We bring you an excerpt from Smita Jhavar’s book which is an insightful account of the lives of Marwari women and how they have triumphed over their environment and broken free of their shackles

`Thud,’ the wooden stairs said as Krishna put her right foot carelessly on them. The bells of her anklets jingled. In her excitement, Krishna had forgotten to tread softly.

“Who is it?” Munimji’s resonating voice echoed. His face was still buried in his account book but his eyes looked up and halted at Krishna. Red threads, running like rivers on a map, filled his eyes.
Krishna stood rooted. His eyes always did this to her.
“Where are you going?”
“Nanima’s place.”
“Why?”
“Mother asked me to...”
“Does your mother find it so difficult to look afer her only child, that she keeps sending you away? Go back upstairs,” Munimji said angrily.

Krishna mustered courage, and avoiding his eyes said, “Nanima has decorated her ‘puja’ room with flowers today. Mother asked me to go for ‘darshan’. If you say no, I won’t go.” She turned a little to return.

“Accha, accha go, but not alone, take Bhima with you. And return soon.” Munimji gave the permission to go.
As she crossed the wooden threshold, she saw Jagannath approaching. She ran and hugged him at the knees. She looked up, her large eyes glistening with tears. She looked into his eyes. So gentle and loving. So different from those fierce eyes she had just left behind. Krishna loved those crinkled eyes when he smiled. Her grandfather’s eyes smiled along with his lips, she thought. She found comfort in their warmth now.

“What is it my child?’’ Jagannath had guessed that Krishna wanted to say something.
“Why does Munim dadaji scare me so much? You don’t scare me.’’
“Because he cares for you ‘beta’,’’ Jagannath explained.
Krishna didn’t believe him. If he cared he wouldn’t scare her so much. He would have been gentle like her grandfather. And he wouldn’t have those frightening eyes. But she didn’t argue with her grandfather.
“You are going to Nanima’s place aren’t you?’’
Krishna nodded to say yes.
“Tell me, how is your Nanima’s Gopal faring? He must have put on weight, with all the ‘pedhas’ and ‘rabdi’ your grandmother makes for him. He was always so ‘gol-matol’. He’s a real ‘chatora, nahi’?’’
Jagannath could always make Krishna laugh.
She forgot those red eyes and laughed with her grandfather. “Nanima says she will teach me to make all that Gopal eats when I grow up.’’
“That’s very nice, but you hurry up now, Nanima must be waiting for you. You should visit her every day, she’s all alone you know.’’
Krishna ran away, Jagannath watched her little frame recede with Bhima at her side.

Why did this little thing enchant him, he thought, as he stepped inside his mansion. Poor girl! She was so terrified of Munimji. Munimji shouldn’t be so strict with this little bundle of joy. He saw Munimji engrossed in his books. He smiled to himself. No, not even he as the master of the house could ask him to do that. He was as much her grandfather as he himself was. “Nanima, Nanima, I have come,” Krishna called out as she climbed the stairs as fast as her legs could carry her. Krishna loved to be with Kesar maa. She followed her around the house, asking question after question. She prayed with her and chanted hymns. She picked up a rosary and put her small hands in a ‘gomukhi’. She moved a bead forward and said, “Shri Krishna Sharnam Mama’’ like Kesar maa constantly chanted. Sometimes she lost patience.

“Nanima, enough now, I am hungry.’’ She would sit before the almirah where Kesar maa kept the ‘prasad’. In the corner was a small bamboo basket, where Kesar maa kept small pieces of papers. She gave ‘prasad’ to anyone who came visiting her. Nobody left the house without eating it on those small paper rectangles.
Krishna waited with the largest piece of paper she could find in the basket. A larger piece would accommodate more ‘prasad’.

“We get so much to eat because of Gopal. You should make more and more things for him.’’
Kesar maa watched Krishna demolish every peanut, every bit of sweet with great relish. She couldn’t help remembering Radha as a child. Her anger, her jealousy towards Gopal. She had rejected Gopal, but Krishna had accepted him. It was because of him that she ate delicious sweets. Gopal filled her grandmother’s empty days and hers with fun.

Krishna created small ripples in the quiet, peaceful life that Kesar maa led. She eagerly waited for her to come and hear her feet follow her everywhere. She got used to her endless chattering now. She told her stories of Lord Krishna and Radha, of Ram and Sita.

One day she told Krishna, “Your mother will bring you a brother now.’’
Without a moment’s hesitation, she had said, “I want a sister, to play with.”
Her wish was fulfilled.
Radha gave birth to a baby girl. This time all the servants wanted to break the news to Jagannath. Two of them bolted across to do so. Jagannath heard the news and turned to leave. He saw the two waiting in anticipation.
Run along you two, do you expect me to celebrate the birth of a second daughter?’’
Both had returned with crestfallen faces.
But Krishna had rejoiced. She touched the baby’s soft fair cheeks to make sure she was real. She saw her red lips and asked her mother, “Has she eaten ‘paan’? Her lips are so red.’’

Radha saw Krishna so delirious with joy that she never regretted the birth of a second daughter. She was happy for Krishna’s sake. If it were a son she would never be so happy. She tried to memorise within her heart the joyous face of Krishna. These moments were so rare. They had to be treasured. Kesar maa had been right. Krishna had given a new dimension to her life. She had taught her to love.

Jagannath named her Rukmini after Lord Krishna’s beautiful and intelligent wife. Jamna wasn’t too happy with a second granddaughter. Her endeavour to hide her feelings failed miserably. She rarely showed any warmth towards Rukmini, and it hurt Radha.

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