here
and everybody took part with the gusto typical of such happy events. Needless
to say, Jitvapur is a very traditional community and all the customs were
strictly observed to ensure a fruitful and fortunate marriage. Even the most
absurd superstitions were carefully heeded, so that destiny would have no
compelling reason to cause trouble.
The name of the bride was Amrusha, the groom was
called Rakesh, they were healthy young people well suited to each other, and
everything seemed in its proper place as far as anyone could tell, so a
prosperous life together was warmly anticipated by all. There had been a small
problem at the beginning of the arrangement, due to the fact that Rakesh was a
manglik, but that was sorted out now.
A manglik is a person born under the astrological
condition known as mangal dosha. In other words the planet Mars was in the
second, fourth, seventh, eighth or twelfth house of the Vedic lunar chart when
the individual entered this world. In India the condition is widely believed to
be extremely bad for marriage and if a manglik marries a non-manglik the
outcome is certain to be death or even divorce! The government of India has
repeatedly attempted to discourage this superstition but in regions as remote
as Bihar it persists strongly.
Two mangliks may marry each other safely because the
negative energies will cancel themselves out. But Amrusha wasn’t a manglik. On
the contrary, her horoscope was impeccable. So her match with Rakesh was
dangerously unbalanced.
Nonetheless there exists a solution to remove the
difficulties. If the manglik submits to the ceremony of kumbh vivah, in which
the manglik marries a banana tree or a peepal tree, all the bad luck will be
neutralised. Bizarre as it may sound to our ears, people in India do still
marry trees, and in fact a famous actress did so just a few years ago. You have
probably seen her photograph in newspapers even if you haven’t sat through any
of her films.
Anyway, Rakesh had endured the kumbh vivah rituals
and married a tree, so the final obstacle to his union with Amrusha had been
removed in the approved fashion. He was first taken to the tree in a baraat
accompanied by dancing villagers and hired musicians and many of his cousins
sang songs to him along the way. Various rites were performed by purohits and
he saw that the tree was already decorated as a bride. After the couple were
pronounced man and tree the feasting began and the guests offered shagun to
Rakesh, which he gratefully accepted.
A ‘baraat’ is a marriage procession in which the
groom rides on a horse to meet his bride, while a ‘purohit’ is a wise scholar
with a comprehensive knowledge of rituals, and ‘shagun’ is a unit of good luck
usually wrapped up like a parcel in a blessing. But Rakesh already knew all
that…
Clearly I am explaining for your benefit alone.
That was how his first wedding went and because of its
success Rakesh was ready for his second. His horse was a beautiful and noble
steed and the musicians played even more sweetly this time and the singers sang
with even greater devotion. There was a pervasive but unspoken feeling that
this occasion was more authentic than the other and that Amrusha was somehow a
more deserving bride than the tree. She certainly looked radiant when he
approached her and dismounted.
Suddenly this touching ceremony was disrupted by an
intruder…
“What do you think you are doing?” demanded a voice
that was powerful and yet insubstantial, as if it issued not from a mouth
powered by lungs but on the surfaces of leaves rustled by the wind. Rakesh
glanced up.
“I am getting married to Amrusha,” he answered
weakly.
“But I’m your wife!” cried the tree.
There was a lengthy pause and everybody involved in
the procession shuffled their feet and looked down at the ground, too surprised
to even gasp or jump back, but Amrusha kept her nerve and gazed without
flinching at the uninvited guest. She decided to explain the situation as
clearly and concisely as possible.
“Yes, you are his wife, but only in a symbolic
sense. Rakesh is a manglik, you see, and he had to marry you to make it
possible to marry me. It was never intended for his marriage to a peepal tree
to be taken seriously…”
“A peepal tree? A peepal!”
And now a large branch dipped down with a handful of
twigs at its end bunched into a fist and this fist came to rest under the
quivering chin of Rakesh. “Bigamist!”
The bridegroom wasted no time in taking to his
heels. He ran towards the horizon, his feet throwing up clouds of dust that
failed to hide his escape route. With a furious sigh, the tree set off in
warmish pursuit, because anything too hot in a wooden lifeform might start a
lethal fire, but Rakesh already had a notable headstart. First the tree tried
to mount his horse and ride off after the errant husband, but the horse
associated the shade of a tree with a rest period and refused to budge. So the
tree had to rely on its own motive power. Instead of using its exposed roots as
legs, it fell to the ground and began rolling at high speed like a gigantic
pencil across a sloping desk. If it caught up with Rakesh it would probably
crush him.
It was only at this point or even a little later
that the wedding guests realised the tree was a banana.
Amrusha was shocked. “What a scoundrel he was! It
seems I’ve had a lucky escape. Good riddance to his kind!”
Because of the distance and fading light, it soon
became impossible to see the two receding figures and nobody got to learn if
Rakesh reached the safety of the mountains to the north. Perhaps he is still
running and the banana tree still rolling. Amrusha remains upset by the whole affair
and is still unmarried, but that’s hardly surprising bearing in mind that these
events took place only a week ago…
Yes, when I arrived at Jitvapur the story was
extremely fresh, even though one of its elements had gone off. It would be
hypocritical of me to apologise for that pun, because I intend to deliver
another. Where I come from, when a human couple get married they say ‘I do’ to
each other but trees only say ‘I would’. That’s a fact.
I did consider calling this story ‘Would for the Trees’
but that play on words seemed inappropriate because none of the characters
speak fluent English in public, not even the tree. I’m fond of literary
conceits but I do have limits. Having said that, this text does contain at
least one other trick, a deliberate deception.
The truth is that I’m not really stopping over at
Jitvapur right now. In fact I’ve never even been there. Which makes leaving in
the morning much easier.
