Indian Villager

_The sun relentlessly beat down on the small thirty hut oasis in the middle
of the Rajasthani desert that Janaki called home. She was the only
living soul out in the open in the 48 degree heat. The rest of the
village was in their mud huts, sleeping in the relative coolness they
offered.
Although she didn't know it, Janaki was approaching her twenty first birthday. She had been betrothed a long time ago, when she was about eleven, to Manish, a landowner's son from a neighbouring village. She hadn't ever met the boy or seen him for ten years save on a couple of Holi celebrations on which the villages met. She was to be married to him in a year.
Janaki was a descendant of proud Rajput ancestors. When the Moghuls threatened and conquered these warriors the men fought valiantly and when they finally fell in battle, their wives would commit 'sati' - the practice of throwing themselves into their husbands' funeral pyres rather than suffer defilement at the hands of the conquering Moghuls. Though sati is no longer practiced in India and nor are there marauders wantonly killing, plundering and raping, Janaki still had that same pride and fighting spirit that epitomized the Rajputs somewhere within her. She was not one to back down from her beliefs.
On one of the Holi festivals that brought neighbouring villages together, Janaki had befriended Rathore. Both about fourteen at the time, they had a great Holi covering each other different shades of pink, yellow and blue, sneaking a swig or two of the locally brewed and fermented Bhang liquor and spending it away from the crowd by the stream that ran between their two villages. That Holi was the beginning of a friendship that carried on till this day.
Rathore and Janaki began to meet by the common well about halfway between the two villages when other water sources in their villages ran out. Later even if there was water in their village wells and streams they would make the long walk to the common well just so that they could meet. Over the years the meetings had become more frequent and more clandestine, especially with Janaki's impending nuptials looming.
Janaki was in love with Rathore and knew that she could not and would not marry Manish, no matter what her parents had arranged for her when she was a little girl. There were no Moghuls to fight but Janaki was prepared to call on the dormant fighting spirit of her Rajput ancestors to fight for herself. Ironically, it would be her own family and Rajput society that she would have to rebel against. Unfortunately, in twenty first century, democratic India while there were few external threats to freedom, outdated societal norms, religious customs and fear of social boycott had broken apart many a loving couple all the way from the villages of Rajasthan to the 'sophisticated' social circles of Mumbai's elite.
Janaki often thought about her predicament but was quietly sure of herself and knew that when the time came she would stand up for herself and Rathore and live her life on her terms. Today, though, these thoughts were at the back of her mind.
The only emotions she felt were unbridled joy and anticipation and the hint of a smile was playing on her lips. Rathore was making a trip to her village today to deliver some bajra (millet) from his village to hers. She peeked out from behind the hut, the mustard-yellow of her saree almost melding with the orange glow the heated houses around her seemed to be emanating. In the distance a puff of dust signaled the arrival of a cart. Her bangles clinked slightly as she adjusted the pallu of her saree and a wide smile spread across her face.
Although she didn't know it, Janaki was approaching her twenty first birthday. She had been betrothed a long time ago, when she was about eleven, to Manish, a landowner's son from a neighbouring village. She hadn't ever met the boy or seen him for ten years save on a couple of Holi celebrations on which the villages met. She was to be married to him in a year.
Janaki was a descendant of proud Rajput ancestors. When the Moghuls threatened and conquered these warriors the men fought valiantly and when they finally fell in battle, their wives would commit 'sati' - the practice of throwing themselves into their husbands' funeral pyres rather than suffer defilement at the hands of the conquering Moghuls. Though sati is no longer practiced in India and nor are there marauders wantonly killing, plundering and raping, Janaki still had that same pride and fighting spirit that epitomized the Rajputs somewhere within her. She was not one to back down from her beliefs.
On one of the Holi festivals that brought neighbouring villages together, Janaki had befriended Rathore. Both about fourteen at the time, they had a great Holi covering each other different shades of pink, yellow and blue, sneaking a swig or two of the locally brewed and fermented Bhang liquor and spending it away from the crowd by the stream that ran between their two villages. That Holi was the beginning of a friendship that carried on till this day.
Rathore and Janaki began to meet by the common well about halfway between the two villages when other water sources in their villages ran out. Later even if there was water in their village wells and streams they would make the long walk to the common well just so that they could meet. Over the years the meetings had become more frequent and more clandestine, especially with Janaki's impending nuptials looming.
Janaki was in love with Rathore and knew that she could not and would not marry Manish, no matter what her parents had arranged for her when she was a little girl. There were no Moghuls to fight but Janaki was prepared to call on the dormant fighting spirit of her Rajput ancestors to fight for herself. Ironically, it would be her own family and Rajput society that she would have to rebel against. Unfortunately, in twenty first century, democratic India while there were few external threats to freedom, outdated societal norms, religious customs and fear of social boycott had broken apart many a loving couple all the way from the villages of Rajasthan to the 'sophisticated' social circles of Mumbai's elite.
Janaki often thought about her predicament but was quietly sure of herself and knew that when the time came she would stand up for herself and Rathore and live her life on her terms. Today, though, these thoughts were at the back of her mind.
The only emotions she felt were unbridled joy and anticipation and the hint of a smile was playing on her lips. Rathore was making a trip to her village today to deliver some bajra (millet) from his village to hers. She peeked out from behind the hut, the mustard-yellow of her saree almost melding with the orange glow the heated houses around her seemed to be emanating. In the distance a puff of dust signaled the arrival of a cart. Her bangles clinked slightly as she adjusted the pallu of her saree and a wide smile spread across her face.