Victory Song

Table of Contents

• Wedding Preparations
• Bandits!
• Good-Byes
• The Secret Guest
• Bad News
• Alone in a City of Strangers
• A Desperate Search
• A Daring Plan
• The Rescue Mission
• Unexpected Obstacles
• Then and Now: India

Wedding Preparations

Neela is woken with a start at the sound of her mother’s voice. She was in a deep dream—a beautiful dream about a lovely woman with hair like waves and a crown of diamonds on her head, and sad eyes. For a moment, Neela blinks with sleepy confusion at her mother because the dream was so real. Mother is wearing a pretty new yellow sari, but she looks a bit harried herself.

Neela is instructed to get up and get dressed. Usha needs to wash up and change it to her yellow sari, too. The guests will be arriving soon.

Excitement floods through Neela as it comes back to her. Of course! Today is Usha’s wedding day! The preparations will begin in just a little while with the gaye halud, a ritual where women of the village pour turmeric water over Usha’s head for good luck. Turmeric water is a terrible yellow mess, so women must be dressed in yellow, too. A large fire pit was constructed for the wedding cooking, and the women who come over will be staying for lunch. It’s quite a spread with basmati rice, five kinds of vegetable curries, and elaborate kurma made from fish caught just this morning, and two kinds of dessert. This was a comparatively simple meal, because the real feast will be tonight after the wedding. More than one hundred guests are to be expected.

Neela’s father had wanted to keep things small. It’s a difficult time, not a time for celebration. Another war has just begun in Europe. Father says there are troubles in India. So many people have taken up the struggle for India’s independence. They’re risking their lives every day for the sake of their country. But Neela’s mother is agitated. It’s the first wedding in their family. Father insists that many farmers, especially cotton growers, have been suffering since the British started importing machine-spun thread from Manchester. Because Father grows rice, their family is still fetching a steady price, but many people don’t have enough to eat. The countryside is overrun by bands of robbers.

Neela has a feeling that her father is right, but Mother won’t give in. People would say nasty things if the oldest daughter of the most successful farmer in all of Shona Gram was married off like a beggar girl. Mother says that Usha cannot get married with less than one hundred people, otherwise she’ll be terribly disappointed.

Neela glances at the wooden cot where her older sister sleeps. Usually, Usha would be burrowed underneath the sheets, with a pillow covering her face. But today, she’s already awake. She’s staring at the wooden beams of the ceiling, chewing nervously on her lip. For the first time, Neela will finally have a room to herself after her sister’s marriage. She’d been excited about that for a while, but now, she feels a guilty pang for her sister. Neela comforts her sister, saying that everything will be fine.

Usha insists that she doesn’t know her new husband at all. What if he doesn’t like her after they’re married. What if none of his family likes her. Usha sounds tearful and younger than her fifteen years. Her husband-to-be, Gopal, is the son of an affluent farmer who lives three villages away. The marriage was arranged last month, after Gopal and his family came to see Usha. Gopal is good-looking, and has a pleasant smile, and from time to time, Neela catches him glancing with shy interest at her sister. But Neela understands Usha’s fears. That’s how it’s always been in traditional Indian families. Young men and women aren’t allowed to meet alone and get to know each other, not even after the wedding has been arranged. And, the thought of choosing one’s own husband is out of the question.

Neela’s sighs. Why can’t a girl choose her own husband? What is wrong with that? Neela says that she is sure that Gopal likes Usha. His whole family does, or else they wouldn’t have chosen Usha. Usha is pretty and sweet-natured, and they will all get along great. Usha is petite and fair-skinned, with long black hair and thick black eyelashes. She’s quiet and obedient, as their mother is fond of pointing out.

Neela, on the other hand, would come in with a scraped knee from climbing a tree, or with her dress muddy from having given a bath to Budhi, her favorite cow. Mother would exclaim that she is as thin as a stick of bamboo from running around so much, and getting darker from being out in the sun. No one will want to marry her when the time comes. She ought to be more like Usha, sitting calmly at home with a piece of embroidery. Neela’s father would smile. The pandit says that Neela reads and writes better than any other girl her age. Better than Usha even. But Mother insists that that will do Neela no good, except to fill her head with too many strange ideas.

Ma’s voice calling for the girls breaks into Neela’s thoughts. It’s time for them to get ready, and they better hurry. Usha just ought to think about the fine jewelry she’ll be wearing that night. Usha’s face lights up. Neela knows that Usha loves dressing in fancy clothes and that she loves her wedding sari. It’s a beautiful red Benarasi silk embroidered with gold thread. There’s a fine red petticoat of cotton to wear underneath, and an elbow-length brocade blouse with frilled sleeves.

Neela pulls on a shift, baggy drawers, and a clean frock that reaches past her knees. She’s normally considered too young to wear a sari. She doesn’t know how she would manage the six yards of material a sari is made of. But tonight, at the wedding, she will wear a sari for the first time. Hers was brought in from the same bazaar as Usha’s wedding sari, and it was a beautiful deep orange silk embroidered with a silver paisley design.

Neela walks to the porch, where her family’s maid put out a bowl full of freshly cut neem sticks that the family uses to brush their teeth. She chews on the slightly bitter stick as she goes to the pump. With the bucket of water, she washes her face and is about to visit the outhouse when she hears a loud angry mooing coming from the cow barn. It’s Budhi! Time for her to be milked. But normally, she waits patiently. Something must have upset her.

Neela hurries to the barn and sees Great-aunt Mangala, who is visiting for the wedding. She tells Neela that Haru, the servant boy, was sent to milk her. Neela hears Budhi moving louder than before, but she sees it’s no use trying to explain to Great-aunt that Budhi doesn’t like anyone else except Neela touching her. Neela slips away and goes off to the barn anyway, with Great-aunt’s shouts echoing behind her.

The barn is a long, low structure built of mud and brick. All of the cows are still tethered in their stalls except for Budhi. She broke her rope, and is knocking over her milk pail and moving and shaking her horns. Haru is backed up against the wall and on the verge of tears. When the cow turns to Neela’s voice, Neela catches hold of the rope and signals to the boy to go, which he does without hesitation.

After a little bit of calming, the cow allows Neela to tether her again. She’s still too upset for her milk to flow properly though, so Neela sings a song about cows at harvest time and rubs her back. Budhi nuzzles Neela, pleased.

By the time Neela gets back to the house with a full pail of milk, the village women have started arriving. They’re setting out good luck items, which Neela forgot to do. Glaring, her mother tells her that she’ll be dealt with later, and demands she goes to change. Neela feels bad. It’s an important day, and her mother is anxious already. But on the other hand, she couldn’t have left Budhi like that. Life is complicated, with duties that sometimes collide against each other.

Neela tries to make up for her behavior by being extra helpful. She fetches and carries things, and greets all guests politely. At lunch, she sets up the banana leaves that everyone will eat from. She helps mother serve the guests first, even though she’s starving. And after the meal, Neela pours water for the women to wash their hands.

A woman compliments Neela’s mother on what a good daughter she has. Neela is surprised by this. All of her mother’s friends have known them for years. There isn’t much coming and going in their quiet little village. Once they get married, they stay in their husband’s homes with their in-laws even though husbands may take jobs in nearby towns. Perhaps this woman is a relative of one of the other women. She is comfortably plump, and looks like a pleasant person. She wears a yellow cotton sari, but hers has a wide red border decorated with gold thread. When she speaks, the diamond in her nose winks merrily.

As the day turns to a warm afternoon, Neela lays on her cot impatiently. Mother decreed that both girls were to rest until the evening so they look their best for the wedding. Usha didn’t object, and she tossed and turned nervously for a while before finally falling asleep. But Neela, who’s used to spending her afternoons on more useful activities, is wide awake and dead bored. There’s not even anything to read in the room.

Great-aunt Mangala said, “Resting does not mean straining your eyes reading all that small print.” And she had confiscated the book Neela was reading, a much-handled copy of the Kathamala, a book of animal fables that the pandit had loaned her the last time he came over for a lesson. This annoys Neela. Why does Great-aunt feel like she has the right to tell her what to do? What’s worse is that Mother would probably side with Great-aunt if Neela were to complain. It’s what Neela thinks of as “The Conspiracy of the Adults.”

What Neela wanted to do that day was to go see the baoul. The baoul is a wandering minstrel who turns up in the village from time to time. Neela’s always happy to see him. Baouls are regarded as holy men. They wear saffron colored robes and give up family ties and all other earthly goods. Their coming is supposed to bring a family good luck. Her baoul is always traveling to far off places like Calcutta and Bombay. He leans on a staff when he walks, but he has a fine, clear voice and a large repertoire of songs. Every time he comes, he teaches Neela a song or two. It’s the only musical instruction she’s ever received.

Last night, the baoul showed up at their house. Dinner had already been served, but a place had quickly been set for him with the other menfolk visiting from the other villages and towns. When Neela’s father asked him about the news, Neela listened avidly. He talked about a big war against Germany. He said the Germans are dropping bombs from planes, blowing up cities. The British want India to help them fight Germany like they did last time, but the Indian Congress leaders don’t want to. Why should Indian men die for Britain in some distant battlefield?

The men debated about why they should or should not be loyal to the British. The British are the rulers of India. They govern the country and have given them things like courts, railroads, schools, and jobs. But others bring up that the British have been looting India for hundreds of years. There were the indigo plantations and they forced farmers to grow indigo to sell for a lot of money in Europe for nothing. Before the British, India was ruled by Muslim kings. They did whatever they wanted as well. But the British have also jailed people for demonstrating against them. Specifically, a man named Netaji Subhash Bose is rumored to be back in India, urging people to defy the British. But there are so many rumors nowadays, nobody knows who to believe.

The baoul stated that Netaji is back. His presence has given new strength to the freedom fighters. But at that moment, although Neela wanted to stay to listen, her mother called her away, so she didn’t get a chance to hear what the baoul continued to say. Neela was brought back into the kitchen, but from behind the door, she listened to the baoul as his fingers danced on the ektara’s string. She usually loves to watch, but at least she could hear.

The baoul sang a song that was banned by the British many years ago. It’s called “Vande Mataram,” which means “Hail, motherland.” His voice was deep and serious in some places, and high and joyful in others. He described India, her green fields, her cool breezes on a hot day, and the sweet voices of her people. She’s an ideal to be loved, and a goddess to be admired. Neela creased her forehead and tried to understand the unfamiliar Bengali words from an older time. The baoul asked the motherland for blessing, for the courage to fight to the death. His voice dipped, raw and sorrowful, as he sang.

The song made Neela wonder why they are a country of so many people, yet so hopeless against a few thousand British? Looking at the women around her, Neela even noticed tears on several cheeks.

Later, lying in bed, Neela tries to recall the tune and remember the rest of the words, but she can’t. She hums a little bit and then gives up. She wishes she could go and see the baoul. She’s sure he’s sitting on the porch of a ruined, old Krishna temple on the other side of the pond, humming a tune or thinking quietly. Tomorrow, she will ask him to teach the song to her.