The Temple Is Not My Father: A Story Set in India

by Rasana Atreya

  “So all devdasis are prostitutes?”

  “Not at all. If the girl is fortunate enough to find work that affords her a life of dignity, she is able to escape the abuse. Officially, the dedication of girls to the Goddess is banned, but so many things happen behind the government’s back. Since the girl is dedicated before puberty, she is taken out of school. With no education, what chance does she have of trying to find honourable work? She can marry if she can find a man brave enough to take on the Goddess – and I’m not saying it hasn’t happened, but it is rare. The government tries to help by giving the devdasis land, building schools for their children, providing them with jobs.”

  “Then how come you won’t take their help for Sreeja?”

  “I’d rather jump into a well. Can you imagine the life I’d be subjecting her to? Limiting her to the devdasi-only community, forever ostracized, never a chance at respectability?”

  “Forgive me for saying this, but . . .”

  “I don’t interact with respectable people anyway. Yes, I know. But, as long as I’m part of the village, I can still hope for some amount of respectability. Isolate me in the devdasi community, and I might as well give up on a normal life for my daughter.”

  ><<>><

  While Godavari supervised, Neeraja stirred the curry on the stove with the same degree of deliberation as she did everything else. The difference between the two sisters couldn’t be more marked; one so watchful of everything she did, the other jumping headlong with reckless abandon.

  “So,” Neeraja said cautiously, as if not wanting to offend, “you have siblings?”

  So the girl was finally comfortable enough to ask questions. Godavari hid a smile. “Yes.”

  “And do they talk to you?”

  Godavari tried to ignore the stab of pain as she contemplated the question. “One of my sisters does.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Krishna Veni.”

  “Isn’t that the name of a river as well?”

  Godavari smiled softly, missing her mother intensely. “My mother named all her daughters after rivers. Of course, my father blamed that as the reason she gave him five daughters in a row.”

  “And the rest?”

  “They are either ashamed of me or upset that our mother left me all her property – especially my brother, for whose birth I was sacrificed. He thinks I should have no right to this house even though maternal property is often passed down to daughters. My sisters are angry that they were denied a share in the maternal property, even though my parents paid out hefty dowries for them, including the money my father earned from selling me off to the village elder.” She sighed. “Krishna was my second oldest sister. She and I were always close. When my father told our family he had decided to dedicate me, Krishna was the only one who wept. Other than our mother, that is. The younger ones didn’t know what was going on and the oldest was just grateful it wasn’t her – and who can blame her? Almost immediately the rest of our family members, neighbours, friends – all of them – distanced themselves because they didn’t want my stigma to contaminate them.”

  “Doesn’t your sister worry about the stigma?”

  “She cares far more about me, fortunately. I know she’s had fights with her husband and in-laws over this, the poor thing. She isn’t able to visit much because she lives in town with a disabled child. But she calls regularly. And she cut off ties with my father because she can’t forgive him for what he did to me.”

  “Wow!” Neeraja stared unseeingly at the curry she stirred. “You never went to school, then?”

  “Not after the dedication, no. But, fortunately for me, the NGO ladies made sure I studied up till the 10th class. They took turns coming over and teaching me Telugu, maths, and some English.”

  “I had no idea this devdasi thing went on in India.”

  “Oh, it’s hardly common. We’re a very small community in the states of Maharashtra, Andhra Pradesh, Tamil Nadu and Karnataka. A lot of people don’t even know we exist.”

  “So how did you go from marrying the Goddess to, you know?”

  “I was eight when I was dedicated to the Goddess. Immediately after this ceremony, my father, greedy for the money a village elder offered, sold my virginity.”

  “But you were practically a baby!”

  “Oh, he could collect only half the amount up front. He had to wait a few years, till I reached puberty, before the deal could be finalized.

  Neeraja set the ladle aside. Then she startled Godavari by enveloping her in a hug.

  ><<>><

  “Where are Neeraja akka and Vanaja akka?”

  “I don’t know, child.”

  For six days Sreeja had been asking this question, and for six days Godavari had been answering it the same way. She wished there were some way she could find out what had happened, though it wasn’t hard to guess. A common source of gossip for women would be the maid, but even that was denied to her because no self-respecting woman would set foot in her house. The village shopkeeper would be only too happy to indulge her by providing the details, but the man was too familiar for her liking. She just hoped the girls were safe, wherever they were.

  “Amma, where are they?” Sreeja asked yet again.

  Godavari sighed. Maybe letting the girls befriend her daughter wasn’t the best idea she’d had. Now that Sreeja knew what it was like to have friends, it would be hard for her to go back to being comfortable in her own company. Her own selfishness in wanting friends for her child had exposed her to heartache. Or, perhaps, this was the Goddess’ way of teaching her a valuable lesson – that fallen women like her had no business expecting friendships and ordinary lives.

  ><<>><

  The days dragged on. Right before Godavari’s eyes, Sreeja was changing from a bubbly, laughing child to a listless one, and there was nothing she could do about it. Her heart ached as she watched her daughter sit quietly in the courtyard, staring unseeingly at the sky. She no longer expressed interest in food, no longer skipped, no longer chattered about programs on TV.

  ><<>><

  Late one afternoon the gate rattled hard. Godavari’s heart crashed against her chest like flood waters raging against the river banks. She ran to the gate and unlatched it. Vanaja fell into Godavari’s arms. Her left eye was blackened, her lip bleeding.

  “What happened?” Godavari asked anxiously.

  Neeraja followed her sister in, locked the gate behind her and collapsed against the wall.

  “Are you okay?” Godavari asked.

  Neeraja nodded tiredly. Sreeja ran to Neeraja and snuggled up to her. Neeraja hugged the little girl to her side.

  Godavari wrapped an arm around the younger girl and helped her to the cot.

  “What happened?” Godavari asked again.

  “Someone told my grandmother we’d been to your house,” Vanaja said. “She stormed into our room and started cursing us, saying that we’d proved our parents right by betraying their trust. She said that pretty soon we’d both be unmarried and pregnant, shaming her, our parents, our entire community.” Vanaja dropped her head. “It was awful, Godavari akka – her ranting went on for hours and hours. Each time our eyes closed, she would shake us awake and start again, torturing us like we were terrorists or something.”

  “How did you get hurt?”

  Vanaja broke down and sobbed on Godavari’s shoulder. “When my grandmother wouldn’t stop, I shouted back at her saying that if our parents had trusted us in the first place, we wouldn’t be in this position. That made her so angry she shoved me into the storeroom and locked me in for an entire day. The next morning she let me out but said she was making arrangements to put me in a girls-only boarding school, where they knew how to deal with troublemakers like me.” Vanaja looked up, face tear-streaked. “Can you believe that? Bad enough that we were torn from our parents, from my twin! Now she wants to separate me from my sister? I said, ‘Hell, no! I’d rather go live with Godavari akka.’ That’s when she hit me.”


  “Oh no!” Godavari hugged the girl, cursing herself. Why had she been so weak? Why had she allowed the girls to get attached to her and Sreeja?

  “My grandmother was so mad at me, she tried to throw me back into the storeroom. But I wasn’t having any more of it, so I walked out. I wasn’t sure Neeraja would follow me,” – she threw her sister a grateful look – “but she did.”

  “What happens now?”

  “Can we live with you?” Vanaja’s voice was small.

  “There is nothing that would make me happier.” Godavari held Vanaja away so she could look into the younger girl’s face. “You know that, don’t you?”

  “But you won’t let us,” Vanaja said dully.

  Godavari tried to say “no,” firmly, but it came out as a sorry little whisper. “I can’t let your lives be ruined.”

  “What happens now?” Neeraja said.

  “Your parents will need to be informed.”

  “Our grandmother would have already called them,” Neeraja said.

  “What if I call Child Protective Services? Or 911? What then, huh?” Vanaja raised her chin defiantly. It was sweet in a pathetic sort of way, with her face badly bruised, one eye black-and-blue, one cheek getting there.

  Seeing the confused look on Godavari’s face, Vanaja said, “The police number. You do have one here?”

  “It’s 100 in India.”

  “Fine, I’ll call 100, then.”

  “And you’ll be laughed out of the police station.”

  “What do you mean?” Vanaja was indignant. “Have we no control over our lives?”

  “Not when you’re minors, no. Maybe not even later. You have to remember, the police are also part of society. They might not see anything wrong in your grandmother’s using a firm hand on you, especially after what you did.”

  “That’s terrible!”

  “That’s also reality.”

  “NGO! Didn’t you tell us that the ladies there helped you?”

  “The NGO?” Godavari reached for her mobile phone doubtfully. “I suppose it’s worth a try.”

  ><<>><

  The NGO lady, Asha garu, was new to Godavari, but she seemed eager to help. She sat on the cot in Godavari’s courtyard, the huge circle of maroon bottu covering almost her entire forehead, while also matching the yellow-maroon of her sari. “Basically, the girls’ parents are furious. They say Vanaja is out of control and needs a firm hand.”

  Vanaja made a face.

  “They did make one concession, though. Staying with the grandmother is no longer an option for Vanaja, but they don’t mind if Neeraja also goes to the hostel. They say that the girls have crossed a line, and the only way the parents will support them is if the girls go to the hostel. Otherwise, their daughters are as good as dead to them.”

  Godavari was shocked. “I can’t believe a parent would ever give up on a child!”

  “You’re saying that, Akka?” Neeraja looked disbelieving.

  “It’s obvious you haven’t met my parents,” Vanaja said. “Since the time we were born, protecting our virtue was their biggest concern – their only concern, actually. It didn’t matter that our grades were good, it didn’t matter that we excelled at sports. What was important was that we remained pure. Of course, the rule didn’t apply to my brother.” A tear trickled down Vanaja’s cheek. “I miss him,” she whispered.

  Godavari hugged the girl to her, feeling a terrible sense of letdown. “I thought other families were more normal than mine.”

  Asha garu put a hand on Godavari. “Most families are, you know.”

  “Godavari akka and Sreeja have given us more love than our own family ever has,” Neeraja said softly.

  “There is a couple in Hyderabad, the Murtys,” Asha garu said. “Friends of the girls’ parents. The girls know them, apparently. The parents have asked them to be the local guardians for when Vanaja and Neeraja go to the hostel.”

  “They’re worse than my parents, if such a thing is possible,” Vanaja said glumly.

  “There is something else.” Asha garu looked at Godavari hesitantly.

  Godavari’s heart tripped. She knew she wasn’t going to like this. She just did.

  “Giri is concerned about the child.” She pointed her chin at Sreeja.

  Godavari was incredulous. “Giri? Since when does he have any say in my daughter’s life?”

  “He is the girl’s father, you know.”

  Godavari darted a quick look at her daughter. Sreeja’s face was frozen. Godavari’s heart sank. This isn’t how she wanted her daughter to find out. “He’s never been part of her life. And what does he have to do with Vanaja’s and Neeraja’s situation?”

  “Hear me out. He says he has been negligent toward the child and wants to make up for it.”

  Godavari snorted.

  “Don’t be so quick to dismiss it. He is willing to set aside a large sum of money for her. Ten lakh rupees, can you imagine that!”

  “Tell him to pickle it.”

  “For someone who has next to none, you’re being quite rash. He says that the money will set your daughter up for life – college, wedding expenses, everything.”

  “College?” Godavari was furious. “This paragon won’t help his daughter gain admission to the village school, and he’s talking about college?”

  “Give him a chance.”

  “To do what?”

  “To set things right.”

  “How?”

  Asha garu fidgeted. “He . . . um . . . has a cousin in the city. Childless couple. Very well off. He wants them to raise Sreeja.”

  Godavari stared at Asha garu, not sure she’d heard her correctly.

  Asha garu rushed to finish. “Giri will give your daughter the money. All you have to do is give her up.”

  Godavari’s heart stopped. The birds ceased singing. The sky lost its colour.

  “But –” Vanaja looked at Godavari. “Sreeja already has a mother who loves her.”

  Sreeja started to tremble.

  Godavari opened her arms, and Sreeja ran into them.

  “I’m sorry I asked for a father, Amma,” she whispered as she hugged her mother tightly. “I don’t need one. Promise. All I need is you.”

  Godavari kissed her. “And all I need is you. But I need to talk to this lady. Can you go inside with Neeraja akka?”

  The child didn’t want to let go. Godavari gently pried her arms away. “I’ll come and talk to you later. Okay?”

  Sreeja nodded and reluctantly accepted the hand Neeraja offered.

  Godavari waited till the two were safely inside. Then she erupted. “How dare he!”

  “The child’s presence is causing his wife great distress. He wants her sent away.”

  She took a deep breath, struggling to control her anger. “Why now? It hasn’t bothered him all these years.”

  “The village is in uproar because of your association with the American girls. It has focused attention on Giri again, and his wife is furious.”

  Giri’s wife’s family had the money and the respect, but her husband had caused her loss of face by associating with a devdasi. Godavari’s face hardened. “No!”

  “You’re being selfish. You’re thinking only about yourself. Think what it’ll mean for your daughter.”

  “It’ll mean nothing to her if she is ripped from me. I’m the only parent she has ever known.”

  Asha garu touched Godavari’s arm. “These are good people, Godavari. They are willing to give your daughter a loving home. They will send her to school, give her an education, a stigma-free life.”

  “My love will be enough.”

  “Weren’t you the one who wanted a normal family life for your daughter?”

  The only thing she’d ever wanted for her child, Godavari thought bitterly. And Giri was the one to offer it.

  “All the couple asks is . . .” Asha garu hesitated.

  “What?” Godavari’s voice was harsh.

  “They can’t have your stigma atta
ching to the child. You’ll need to cut all ties with her.”

  ><<>><

  Godavari shut the door on Asha garu, but the woman was relentless. She was back the following day, and the next.

  “Why are you doing this to me?” Godavari asked, as she broke down.

  “The life of your child hangs on your decision.”

  “Do you realize what you’re asking of me?”

  “Do you realize what that couple is offering your daughter? A new family, a good life. What are you offering your daughter, tell me?”

  “Love,” Godavari whispered. “My heart aches with love for her.”

  “Will that love support her when you are gone? When she is alone – unprotected, uneducated and unmarried?”

  Godavari’s gut churned with indecision. She had refused Krishna’s previous offers to move to an NGO hostel because the stigma would follow Sreeja and her. And, despite great pressure from the NGO, she had refused the free plot of land the government had assigned to her because it was in a devdasi-only community. But Giri’s offer was completely different. Did she have the right to deny her child the chance at a normal life? A stigma-free life?

  She huddled on the cot as the lady, whose name meant hope, hammered away. “Is she to live her life out alone because of your selfishness – with no chance of family or companionship? Is that the life you choose for your daughter?”

  ><<>><

  Out on the street, in front of her house, Godavari knelt on the ground, arms tightly wrapped around her child. From a safe distance, a crowd of curious villagers watched.

  Sreeja clung to her mother, weeping as if her heart were broken.

  Godavari had no tears to shed. She was dead inside.

  Neeraja hugged Godavari. “We’ll try to meet Sreeja once a month. We’ll smother her with love,” she said, trying not to cry. “Just another day until we join the hostel.”

  Vanaja was sobbing openly. “Can’t Sreeja take at least one photo of her mother?”

  Asha garu shook her head in sorrow. “You know what the new parents said. No contact, no reminders of the past. Those are the rules.”

  Godavari buried her face in the child’s neck, trying to soak in her daughter’s smell, the feel of her in her arms.