Excerpt from When the Lotus Blooms

My back Cover gives a idea about the story

From East Bengal to Tamil Nadu, ‘When the Lotus Blooms’ captures the mood and ethos of the rich landscape and diversity of India, while highlighting the universal and timeless circumstances of women and their struggle to seek happiness in a patriarchal world.

The novel follows the arc of two Brahmin families in 1930s British Colonial India. It is the journey of two child brides, Rajam and Dharmu, who attempt to fulfill their destiny despite the shackles of tradition, duty, and customs of a complex society.

Tormented by a domineering mother-in-law, Rajam battles with her inability to conceive, and Dharmu struggles with the loneliness and strain of adapting to her aloof husband’s westernized lifestyle. The blooming of the lotus has a special significance to both families.

 Excerpt

Chapter 10 – Kamala

Sonarpur, East Bengal – 1934

 Kamala balanced three large brass pots on her head and set off down the narrow path. She was a little nervous. There had been many tiger sightings and only last week, there was a killing but that had taken place much farther upstream. Filling water for the kitchen from the river was a daily chore and nothing bad had happened so far. At the shrine of Banobibi, the village deity, she put down her pots and fell to her knees. With her eyes tightly shut, she prayed. ‘Hey, glorious Banobibi, you are kind and giving. Protect me today; make me strong and brave. You, the bountiful slayer of the demon tiger, stay in my heart always.’

Strengthened by her prayer, she confidently placed two pots on her head and the third one she cradled in the curve of her waist. It was only a short walk through the forest to the ghat. In any case, it was not dark yet and she had enough time to get water from the river for the next day’s cooking and still reach home before dusk.

She increased her pace as she entered the thick jungle, constantly listening for any strange sounds. If she heard a cheetal shriek, or monkeys chattering too loudly, then she would be forewarned and could run back to the village, or at least scream for help. She stopped and turned around. She could see many of the villagers still working in the fields, all within earshot. Emboldened, she quickened her pace and in a few minutes was at the ghat.

‘Quick’ she told herself. ‘I shouldn’t wait here longer than necessary.’

Her heart was pumping rapidly. She was nervous.

‘Don’t be silly,’ she comforted herself. ‘You are only five minutes from the village.’ The village headman told them tigers don’t move away from their territory, so there was no fear. The last tiger kill took place several miles upstream. ‘This village is too far and tigers are scared of humans. It cannot come here.’ Thus consoling herself, she lifted the brass pots and placed them on the steps of the ghat. The topmost pot tipped over and bounced down the stairs with a noisy clang a few times before falling into the water. Kamala felt uneasy. That had never happened before. Was it an omen of sorts? ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she chided herself. ‘These things happen.’

 She leaned forward to reach for the pot, which was bobbing away from her. The jungle sounds of crickets and birds created a musical symphony, broken only by the gurgling of clear water filling the brass pot. Her fingers were numb with fear. She was tense and her body on high alert, listening closely for any strange sounds.

 She heard the unmistakable crackle of movement against the undergrowth. Someone must be approaching the ghat. Kamala paused and sat up, her body rigid with apprehension. She felt the perspiration dampening the insides of her blouse. It was very hot and rivulets of sweat trickled down her back. A shiver went down her spine and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. She regretted coming alone to fill water. Maybe she should have listened to the warnings and brought someone along with her. She pictured the image of Banobibi in her head and felt the fear ebb, if only for a moment.

“Ke?” She called. “Who is that?”

There was no sound except for crickets. She waited for a while, but was quite certain no one was approaching. There was no unfamiliar noise and she reproached herself for being so anxious. Picking up the second pot, she immersed it in water, when she heard the distinctive crackling sound again, this time much closer. She turned around and looked in the direction of the sound.

The sight was so shocking, she could not move. There, framed in the thick shrubbery, was the face of a fully grown Bengal Tiger. Her jaw dropped open, drying the saliva within. All her life she had heard stories of tiger encounters but nothing prepared her for this ferocious sight.

Fearlessly, the magnificent animal boldly stepped out of the foliage that had camouflaged it all this time. It was a gigantic cat, ten or twelve feet long, with striking auburn yellow and black stripes. Its coat was mangy in parts but its stance was regal. Its head slunk low, resting on powerful shoulders and its feline slanted eyes locked on its prey.

Kamala sat transfixed, unable to move. Her gaze was riveted on the slanted golden eyes of this large feline, playmate of the goddess Banobibi. Even though it dawned on her this vision was going to be her last, she couldn’t move. She was mesmerized by the mystique of those yellow eyes and the majesty of its carriage. She opened her mouth to scream but no sound escaped her mouth.

The tiger roared, the sound echoing through the forest in vibrations that shook the leaves making them fall to the forest floor in ripples of fear. It was so close that Kamala could smell its fetid breath, the stench of putrefying flesh. The two canines that should have been on its upper jaw were missing. Kamala’s heart sank and all her muscles went limp as she prepared for the inevitable. Her grip on the brass pots loosened. The tiger crouched on its hind paws, its muscles rippling under the striated flesh.

The last thing Kamala saw were those yellow mesmeric eyes.

The pots rolled over, the water emptying onto the damp forest floor, as they tumbled noisily down the steps and splashed into the turbulent water. Sinking beneath the tide, then slowly filling up, they rose to the surface once again to bob in the churning water. 

Only this time the water was not clear; it was tinged with pink.