The First Story

It was a small village – hardly 500 houses and less than 1500 villagers. The village Head Jumla Nayak commanded great respect from the villagers. 78 years old, 10 feet high, broad shouldered, he was a man who ruled the village with an iron fist. Yet he was not a mindless bigot who ruthlessly stamped his will on others.

He took great pride in being just and was merciful when necessary. He was mostly amiable, generous and benevolent with others but was a hard taskmaster. The people loved him and he loved his people too. He had been protecting the village for the past 6 decades and would continue to do so till his last breath.

Every day, at 4 pm, he would sit on the stone seat under the great banyan tree listening to the problems and disputes of the villagers and would solve them impartially. His word was law in the village and no one dared to oppose it. Nor would the Head do anything that might cause the villagers to doubt his judgement.

That day he was sitting under the tree listening to the villagers as usual giving them a word of advice. At that moment there was a slight commotion that made everyone stop their conversation. Two sentries were bringing a woman who was wailing. They were followed by two families that were hurling abuses at each other. The party fell silent as soon as they came into the presence of their Village Head.

Jumla Nayak brushed his famous handlebar moustache and asked in a firm voice. “What is the problem?”

Both the families tried to speak at once causing Jumla to raise his hand in the air. The babbling villagers fell silent at the gesture. He looked at a 50 year old man to his left and said, “Bhumla Nayak! What is the issue?”

“Dora (an honorary title/form of address equal to my lord)! This man, Somla Nayak promised to get his daughter married to my son three months ago. But now, he refuses to perform the marriage saying that he made no such promise. The marriage is to be performed tomorrow. I invited all my relatives and they have already arrived. It is a blot on my family’s honour if the marriage doesn’t happen. Please punish him and save my honour!”

“He is lying Dora!” spoke another man of 54 years. Jumla raised his hand again silencing the man. “Somla Nayak! Have you forgotten where you are? Don’t speak till I ask you to!” the man calld Somla Nayak fell silent and bowed his head meekly at the refrain. “Bhumla, did you approach him in the traditional way?”

“Yes, Dora. I did everything a groom’s father must do to win the girl’s hand in marriage for my son. I even offered seventy sea shells and three goats as a gift to the bride.”

“Is that true Somla?”

“No, Dora.”

“Are you sure? Remember who you talking to!” the man gulped nervously as he knew how horrible Jumla’s punishments were.

“Y-Y-Yes Dora. He offered three goat and seventy sea shells.”

“Did you refuse the alliance between your daughter and Bhumla’s son?”

“Y-Yes, Dora.”

“Why?”

“I got an offer from Bhimla Nayak that was better than Bhumla’s offer.”

“What did Bhimla offer?”

“A horse, Dora. And three carpets, fifteen goats and gold ear rings for the bride and necklace for my wife and a bracelet for me.”

“A very tempting offer indeed! No wonder you were tempted to break off the marriage.” A smile crept into Somla’s face. “Bhumla, can you match Bhimla’s offer?”

“No, Dora. I can’t afford it.” Bhumla responded with a crestfallen face.

“Somla, you are justified in seeking a better alliance for your daughter and you are not at fault.” Somla was now grinning. “However, you have caused a great dishonor to Bhumla’s family by not cancelling the marriage before he intimated his relatives. So, you must compensate Bhumla and restore his honour. “ Somla’s smile was wiped off his face replaced by an anxiety. “Do you have another daughter to give in marriage to Bhumla’s son?”

“No, Dora.”

“Bhumla, do you have a daughter to give in marriage?”

“No, dora”

“Somla, for causing a stain on Bhumla’s honour, I order you to pay 400 sea shells and thirty goats to Bhumla.” It was a heavy fine that very few villagers could afford to pay. Somla was not so well off to pay the fine and beads of sweat started forming on his face.

“Dora, it is too heavy. I can’t afford to pay such a fine. Please, have mercy on me.”

“Somla, you know that we consider breaking our word as the most horrible crime. You have done that. And you need to be punished for it. You have three options. One – you pay the fine. Two – you give your daughter in marriage to Bumla’s son. Three – your daughter pays the price on your behalf by dancing fully dressed in front of the Village deity and then dancing naked in front of the men in Bhumla’s family. Choose!”

“What if I don’t choose any of the three options?”

“Your family will be banished to the city!” there was a collective gasp of shock at the announcement. Banishment to the city was the worst punishment that could be given to an offender. It meant the banished family could never come back again. They would literally be abandoned by their kith and kin and friends.

The major looked at Anjana and Raji and asked. “What would you choose if you were in the place of the bride’s father?”

Both the women were deep in thought as they pondered over the question. The major sat back observing them. Anjana spoke, “I will accept the third option as I prefer to be with friends and family rather than with unknown strangers having to look back over my shoulder always.”

“Good choice!” he remarked. “And that is exactly what the bride did to save her family. Raji, did I forget to say that you will need to perform what you have chosen?” Raji’s eyes went wide as saucers as she realized the implications of the question. Anjana voiced both their thoughts aloud. “What! Do you mean we have to dance?” a smile crept on the man’s face as he answered her question. “Yes, you dance. But I give you choice – dance fully dressed in front of me or dance naked in front of my men. the choice is yours!”

“You are a strange man major.” Anjana remarked as she prepared to dance.

“I love being unpredictable – before foes and damsels. Now start!” he sat back in enjoyment as he watched Anjana and Raji perform the traditional Kuchipudi dance recital perfectly. In fact the dance recital was done so splendidly that he was lost in the magic of the perfect portrayal of Satyabhama’s anger, sorrow, repentance, longing for her estranged husband and her joy in being reunited with her husband.