Strength to Say No (16 page)

Some children went up on the platform, and I was called to sing with them. They put a microphone in my hands, and I started singing a Bengali song that we learned at school. The
pupils followed the beat. Then I was invited to take my place at the rostrum and introduce myself. I lifted my
dupatta
so that it didn't get caught on my sandals. The audience was quiet, everyone was looking at me and the cameramen aimed their cameras at me. I felt panic mounting. No sound came out of my mouth. The crowd extended as far as the eye could see. If I didn't say something very soon the situation could get very embarrassing. I remembered that in these cases you need to start by saying something simple. So I introduced myself. The rest followed as one push of the pedal follows another. I went back over my sister's marriage at the age of twelve and her multiple disastrous pregnancies. I mentioned the health problems linked to early marriage and the risks of childbirth out in the countryside, often without medical assistance. I mentioned the fact that fertility is not 100 per cent assured at our age. I then carried on with the marriage propositions my parents had received, my refusal to go along with them, the sanctions and the pressures that I was subjected to and the slow reconciliation with Ma, who now regretted her behaviour. I mentioned the examples of other girls I met during the training programme who had given in to their parents.

‘If I said no to marriage it is, as I have just told you, for reasons of health – but also to continue my schooling. I worked for a long time in the rice paddies. For a long time I helped my father produce bidis so that our family could earn a little more money. There were days without rice, days without rotis, when we had to beg for food from neighbours. They were supportive but also as destitute as we were. But there were also days at school when my schoolmates and I spent time just being children – learning rather than going to work, being instructed
rather than breaking our backs or ruining our health.'

I paused. I had been speaking for nearly twenty minutes, and I needed to think about drawing to a close.

‘If I refused to submit to the decisions of my parents that doesn't mean that I lack respect for them or that I have a secret boyfriend.'

The crowd laughed. I smiled and continued, ‘That does not call into question their authority or their responsibility for our education. If I refused it is because I know that their choice is not theirs but that of the community, which wishes to see each little girl go to her in-law family as soon as possible, often for economic reasons. Kids – you, too, have the power to refuse to be married while you are still young. Parents – don't give in to the pressure of your family, your neighbours or friends. Allow your children to have a chance to help you concretely and significantly once their schooling is finished! Thank you for listening to me.'

I returned to my seat as the crowd applauded warmly. The politician who spoke just afterwards stressed my courage, my determination and my capacity for judgement in spite of my young age. He congratulated my parents for having given me life so that I might help other people change theirs.

According to the officials with me there were at least five thousand people in the audience. This was the first time that I had spoken in front of so many people. If at the beginning I had butterflies in my stomach and my shyness got the upper hand, I still managed to express myself clearly.

After the meeting a lot of young people wanted to meet me. One girl confided to me that she was desperate: her family had already struck a deal for her marriage, and the wedding was
planned for the next month. I advised her to speak to her parents then to refuse to eat, not to take part in domestic life and, the most important thing, to stand firm. She was afraid of contradicting her parents and of being punished or thrown out of the house but promised to stand up to them. She confided to me that without my speech she would never have dared to consider taking the plunge.

This is the first time I've ever touched snow. The flakes brushing against my cheeks cause an electric sensation that runs up and down my spine. My face is damp, and I have never been so cold. They warned us that it would be chilly in the capital, but none of us could have imagined such low temperatures. I am dressed in so many layers of clothing that I can hardly manage to walk normally. I take several photos that I will be able to show on my return to the Bengal region. For several days I have been in New Delhi with around twenty other young people from all over the country who have come to attend Heroes Day. This event is organized by the leaders of the country to honour young people who have accomplished something significant and important for India.

The all-terrain vehicle grazed the houses. The villagers were obliged to go inside their shacks if they wanted to avoid getting run over. The narrow road was meant for carts, bikes and perhaps cars, but no one would ever have imagined that one day a four-by-four of this size would go along it. The vehicle stopped in front of our house. I climbed inside, and my mother said goodbye to me. She wondered if she hadn't done a stupid thing in allowing this trip, which was going to separate us for nearly two weeks. She put the veil of her sari over her hair,
taking care to hide one eye already wet with tears. We had to go on a few hundred metres to have enough room to turn around and get back on the road out of the village. We got to the station at around seven o'clock. The Rajdhani Express was going to leave in half an hour. We got on board, and I chose a compartment where there was room for my friend Afsana and my father, who was accompanying me. It was the second time that he was going to New Delhi, too. The train left on time! That was good news because it meant that we should arrive on schedule the next morning at about ten.

In the train the conversations started very quickly. Who were we? Where were we going? The passengers were surprised and delighted to learn that we were going to the capital to meet the president, the prime minister and the secretary general of the Congress Party. I was sure that they had already forgotten why we were invited, dazzled by the famous people we were going to meet. The further the train went and the more travellers got on board, the more our accents became noticeable. We heard incomprehensible regional languages being spoken. When night fell we got into our couchettes.

I woke up early in the morning when the WCs were free and the carriage was still asleep. I washed and got dressed quickly and then I went back and sat on the couchette. Waiting while the other passengers surfaced one after the other I watched the scenery go by.

In recent months I had travelled around to dozens of villages and met several thousand people thanks to my public speeches. If the schools and public places in general accorded me a favourable reception that was not always the case with certain committees in villages where the traditions were more entrenched. I remember
the mother who tried to hit me because I was spreading unhealthy ideas in the minds of her daughters. According to her I was spreading ideas that were unworthy, insulting and degrading for our society. Like my mother she thought that if the young children now had the right to see and approve of their future husbands they would go off the first chance they got and lose their virtue. I had trouble explaining that the health risks could be critical. She didn't want to hear about it, replying that she herself had given birth to six children without ever feeling she was at death's door. Her daughter was neither more nor less fragile, so why should she give up on finding a husband soon?

It was obvious that this woman had never had any miscarriages or a stillborn baby and that she was unaware of the risks that she was making her daughter run. The public was divided on the question. The debate was launched. Each of us stuck to our position. For the first time I had to make an unplanned exit before the situation got out of control. There is no one more deaf than the one who doesn't want to hear.

I also remember the father who violently took me to task during another speech. He accused me of being ignorant of our traditions and of corrupting minds while making poor people like them feel guilty. In uniting their children at an early age the parents were acting in their roles as unifiers of dynasties and guardians of the patronymic line. He added that marriage was something too serious to be entrusted to children. These sometimes painful confrontations were very instructive, since they helped me ponder the relevance and the meaning of the fight that I was leading.

My friend Afsana opens an eye. She is sitting and watching the snowflakes fall. In a few hours we will be in New Delhi. The first vendors come on board the train. In some stations there are dozens of them offering tea, coffee, fruits, rice or lentils. They bring a little thali to us, but I eat very little. The food is greasy, and there is no bread. I ask Baba if I can have some fruit and almonds. He calls out to one of the vendors, who has nothing but hot drinks. But, never mind, the seller sends his son to look for the right things so as not to lose the sale. The young man comes back a few minutes later with some peeled fruit wrapped in newspaper neatly tied with a little string. Baba takes out some rupees and hands them to the little boy who hurries to pass them on to his papa. He smiles at me. I lower my eyes, and I can't help thinking that he would be better off being in school.

We enter the New Delhi station about an hour late, but some people are there to welcome us at the end of the platform. They are bundled up in thick overcoats, and I envy them because I am freezing. They suggest going to the market to buy some warm clothing for us. From the car I see several people sitting in front of a little fire and rubbing their hands together and staying quite close to the flames. I choose a thick sweater that I put on immediately, plus a jacket and a black hat. Afsana and I are now dressed to face the winter temperatures of the capital. We go to the hotel in the car that has been assigned to us.

At the hotel I am afraid to take the lift. I admit to not trusting these big grey metal cages. I prefer to take the stairs even if our rooms are on the fourth floor. The telephone rings, and I have trouble fishing my mobile out from all the layers of clothing I have on. The number that comes up is unfamiliar, but the town code is that of Bangalore. I have just missed a
phone call from my brother. A few seconds later the phone vibrates again, and I pick it up.

‘Rekha? Are you all right?'

‘Dipak? Yes, we're fine. We're in New Delhi!'

‘In New Delhi? What are you doing there?'

‘We've been invited by the president and the prime minister. They want to give us a medal. We've been selected by the “Child Heroes” programme,' I answer excitedly while getting out of my jacket and my shoes.

‘But that's fantastic news. Do you know what they've planned? Do you think you'll get some money?'

‘I don't know. They told us that we're going to spend a fortnight here with other kids who come from all the states of India. Baba is with me, and we're sharing a hotel room. Ma stayed in the village.'

‘Was that all right with her?'

‘Yes, the situation has become bearable. You know she attends meetings and says publicly that she's proud of me – that I was right to refuse the marriage propositions.'

‘What? Really?'

‘Yes, no kidding. At the end of one speech some girls questioned her and even congratulated her. She was happy to have all the attention. She told the pupils that she had only done her duty as a mother, that she had no other choice, considering our financial situation, but that now she is sorry she was so strict with me. I even heard her tell some pupils that she'd been wrong to be stubborn on this point.'

‘She's really unpredictable. I'm glad the situation has calmed down. Tell her that I called the next time you talk to her.'

‘OK, I will. You're still working as a floral decorator?'

‘No, the marriage season is over. I've found a new job.'