Engineering a Life

by Krishan K. Bedi

  Ved’s wife advised me, “Krishan, you should do what your heart tells you to do. You’re the one getting married, and it’s your life, and you’re going to live with her, and it’s you who will take her back to the US.”

  I thought it over. What would my friends in the US and my boss, Mr. Gilreath, say if I married the girl from Patiala? I imagined them saying, “Kris, is that the girl you went there for?” I didn’t feel comfortable with this thought and realized, as my cousin’s wife said, I must please myself and go with the decision that made me the most comfortable.

  After thinking it through, I said, “I am leaning toward the girl in Nabha.”

  My cousin’s wife smiled at me and said joyfully, “Go for it with great confidence.”

  Chapter 13

  Since I was back in India after such a long time away, I was particular about going through all the marriage traditions, even though time was running short. During the first week of November, I sent Mr. Gilreath a letter stating: “I have taken six weeks time off, and it is already six weeks that I have been here. I hope you will understand it is a matter of my lifetime companion, so it is taking a little longer than I anticipated. Please grant me a little longer—another three weeks’ leave. I will appreciate it very much, and I will also keep you informed with the progress of finding a suitable girl in India.”

  With my request for an extended leave settled, we turned our attention to choosing the best engagement and wedding dates in line with the astrological signs. However, while we were staying with my sister in Patiala, my uncle brought a halt to our planning stage by raising an issue.

  “This girl must be older than they are saying,” he said. “We are told she is twenty-three, but if she completed her master’s in 1967, based upon my calculations, she should be closer to twenty-four or twenty-five.”

  We all paused to think about this. It was normal for girls to get married in their early twenties, and twenty-four seemed to be the cut-off age. A girl of twenty-five was considered rather old to be unmarried.

  I sighed. Now my marriage process would take even longer. In the Indian tradition, if any elder, such as an uncle or an aunt, brought up a point or made a suggestion, it must be taken seriously.

  To uncover the truth of the matter, we contacted the Verma family and asked to see Raj’s matriculation certificate. To our dismay, they said they could not find it. We insisted they find it as soon as possible because normally all the documents should be there, and we needed to see her certificate.

  That night at my sister’s house, we all went to bed early because her children needed to get up for school the next morning. At around 10:30 p.m., a knock sounded on the door. Who could it be at this time of night? My brother-in-law picked up a large hockey stick and went to the door. Annoyed at being disturbed at such a late hour, he opened the door to find Yash, Raj’s brother Satish, and her other uncle standing outside.

  “We want to talk to Krishan,” they said.

  Hearing this, I came into the room. My brother-in-law let them inside, and we all sat in the drawing room. My brother-in-law sat in the corner of the room with his hockey stick, and glared at the three men from Nabha.

  Turning to me, Yash said, “Whatever we are telling you about age, that’s what it is, and we cannot locate the matriculation certificate, so it is up to you whether or not to continue this relation and set a date for the engagement.”

  I was taken aback. My father was staying at my uncle’s house, forcing me to make the decision on my own. In that moment, all that mattered to me was that I liked the girl, and I liked her family. I felt sure she was a good match for me.

  “It’s okay with me,” I told them. “I do not want to call off the relationship.”

  They asked me again, not wanting to have any doubt about the matter.

  “Yes, I am ready to finalize the marriage,” I said.

  Relieved, the three men stood up to leave.

  “Do you want tea or anything to eat,” I asked.

  “No,” they said, glancing nervously at my brother-in-law in the corner. Still clutching the hockey stick, he watched them with an angry expression. Later, Raj’s brother told me that the whole time they were there, he was afraid somebody was going to get hit with that stick.

  Shortly after our late-night meeting, we set the engagement date for November 18 and the wedding date for November 26.

  A few days before the wedding, my mother and several ladies carried a clay pitcher of water and walked around the village at around ten o’clock at night, singing traditional wedding songs, such as, “Jaggo Aiya,” meaning, “Wake up people! The wedding celebration has started.”

  The day before the wedding, several female relatives applied turmeric and sandalwood paste to my body. My relatives from villages far and near began to arrive for the sehra bandi ceremony. The house bustled with people greeting each other, setting down luggage, giving me hugs, wishing me the best for my big day, and drinking tea. Cooks hired by my father prepared large quantities of food on makeshift stoves set up in the courtyard near the kitchen. Amid all the excitement, my nerves were on edge. Soon I would be a married man. How different my life would be!

  After dinner, the sehra bandi ceremony began. I sat on the floor while my father and brother tied an orange turban around my head, and around the turban, they tied a veil of small golden flowers which draped in front of my face like a curtain. Around my neck, they placed a garland of shiny silver tinsel. My relatives approached me one by one and presented me with shagun, cash money placed in envelopes or small cloth pouches to wish me good luck and blessings. At the end of the ceremony, someone read a poem, and everyone shared a prayer that all would go well with the wedding and the future of the bride and groom.

  After the ceremony, my brother helped me get on the horse, decorated with gold and silver-colored artificial jewelry that made a jingling sound when it walked. Orange marigold garlands hung around its neck. A band began to play, and they walked in front of our procession. Children followed them, skipping and dancing to the music. I followed behind on my horse, and my relatives walked behind me. The villagers of Malaudh came out of their houses and shops to watch us pass by. My parents and relatives waved money over me and dropped it for the poor people to pick up. The villagers scrambled to retrieve the coins, calling out blessings for my future marriage as we passed.

  The next day was a whirl of nonstop activity. After we arrived in Nabha, followed by a busload of more than fifty of my relatives and guests, the baraat, we spent most of the day partaking of an endless array of snacks and drinks provided by the Verma family. Then, at around 8:00 p.m., the local band escorted us to the park where the wedding would be held. Once again, I rode on a mare decorated with garlands and jewelry, sparkling golden and silver even in the dark of night. The groom riding a mare to the bride’s home symbolizes that he is a warrior coming to take his bride. I carried a sword on my left side, a sign that I would always protect her.

  On either side of me, servants held kerosene lamps, and in front of me, a dozen boys did the bhangra dance to the rhythm of a dhol (drum). The band played old Hindi songs from the most popular Hindi movies. All the while, my horse moved slowly forward. My brother, uncles, and other relatives danced around me, waving money over my head and throwing it on the ground or giving it to the dhol player and the bandleader. In this manner, we proceeded slowly, covering barely one-sixth of a mile in an hour. Many spectators came out of their houses to watch.

  Standing at the entrance of the park, the Verma family eagerly awaited our arrival, but our baraat took its time. This was my baraat’s only chance to celebrate with me and have a good time. Also, it was customary to keep the bride and her family waiting anxiously. Everyone sang, danced, and shouted with great enthusiasm and joy. In a way, my feelings were similar to what I felt when I left India for the first time nine years earlier. As I stood on the boat pulling away from the dock in Bombay, I realized, with an overwhelming sense of gratitude and excitement, that m
y dreams were truly in motion, my many days of prayer and preparation had come to fruition, and the long-awaited day had arrived.

  This same feeling washed over me as I sat on the mare and allowed myself to be escorted with much fanfare to the entrance of the park. I had spent many days in search of a suitable match, and before that, I waited many years until I could return home to find a girl to marry.

  The moon gleamed above me in the dark sky, and for a moment, I felt as if it were reflecting its light in my heart. The stars were lovely, and at first I thought they must have come down from the sky, because as we came to the entrance of the park, I saw that all the bushes and trees flickered with thousands of lights. Hundreds of fresh marigolds and roses decorated the entrance, and on each side stood tall banana trees.

  The procession stopped at the entrance, and the band played even more vigorously. The boys danced and twirled until someone put a stop to it so we could start the milni ceremony. My father and Raj’s father exchanged garlands while the priest said a prayer. Then Raj’s father presented my father with a gift of suit-length material and a strip of wool material. It is hard to keep several hundred people quiet, but the noise level was at its lowest since we set out.

  One by one, my uncles went forward to meet the bride’s uncles, followed by the maternal uncles, and then finally, the brother-in-laws, and any other elderly male considered to be a close relative on the groom’s side.

  Once Raj’s relatives had been escorted into a huge white pavilion, I stood in front of a couch and waited as Raj walked toward me, flanked by her sisters on both sides. Raj wore a beautiful red sari embroidered with gold, and a veil hid her face from the view of my male relatives. Gold jewelry adorned her wrists, red choora bangles decorated her arms, and long gold earrings dangled from her ears. In her left nostril, she wore a gold nath, a nose ring, which was hooked to her earring. She wore a glittering gold necklace studded with diamonds, and silver ankle bracelets, and intricate henna designs decorated her hands, arms, and feet. I could not take my eyes off her for a moment. It was a sight that I will never forget. Raj looked just beautiful in her wedding sari and jewelry.

  Raj stood next to me, her eyes lowered as everyone smiled, admiring her beauty. The jaimala ceremony was a difficult moment for Raj because it meant she would be leaving her parents. The priest came forward and said a few prayers in Sanskrit. Then, he handed Raj and me each a garland of fresh marigolds, and while the priest said more prayers, Raj and I placed the garlands around each other’s necks to signify our acceptance of each other. The people surrounding us cheered and clapped, calling out wishes of good luck and making all sorts of noise. With jaimala finished, we sat on the couch so the relatives could give us gifts of shagun money.

  After an elaborate meal, the processional band led my baraat and me back to the guest house, playing jubilant music. This time I did not ride on the horse, and we all reached the building in much less time. The baraat members fixed their bedding and went to sleep, but my close relatives and I prepared to stay awake. The phere ceremony, the most important ceremony of all, would begin at 2:00 a.m., the time determined by the priest.

  Raj and I sat side by side on two cushions in the courtyard of her house, our legs crossed. I could only imagine what was going through her head. She was about to marry a stranger, one she would travel across the ocean and live with in a foreign country. Her face was composed, graceful. The mandap we sat beneath was a type of canopy with a net covering four pillars decorated with banana trees and flowers.

  The priest from Malaudh and the priest from Nabha were taking turns reciting prayers in Sanskrit. Our parents and relatives sat on the ground, forming a circle around the mandap. One of the priests lit the sacred fire in the middle of the mandap. Raj and I poured ghee into the sacred fire and dropped fresh flower petals, shavings of coconut, and rice into the flames. After the priest dabbed red vermillion paste onto our foreheads for good luck, the Nabha priest performed the kanyadaan, the giving away of the bride. Raj’s father placed her right hand into mine, asking that I pledge my enduring love and dedication in caring for his daughter. At that moment, Raj’s father was overcome with tears, and her mother, sisters, brothers, aunts, and uncles grew teary-eyed as well. Raj’s eyes filled as she tried not to cry at this most crucial moment of the ceremony. My heart went out to Raj and her family, understanding how hard it is to leave one’s family to go to an unknown place and live with an unknown person. We both were wondering what our lives would be like and what the nature of the other person would be.

  The priest recited more prayers and asked Raj to place her right foot on a stone. He gestured for me to say my part, and I told her to be as firm as a stone so that we could face the difficulties of life together.

  Guided by the priests, Raj and I performed ceremony after ceremony for the next three hours. Raj and I struggled to stay awake as the priests recited prayers for everything that could be thought of. At five o’clock, the priests ended the phere, and Raj and I were officially a married couple. It was a somber moment compared to the festive atmosphere of the night before. Everyone was half asleep, and someone shook my brother awake to let him know it was over.

  Unfortunately for me, when we returned to the guest house, there was no time for sleep; I needed to freshen up for the day because the members of the baraat were already waking up to bathe and get ready for breakfast provided by Raj’s family.

  A few hours later, I stood with Raj in front of her house. Women were chanting songs in tearful voices. Amid the clamor of Raj’s family and friends crowding around her to say goodbye, I caught one of the lines the women repeated over and over as Raj’s parents, sisters, and older brother said their goodbyes. “Our daughter is leaving. Her parents took care of her and loved her before she left the house.”

  Servants were bustling in and out of the crowd, carrying trays laden with tea and sweets.

  Raj’s eyes filled with tears as she and her parents embraced one final time. After Raj and I touched the feet of her elder family members (parents, grandmother, aunts, and uncles) to receive their blessings, I led Raj to the car decorated with orange, red, and white flower garlands. Fastened to the back window, a sign read, “Krishan weds Raj.”

  Raj’s brother escorted her into the seat next to me, a gesture that signified, “I am giving you away to your husband. He should take care of you.”

  Raj shook with sobs. Close to fifty of her relatives pressed in close around the car, crying loudly and calling out farewells. The local band began to play jubilant music which strangely contrasted with the sadness of the moment, and as the band escorted us to the outskirts of Nabha, the noise of the relatives followed us until everyone dropped back to watch us go. A few minutes later, the car left Nabha, and the band waved after us, leaving Raj and me in a sudden silence.

  I will love Raj and take care of her the best I can, I thought to myself. I will make her happy and will never give her a reason to cry.

  When we reached my parents’ house in Malaudh an hour later, there were more ceremonies to perform, each of which a held special meaning for the groom to bring the bride to his parents’ house for the first time. Then, for the remainder of the day and night, everyone ate and drank. Since nothing was planned ahead, there was much confusion as everyone jostled each other and the cooks hurried to finish the food preparation. At 9:30 p.m., the servants served a huge meal. I ate with my male family members at one end of the room, while Raj ate at the other end surrounded by my mother, sisters, and aunts. Although I enjoyed the conversations and laughter with my relatives, I couldn’t wait to go to bed. I could tell Raj felt the same way.

  It was nearly midnight by the time I said goodbye to my relatives and climbed to the roof, entering a room containing two beds. Raj was already in bed with her eyes closed. She had changed out of her wedding sari and was buried under the covers since it was cold and there was no heat in the room. Going to the other bed, I lay still for fifteen minutes, wondering if she was still awake.
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  “Raj?” I said after a while.

  “Gee,” she replied, using the respectful form of yes.

  Moving to her bed, I took off the gold ring my parents had given me and held it out. “This ring is for you, a token of my love for you,” I said. My initials were carved on the outside.

  She took the ring and, smiling slightly, put it on her finger. Then, exhausted from the long two days of countless ceremonies, celebrations, and no rest, we both fell into a deep sleep.

  Chapter 14

  After Raj acquired her visa, and after we made numerous trips to visit our closest relatives in other towns one last time, we were ready to leave for the States. On the day of our departure, our family members took us to the airport, and we all stood together to say goodbye. With so many emotions over-flowing, it was hard to leave. After hugging everyone tightly, we passed through customs with heavy hearts and waved at our parents and relatives for the last time. I held my head down as we boarded the plane. An overwhelming tightness filled my chest and throat. I did not know when I would see my parents again, and thinking of my mother, tears streamed from my eyes. I wondered if this was the last time I would see her face. Just a week earlier, my mother became so sick at the thought of my leaving India again that she started spitting up blood, alarming me and my entire family. I delayed my trip again, wanting to see her healthy before I left. Once I’d reassured her that I planned to return to India after getting more work experience, her health gradually improved.

  The evening of our return to Covington, Bob and Evie invited Raj and me to dinner, knowing we would be exhausted from the long flight and the equally long drive from New York. Regretfully, I realized I had forgotten to mention Raj did not eat meat. I could smell the steak as we walked up to their door. Once inside, I introduced Raj to Bob and Evie, and she gave them a shy smile. Evie admired Raj’s sari and made small talk while she set the food on the table and Bob popped open a few beers. I did not mention to Raj that Bob and Evie were living together even though they were not married. It would have been a shock to her, and I thought it best she learns the culture gradually.