Sex, Marriage and Family in World Religions (63 page)

The boy’s parents took some time to get over their shock. Then: “Well, I like that!” the boy’s mother exploded: “We have been generous enough in making a concession to your circumstances and agreeing to accept only ten thousand rupees from you for the marriage, including dowry and everything, and now you want us to educate your son as well! Has anyone heard the like of this?”

“Calm down,” the boy’s father said to his wife. “Let him ask what he likes.

We are not going to agree, after all. He is only expressing a wish.”

“Wish? But this is greed! One doesn’t snoot off one’s mouth like that. . . . ”

p a u l b . c o u r t r i g h t

“I didn’t say anything improper, madam,” said the girl’s father. “I was only asking for help. And it is not as though we are going to be strangers to you, we’ll become your kinsmen through this marriage. . . . ”

“There are many parents who demand even half a lakh [lakh ס 100,000] of rupees from the bride’s family, while we made you a concession by settling for only ten thousand. Did you think of that? No! And on top of it you have the gall to make this outrageous proposal!”

“That ten thousand is fifty thousand for us, madam! We are poor people, as you know. Yet we incur this expense because we do not wish to deny our girl entirely. If you will only think of that and be kind enough to help us with our son. . . . ”

“You are only doing your duty for your daughter. How are you justified in making that an excuse to profit from us? If you get back all your money’s worth from us like this, what do we have left—we, the bridegroom’s people?”

Brinda began to look at the nagalinga tree again.

“Don’t you have anything left?” asked the girl’s father. “What about the girl herself? And such a girl, too!”

“Uneducated,” said the boy’s mother. “You ought to give us three thousand rupees more for that reason alone.”

“But what about her efficient household work? You should cut down a couple of thousand for that.“

“Efficient, my foot! The bondas were too hot. The coffee smelled of raw powder. What is a marriage without the boy’s people getting at least twenty thousand rupees? But we, in our broadmindedness, have agreed to a mere. . . .”

“A beautiful girl is worth more than twenty thousand rupees.”

“That’s a laugh. What effrontery! It was only because the broker had said the girl wasn’t too bad-looking that we agreed to this small sum. Normally a boy’s parents would expect not less than thirty thousand rupees. . . . ”

The girl’s father glanced at the boy, “For
this
boy?” He did not voice the question, but the boy flushed and instantly pulled in his right leg under his dhoti. His parents, too, fell abruptly silent.

The girl’s father chuckled softly, “Why should we bandy these arguments?

The broker has informed both our parties of how matters stand, hasn’t he?”

“Then let us finalize things. Why bring up a new issue like your son’s education?” asked the boy’s father.

“That isn’t such an objectionable suggestion. . . . ”

“Has anyone heard of the boy’s people educating the girl’s brother? It is just not done. What game are you playing, mister?”

“The broker happened to mention that quite a few earlier marriage proposals for your son have fallen through,” the girl’s father said in a smooth voice.

The boy’s father mopped the beads of perspiration that broke out on his brow. The boy’s mother paused a while, then said, “All right. Make it fifteen thousand and we’ll help with your son’s education.”

Hinduism
295

“If I were that well-off, wouldn’t I help him myself?”

“Then forget it.”

“Wouldn’t you like to earn credit for educating a deserving poor boy? After all I am giving you a good-looking girl and ten thousand rupees. Just a small favor in return. . . . ”

“Do you want this marriage to come through or not?”

Sensing their anger, the girl’s mother’s eyes lit up for a moment in sudden hope. She made bold to turn round and glance at her daughter.

. . . sixteen, seventeen, eighteen . . . Brinda had been mentally counting the nagalinga flowers over and over from the beginning. Now, counting for the umpteenth time; her mind stopped at eighteen.

“Oh please, what sort of talk is that? If we hadn’t been keen about this alliance would we have proceeded in the matter at all? Please don’t misunder-stand what I said. . . . ” The girl’s father smiled anxiously. “If you don’t wish to help our son, let’s say no more about it. Let us not break off the marriage negotiations for that reason.”

. . . eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two. No, not that one.

That was just a bud. The next now. Twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five . . .

“Good.
Now
you are talking sense. After all, why should we educate your son?”

“I have already said we’ll drop the matter.”

“Then everything is settled.”

“Yes, settled. Only. . . . ”

“What now?”

“I have made no secret of my circumstances. So . . . it would be a great help if you would come forward in your generosity to cut down a bit . . . say, some five thousand rupees . . . from the agreed sum. . . . ”

“You have a nerve, I must say! Are you crazy? Even ten thousand is a pittance.

Don’t forget, we are the boy’s party. We could demand so much more from a girl’s people just to cover what our son’s education cost us. . . . ”

“True enough. Still, five thousand isn’t much to forgo in view of the girl’s good looks.”

“I’ve seen better looks.”

“Didn’t you admit that she was good-looking?”

“Not bad-looking. But certainly no beauty. Her skin is brown.”

“Is complexion everything? The Mahabharata describes Draupadi as incomparably beautiful. And what was her complexion? Dark, if you please! Dark!

Skin color isn’t important. Look at our Brinda’s features—every one of them perfect, as if chiseled! Couldn’t you cut down at least four thousand. . . . ”

“Do you know how absolutely beautiful these nagalinga flowers are?”

Brinda’s voice cut into the exchange. “People walk down the street gazing at this house. And every one in ten is sure to come in to ask for a few of them to

p a u l b . c o u r t r i g h t

be used in worship. I believe these flowers are especially suited for the worship of Shiva—no wonder! This itself is a lingam, isn’t it, and may even be worshipped as such. My mother worships God daily, did you know that? Isn’t that so, Amma? Not only Shiva, she worships all the gods with these flowers. And it makes the whole room smell so sweet, so sweet. Perhaps the fragrance from the tree reached you as you entered the gate? But the next day, when they wilt, they have a strong unpleasant odor. And the petals will come loose and drop off, just like that, if you so much as touch them. But when they are fresh, what lovely, lovely flowers they are! Worthy to be offered in worship. To be sought after by people passing by who come in and ask for them for Shiva. After all, there are many other flowers that can be offered to the gods—jasmines, roses, champaks—but no! This nagalinga is superior to them all.”

The girl’s mother never raised her eyes.

“Look at her eyes and her hair!” exclaimed the girl’s father. “You’ll never have your fill! A girl so lovely, so good and competent and intelligent—one might accept such a bride without demanding any money at all but I do not ask for that, do I? I am only requesting you to reduce the total amount by just four thousand . . . or even three. . . . ”

The girl’s father glanced at the boy’s leg. The boy was not paying any attention to what was going on. His eyes were glued to the girl.

And the girl’s eyes were glued to the nagalinga tree. Clusters of buds, green like raw fruit, were visible on the tips of branches. Blossoms in embryo. Future flowers. The boy’s mother spoke sharply, “All said and done, he is a man. What does a man’s appearance matter? Is he not educated? Is he not employed? And yet we took everything into consideration and settled for a mere ten thousand rupees instead of demanding thirty or forty thousand. How can you haggle over
that?
“

The girl’s father turned to his daughter, “Brinda, my dear, why are you in this heavy Chinnalampat sari? Go, change into the georgette that your friend Minakshi gave you last week. Don’t you want to show it to Aunty? Get up.”

Brinda did not stir.

“Get up and go in now, will you?”

Brinda shut her eyes for a moment, tight, then opened them again. She got up and went into an inner room.

“There is a Chettiar girl named Minakshi who is a close friend of our Brinda’s. Very close indeed, the two of them, since their childhood. Whenever Minakshi goes to Singapore or some other place, she never fails to bring back a present for her dear friend. Any number of georgette and nylex saris. Her father is an affluent man. . . . ”

Brinda came back, clad in the georgette sari. The thin material clung to her body and clearly underlined her physical charms. The boy’s eyes widened. The girl’s father watched him from the corner of his eye and addressed his parents.

“Don’t you think it is a pretty sari? Minakshi just dotes on Brinda. Presses gifts on her. Won’t take no for an answer. A good girl, that.”

Hinduism
297

Brinda was about to sit down.

“Just a minute, Brinda,” called her father. “I left a little packet of Sovereign betel powder on the table over there. Would you mind bringing it to me?”

Brinda walked up to the table at the other end of the room and walked back.

The boy’s eyes followed her all the way.

“There isn’t any betel powder there.”

“Oh dear, I must have already finished it. How forgetful of me! That’s all right, sit down now.”

Brinda sat down and the boy’s eyes sat down with her.

The girl’s mother got up abruptly and left the room.

“Yes, my daughter has a rich friend but I am a poor man all the same,” said the girl’s father. “I have proceeded in this matter purely out of the desire to see my daughter married. My family is large. My wife is sick. Ten thousand rupees is a sum quite beyond my means. I’ll have to borrow the money. How am I going to repay it? The very thought makes me shudder. . . . Couldn’t raise the amount even by selling myself. . . . I appeal to your kindness. I promise to perform the marriage with religious rites and not scrimp on the essentials. A concession of just three thousand rupees would be a great help. . . . ”

“Out of the paltry ten thousand agreed on? If that is the way you feel, let us call off the whole. . . . ”

Even before the boy’s mother, finished speaking, the boy spoke up, “So what’s wrong with cutting down on the amount, Amma? It is all right, sir. We’ll accept seven thousand.”

His parents, aghast, swung around and glowered at him. Brinda began to study the nagalinga tree again.

“What are you blabbing, you fellow?”

“I am not, Amma. The poor gentleman is pleading so hard. Can we remain unmoved?”

“A lordly benefactor, aren’t you
?”
his father snapped at him. “You fool. . . .”

The boy held up his hand. “It is my marriage, after all. If I have no objection to this, why should you bother?”

The boy’s father was dumbfounded.

Brinda counted the nagalinga flowers feverishly. One, two, three, four. . . .

The manner in which the three thousand rupees were to be slashed from the budget was decided between the parties by mutual agreement. The boy’s party then took their leave, asking the girl’s father to have an auspicious date set for the wedding.

The girl’s mother had come out again at the last minute for the formality of seeing the visitors off. When they left, she raised her head and looked straight into her husband’s eyes.

He turned away. “Don’t look at me like that. I know my place is reserved in the blackest hell. I’m going to the park for a stroll.” He thrust his feet into his slippers and rushed out of the house and down the street, as if fleeing from himself.

p a u l b . c o u r t r i g h t

The girl’s mother turned toward her daughter. Then she looked away, tee-tered, and sat down.

“There are quite a lot of flowers on the nagalinga tree today, Amma. Plenty of them high up and many strewn on the ground too. I am going to count the whole lot. There must be at least four dozen flowers in all, if not six.” Brinda looked hard at the tree. She must count the flowers. Must count the flowers.

That was all. Count the flowers. She must observe the flowers with care and count them correctly . . . nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen . . . There were sure to be four dozen flowers, no doubt about that . . . twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight . . . And even as she was counting, suddenly the flowers seemed to vanish and she saw on the tree four dozen lame legs.

[“Counting the Flowers,” Chudamani Raghaven, in
The Slate of Life: More
Contemporary Stories by Women Writers in India,
ed. Kali for Women (New York: Feminist, 1990), pp. 79–86]

b u d d h i s m

Alan Cole

b u d d h i s m ’ s o r i e n t a t i o n t o t h e f a m i l y To reckon the place of family and sexuality in Buddhism, three particularities of the Buddhist tradition need to be kept in view. First, Buddhism, like Chris-tianity, grew out of the matrix of another religion. Consequently, Buddhism’s ethical system emerged resting squarely on a body of preestablished forms of family practice, and supported by a fairly codified sociolegal system that had already taken form under the aegis of the Brahmanical tradition, sometime before the sixth-century bce. Thus, as a relatively late arriver, Buddhism accepted, tacitly, many of the given forms of social praxis in India. And, even when Buddhism sought to redefine religious goals and family values, these efforts were manifested vis-à-vis patterns that had already been in place for centuries. In short, whatever the exact historical reasons, one will look in vain for Buddhist spokespersons seeking to redo marriage law in India or in other Asian countries. Similarly, Buddhist authors did not launch campaigns to redefine procreative norms or sexual practices, and, thus, Buddhist authors seem to have been generally content to let much of family life proceed as it had.