As the climate became warmer and forests declined, between 1.8 million and 23,000 years ago, human beings began to move out to the prairie and their diet also changed. They began to eat the meat left behind by predators or killed by male hunters using tools. A meat-based diet meant that men had to go out and hunt and the women had to look after the children and this created greater interdependence between the male and the female. Those babies had a greater chance of surviving where the couple stayed together for at least three or four years. Between 23,000 and 10,000 years ago, humans began to grow their own food, and this led slowly to an agricultural revolution. About 4000 years ago they invented the plough, which meant an even greater division of labour. Men did the physically harder work on the land; women stayed behind, cared for the children, and did household chores. This economic unit was so productive that men and women began to stay together more permanently. Marriage was a historical consequence. Since the community recognized the couple, the ritual of marriage became more public; the more public it became, the greater the recognition. In course of time, it became a legal contract, giving the man some assurance that the children were his and giving the woman some security that she would not be left destitute if the man moved on.
A telling story in the Mahabharata reinforces this evolutionary account of the shift from polygamy to monogamy. The epic clearly believes that society in earlier times was not monogamous and sexual attitudes were far more liberal. The young and attractive sage of the Upanishads, Shvetaketu Uddalaka, felt disturbed at seeing his mother leave the house at night with another man. He was even more surprised that his father did not get jealous or find anything wrong in her actions. He decreed monogamy and this led to society’s control over sexuality.
In prehistoric societies, women’s sexuality and reproductive power seemed to pose no problem. It was accepted as an inherent part of their being. Shvetaketu’s parents were relaxed about their promiscuity. But after marriage emerged as an institution, legal texts such as the Dharmashastras imposed stringent controls on most societies. Women’s sexuality became a problem: their essential nature, their maternal power, had to be controlled by paternal power to serve the social and political order made by men. Thus, men of the dominant classes subordinated women and effectively controlled their sexuality.
The laws of the Dharmashastras were mainly concerned with regulating the behaviour of the householder in society. Hence, they are only interested in the procreative side of kama, not its erotic or recreational aspect. Cohabitation is a duty of both men and women and there are penalties if they do not perform it. A man must ensure that his wife’s ṛitu, ‘menses‘, is not wasted. The objective is to produce children, especially sons. Intercourse that does not produce progeny is looked down upon as much as the celibacy of the ascetic’s life. A rajasvala, ‘menstruating’, woman is temporarily barren and a man who copulates with her is guilty of sin.
The evolutionary explanation for mating lies in the biological desire of men and women to ensure that their children survived. Some of the discussions in the Sharma household about a suitable husband were not so different, I reckon, from what went on in the mind of a prehistoric woman. Sharma-ji wanted for Avanti a mate who would provide for the family; who did not beat her or heap her with physical abuse; and who was faithful and did not abandon her. She judged a man for his ability to build a nest for her children.
Other species evolved similar mate preferences. When a male African village weaverbird spots a female, ‘he displays his recently built nest by suspending himself upside down from the bottom and vigorously flapping his wings. If the male passes this test, the female approaches the nest, enters it, and examines the nest materials, poking and pulling them for as long as ten minutes. As she makes her inspection, the male sings to her from nearby. At any point in this sequence she may decide that the nest does not meet her standards and depart to inspect another male’s nest. A male whose nest is rejected by several females will often break it down and start over. By exerting a preference for males who can build a superior nest, the female weaverbird solves the problems of protecting and provisioning her future chicks.’
In a similar way, human beings are descended from a long and unbroken line of ancestors who competed successfully for desirable mates. Women, like weaverbirds, prefer men with desirable ‘nests’. I was amused to read that American women valued many of the same things that Sharma-ji’s family wanted in a groom. Dozens of studies in America show that women basically want a husband who will provide for the family. Hence, money, power and status are usually at the top of their preferences. A large study in twenty-six countries, on all the continents, came up with the same finding. Similarly, studies reveal women’s preference for taller and stronger men, which evolutionary scientists interpret as a cue for the physical protection that primordial man offered a woman in prehistoric times.
Early on, our ancestral mother determined that sex entailed unequal costs. A human child meant the encumbrance of internal fertilization, a nine-month gestation, and lactation. She, thus, had to be careful in selecting a mate who would be able to provide for her and the children. Our ancestral father could basically walk away after impregnating her. In his case, there was natural bias for casual sex without commitment. There is, indeed, much truth to the old saying that some men will be ‘cads’ who prefer to mate with many women, while others will be ‘dads’ who invest their resources on a single woman and her children.
Given this biological inequality between the sexes, I have sometimes wondered why men marry at all. Since reproduction of the human race needed our ancestral fathers merely to impregnate our ancestral mothers, casual sex without commitment would have sufficed. Yet, a human male seems to provide his wife and children with enormous resources—to an extent that is unprecedented among primates. It is a puzzle.
~
The marriage proposal for Avanti fizzled out. The rich Brahmin family from Ujjain backed out when it became clear that Avanti’s family could not meet their expectations for a dowry suitable to their status. Sharma-ji had offered what was perfectly reasonable for a professional, middle-class family, but as Avanti’s mother had predicted, it was inadequate for a business family, as they felt diminished in the eyes of their business peers. Sharma-ji had been tempted to take a loan against their family home in Ujjain but Mrs Sharma had put her foot down, and she had been supported enthusiastically by my mother.
In the end, the boy’s side found another girl from a business family in Indore. Mrs Sharma was relieved. She had always thought it a bad idea. Sharma-ji was disappointed but Avanti was delighted. She felt as free as a lark and practically flew over to our house and smiled a lot as she gave us the news. As I listened I began to understand her. She thought of marriage as something that had to be done—an obligation to her family and society and she did not want to spend much time thinking about it. Unlike other girls of her age, she did not yearn for a handsome, rich, young prince. It was a traditional rite of passage and so, why fret over it? It was the same detachment towards worldly things I had observed in her on the way to Khan Market.
A few weeks later I was surprised to spot Avanti sitting on the floor in Ramakrishna’s bookshop, absorbed in a book, oblivious to the world. I had accompanied my mother to shop for curtains that morning in Connaught Place.
‘What are you reading?‘ I asked.
‘Oh, just a book,’ she said, closing it hurriedly. She tried to hide the cover and then gave us a smile so engaging that no one could take offence with the rebuff in her answer. But she was less successful in hiding the title.
‘Bhagavad Gita!’ exclaimed my mother. ‘I do marvel at what young people are reading these days.’
Avanti blushed and got up. ‘I come here early and I have the place to myself at this time. They are nice here and let me read until it gets crowded and then I buy the book and leave.’
‘How about a chai break?’ I suggested.
‘But only if we are not disturbing your re
ading,’ said my mother.
‘I was thinking of taking a break anyway.’
Soon we were sitting in a tea stall near the bookshop. Avanti radiated health and playful gaiety. Her fresh spontaneity made the others sitting around us look old and tired.
‘Why the Gita?’ asked my mother.
‘Well, I know so little about these things,’ she replied modestly. ‘I thought I would educate myself. Besides, they don’t teach these things in school.’
‘So, this is what you do in your spare time?
‘Yes, I read.’
‘What are you looking for in these books?’ I asked.
‘If I knew it I’d be on the way to finding it,’ she replied in a sincere, sweet manner that could not possibly give offence. Then she giggled in a nervous sort of way.
‘Can we take you back home later with us?’ I asked.
She looked at me and said, ‘You can take me first to the Hanuman temple.’
I looked at her quizzically. She explained that she had promised her father to pray for a husband. ‘He thinks I botched it up the last time.’
‘You don’t seem to be in any hurry as far as I can tell.’
‘That’s true. But since I did promise, I feel I should go.’ She rose, saying that she must return to her book inside. While leaving she gave us a smile of such sweetness that it lit her face with an inner light. I promised to return for her after an hour.
After Avanti left, and as we slowly sipped our tea, my mother observed, ‘She has a lot of self-possession for so young a person. She isn’t quite like any girl I’ve met.’ This was the most favourable thing my mother had said about Avanti. Over time I noticed that she had let her guard down—she no longer imagined that Avanti was about to ensnare her son.
While Avanti returned to her reading, we went to buy the curtain material, and before I put my mother on a bus, I promised her that I would drop a package for Ramu Mama at the Imperial Hotel. I then accompanied Avanti to the temple on Irwin Road. We were greeted by monkeys at the entrance. I smiled.
‘Why are you amused?’ she asked.
‘To be greeted by monkeys at the temple of the monkey god—it seems appropriate.’
What struck me, however, was an Islamic crescent moon on the temple’s spire. Is this why, I wondered, the Hanuman temple had not been destroyed by Muslim invaders? There were many pilgrims about, all devotees of Lord Hanuman, and they undoubtedly had favours to ask of the monkey god. As we were going in, Avanti informed me that the Pandavas had first built this temple at the time of the Mahabharata.
‘And you believe it?’ I asked.
‘Of course.’
I was never surprised when Avanti expressed complete faith in what I regarded as charming myths. We took off our shoes and went inside the temple where Avanti spent a few minutes in prayer before the image of Hanuman. When she had finished, we struck the temple bell enthusiastically.
‘Did you pray for a husband?’
She nodded. After putting on our shoes, we lingered outside the temple, leaning against the railing.
‘You seem so far away, Avanti.’ I sighed.
‘I’m sorry, I can’t help it.’
She gave a rueful smile. I looked at the trees in the distance. ‘I miss Isha.’
‘She wasn’t right for you,’ she said matter-of-factly.
‘If only I could get her out of my head.’
‘It’s only your puberty of sorrow.’
‘Sometimes I wish I could be sensible like you. If I could settle down to the idea of an arranged marriage, I would not yearn for some great happiness through love . . . and not have to suffer so.’
Avanti became annoyed. What I had said was neither correct nor polite, she protested. ‘I have just as much right to happiness in love as you do, silly boy.’ She glared.
We talked about this and that. She grew relaxed and at one point giggled and her eyes sparkled. But she was clearly looking for something in life and I did not understand what it was. I looked at her oval face and it seemed as though it was lit by an inner flame rather than the light of the day. She straightened up suddenly and said, ‘It’s getting late.’ I asked if she minded if we stopped on the way to drop a small package for Ramu Mama.
‘At the Imperial Hotel?’ Her eyes widened. ‘I’ve never been inside.’
‘There’s always a first time.’
‘My father won’t like it,’ she said softly.
The hotel was on Queensway, a name that changed a few years later to the less monarchical and more democratic Janpath. Since it was not far, we walked. She was ahead of me on the narrow footpath and my eyes gravitated towards the unmistakable swinging of her hips. I was thinking that each time I began to understand Avanti, she surprised me. I could not imagine her reading the Gita. As we drew level I looked into her eyes and detected the same sense of remoteness—as though she was not all there. It was not coldness, and you could not take offence; it was just a lack of involvement with the moment. All this gave her an air of inscrutability.
‘I say that was a nice thing you did that day—giving money to that woman.’
‘It happens all the time—my father finds it so easy to forget his duty to others, especially if they are poor relatives.’
We stopped at the imposing entrance to the Imperial.
‘So, this is where they have dancing, right?’
I nodded.
‘Do you know how to dance?’
‘No.’ After a pause, I added, ‘But Isha did, and she used to come here all the time.’
We were in awe as we entered the lobby of the hotel. Neither of us knew what to do. Instead of going to the concierge to drop the package, or ask him to ring my uncle’s room, we made a dash for Ramu Mama’s room, whose number was boldly written on the envelope. I spotted a staircase, and without a fuss we began to climb up. We must have ascended with an air of such confidence that the few guests we passed on the way must have thought that we had lived here all our lives.
When we reached my uncle’s door, I knocked softly. After a long silence, I heard my uncle’s flustered voice. I announced that I had a package. After another interval, the door opened and a confused-looking man in a silk smoking jacket emerged. He was clearly shocked to see us.
‘Who is it, darling?’ came a female voice from inside.
‘It’s just a package that my nephew has brought!’
‘Well, ask him in. I’d love to meet your nephew.’
My uncle obeyed reluctantly—he welcomed us inside. I don’t know who was feeling more embarrassed by now but the three of us waited for the female voice to be embodied. As we sat down in the cosy living room of his suite, I introduced Avanti to Ramu Mama. My eyes fell on a huge tray of fruit in the corner, and my uncle went up and picked it up and set it beside us. It was a gesture to appease his own feelings of embarrassment rather than an act of hospitality. Eventually, a beautiful woman in a luxurious pink silk sari and exquisite jewellery entered and showered us with a gracious smile. Avanti and I had never seen such a sight.
‘How like your family he is!’ she remarked, bowing her head slightly.
‘But you have never seen my family?’ said Ramu Mama, still flustered.
‘I have seen their photos, and he has your father’s lovely eyes.’
‘He seems to take more after his mother, who is of course, my cousin,’ muttered Ramu Mama. He formally introduced his companion as Kamini.
‘Kamini Masi!’ she corrected him. By adding the suffix to her name, she had subtly underlined to us that she was related to me.
‘I have an idea,’ she added with a bright smile. ‘It’s teatime, and why don’t we take our young friends down to the tea lounge? I’m sure they would love to dance.’ While Ramu Mama changed into an evening blazer and shoes, she chatted cheerfully, putting us at ease. Beneath her idle talk, it was clear to both of us that she was a highly intelligent woman.
I reddened. ‘I don’t dance.’
‘Neither do I,’ sai
d Avanti hastily.
‘We’ll just have to teach you then.’
After a pause, Avanti said, ‘Such beautiful pearls!’
‘His uncle gave them to me on my birthday, my dear.’
Soon we followed my uncle to the lift, and for the first time in our lives Avanti and I rode in an elevator. As we were walking to the lounge, Avanti whispered in my ear that Kamini Masi was an actress—she had seen her in a number of movies. To confirm this, heads turned to stare at the apparition in pink as we entered the tea lounge where a band was playing. As we were getting seated, Ramu Mama proudly reintroduced his companion as a ‘star’ from Bombay’s Hindi cinema.
‘Not a “star”, Ramu dear, I’m what is called a “B-grade actress”. Yes, perhaps a decent or even a high B, but not an A, mind you.’ She smiled and we were struck by her frankness and her friendly manner that had no trace of theatricality. Meanwhile, Ramu Mama was still feeling embarrassed by my presence and did not know quite how to treat me. Kamini Masi solved this problem right away. She summoned the waiter and ordered tea for everyone and pastries and samosas for the young—‘They are hungry,’ she told the waiter, ‘so bring plenty of food!’ Then she pulled my uncle’s arm and guided him to the dance floor. The band started a waltz; other couples followed and soon the floor was full. Neither Avanti nor I had seen anyone dance the waltz before. Ramu Mama and his beautiful companion were clearly the best, as my uncle effortlessly led her around the floor. Soon, they were gliding a few inches above the ground. Avanti and I watched them mesmerized. I had fallen in love with the Kamini Masi.
‘I would love to dance like that!’ I said.
‘So would I,’ said Avanti.
Soon the tea arrived, and when Kamini Masi saw the waiter placing it on the table, she signalled to her dancing partner, and they glided towards us. She clapped her hands and said, ‘Come, come, eat up, you must be hungry!’ She picked up the pastries and passed them around. I selected a chocolate pastry and Avanti a pineapple one covered in cream, and we began to gobble them. As soon as we were full, we got up.
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