YESTERDAY AND TOMORROW-RED GHAGRA (PART FOUR)
TOMORROW: Birla
Tailor-Master had a thriving business in Chandigarth. Being one of the few dorjis
who had trained in the big cities, he had an expert grasp on the art of
fittings, and his hand-stitched cholis were things of art. They disguised the
under-arm rolls that were the curse of all women, while pushing up the plump
assets that were the focus of all men.
In his wrinkled hands, a few metres of
cloth could transform a pigeon into a swan, while his stock of gotis,
appliquies and stonework dupattas brought sighs of envy from his less talented
competition. Of course, all this meant, naturally, that not only was Birla
Master a very popular tailor, he was an autocratic old man who picked and chose
his clients. He had more business than he could handle, but being an artiste,
he didn't really care about the money.
Paro had tried for weeks to get Birla Master to give her an appointment. There
was something special that she wanted to get made, and only the best would do.
But for some reason the old man had simply not liked her when she had shyly
entered his shop. When she had placed her package on to his counter, and
hesitatingly told her what she wanted him to do, he had stared at her in shock.
The old man had touched the material as if it were dirt, and loftily told her
he didn't do these types of orders. He only did original work, work that
allowed him to design and select colors, make something new.
After finding out
that she was not interested in getting something new tailored, he dismissed the
shy young woman. Paro left the store thinking she had somehow offended the
great Birla Master.
But that was not true. Her beauty, her grace and figure had
been very appealing to an old man who was used to working against Nature
everyday. He was a little tired of working to disguising flaws instead of
simply enhancing perfection, which he could see at a glance Paro was.
If Paro
had placed herself in his hands, he would have been very happy to make her cholis
that would drive the neighborhood men mad and ghagras that would wrap around
her sinuous hips like a lover's caress as she walked. He knew, regretfully,
that he was letting the most beautiful model for his creations go, but what she
had asked was outrageous. No, it could not be done. If she had only asked for
regular service! Well, no matter, she would go elsewhere.
He sighed, turning to
close the store. And just---- stopped.
In front of him stood a god. Birla Master, a pious man, for
several seconds truly believed that standing before him was the human reincarnation
of Lord Shiva himself. Wild eyes, as ruthless and untamed as a monsoon storm
gazed at him out of a granite face. The tall frame was made for destruction, containing
overwhelming strength, while the chiseled face made him think of medieval
warriors in old scripts. A force seemed to come from the man, leashed power and
strength, kept tightly coiled, ready to lash out at a moment's notice. It was a
man, perhaps, but not an ordinary one.
Birla Master took in the leather jacket and worn jeans, at first puzzled.
But it was a glance at the army jeep parked outside that told him who this god-like
creature was. Major Ranawat! The man who had been single handedly transforming
the border towns, one by one, doing more for Indian security than a hundred
officers before him! Birla Master slapped himself on the forehead. He was
getting old, if he didn't instantly recognize the infamous, heroic BSD Major
now standing inside his...ladies' tailoring shop?
"Woh. Dekha
mene ke ek ladki aya tha yaha. Patli si. Bohot kuch nahi bolte. Baal lambe, koi
neel wali ghagra mein. Aya tha kya?"
Stammering before the questions, Birla-master bowed and
scraped, welcoming this frightening Army man inside his shop. "Ji!! aya tha ek baisa!" he admitted, wondering
what that slim young slip of a girl had done that was so bad the Major himself
had come chasing after her tail.
"Kuch diya tumko? Haath
mein kuch tha shayad. Koi packet-waket?" The Major growled, looking remarkably out of
place amongst the hanging dresses and pictures of simpering heroines inside the
shop.
Birla Master could confirm that she had a packet, and he had
examined what she had brought. But it wasn't anything dangerous, or illegal, he
hastened to defend himself. Just an old wedding ghagra-jori, horribly stained
and bilkul ruined. Red-gold, old fashioned, totally worn out and torn. She
wanted him to recreate the outfit! Down to the appliqu, the dupatta, the
border and mirror work! It had been her mother's wedding jora, and had somehow
got into this condition.
But the Ladki wanted to wear exactly that jora's copy
to her wedding! She had begged for his help, she was planning to marry but
would only wear this outfit and no other. He could do it, only if he worked day
and night to find such old style gotti, but why would he? It was impossible, it was outrageous, the
outfit was fit for nothing but the dumpster, it was so...Birla Master stuttered
to a stop.
The Major, who had been listening intently to his explanation suddenly turned
to him, his eyes flashing with an eerie light. Birla Master almost cowered
before the joy he saw in the younger man's face. Joy and...triumph? Now, in a
voice rendered almost unrecognizable with emotion, the Major gave Birla Master
instructions.
Birla Master would go to this Ladki's house. Here was the address. Here was
some money, to execute the Ladki's exact order. Birla Master would beg the
Ladki to allow him to make her wedding jora. She would not know anything about
the Major's visit here, today. Birla Master would make her happy. The jora would be an exact, an EXACT replica,
down to the last mirror and the smallest sequin. He would stop all other work,
and his entire tailoring team would do just this, until it was completed.
And once
it was done----The Major waited for Birla Master's terrified nod---once it was
done, he could come to the biyah. He could be in the baraat, if he liked. But he
would expect Birla Master to finish this order as soon as humanly possible. It
was an order from the Indian Army.
Saying this, the Major turned and almost ran down the steps. "Kaun ka baraat?
Kiss ka biya?" stammered the bewildered Birla Master, holding the cash notes
the Major had given him in his hands. "Mera!" said the Major, looking up at the
shocked tailor.
The smile that illuminated Major Ranawat's face as he drove
away kept Birla Master rooted to his door for many long minutes. And then, the old man smiled himself,
remembering the shock and joy on the BSD officer's face as the man realized what
his Ladki had been planning. Birla Master felt a twinge of envy as he
remembered that Ladki's sparkling eyes. After all, he was a man first, and a tailor
baadh mein. Young love! He went happily back into his store, pushing other
orders impatiently aside. He had work to do!
________________________________________________
YESTERDAY:
Paro sat in the corner of
Rudra's bedroom, huddled into herself. The cold of the desert night had crept
in through the old stone floor, reaching up into her body and causing her to
shiver uncontrollably. The heavy jewelley sat like a choke collar around her
neck, keeping her weighted down as if her own ornaments had become her enemies,
conspiring against her along with HIM. Her bangles jangled as she rubbed her
arms and the sound reverberated into the night. Frightened by what the
consequences would be if she woke HIM up, she grabbed for her own wrists,
painfully clamping the bangles to her skin.
Too late. A creak came from the bed
across the room, and the next moment, she was wrenched up to her feet. His
fingers grabbed at her shoulders, and the flimsy material covering her arm tore
like tissue paper. He tossed the shredded silk aside, and she felt his leg move
to trap her own.
The ghagra hit against her ankles, pushed in by his
strength, the heavy embroidery sending shooting pain into her legs. She
struggled, trying to get leverage, and felt him grab at her hip, pulling the
fabric tight around her waist. A rending
sound, as the stained fabric suddenly came out, threads dangling from the folds.
Shaking with disbelief and the horrific fear of why she was being unclothed,
Paro choked back a cry, trying, silently, desperately, to stop the marauding
monster from attacking her.
Why was he shredding her clothes like this she
thought frantically...and visions of being attacked in the worst possible way
suddenly came into her mind. Frightened more than she had ever been, Paro uttered
a strangled sound, her tears falling and dampening the red cloth. "Zabardasti nah karo, manne sath itna kuch kiya,
lekhin yeh na karo-- manne baksh do" she whispered, and felt him rear
back in shock as if she had slapped him.
Thrown up against the pillar, she felt a mirror-piece break off the ghagra and
dig into her back. Gasping from the sudden pain, she tried to push the unmoving
boulder holding her to the wall, tried to get away from the splinter in her
back. She was pushed more firmly back in. Tears, unbidden, rained down her face
and onto the huge arms holding her to the wall. She looked into the hooded eyes
of her captor, her own wet ones silently begging for release.
"Lag ra hai mennu...ghagra se kanch chub gaya" she gasped, and
as suddenly as she had been pinned, she was released. The dark looming shape that
was the Major backed off, and Paro reached back to feel for the glass splinter.
As she tried to wipe up the blood trickling down her back
with her dupatta, she heard him rummage in his closet. A tiny choli and the
skirt of a short ghagra hit her in the face. "Wo shadhi
ka jora utar. Aur yeh pehn le" came a steely voice from the darkness.
"Bechari banne ke liye yeh pehen
rakkhe hai kya? Tujhe pehle bhi bola, mera kuch kapde pehne ko. Tu to sun na se ra. To meine Laila ko bola ke uss ke kuch purane kapde wo leh aiye.Tu Laila
ko nahin janti, lekin woh teri size ki hai. ---Yeh pehn le."
Paro looked up in astonishment. Who didn't know Laila, the
dancing girl, the Major's kept woman? In the village, she had heard about women
like her, spoken about in hushed tones. Here in the army camp, she had seen the
beautiful, bold woman stroll into the Major's quarters as if she owned them.
From her cell, she had heard the whispers and sniggers of the constables and prisoners,
and even in her innocence, she fully understood exactly what Laila was doing in
those quarters.
Take off her mother's gift
to her, to put on HIS mistress's cast offs?
"Nahi" said Paro, wincing
a little. The ghagra had become stained and torn, and it chafed against her
skin, causing red weals here and there. The beautiful zari-work had become a
penance, rubbing her arms and necks raw. She longed for something else to wear.
But if her choices were Laila's clothes or the Major's, she would keep this red
jori on until she died.
There was total silence in the dark bedroom. Paro, for a moment, almost thought
she was alone, the Jallad had even stopped breathing, it seemed, so total was
the unbroken air around her. And then came his voice, sibilant, like a
snake hissing in the dark---"Mein utaru? Tu kisi aur ki patni ye koi farak nahi
parega muje. Utaru teri yeh ghagra?"
Paro shuddered, and ran to the screen next to the wardrobe, stumbling in the
total darkness. A low laugh followed her, as she frantically stripped behind
the screen, fumbling at the hooks. Though she had longed to be able to change her
clothing for weeks now, suddenly, it felt as if her wedding jori was begging
her to stay on, to hold on to her role as a bride.
She cried silently, feeling
a constriction in her throat. The Jallad, somehow, was taking even this from
her, making her meaningless, turning her into something profane and disgusting,
even though Laila's clothes were fresh. The stained and destroyed ghagra
suddenly seemed clean, seemed pure. But he would strip her, and if he did that perhaps he would force her to her take what Laila so willingly took from him. No!
The red ghagra dropped from her body as if it weighed a ton. She was no longer
a bride. As it fell from her trembling body, it seemed to carry down with it
all her expectations, her hopes and dreams. Her future fell in red folds of
cloth around her ankles, now tattered, stained with blood and wet with her
tears. She would never be clad in her mother's blessing again, never wear red
again. It was over.
_________________________________________________
THE YESTERDAY AND TOMORROW SERIES-ENJOY!
Yesterday and Tomorrow, Part 4 (Red Ghagra):https://www.indiaforums.com/forum/topic/3905307
Yesterday and Tomorrow, Part 5 (Bindi):https://www.indiaforums.com/forum/topic/3907135
Yesterday and Tomorrow, Part 7 (Fears): https://www.india-forums.com/forum_posts.asp?TID=3930183
Yesterday and Tomorrow, Part 8 (Posession) :https://www.indiaforums.com/forum/topic/3934862
Yesterday and Tomorrow, Part 9 (Jallad) :https://www.indiaforums.com/forum/topic/3940500
Yesterday and Tomorrow, Part 10 (Forgiveness): https://www.indiaforums.com/forum/topic/3951666
Yesterday and Tomorrow, Part 11 (Repentance) :https://www.indiaforums.com/forum/topic/3970836
Yesterday and Tomorrow, Part 12 (Rebirth): https://www.indiaforums.com/forum/topic/4059251
comment:
p_commentcount