Bombay Brides

by Esther David

  I stopped reading, as it was getting dark. I was hungry and my eyes were paining with the strain. I was about to close the diary, when I saw that some pages were torn and there were marks on the pages, which appeared to be tear stains. So I washed my eyes, sat down, wore my spectacles and continued reading, when my eyes froze on one word on a torn page, ‘…sinned…’

  I could not figure out if Delilah had gone to the beach alone when nobody was around, approached the fish with a sharp cleaver, hacked a piece of its tail, taken it home, cooked it, fed the family and eaten it herself. Or did she have it all alone in a corner of a field, where she cooked it on a wood fire? This, I assumed, was the meaning of the single word ‘…sinned…’

  The next day, I again hurried through my chores and sat down to read Delilah’s diary. I was confused, as there were disconnected lines on torn pages:

  ‘…this fish on the seashore, which looks as big as a house, had died. It was buried on the beach … a few months later … it erupted like a volcano … there was a lot of destruction … some fishermen’s huts were destroyed… I was distressed and held myself responsible for its death … since then I cannot eat fish…’

  I now started understanding my inability to eat fish. I closed the diary, went to bed early and woke up when the milkman called out to me. Then I went back to bed and woke up much later, when Sonbai rang the doorbell.

  After reading Delilah’s diary, I became a vegetarian. Two years later, a similar white whale was washed ashore on the Alibaug beach on a rainy night and I was dragged back into the diary, her agony and torture. So many years later, I was living through her pain.

  I spent all my time in the library, reading about whales in old National Geographic volumes, stacked in a corner, which I dusted and arranged according to their dates. A young reader saw my interest in whales and advised me to install cable television, on which I could see films on whales and wildlife. So I found a cable operator, who installed more than ninety channels on my television set. This made my life more interesting, as when I was not reading about whales and marine life, I was watching films about wildlife. In the process, I gathered an enormous amount of information, which I noted in my diary, sitting in my favourite chair on the veranda.

  During this period, I read in the newspapers that the forest department officials were trying to save the whale. The report said that it was a young whale, about two years old, and they were making great efforts to release her back into the sea. But she was badly injured, maybe by a whale-hunting trawler, and was dying, as she was stuck in a ditch. After she had breathed her last, she was buried in a distant corner of the seashore. This created another problem, as with time, there was an unbearable stench. To solve this problem, a kind doctor living in the vicinity unearthed her carcass with the help of the forest rangers and invited experts from Mumbai to clean and treat her bones, which were reconstructed and displayed in a shed near his house. I befriended the doctor and his family and participated in the entire process. Interestingly, this became a major attraction for the locals and weekend tourists who came to Alibaug.

  Two years later, another adult whale was washed ashore on Alibaug beach and I was agonized. But by then, I was better prepared as I had read everything about whales and what happened to them if they were stranded on a seashore. During my research, I had found the clue to Delilah’s whale. From the details I had gathered from her story, I came to the conclusion that when Delilah’s whale had died and was buried on the seashore, as often happens with the corpses of whales, it emitted innumerable toxic gases, which burst out of the ground like a volcanic eruption. I assumed that something like this must have happened, causing death and destruction in the village of the fisherfolk who lived there. I was sure this had given Delilah mixed feelings of guilt, sorrow and sin, as she held herself responsible for the whale’s death and the ensuing death of some fishermen she had known.

  Delilah’s secret sorrow had floated towards me through the ages, like a supernatural being, along with the spirit of the whale whose flesh she had carved. Maybe she had slashed the whale’s tail, fin or tongue, the only edible parts, which would look similar to the fish they regularly ate. This distant event had entered into me, creating a love-hate relationship with all kinds of fish.

  I understood Delilah better through her diary, which had also led to my new-found knowledge of whales. Once I understood her and all that she had gone through, I readied myself to face the present situation. So, every morning, I woke up feeling content, not alone and troubled. I realized that this particular whale had given a new meaning to my life. I felt a great love for the sea and all those big and small creatures that lived in its underbelly.

  I realized that I had also stopped waiting for Ezel’s Friday night phone calls. In fact, whenever he called, I told him and the children stories about whales and their family life. They were amused by my obsession with sea life, but something told me not to mention Delilah and how it had all started. Somewhere, I was still hurt about how Tamar had reacted when I was in Alibaug and had cut down a coconut tree and found its heart, which was locally known as ‘Oti Chi Poti’—a sign of good luck, the size of my ring finger, as sweet as the core of a half-opened coconut. I had packed it in muslin and taken it all the way from Alibaug to Ahmedabad as a gift for Ezel, Tamar, Amy and Benny. But Tamar had been suspicious about the ‘Oti Chi Poti’ and my intentions when I gave a small piece to Amy to taste. She had accused me of trying to poison the child, grabbed it from my hand and thrown it into the dustbin. And Ezel, who had grown up eating it, had remained silent, seemingly siding with his wife. Since then, I had chosen not to tell Ezel anything related to village life. In fact, whenever Ezel spoke to me, I was always afraid that he kept his cellphone on speaker so that Tamar could hear my conversation with them.

  A few years later, again during a heavy monsoon, another whale appeared on the beach. She was stuck in a ditch but she appeared to be in good health. Even as the fisher folk living along the shore informed me about her arrival, the chief conservator of forests of Raigadh district called me and told me about the whale. By now almost everybody knew about my interest in whales. He invited me to join his staff in rescuing the whale and returning it to the sea. I decided to be at the forefront of the activity. I even bought myself a pair of jeans and wore Ezel’s old kurta.

  I felt self-conscious in my new attire, but the whale was more important than appearances and I did not want to go wading through the water in a cumbersome sari.

  The first two days, a lot of people took ‘selfies’ on their cellphones and children even climbed upon the whale. ‘Operation Save the Whale’ took place when there was a high tide, supposed to be the perfect time to release a stranded whale into the sea. I named her Delilah. She was lifted carefully with an earth-mover and released back into the sea. I had tears in my eyes as I stood on top of a forest department truck and saw her slowly slide into the water, take a deep breath, release a spurt of water and with a slow lyrical movement like a dancer, float towards the high seas, cut through the waves and disappear into the golden horizon of the evening sky.

  The forest department jeep dropped me home. I opened the lock of the front door, exhausted, drank a glass of cold water, changed into my nightgown, lay down and slept peacefully for the first time in years.

  11

  Golda

  IT WAS MY first encounter with a matchmaker. We Indian Jews need them, as in our small community, it is difficult to find the right match. Lately, many young people are getting married outside the community, so now we have quite a few matchmakers, as parents want their children to marry Jews. Actually, I liked this man who fixed marriages on earth, not in heaven, so I named him Matchmaker Uncle.

  We live in Alibaug, across the sea from Mumbai, so my parents had asked a matchmaker from Mumbai to find me a suitor. I was against it. So far the young men who had come to ‘see’ me had rejected me. I had come to terms with it and was happy working as a music teacher in an English-medium school i
n Alibaug. I was highly regarded there because I was a trained vocalist in the Hindustani classical style. But I had to go through the torturous process of my candidature as a would-be-bride. What I had accomplished was impressive, and moreover, I was named after Golda Meir, the first woman prime minister of Israel. My photograph, taken at the local studio, did not reveal my flaws. Yet, it always happened that as soon as a would-be-groom came face-to-face with me, he would immediately refuse to even consider me. The reason was that I was born with fine down on my face and all over my body. Mother tried rubbing my skin with a rough towel, but it did not help; it only gave me a rash. Later, as a teenager, she sent me to a beauty parlour, but again I came back with a severe allergy, which lasted six months. The doctor warned my parents that doing any kind of beauty treatment would give me a lifelong skin problem. While every other girl looked beautiful after a visit to the beauty parlour, I was doomed to look ugly. So, I was surprised that the matchmaker had found a suitor for me despite having been told all about my problem. I was sure that even after all his efforts, one look at me and the suitor would refuse.

  As always, I was depressed on the day the suitor was to arrive. My father had told me that he was Moses from Ahmedabad. He had already been convinced by Matchmaker Uncle that I would make a perfect wife for him. He had also been told that I was not beautiful in the conventional sense, but was a good, homely girl with a small problem, which he could see for himself. This clause relieved me, as both of us could escape from the impending marriage. Till then I had not been told that the suitor also had a flaw.

  Moses was a booking clerk at the computerized section of the Ahmedabad railway station, a simple man looking for a homely wife. He had no other demands. I was told that he had been brought up by his paternal aunt who had recently died. He wanted to get married; all he needed was a companion. He had lost his mother when he was fifteen and his father at twenty. So his father’s unmarried sister, who had been living with them, took care of him. Moses had a degree in computer science, so when his aunt retired as a railway booking clerk, he got her job. She also tried to get him married but for some reason or the other, she was not successful. Some girls found him too simple and he rejected many for being too fashionable. And, knowing his preferences, Matchmaker Uncle had convinced him that I would be the perfect choice for him. He had also told my parents that Moses did not mind if his future wife continued working as a schoolteacher. He had assumed that I taught English at a primary school in Alibaug and did not ask for details.

  Everything appeared to be perfect, but I had my reservations. I knew that one look at the fine growth on my upper lip and I would not be acceptable to Moses. Maybe he would leave immediately for Ahmedabad.

  Matchmaker Uncle had informed my parents that Moses lived in a rented apartment in Shalom India Housing Society, A-106. The owners, an elderly couple, were in Israel, where they had a flat, so they often commuted between the two countries. Moses had set up a temporary home there, as he had had to vacate his apartment in the government housing society, which had been allotted to his aunt years ago. They had levelled out the old society and were building a high-rise. When it was ready, we would move to an apartment there. So, if we got married, we would live in the apartment at Shalom India Housing Society.

  I had gone through so many rejections that my mother did not force me to dress up or wear make-up. My parents allowed me to wear whatever I wanted to. On that particular day, I chose a dark-blue salwar-kameez with a purple paisley design, a printed dupatta, a wristwatch and silver earrings, which, incidentally, my elder sister had bought from Ahmedabad, when she was there for a wedding. I liked them. And, of course, much against my mother’s suggestion to leave my hair open, as it suited my face, I annoyed her by oiling and braiding it, because I was sure I was going to be rejected. Mother kept her silence. I knew she thanked the Lord that it had been easier to get my elder sister married to a Mumbai businessman. My sister had a flawless complexion and no problems.

  Matchmaker Uncle had given us Moses’s passport-size photograph, saying that he was around thirty years old. I saw he had a long face, small eyes, a receding chin and thinning hair. While I was fairly good-looking with aquiline features, a good singer and a fun-loving person, Moses looked serious.

  When Moses arrived to ‘see’ me with Matchmaker Uncle, I scrutinized my groom-to-be while Mother bustled around serving tea and biscuits. He was not tall; maybe we were of the same height. He was wearing a full-sleeved white shirt over gray trousers. When he entered, he shook hands with me and looked at me. After that, he never looked in my direction and I felt strangely relieved that he had already rejected me. As he sat on the sofa, drinking tea and talking to my parents, I assumed that maybe he had good eyesight and in one look he had noticed everything about me.

  Eventually, Moses and Matchmaker Uncle left to catch the last boat to Mumbai. According to tradition, these decisions took long. I hoped we would receive a refusal. But the next evening Matchmaker Uncle called my father to say that Moses had approved of me and would like to get married as soon as possible. When my father announced, ‘Moses has agreed to marry Golda,’ I was shocked, as I had had no say in the matter.

  I told my parents, ‘At least ask me if I want to get married to Moses!’

  My mother brusquely told me, ‘I am not asking you anymore. At last a young man wants to marry you and you will… Look, once we are gone, do you want to live like an ageing spinster in your sister’s house all alone…?’

  So, with a sinking heart, like a goat being led to the slaughterhouse, I accepted their verdict. My father ordered boxes of pedas to be distributed amongst relatives, neighbours, friends and the Jewish community of Alibaug. My parents felt a sense of victory that at last they had found a groom for me.

  While the festivities were going on, I asked my mother to meet me alone in my room. I locked the door and, pointing to the down on my upper lip, asked her angrily, ‘Before you go ahead with the announcement, please make sure that Moses has agreed to marry me. Because he never looked at me properly, as I was sitting near the curtain and he did not notice … my … my problem…’ I looked at her with tear-filled eyes. Mother was moved and immediately called Father. They retreated to their bedroom and called Matchmaker Uncle, who confirmed that Moses had accepted me with all my flaws. When Mother repeated his words to me, I was hurt. I felt I was being pushed into an unknown area, maybe a blind alley…

  So far, my life in Alibaug had been predictable and familiar with the sea around me, fishing boats with colourful sails, the changing shades of the sky, fresh chiki simmering in cauldrons of jaggery, tall coconut trees, lush green rice fields, a bustling market, umpteen varieties of fish, the graves of our ancestors, the Magen Aboth Synagogue—where we prayed like one big family—and the Rock of Prophet Elijah or Eliahu-Hannabi-cha-Tapa in Sagav village. For a second, I prayed to the Prophet to whisk me away in his chariot, so that I could disappear and not have to marry Moses. But nothing like that happened.

  Before Moses arrived, life in Alibaug meant laughter and sharing food with friends and neighbours. Yes, I was not like the heroine who advertised a fairness cream on television, but I was popular in my school because I was a trained vocalist in the Hindustani classical style, had a good voice and entertained family and friends with ghazals, old and new Hindi film songs or Konkani folk songs. And, at Jewish gatherings, I was often invited to sing kirtans in Marathi based on Biblical themes, as I had inherited my grandmother’s book of kirtans, which was based on narratives of the Patriarch Moses receiving the Ten Commandments and the ascent of Prophet Elijah to heaven. These were some of my happy moments, when my audience applauded and often gave me a standing ovation. During such moments, I was not weighed down by my spinster status. Through the years, I had come to terms with my fate. Then Moses arrived and my life changed forever. For reasons I never understood, Matchmaker Uncle, who knew about my singing talents, had advised my parents to hide this fact from Moses. So, when Moses sent his approv
al, my parents explained to me that he might disapprove of a girl known for her talents. I would have to give up singing for a while…

  At that very moment, I was humming a tune under my breath. I stopped singing and felt suffocated. It was as if someone had taken the life out of me. I was also annoyed with my parents, for in their enthusiasm to get me married, they did not consider my feelings. They were happy to have found a suitor for me.

  Singing was my only passion and as they gave me instructions, I gasped, crumpled into the sofa-chair, raised my voice and told them that I would not stop singing. My parents were worried that I would refuse the marriage proposal and lose my last chance of being wedded. They were also worried that I would fall in love with a non-Jew and have a runaway marriage. I felt trapped and reluctantly accepted the proposal.

  I again prayed to Prophet Elijah, asking him to help me escape from this situation. It was then that I saw my harmonium, which had pride of place in the drawing room. So, much to my parents’ displeasure, I said rather sarcastically that I would marry him only if I could take my harmonium with me.

  Matchmaker Uncle asked Moses and surprisingly he agreed, but on the condition that I would not practise singing at home. But I could if and when I worked as a schoolteacher in Ahmedabad. So in a subtle way Moses was informed that I was a music teacher.

  With these agreements, I was married to Moses at the Magen Aboth Synagogue in Alibaug. As Moses did not have family in India, he came with Ezra, the president of Shalom India Housing Society, where he lived. I was married in the presence of the small Jewish community of Alibaug. This was followed by an ice-cream party in the courtyard of the synagogue. The next day we were to leave for Ahmedabad.